I could not make this stuff up.

So tonight I went to my first sex toy party.  Pure Romance, if you must know.

It was, what I’m sure sex toy parties are. Lots of big dildos and vibrators and gag reflex-killer gel. Some kinky things for the butt and a pocket pussy or ten. A private room for ordering, even. Fine. I can handle all of that. I can handle putting my big kid face on and not giggling too much like I’m seven in order to fit in with the real adults. I can do that.

What I cannot handle though is this: calling 911 in the middle of a sex toy party because some woman has passed out (she’s OK, don’t worry). Said woman is going about sex toy party business all normal until she makes a bee line to the chair next to Jenny. Fine. She sits down and then she falls on Jenny. I stand up immediately and freaked out and walked away and poor little Jenny just sits there and quietly raises her hand and says, “help.”

Of course all the good people of the party rush over while someone grabs the phone to call 911. Within minutes first responders made their way up the driveway into the house where the party with dildos are. Just my luck.  

So much for that no boys at the party rule. Oh, and I guess that private room for ordering didn’t do much to help keep this all a secret.