A few friends gathered at my house the other day and the topic of underwear came up.

“Everyone’s got a good underwear story!” my one friend said. But she’s been known to write fan fiction about BDSM elves, so I’m not sure if she falls into that category of “everyone.”

As I thought about it, though, I realized I did have a few. And a few that are fun to re-tell although they’re not mine. So sit right back and you’ll hear a tale (or three)…

“She forgot to add the fabric softener…”

A friend of mine is an elementary school teacher. At the chalk board one day, she noticed something amiss. You might say she had something up her sleeve. She casually maneuvered her hand to pull a black lace thong out the sleeve of her sweater. Blushing, she tucked the thong into her pocket and continued with the lesson.

“He left these at my house…”

Doing laundry one day I came across a pair of boxer briefs that were decidedly not my husband’s. Now, a friend had visited a few months prior, but I’m still not sure how his underwear didn’t make it to the laundry sooner. So I got to make that fun phone call.

“Um, I think you left underwear at my house…”
“Are you sure?” Let’s just say that yes, I do know what his underwear looks like (when he chooses to wear it.) So I was pretty sure.
“Boxer briefs? Dark gray?”
“Yup.”

It just so happened I’d be seeing my friend’s fiancé at another friend’s bridal shower the next week, so, of course, I brought the underwear. I couldn’t resist handing them to her in front of the bride-to-be’s 76-year-old, never-married aunt. “Your husband left these at my house,” I said, resisting a smirk.

She didn’t bat an eye, took them, and thanked me. It’s fun to make people wonder.

“That’s why I’m the cool aunt…”

Last week, my washing machine broke so I went to my sister’s house to do a load of laundry. Just the necessities: socks, underwear, jeans, and lots and lots of baby clothes. When the dryer finished, I brought the basket of clean clothes into the living room where my sister helped me fold them.

My one-year-old daughter decided she wanted to help and began pulling clothes out of the basket and handing them to her cousin, my 14-year-old nephew. First a shirt. A onesie. And then a pink leopard print thong.

He played it cool, getting ready to toss the thong back into the basket without a word when his father pointed it out. “A leopard thong?”

“Is that the baby’s?” my sister asked, not quite sure what was going on.

Um. No.

Why not share your own underwear stories? Everybody’s got one, right?

I once had a co-worker who saw penises in strange places. For instance, there’s a rather phallic-looking tree on a major roadway leading to an annual industry event. Of course, my co-worker was the first to notice it. I won’t comment on the level of sexual frustration that leads a middle-aged woman to spot penises in the most unusual places.

She was also the first one in my circle of contacts to circulate this photo, of a snow penis.  In fact, I was surprised she hadn’t seen the real thing (so to speak) in her travels and snapped the photo herself.

She did come back from a road trip one weekend with pictures of rather well-endowed horses she spotted on the side of the road. And now, dear readers, you’re starting to get an idea of why Desiree Sweet chooses to work from home. But speaking of horses and penises… (that’s a segue I bet you never thought you’d read)…

The Horse and the Flying Sex Toy
A police horse in Wichita, Kansas, wasn’t quite as amused as my co-worker may have been when it got hit by a giant inflatable penis. “Who would throw an inflatable penis at a police horse?” you might wonder. A very drunk 24-year-old man at a bachelorette party.

Yes, you read that right. According to this report, the Eastborough man, a brother to one of the women in attendance, was playing with a five-foot inflatable penis when he accidentally (we presume) launched the giant phallus toward the police horse, who, predictably, got spooked.

The man was arrested for battery of a law enforcement officer – that would be, for hitting the horse with the sex prop.

Sad as it may be, that story is not so strange as the one in the U.K. Sun about a Berkshire, England, man who received a call that someone had painted a giant penis on his roof.

Rooftop Fertility Symbols
54-year-old Andy McInnes thought it was a practical joke when the UK Sun informed him that a helicopter pilot spotted the 60-foot Johnson on the roof of his $1.5 million home.

Turns out, his 18-year-old son, Rory, painted the penis on the roof in hopes of making the house stand out in the aerial images published on Google Earth. But in England, the Cerne Abbas Giant is also regarded as a fertility symbol. Rory’s mother, 49-year-old Clare McInnes, called the idea of sleeping under a giant fertility symbol “rather worrying.” With a son like Rory, I can’t say I blame them for that.

