Sex In The City

After successfully organizing and throwing The Kiss Our Sass Party during BlogHer this year, I’ve had a steady flow of PR requests to my inbox. I can’t say that I mind. Attracting companies means I’ve finally made a name for myself and my bacon-scented brand amongst the Bloggerati.

Some pitches are good, some pitches are bad, and then there are the kinds of pitches that start off good, but ultimately end with you frantically hailing a cab in New York City after diving face first into the muff of a woman in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

A few weeks ago I received an email from a notable sex toy company regarding the possibility of collaborating on a campaign. If I chose to commit I’d be named their Sexual Ambassador. Since a single woman like me can never have too many orgasms and the idea of being an ambassador for anything intrigued me, I immediately sent them a response asking for specifics.

Over the next few days I emailed back and forth with their social media coordinator while he and I tried to figure out how I could best promote his employer’s brand. Somewhere along the way that brainstorming turned into heavy flirting, probably when I accidentally typed cock instead of rock during one of our email exchanges.

Though I knew better than to get involved with a potential client, it had been some time since I’d gained the attention of a man and it felt damn good to be desired again. No matter how hard I tried to keep things professional, the sex-deprived devil on my shoulder had other plans.

Our emails quickly turned less business and more pleasure, as he detailed ways he would get me off me with the various toys his company made. His confidence turned me on more than anything had in awhile.

Despite knowing little about him as a person and even less about what he looked like, I found myself attracted to him. For the next week he began to reel me in with his foreplay of words, the premise of media exposure, and a guarantee of orgasm. Part of me wondered if it had been his plan all along to seduce me just so I’d agree to promote his brand.

While the seduction part had worked vehemently, leaving me willing to do him, I was hesitant about committing to the campaign, especially before I’d tried the products. I wasn’t about to endorse a vibrator if it wasn’t one I could stand behind. Plus after the whole 3M fiasco I’d decided I wanted to be compensated for the ideas I’d already given him before we went any further.

I voiced my concerns, and in an effort to ease them he suggested we have a meeting over dinner in NYC. He promised he’d give me a check for my work thus far, as well as some of the vibrators to take home, and we’d “take it from there.”

Of course I agreed. I’d been lusting after him and his sex toys for a week. A few days later I found myself on a bus en route to Port Authority, completely excited about the possibility of being the face of a campaign and finally meeting the man who’d won over my vagina.

When I reached the city and stepped off the bus, I started to have second thoughts. The skeptic in me wondered if this was all too good to be true. Was I really about to get laid and get a job in the same night? The wet dreamer in me hoped so, but the businesswoman in me knew better than to trust anyone completely. As I neared the restaurant, I pondered if I was making another huge mistake.

Only time would tell.

When I opened the door to the restaurant my heart began to pound. I had no idea what Mr. Vibrator looked like which put me at a slight disadvantage. I stood in the middle of the crowded Mexican restaurant, aimlessly searching for his question mark face. After three minutes of waiting for him to approach me, I decided to grab a seat at the bar and calm my nerves with a shot of Patron.

As I closed my eyes and downed my tequila, I heard a buzz in my right ear and someone whispering in my left.

“I’m here, but don’t turn around yet, “ he breathed.

I then felt his arm reach around my waist as he put his hand on my thigh and slowly moved it under my skirt. Despite feeling a bit vulnerable, I decided not to protest. Underneath the bar top, the buzzing continued. I then felt a faint vibration between my legs as he slipped something delicately into my panties.

That smug bastard had brought a vibrating bullet along.

Touché.

After a few minutes of teasing the vibrating stopped, then he swung my bar stool around to greet him. This was it. After weeks of flirtation and foreplay I was finally going to see what Mr. Vibrator looked like.

As soon as I did I wished I hadn’t, as I came face to face with one of the most unattractive middle-aged gingers I’d ever laid eyes on.

What the fuck did I just get myself into?

Mr. Vibrator must’ve seen the disgust in my eyes because he immediately turned the bullet back on to distract me, using the remote he had hidden discreetly in his hand.

Man it felt good, but Goddamn he was fugly.

“Let’s go discuss business, shall we?” he said with a smirk, while I clutched the bar top in an effort to refrain from vocalizing my pleasure as he turned up the speed of the bullet.

While I was disgusted by his looks and the fact that I’d just let a leprechaun put his hand in my underwear, I couldn’t help but enjoy his creativity and indulge in the feeling that was building between my legs.

Vaginas are blind.

We got up from the bar and walked toward our table. It was then that I decided I’d ask him for my check once we sat down and then quickly excuse myself to the restroom to make my escape.

I tried to keep my composure as the hostess escorted us to our table, but Mr. Vibrator relentlessly continued to press the remote’s buttons. As we weaved our way through the restaurant to be seated, he turned the bullet on full speed and my knees went weak. I reached out to brace myself on the nearest table to keep from falling, only to miss and find myself face first in the vagina of an elderly woman who was dining with her husband.

The combination of the excitement, the fall, and the now rapid pulsing from the bullet brought on the mother of all orgasms as I finally gave in and cried out in ecstasy between the thighs of a eighty-year-old stranger.

Afterwards I reluctantly stood up, as the elderly woman began to shout for a manager and her husband looked on in amazement. I turned to Mr. Vibrator who looked on smugly, obviously enjoying every bit of my embarrassment.

It was at that moment I decided to flee, but not without the money I’d now definitely earned.

“Check please?” I plead, with one hand on my hip and the other outstretched to Mr. Vibrator.

With that he reached in his pocket, pulled out my payment, and handed it to me with the remote.

“Keep the vibe. You seemed to enjoy it,” he said with a grin.

I rolled my eyes at him and quickly left the restaurant.

I tried the bullet again on my way home to New Jersey. Ironically it stopped working mid bus ride. Seems it was as big of a letdown as the man who used his lucky charms to try and get me to endorse it.

Obviously I decided to turn down the campaign, as well as ignore Mr. Vibrator’s next three emails. I couldn’t justify continuing a relationship with a brand, or a man, that couldn’t guarantee me multiple orgasms.

If you’re a brand or a man that can, contact me.