Tag Archives: cock rings

Donkey Vaginas

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So, I’m on the phone with my girlfriend, Penny, today, and there’s all this noise in the background.

Not where I go to pick up dinner, but to each her own.

Me: “Where the hell are you, an air show?”

Penny: “No, I’m at Public’s.”

Me: “You’re at Pubics? What is that? A sex shop? Nice!”

Penny: “No, Cathy. It’s PUB-LICKS. You know? ‘Where shopping is a pleasure?’ Don’t you have Public’s?”

Me: “‘Where shopping is a pleasure’ sure sounds like a sex shop to me. And who wants  to shop at a store named after your groin? What the hell are you shopping for, woman?”

Penny: “Oh, good Lord in Heaven. It’s P-U-B-L-I-X. Publix. And it’s a grocery store, and its slogan is, ‘Where shopping is a pleasure.’ I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it.”

Me: “Nope. Never heard of it. And all the stores here are public. And I’m sorry, but if you have your minions with you, shopping is not a damn pleasure, it’s a big ole pain in the ass.”

Penny: “Fine. I’m at the Piggly Wiggly. Is that better?”

Me: “Oh, now you’re just fucking with me.”

This is how our phone conversations go sometimes, because Penny’s lived in Florida for a really long time, and apparently, it’s a big deal there to have public supermarkets. As opposed to private ones, I guess. Whatever. Anyway, so we’re on the phone while she’s in this store that could lose one light in its sign and have “PUB IX” which isn’t really a word but would still make me laugh out loud. Who names a grocery store after a vagina? Because that’s what pubis means, sort of, and I’m pretty sure publix is the plural of pubis. And if it wasn’t before, it sure as hell is now.

So, anyway, miracle of miracles, Penny has no minions with her, and mine are still at Spring Break camp for the day, so even though she’s shopping (And taking some pleasure in it because that’s the rule at the vagina store – they should hand out bullet vibrators when you walk in if they want to keep up the sex theme and really have shopping be a pleasure) we just do our usual chit chat and I ask her increasingly inane questions about this mystery store because it’s bugging her, and I’m a bitch like that.

Penny: “So, this Final Four thing is really cutting into my time with MY Northman.”

Me: “Woman, please. He’s not your Northman. There is only one Northman, and he is my Northman.”

Penny: “Yeah, I was just trying something out there.”

Me: “And how’s that working out for you?”

Penny: “Enough.”

Me: “Ok, fine. What else shall we talk about while you’re at Pube-Licks? Do they kick you out if you don’t have an orgasm when you see their sale prices?”

Penny: “Something’s wrong with you.”

Me: “So? Did you read Northman’s bedtime story with your non-Northman? I won’t use his name in the blog. He won’t like that. Why don’t we call him Billy?”

Penny: “Billy? Like a goat?”

Me: “No, Billy, like, ‘Hey, my name is William but people call me Billy.’”

Penny: “Thanks for clarifying. And no, we didn’t read it together because he’s been overly involved in that stupid basketball tournament and by the time he comes to bed, I’m asleep.”

Me: “Bummer.”

Penny: “And I really liked that story! I thought he would, you know…”

I guess shopping really is a pleasure!

Me: “I wonder if you can buy passion fruit at Pubis. Do you get extra bonus points on your frequent shopper card if you do? Ooh! Do they sell those Durex cock rings like they have at Target?”

Penny: “You’re not listening. I loved Northman’s story. That was hot.”

Me: “This isn’t news. Finding out if your one-stop sex-and-passion-fruit store has cock rings, THAT would be news.”

Penny: “I liked the whole thing except for the um, the fisting part. I’m not so sure I want someone’s fist up my hoo-hah. I’ve already given birth, thankyouverymuch, and it wasn’t sexy.”

Me: “I have news for you, Penny. A fist is smaller than a baby.”

Penny: “Yeah, but … ow.”

Me: “Well you don’t do it if it hurts. Obviously. Maybe there’s some kind of sex manual in the book section there. You need help. Look next to the kum-quats.”

I can't think of donkeys without thinking of Donkey from Shrek. "And in the morning, I'm making WAFFLES!!" I should have asked Penny if they sell waffles at her sexy food store.