Meanwhile, his father noted that Rory will have some scrubbing to do when he returns home from his trip to Brazil.

So, dear Vibrator.com readers, I leave you with this question: Would rubbing off a 60-foot penis be considered the world’s largest hand job?

I didn’t plan to buy a vibrator last weekend.

In fact, our tour de adult shops focused on one very specific goal—finding thigh high leather boots for my best friend’s honeymoon.

Our quest took us to a three-story shop with an adult store on the lower level, and all manner of Wiccan, goth and “drug culture” memorabilia on the main retail floor. Looking for tarot cards, incense and a spiked collar? You’d find it here, along with an entire wall of leather boots.

In our mid-to-late 30s, my best friend and I were the oldest people in this store. And the only ones not clothed in black, with hair dyed in fluorescent colors. Imagine an X-rated video section tucked in the corner of Hot Topic, and you’ve got a pretty good description of this place. The phrase “Head shop with an identity crisis” also comes to mind.

When I spotted a Doc Johnson wireless remote control vibe for a little over $50, I couldn’t turn it down. But let me be clear: we were not in your usual adult video store, nor did the clientele represent the typical adult store demographic.

Every adult store has the resident overcoated perv in the corner ogling female customers, the quiet couple browsing the how-to videos, the twenty-something loner seeking something to keep him busy Saturday night, and the gaggle of bachelorette party babes giggling over the penis drink stirrers.

My first clue that something was amiss came right after I paid. The 19-year-old (at least, he looked 19) behind the counter put the toy in a paper bag, handed it to me and sent me on my way.

As anyone who’s purchased adult toys knows, they are non-refundable (quite understandably) and the clerk usually puts batteries in to make sure it works before you leave the store. I’m not thrilled with the idea of the fat, hairy middle-aged guy usually behind the counter in an adult store handling such an intimate item, but it’s better than being out $50 if the vibrator is defective. (Incidentally, Vibrator.com has a special, and very fair, return policy. You may write in to request a refund or exchange if your merchandise does not work… but back to our story! )

“Aren’t you going to make sure it works?” I asked the clerk.

His eyes gazed blankly at me. “Oh,” he said, slowly. Everything he did was slow. I’m not passing judgment or making assumptions, but I can’t help but think he frequently tested the “tobacco products” for sale in the store. “I suppose we should,” he said.

This isn’t your normal vibrator with a few AA batteries. Six watch batteries power the egg while a CR2, commonly used in digital cameras, powers the controller.

I tried to hide an expression that was half-smirk, half-grimace as I watched him putting six batteries smaller than my thumb into the small, egg-shaped contraption. I offered to help. Clearly uncomfortable handling the sex toy, he heaved a sigh and handed it to me.

I installed the batteries and pushed the button. Nothing.

A line has formed behind us, two twenty-something men with a question about a tobacco pipe and some kids buying rolling paper (for tobacco, of course.) Everything in the store is to be used only for tobacco, it is noted on signs taped to the wall.

I suspected one of the batteries might be facing the wrong way. I opened the egg and promptly dropped the batteries (all six) on the floor. I bent down to pick them up, knocking into the man behind me. My best friend giggled; I joined her.

Apparently, the spectacle of two women buying a vibrator became far more interesting than tobacco pipes, and everyone in the store gathered around to see if we could get the toy working.

After taking out and putting in the batteries three times—and checking the single battery in the remote, as well–we suggested to the clerk that the vibrator may be broken. Stumped, he called the manager.

The manager brought us a new vibrator, opened the package, started the process again.

“Does each remote work only on the egg it’s sold with?” I asked, my imagination running wild at the possibilities if one remote can control more than one vibrator.

“Of course,” the manager replied, giving me an odd look. “They’re all coded differently.” Adult novelty items are a recent addition to the shop, and I can tell he’s second-guessing the decision to carry them.

“That would be like a comedy skit if one remote controlled more than one vibrator!” my friend said, painting a verbal picture of women in a restaurant jumping and orgasming at sporadic intervals.

