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The party has been a head-clearing breath of fresh air. Literally—since it’s on a boat in the middle of a lake. Rachel’s husband, Brody, owns a charter fishing business that moonlights doing all kinds of girls’ nights, including Rachel’s apparently famous sex-toy parties.
Hanna invited all five of her brothers’ wives and girlfriends, all the women from Hott Spot, and my sister and Akemi, so the boat is, quite literally, rocking. Brody has warned us that we need to move slowly and not all rush to either side at once. (He also gave us a lecture on boat heads and toilet paper; I got the feeling there was backstory there.)
We’re well lubed on red wine and have demolished a serious quantity of food cooked by Hanna’s sister-in-law Amanda, who’s a caterer. We also all survived the sex-education portion of the program. Rachel demoed an eye-popping (and panty-singeing) collection of items ranging from gels and lubes that make your girl parts warm and sparkly to vibrators, dildos, Kegel balls, penis masturbators, and a few things I’d never heard of before, like vibrating nipple clamps. I also didn’t realize “clitoral stimulators” were a whole different category from vibrators. I guess one works with vibrations and the other works with a kind of suction? Sign me up.
We placed orders for toys, too, although Rachel was clear that sales weren’t her primary goal. She’s a sex therapist and sex educator, and she mostly wants women to know and love their bodies and understand how to bring themselves pleasure, solo and with partners. Sex therapist is her second career; she used to be a librarian—“and I still love books more than anything except my husband, our kids, and my current job,” she tells me.
“Sooo,” Amanda says now, and I sense danger ahead. She’s definitely the instigator in Hanna’s family, like Nia’s the troublemaker in mine. “Can we all agree there are two kinds of lovers in the world? Those who will use these vibes on us and enjoy the shit out of it, and those who will view them as sexual competitors and insist they have to make us come with their own two hands?”
We all crack up.
Reggie shrugs. “Given that Ford and I met when I set my room on fire during a night of ‘self-care,’ I’m pretty sure he’s not threatened by my toys.”
“Good man, good man,” Serenity, one of Sonya’s coworkers and friends, says. “My current boyfriend is in the competitor category, which is why I’m already thinking about giving him the boot. Unless you’re seriously gifted in the tongue department, don’t tell me toys are off the table.” She waggles a finger.
Jessa, another of Hanna’s sisters-in-law, says, “I put money on Clark?—”
“Shut up!” Amanda cries, scrunching her eyes shut like that’s going to help. “You know I don’t want to hear anything about which category my brothers fall into.”
“Cover your ears!” Jessa tells her. “You brought it up!”
Amanda sticks her fingers into her ears.
Jessa rolls her eyes. “I put money on both Clark and Gabe refusing to let those things into the bedroom.” She lowers her voice several octaves. “‘I got this, baby,’” she growls. “‘You don’t need any dick but this one.’”
Everyone roars with laughter at the imitation. But Lucy, who’s Gabe’s wife, shakes her head. “You’d think, right? But Gabe is Rachel’s biggest customer. And I bet once Clark saw the power of the toy, he’d be right on board.”
Jessa grins. “Worth a try!”
“Sonyaaaaa?” Reggie teases. “What about that big grumpy scientist of yours?”
It’s Hanna’s turn to cover her ears and sing.
“Quinn would probably just treat it like a scientific experiment,” Reggie says.
Sonya blushes fiercely, which makes the rest of us laugh.
There’s a moment of silence. I can feel the boatful of women not looking my way.
Don’t ask me.
Don’t ask me.
Don’t ask me.
Because I already love these women and I don’t want to lie to them, but somehow, I haven’t slept with my superhot movie-star (fake) fiancé yet feels like a can of worms I’m not ready to open.
“Okay, bachelorette. We hear your silence over there,” Reggie says. “You’re off the hook this time because you haven’t known us very long, because we recognize that you might not have enough data yet to weigh in, and because I’m giving Hanna a break, but just know, all of us are dying over here. Shane Hott. Or should we say Mavryx? Does he do it all with his man sausage?—”
“Aaaaaugh!” Hanna cries, covering her ears again.
“—and the power of his ridiculously ripped ass? Or will he admit other tools to the toolbox? Don’t answer that,” she says, holding up a hand. “Unless you want to.”
“I mean,” I say, “it’s a very nice ass.”
They all burst out laughing, and I soak up the pleasure of amusing them (and the relief of having dodged the question), while the women get to their feet and start cleaning up the mess we’ve made of Brody’s boat. Brody himself—a ridiculously hot man in torn jeans and just enough leather to look dangerous—has been hiding by the wheel all night, but I’ve caught him laughing at us a few times.
I notice that Rachel didn’t say where Brody came down on the toy question, but I’m also guessing you can’t be married to a sex therapist and toss the tool chest out of the garage.