Penny: “How could it not hurt? Having someone’s fist up your hoo-hah?”

Me: “Ok, once I can ignore, but twice, no. It’s not a ‘hoo-hah.’ That’s like, a donkey’s vagina or something. Call it what it is, woman. Vagina. Say it. VA-GI-NAHHHH.”

Penny: “I will not say that in the market! And that’s not the point! How could it not hurt?”

Me: “Well, fine, if you want to get technical about it, it happens to you at least once a year. You go to your OB/GYN, and while that’s not sexy, she does tuck in her thumb and reach on up there to check you out. And that doesn’t hurt. I mean, it’s not pleasant, but that has more to do with the latex gloves and the nurse watching than with her hand being—”

Penny (cutting me off!): “What? She does?”

Me: “Don’t you pay attention to what’s happening during your own exam, Penny?”

Penny: “No, not really. I don’t want to know. But anyway, I’m pretty sure mine doesn’t do that.” Then she got all cocky, “Yeah! Yeah! Your OB does not have to put her whole hand in your you-know-what! What kind of OB do you go to, anyway?!”

Me: “Ok, you know, I think this has to do with the fact that you have a really short cervical length, and my cervix is about three feet north of my vagina. So my OB has to get her hand in there up to her damn elbow to reach my cervix, but yours can probably just use a fucking q-tip.”

Penny: “Oh, you know, that’s right. I do have a short cervical length. Huh. So your cervix is that far from your vagina? Or labia, or whatever?”

Me: “I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

Penny (louder): “I said, is your cervix really that far up? You know? From your vagina? From your outsides?”

Me: “I don’t know about you, but I guarantee someone around you thinks that right now, shopping is a fucking serious pleasure.”

Penny: “Ohmigosh!!! I just said that out loud in the market!”

Me: “Don’t worry, it’s half a sex store, right? They’ll probably give you a discount for that.”

Elf Porn: A Tiny Obsession

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Yesterday was pretty interesting. Here I was, just going about my sexy mom business, tweeting and posting and Facebooking for you crazy people in between doing some work I actually get paid for, when all of a sudden, our very own Mr. Northman texts me that he’s made me a new video. A six-part series, to be exact, this custom-made-for-Cathy epic was porntastic, featured every bit of ink on Northman’s rockin’ body, and was complete with a soundtrack including some vintage 70s metal. I could not download this thing fast enough. I started watching the first segment before the other five were even done uploading on his end. Oh, bless you, Mr. Coffee, for giving us the gift of rapid file-sharing software.

Oh yeah, I'm going straight to hell. But so is Northman, so I don't fucking care.

Northman rang me up on Skype so he could enjoy seeing my response to this, his latest foray into sexematography, in which he repeatedly changes camera angles to suit each phase of the scenario, gives some out-fucking-standing product demos I hope he’s getting royalties for, shares his thoughts on threesomes and some positions I’m going to have to start doing yoga to ever attempt, and finishes off with a grand slam of a finale I simply cannot wait to see recreated in person. After about 5 minutes, I was so damn grateful for: A) choosing to work from home for the day and B) having wifi and a laptop so I could move to the bedroom without any disruption.

I tried so hard to watch this whole thing, y’all. But seriously, I was so distracted watching Northman on Skype and seeing how much he liked seeing my (obvious, excessive, feral) reaction to his videos and watching my reciprocal performance as the videos were playing that when I watched it all again alone last night, I realized I’d missed quite a lot of it. What a flippin’ bonus. Holy fucking mackeroley. Y’all, if Our Dear Sweet Heavenly Mr. Coffee is in any way opposed to any of this, I’m sorry, but I am going to hell in gasoline panties. And it’ll be worth it.

When I recovered my ability to speak and had taken a really, really long shower, I got back to work for the day and was on such an endorphin high that I buzzed through the rest of my afternoon like some kind of Tasmanian Devil if those guys could, you know, type and make phone calls. Once the minions were settled in for the night, I checked in on the COASM Facebook page (which Northman says as “Co-as-um,” so it rhymes with “orgasm,” and now that’s stuck in my head because it’s awesome), and y’all were in rare form talking about the list of search terms I’d posted on the blog yesterday. These were the terms people had used to get to the blog via search engines over the past three months, and one of them, “Elf Porn,” was the clear frontrunner for funniest fucking thing I’ve heard in a damn long time.