“It could make for an interesting evening!” I said, laughing.

A moment later, the egg I had in my hand—from the first, broken vibrator—began buzzing, as did the one in the manager’s hand. Letting out a girlish squeal, I dropped the toy and it fell just the right way to roll beneath the counter.

“I guess the remotes do work on more than one!” my friend observed.

Twenty minutes later, we managed to leave the store with a working vibrator and a modicum of dignity. Until we ran into the guys so amused by our antics. “Have fun with that!” they said as we walked out the door together.

Yes, from now on, I am definitely doing all my shopping for sex toys online.

Our resident blogger Desiree Sweet recently posted an article entitled “Secret Identities”. However applicable to all, let’s take this opportunity to divulge into the world known exclusively by the LGBT community, men who cross-dress, and their friends: Drag Queens.

There are, of course, many famous drag queens of past and present. From those who paved the way like Dame Edna Everage, Margo Howard-Howard, and Divine to Ru Paul and gender bending myspace sensation Jeffree Starr; the evolution of drag has been a progressive one. Still, without such stylish, well crafted stage-names, dressing in women’s clothing could not have come so far!

While it’s not as scientific an approach as choosing your porn star name, there are still some rules that can be followed. As with most beginnings, the starting point should include sufficient amounts of beer, wine, or spirits. A refresher viewing of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert or To Wong Fu might help. Some may recommend the Queen of the Night music video, but don’t be fooled by Whitney Houston in a bad wig.

Drag Names consist of 3 main types, according to my friend Wikipedia. The first are satirical plays on words like Peaches Christ or Candis Cayne. My favorite that I’m sure I didn’t write but like to pretend I did is “Anita Labotomy.” The second type relates to glamour, extravagance, and even royalty. Dame Edna Everage, and The Lady Chablis come to mind. My friend Eliot came up with “Petifore Seasons” the other night. The third type generally has cultural or historical significance or an in-depth and usually familiar backstory. Ricky Reeves and Divine fall into this scheme. My friend Brian coined the offensive and clever “Krystal Nacht” as his drag persona.

But don’t let Wikipedia hinder your creativity. There really are no rules! Try experimenting by drinking more alcohol, as I did for this article. “Miss” is always a good place to start, but don’t get stuck in it. “Miss Appropriation”, “Miss Behavin’”, and “Miss Take” are old Queens, honey, and they’re not getting any younger! Capitalize on celebrities and try “Britney Rears”. Mess it up and try “Sarah Jessica Raphael”. Create an involved backstory about how you’re carrying the baby of the bell boy you met for that one night at the Sheraton, and voila, girl - “Uniqua Hotelbelboy”!

What’s your Drag Queen Name?

Everyone’s favorite online personals site, New York based Nerve wrote a piece on their blog lately entitled Everyone Pays for Sex. Kate Carraway (I searched for her profile on Nerve and I couldn’t find it) followed the spending habits of 9 people for four weeks where their dollars related to sexual pursuit and, ultimately, gratification. One could argue that every dollar spent will eventually lead to getting laid, because, really, isn’t that why we’re here? But Carraway asks us to put on the blinders for this 5 page article and become the sort of voyeuristic web user who frequent Nerve personals. We’re posed with the following questions:

Is being single really more expensive than being in a relationship? Are people who make $20,000 spending as much as those who make over a hundred grand?

As far as I understood from this article, only two participants were in actual relationships. One of the subjects was actually a couple who pooled incomes (skewed data?), while the other was a mom of two who has been married for the last decade. Will mom spend less on finding sex than a 29 year old straight single TV editor? Well, gee, I don’t know! I’m no scientist (despite what I may have claimed in previous posts), but shouldn’t we be presented with a formal hypothesis, have a control group, and then be handed a conclusion wrapped in a neat little bow?

Read the article, if you’re really really bored. If you’ve got shit to do then you’re likely to be as pissed off as I was by this anti-climactic waste of everybody’s time.

(Sorry Kate Carraway. You’ve certainly got journalistic integrity for allowing this to be published without manipulating the heck out of this data!)

