Singled Out: Strap-ons and Motherly Advice

I should have known that, back in my "when I grow up I wanna be a ..."  years, my stubbornness in deliberately electing to dedicatedly  be a straight-F student in biology class would later on come to grandiosely bite me in the ass. What can I say? Payback is obviously a bitch! But what else, other than tenaciously objecting to paying attention, could I have honestly done when, with loving passion, I absolutely detested that particular academic curriculum?

At least, in retrospect, I can now pride myself in owning the fact that, early on, I was very much aware I had quite extraordinarily no spectacular gifts for all things scientific. And kudos to me for sparing my teacher the impossible mission to convert me. All in all, she should really thank me for having, in good team-spirited faith, resigned myself to not bother retaining a damned thing.

Biology and all its other dysfunctional siblings - namely, chemistry, physics, geology, to name a few -- would not just bore me to death but royally annoy the shit out of me. It was just a whole lot of gibberish that created total ruckus in my otherwise very creatively twisted and analytically nonsensical brain.  It was as excruciatingly painful as trying to watch a movie in Chinese with no subtitles - and still is.

Yet rather than continuously edifying a permanent clueless "huh?" adornment to my own marquee, I reasonably opted to go numbly dumb which of course translated in sublimely succeeding at constantly failing any and all human science classes.

Strangely enough, not even the whole sensational semester dedicated to the attention-grabbing "sex education" topic sufficed to make me focus for a minute. And I will have you know that the French academic system is nothing short of prude or shy - the entire spectrum of the sexual repertoire is thoroughly covered with teaching methods ranging from theory to hands-on pragmatic educational demonstrations, of course, supported with an amalgam of "made in USA" plastic toys. Hmm, someone remind me again why wasn't I interested? Don't get me wrong, I am not at all an A-sexual energumen, I'm just an overachieving autodidact

Evidently, now, some 20-something years later, I am reaping the seeds I foolishly planted and, yes, am bitterly regretting my executive decision, or rather damaging faux pas.  At the risk of being blatantly crude, I will publicly confess that after some whatever months, I finally broke my bedroom activity dry spell curse - sorry mom for exposing in the most uncensored way the explicit details of your daughter's exciting sex life; but truly this was the best euphemism I could come up with to deliver the breaking news. And believe you me...this grandiosely falls under the category of newsworthy material.  I have literally broken all world-records with what I have elegantly dubbed "the curious case of a slight technical difficulty" fiasco and should be honorably indicted in the idiot's Hall of Fame.  

But before I go further, let me be politically correct and stamp my own column with the generic safety information seal:
WARNING: the following written content may not be suitable for children under the puberty threshold - lesbians over 35 who do not fully practice the art of reading manuals and/or using their "common sense" brain cells are at higherrisk.

Evidently there can be few bedrooms in Los Angeles whose walls could tell more hysterically comical incidents -- and one particular very embarrassing story -- than mine.
And because I have a highly developed sense of discretion and privacy, I will not share my own personal anecdote but will rather recount what, hypothetically, happened to one of my best friends - it's understood that all the theatrics of it are idem.

In an off-the-cuff manner, for the sake of living dangerously and adventurously spicing things up, said best friend, Sara, recently decided to become the proud owner of a leather harness (with O-Ring). Ambitiously thinking the assemblage and usage of the apparatus was simplistic enough to pretty much be self-explanatory, she confidently skipped the "step-by-step instructions" reading ritual.

Shortly after this non-refundable, borderline exorbitant, very whimsical toy purchase, Sara was blessed with the golden opportunity to collect the profits of her fancy investment. Yep, with little advertising efforts, she serendipitously secured herself a play-date with an enthusiastically interested party of one.

Before I forget, let me preface this by letting you know that the purchase of the toy was primarily based on two crucial factors: making sure the straps would not make her butt look fat, and ensuring that the color selection matched her skin tone and was in perfect alignment with her fashion style and personality. Needless to say that the under-rated elements of comfort and practicality had absolutely no influence in her decision making process.

Fast-forward to the bedroom scene. Here's the super abridged version of the scenario:  when the highly anticipated, opportune moment presented itself, Sara naturally proceeded to pull out her accoutrement.
Yet, in an overly impatient rush, my dear friend maladroitly strapped the gadget on herself the wrong way. Well, to be more specific, she attached the dildo upside down - mind you she was consciously aware of the wardrobe mal-assembly but figured it was just a minor matter of modality that ultimately would have no major repercussion on the overall performance.

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(continued)

Clearly she had no idea she was actually setting the wheels in motion to memorably self-sabotage her own mission. Not only did the harness not securely fit around her skinny waist, but the two - shall we call them "nuts" - awkwardly, and very mistakenly, facing upward were disturbingly frapping into her lower stomach area. It was quite a tragedy! Admittedly, Sara endured the insufferable torturous pain of a hernia accompanied with extreme suffocation. Let's just say, she ran out of breath for the wrong reason.
 

Ironically, her playmate misinterpreted Sara's agony for euphoric pleasure and saw fit to interminably prolong the session to ensure optimum apocalyptic results. Meanwhile, my buddy, now nearly passed out, had one poetic thought in mind: "bitch, finish already!"

To make matters even more disturbing for Sara, when Major Tom finally landed on the moon, she did so in quite an unexpected fire cracking, splashing way. A stellar touchdown that left my friend a tiny bit mortified and a whole lot confused.
Let's just say that had Sara TiVoed Season 1 episode 4 of the L Word - the one in which Dana fled her own apartment after mistakenly thinking "soup chef" Lara wet the bed - she wouldn't have had to add psychological trauma to her list of casualties of war.

Sara evidently got over the misfortunate incident and bravely lived to tell (me) the story.
As for my ass, well obviously I survived too - hypothetically speaking of course.
 
Truly, none of this would have happened had my friends - and they know who they are -not repeatedly harassed me with their brainwashing comments on how HOT, STUNNING and  "SO MY TYPE" they thought my interested party looked.
I'm not going to lie, while I absolutely did share their opinion, I nevertheless partially acted under "because they said so" peer pressure. 

Of course this came on the heels of rumors that my dating career and aptitudes have allegedly been on a downward spiral - a statement convincingly argued by my SheWired boss' mother (Mary Lou) whom after spending the entire Mother's day weekend in my luminous company intelligently collected the crushing evidence. And to think that I thought I was the one babysitting her!

To buttress her point in the most effective fashion, Tracy's mother brutally broke the tragic news to me: "Mona, I hate to tell you but your usual type never did anything for you."

Surely, it doesn't take a brain surgeon or biology classes to figure that out!

What's really rocket science to me is figuring out why Tracy's mama was not around when I most needed her!





Mona Elyafi is the founder/CEO of ILDK Media - a boutique entertainment public relations agency specializing in personal publicity, special events, media relations & corporate/brand communications.  www.ILDKMedia.com