is there such a thing as TMI?

there’s not even a good title for this one. i would call it a TMI post, but this goes WAY BEYOND even a TMI. i will throw a warning up here: PLEASE, for your own safety, PLEASE do not consume hot beverages while reading this posting. also: please make sure you pee before reading as i will not be held responsible for any wayward puddles that may result.

oh lordy.

you’ve been warned. and i’ll warn you a few more times: i’m EMBARRASSED. and for _ME_ to say that…

let’s just say THANK HEAVENS there are no cameras allowed in bathroom stalls.

scared yet?

ok…i told you there would be a few more warnings: here’s one: TMI AHEAD. STOP READING NOW IF YOU ARE FAINT OF HEART.

confession: i like to have sex. i happen to have a boyfriend currently who also enjoys the same activity. last night we happened to enjoy the activity together.

still hanging in there? i know…that wasn’t TOO much of a shocker, but sometimes there’s things you like to pretend you never know…that may have been one of them.

another warning: EVEN MORE TMI AHEAD. again, if that last one set you on edge, you should REALLY stop reading now.

confession: during said sexual activity, sometimes additional *cough* items are introduced. like…say…vibrators. like small bullet vibrators. like small bullet vibrators that are *cough* inserted (more for his pleasure than mine).

just to be clear: small bullet vibrators inserted into _ME_ (not him) for his additional sexual pleasure.

still hanging in there?

oh crap. ok. if you made it through that…

so. last night happened to be one of those nights where fun was had and toys were brought out and enjoyed. yes, on a tuesday. we’re rebels like that. so. if you happen to know anything about the female anatomy, you know that after a good orgasm, certain muscles tighten up. this can, at times, make toy retrieval particularly difficult. especially when the boyfriend grabs the smaller of the two bullets for play time. there’s a reason there are TWO of them, they each have their own purpose. small ones are NOT intended to go inside. and these bullets happen to be wireless. and loopless. so. you know. you have to have a BIT of know-how to recover them. well. last night between the particularly good muscle tightening and the inadvertent use of the smaller toy, things got a little *cough* stuck. so. yeah. no amount of coaxing, muscle work, anything was helping. the only thing to resort to was a bit of yoga breathing, waiting for the muscles to relax, and then trying again.

well, here’s the thing about yoga breathing. it’s really calming. like…i don’t know…make you fall asleep calming.

and here’s the thing about sleep: it tends to make you forget things. like. i don’t know…certain search and rescue missions that were supposed to be on the schedule.

*cough*

so.

um.

i was reminded today. this afternoon actually. *cough* at work. umm…yeah…

turns out if you forget to do a search and rescue, it will eventually rescue itself.

*cough*

so. you know. umm…i’m “in the library” at work, the think tank, the power room, the loo…going about my business and suddenly i’m not so gently reminded of what i was supposed to do last night.

by a splash.

-sigh-

how’s that TMI thing working for you right about now?

so.

you can’t make this shit up.

there may or may not have been a fishing expedition that happened instead of a search and rescue mission.

YOU CAN’T FLUSH A SEX TOY DOWN THE WORK TOILET. i mean REALLY? my luck it would be the final straw on the camel’s back that screws up the whole work plumbing situation and causes every pipe in the building to burst and one little tiny silver bullet to go shooting through the air stabbing some unsuspecting person IN THE EYE and making them wear a patch and be a pirate for the rest of their life and making EVERYONE in the place turn and look at the girl with blue hair and tattoos because OBVIOUSLY she would be the person that would cause something like this and then EVERYONE WOULD KNOW and then i would get the nickname vampire killer (silver bullet, get it?) and would forever be branded at work. and while it _MAY_ initially improve my dating life (well, except for the whole already having a boyfriend that cause dthis whole mess thing) it would eventually just make people start avoiding my desk and looking at me strange and making sure i ALWAYS had hand sanitizer on my desk (if you were curious, washed my hands approx 4 times with DOUBLE soap and used half a bottle of purell).

long story short: i need to start doing more kegel exercises.