Generally, bloggers here will advise on the proper way to handle one’s self for all things sexual.  While instructions on cunnilingus, fellatio, the best vibrator, and how to fulfill your partner’s sick and intimate fantasies should certainly be what readers are looking for, there is apparently just as big of a need for detailing the WRONG way of doing things as well.  Most of us are still figuring out our own bodies and are continually discovering new sensations.  We spend much less time with someone else’s body than with our own, leaving our partners one step ahead of the self-pleasure game.  Add to that the difference in genders of heterosexual relationships and a lot of unanswered questions, and you have a recipie for confusion.  Trial and error.

This is a funny clip from the Swedish film Hip Hip Hora.  Enjoy!

“Let’s have fun with sex and stop being afraid of some freaking digital penises.”

This may be – no, it definitely is – the funniest line I’ve read all week. I won’t even try to match Neoseeker blogger Sean Ridgeley’s wit.  But I shouldn’t keep you wondering what he was talking about either, should I? I’m such a tease.

Electronic Arts, Inc. recently released the hottest new computer game phenomenon from Sims creator Will Wright. The long-awaited “Spore” permits players to create an entire universe beginning with tiny micro-organisms and evolve the world into literally billions of different life forms.  Social networking features permit your universe’s inhabitants to interact with other people’s creations.

And, surprise, surprise, what did some people immediately start to do? Use the program’s Creature Creator feature to build bizarre life forms with sexual organs as unexpected appendages.  Players then post these creatures and their interactions on YouTube for the amusement of others. A new genre, “Spornography,” has been born.

EA has announced that it will ban users who create sexually-explicit material. Some extremists have gone so far as to liken the strange animated characters to “child pornography,” because it’s accessible to anyone on the Internet and is created using an E-rated game. Will Wright, however, has told several news sources that he’s impressed by some of the creations.

To satisfy your sexual curiosity now that I’ve intrigued you with the notion of breast monsters and dancing dicks, here’s a link to The Exploding Barrel’s list of Top 10 Spornography videos.

While some Sporn spawn seems to lack any purpose other than to showcase the sophomoric imaginations of their creators, others look like they could be fairly functional with a couple of C batteries. Just imagine: the sex toy industry could take rabbits to a whole new level with the introduction of the Doc Johnson Spornography line.

Since its inception, eBay has developed some pretty stringent rules as to what items they will permit to be placed up for auction. They’ve taken some heat for banning the sale of firearms, and they don’t permit users to sell used underwear, either. But sometimes interesting sales slip through the cracks.

Recently, a scorned Australian woman sold an empty condom packet (size small, of course) and a photo of lacy underwear (size humongous) after finding them in her cheating husband’s bed. Ebay pulled the original auction, which included “the tart’s” actual black lace “knickers.”

By some accounts, bidding for the panties and condom wrapper had reached six figures. The photograph wound up selling for $303, proving that a picture may be worth a thousand words, but it’s definitely not as valuable as old underwear.

But that doesn’t beat Natalie Dylan, who is auctioning off her virginity to pay for her Master’s Degree. Her offer didn’t make it past eBay’s Terms of Service personnel, although I distinctly recall hearing of similar auctions on eBay in the past.

Dylan’s idea is not unprecedented. In 2004, lesbian Rosie Reid sold her virginity through her own Web site after eBay nixed her auction. Reid received more than $20,000, which she put toward her college education.

With the rising costs of tuition, let’s hope Dylan fares somewhat better than earning enough for just one-year at a private school. She should; she has the publicity behind her. Famed shock jock Howard Stern and Dennis Hof of the world-famous BunnyRanch brothel in Las Vegas have gotten behind the 22-year-old virgin (no, not like that!) to promote her endeavor.

Stern announced the auction on his radio show on Tuesday, September 9, and bidding is taking place through Hof’s site, BunnyRanch.com. Dylan (not her real name) says she won’t just sleep with the highest bidder, but will take bids until she finds someone she’s happy with. The deal will be sealed at the BunnyRanch, where Dylan’s sister already works.

Scam? Or capitalism at its best (and worst)? Stay tuned, as we’ll be following this story to its erotic end.

As for me? I’m off to check out college savings plans for any future daughters I may have!