Treading on a penis

On Saturday I strolled into the Ann Summers shop in Oxford. Yes, I really did. I remember bumping into a bespectacled woman while browsing the vibrator section.
Don’t worry I am not going to go into a detailed description of the assortment of vibrators on sale. But the difference of ages in the women who were there was interesting. The youngest must have been 18 and the oldest (not me) had to have been the bespectacled woman, all of sixty, if not more. Of course, it is not the first time I have been into Ann Summers and thinking about it on the way home it reminded me of my first innocent Ann Summers party and the disastrous second one.
My first Ann Summers party was many years ago when the whole Ann Summers thing was something you whispered and giggled about. I went along with some trepidation. I had never even seen a vibrator and was quite nervous at the thought of ever even doing so. But, amazingly enough not even a glimmer of a vibrator was in sight. The whole party was about sexy lingerie. I came home feeling quite proud of the fact that I had attended an Ann Summers party and come home unscathed. When any of the women I worked with mentioned Ann Summers in hushed tones, I would say proudly, ‘Oh, I’ve been to an Ann Summers party and quite enjoyed it.’ So, when a few years later I was invited to another one and my friend’s-very innocent- eighteen-year-old daughter asked if she could come too, I said yes. After all, there would only be sexy lingerie there, I thought. Never presume in life, trust me on this one. We entered and the first things to greet us were little wound up penises running around the lounge floor. Somehow, my instinct told me this was not going to be anywhere near as similar as my previous experience. I looked to my friend who was very cleverly pretending not to notice the little penises, while I made concerted efforts not to step on them. The thought of a mangled penis, even made of plastic can make one squirm slightly. Glasses of wine were offered and boy did I need one having just spotted the various assortments of sex toys on the table. My sole aim now was to try and prevent any discomfort for my companion. I quickly realized this party had very little interest in lingerie unless you included pink fluffy handcuffs in that category. After being advised by my straight-laced friend that perhaps I should not be drinking considering I was driving us both home later, I shelved the wine. I waited with bated breath for what was to come next when the hostess asked us for quiet. After a brief introduction, she went on to tell us that we would now play ‘pass the parcel’ in an attempt to get to know each other and some of the Ann Summers goods. My heart sank. I smiled at my friend who shifted in her seat.
‘Ready girls?’
I wanted to scream no, and frantically tried to think of excuses to leave quickly. I could suddenly develop severe diarrhoea but the music started to blare and so began the passing of the parcel. Oh, horror of horrors. The first unwrapping produced the largest vibrator I had ever seen in fact I am sure my eyes watered at the sight. In case we needed a closer look it was passed around as the game continued. The music stopped and the parcel landed in my companions lap. I held my breath. In an instant she had thrown it into mine. Everyone began clapping for me to open it. Ah, at last some nice lingerie, a lovely black frilly bra. I read the forfeit. Oh, great. I had to stand up, clutch my breasts (such as they were) and sing ‘I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts’.
Strangely enough I was more embarrassed about singing out of tune than anything else. My friend looked relieved. Finally the game over, we had more fun with the walking penises and more vibrators were passed around until I became punch drunk on vibrators. Of course by this time a fair bit of wine had been consumed and some of the women began sharing their sex secrets. I discreetly moved the eighteen year old to a safer area. Others were crying into their wine and vibrators about how their husband’s didn’t care about their needs, while I tried to work out how to buy something without my friend knowing what it was. Then we had the fashion show where the lingerie came into its own. We were all encouraged to try on something and share. Sharing is bonding it seems. I sensed my friend was not keen to bond. I squeezed myself into a maid’s outfit much to her look of disgust. I was beginning to enjoy myself now even without the wine. But from her face I could see it was time to go. I raced through the book with her eyes on me and finally after handing in my order, I made some excuse and we left. We were silent in the car until we reached her house and as she climbed out I hesitantly asked.
‘Did you enjoy yourself?’
‘I just think it best if mum does not know.’ was her reply.
Driving home I remember thinking prim little madam! Finally I got home and my husband said,
‘Had a good time?’
‘Yes I trod on a penis, it was great fun.’
Now, thank goodness I don’t have to attend Ann Summers parties I can just stroll into the shop in Oxford and not have to worry about playing pass the parcel or being given disapproving looks. Wonderful