(Potor: This may be considered Too Much Info for you... proceed with caution! a.)
Anyways, about 3 years ago my mother found my vibrator. And I should probably state, on the record, that while I am a nymph, I'm not a fiend. I have a vibrator. It was mailed to me by a couple of friends of mine. I was living in a remote community on the northern end of Vancouver Island at the time. I was scared of it for about 3 days. I swear it's true. It just sat there. It's purple. It's anatomically correct... for a man with very large ... appendages. It's called the Gladiator.
And I swear I'm not making that up.
So I'm a big masturbator (master-debator?? Cunning Linguist??), but I have to confess this: I never use the thing. My hands yes (I'd be lost without my index finger, right hand), the purple monster, not so much. But I digress...
Anyways, I was in the stages of moving out, and you know that when you move out you always have a box of junk - stuff that you know you're keeping, just not sure what to do with it in the interm. So I stuck my box of junk in the corner of my old bedroom at mom and dad's house. The box of junk housed Gladi.
Mom tidied up one day.
Including the junk box.
Things were folded neatly on top. The Purple Mamba was tucked underneath.
I think the thing that saved this whole possible catastrophe was that it was dusty. I would like to think that it is common practice to not stick dusty things into one's vagina. Atleast I would hope. I think mom hoped it was a joke. I wondered how in the world I would acknowlege what it was that she now knew.
Moms shouldn't know daughters own sex toys. That goes both ways. Daughters should be left in the dark too.
Anyways, we snickered and laughed because we're big snicker-ers and laughers in our household. We survived. We lived to tell about it. Well, I tell about it. Mom, not so much.
anyways, that's the story about my mom finding my vibrator.
Find peace within yourself by accepting not only what you are, but what you are never going to be.