This lead to a crazy conversation on a couple of posts’ threads (which you can see on the “co-asm” FB page) about cock rings, yo-yos, and elf porn. It also spawned requests for both a post from Northman himself and for COASM merchandising. Because I don’t have enough to do without designing dirty tee shirts and douche-canoe- and elf-porn-themed coffee mugs, right?

I'll post to Facebook and Twitter when the store's open, so be sure you're following the feeds! Links are in the right-hand menu here!

Well, web dwellers, ask and you shall receive. The Confessions of A Sexy Mom Zazzle.com store, aptly titled “The Pink Moustachery,” will be up and running and fully stocked by Monday. If any of you have design, text, or product ideas, bring ‘em on. If anyone wants to help? Yeah, bring that shit on, too.

But the big news is that, while at least one person will be disappointed that he’s not going to write any elf porn, our very own Mr. Northman will be writing a blog entry for y’all. What will he write about? Any fucking thing he wants. You know why? Because he’s effin’ Northman! According to you crazy people, he’s like MacGuyver or Jack Bauer or fucking Chuck Norris. He’s effin’ Northman, and he can do whatever he wants! And, Sweet Jesus In Birks, last night, after that crazyass day, he showed me that what he really wants to do…is me.

 

 

 

 

 

Did I Miss Something Here?

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So, I’m at the drug store picking up some allergy medicine for Kid #1, and I walked down the wrong aisle. What to my wondering eyes did appear but this: A vibrating cock ring. At the drug store. On the shelf. Next to the condoms, yes, but still, at the fucking drug store? Did I miss something here? When did that happen?

Now, granted, prior to my divorce, I was in a completely monogamous relationship before and during my marriage. So it’s been well over a decade since I needed to buy condoms, which means I’ve had no business in that part of any store. But cock rings? When did they make the leap from XXX-Sex-O-Rama-Mart to Walmart? I did a little research for you, web dwellers. You can buy these things at any number of drug stores like CVS, Walgreens, and Rite Aide, and even at the bigger stores like Walmart and Target. I’m assuming you can buy them elsewhere, but I just can’t bring myself to look and see whether they’re available in the same stores where I buy my kids’ juice boxes.

So here’s my question, or one of them anyway: Why just cock rings? Why not dildos? Why not butt plugs? Why not vibrators? Why not have a whole gigantic sex-a-palooza section right next to the soft drinks? Oh, what’s that? You CAN buy little mini vibrators at Target? Well, fuck me. And not in the good way. That is just fucking wrong.

A vibrating cock ring is a sex toy. And sex toys belong at the sex toy store, not three feet away from displays of pregnancy tests and maxi pads. First, I’d think having to look at pregnancy tests while you’re shopping for cock rings would kind of kill the mood. Second, DID I FUCKING MISS SOMETHING HERE??

Sex is a beautiful thing, yes. But it’s beautiful the way childbirth is beautiful. Amazing to experience, and yet not really something you want to watch (or imagine) 99% of the population engage in. I feel bad for the 17-year-old Catholic school-attending checker at the drug store, having to ring up some skeevy dude’s cock ring purchase without vomiting. The gal running checkout at the local Sex-O-Rama, however, is used to this. The last time I went to one of those places, the checker put batteries in my friend’s new purchase to test it before we left. What kind of weird-ass job is that? Testing other people’s sex toys? Jiminy Cricket, people. If you’re up for testing other people’s whateverthefuckthatwas, then I guess you’re cool with selling cock rings.

As I start venturing back out into this dating world filled with drugstore cock rings, I’m starting to wonder: how could so much have changed in 15 years? I feel like Rip Van Winkle, waking up to find that the world as I knew it has been taken over by some kind of oversexed alien population. On the one hand: Rock on! This is going to be fucking fun! On the other hand, it’s a freaking drug store, people. That’s a teeny step up from a convenient store, friends. And there is such a thing as too convenient.