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No. Must think of someone else.
Johnny Depp in Chocolat was hot.
No. That just brings to mind chocolate, reminding me of The Russian’s eyes.
Oh, I know. Let me distract myself by turning the brush over to see how the bristles feel.
Nope. Not good. Too rough, like getting licked by a porcupine with a mustache. I turn back to the smooth side and switch the cycle.
Holy oral hygiene.
The brush head oscillates, rotates, and pulsates—igniting my clit like 42nd Street on New Year’s.
With record speed, I come—with the image of The Russian firmly in my mind.
Grr. Operation BS has so backfired.
As I set the toothbrush on my nightstand, Woofer arrives at his charging base and slowly blinks his lights, as if all that cleaning has tired him out.
I know I vibrate when I suck up dirt, but if you ever think of turning me into a sexbot, I’ll short-circuit myself to death.
* * *
First thing the next morning, I write up my toothbrush experience and post it on my blog. I also ask my followers what the female equivalent of a “spank bank” should be—Art is obviously on my mind. I tell them that my own take on this is a “rub bank,” which a user named ClamJammin’69 really likes. She (or maybe he, or they) states that “bank rubbery” might sound better, but I prefer my version.
My reward is a breakfast of Reese’s Puffs in chocolate milk with M&Ms. Cereal is an easy meal for me, as I don’t have a kitchen. The only gotcha is that I avoid the Kellogg’s brand. William Keith Kellogg was infamous for his anti-masturbation attitude, and I once read an article that claimed he actually invented his corn flakes “as a healthy, ready-to-eat anti-masturbatory morning meal.” Then again, whoever came up with Froot Loops Marshmallow was clearly not of the same mind as Mr. Kellogg; before my boycott, that stuff would make me feel like my mouth had orgasmed.
After breakfast, I prep for my maybe-date, beginning with unwanted hair removal. Once that’s done, I have some important decisions to make, such as: do I wear the naughty vibrating undies for The Russian or not?
The answer is tied to another critical decision: which Sex and the City character do I want to channel today?
Usually, I identify with Carrie. After all, I also write about sex, albeit self-administered. And we both have money problems—Carrie because she spends too much on shoes, and me because my blog doesn’t make much. However, channeling Carrie might not be the best idea, as she would end up dating The Russian. Channeling Charlotte would also be a nonstarter. She believes that “love conquers all” nonsense and would probably end up married to The Russian in a heartbeat.
The more I think about it, the more I realize I ought to channel my inner Miranda. With her cynical views of men and relationships, I’ll be safer on this not-a-date. Though… who am I kidding? The character I really want to be tonight is Samantha. She’d put on those vibrating panties, dare The Russian to make her come, and then ask to go to his place for seconds.
I feel the panties. Damn it, they’re already dry from last night, so I can’t use that as an excuse not to wear them.
Hmm. Do I even have a choice? He said he’d bring the remote, which implies this isn’t optional.
Then again, he said “feel free.”
Fuck it.
I put on the panties.
