Rerun: A Mother-Daughter Bonding Experience

WARNING: This post contains adult content and references to genitalia, sex toys, and batteries. Read at your own discretion. If you are under 18, just lie and tell your folks that you didn't read it.

Don't blame me: there was a unanimous request for it!

(Originally posted Tuesday, October 28, 2008)

My mom was helping me pack today, and we were discovering that there was a lot more to do that I had thought there was. And we had less time to do it in. So there was some back-and-forth comments, as is usual, some mild bickering.

Then came a knock on the door. It wasn’t until I was almost to the door that I realized what it had to be: my delivery from Babeland.com. Early. Usually UPS doesn’t deliver in my area until late afternoon or early evening (it’s a long story and an even longer way from anything resembling an airport). So when I made my order, I figured it would arrive after my mom was gone.

Nope.

The rectangular package was only as long as the distance from my elbow to the end of my fingers. Mom came out of the bedroom, where she had been sorting and packing my clothing, and asked 

“What is it?”

I thought for a couple of beats. What the hell? I told myself. After all, I am an adult. I’m allowed to have these things and to think sexual thoughts. I am woman, hear me roar!

“Vibrator,” I said, not quite mumbling, but not loudly either. I am only so brave. I am still recovering from a lifetime of sexual repression, after all!

“Oh?” That’s my mom: aplomb. Maybe it’s all that reserved Norwegian ancestry. Or her down-to-earth nature. “Why order one? Can’t you just buy one at the drug store?”

OMG! “Are you kidding? Those things are crap!”

Deciding to continue with the “I am a brave, adult woman” theme, I asked, “Do you want to see?”

“Sure.”

On the Babeland site, there are dimensions listed but I usually miss them, or else they really don't make sense to me. So when I opened the box, pulled back the inflated plastic packing material, and revealed “The Boss,” both my mom and I were a bit...impressed.

Mom: It’s as big as a horse’s!

Me: No. I’ve seen much bigger vibrators at the sex shop in Newport. (It’s well-endowed, but not monstrous.)

Mom: Those would hurt.

Me: I wouldn’t know.

We agreed that the vibrator was pretty big. Definitely molded like a real penis. And it was black, a matte-black, kind of like suede. You don’t get to choose the color, even though the pictures on the web site show other colors. I would have ordered blue. And now my mom knows why I asked her to buy me a bunch of AA batteries at Costco.

It doesn’t end yet.

Mom had to go soon after this, so I opened The Boss’s packaging and took it out. It has a realistic shape and a lifelike feel…I was even more impressed and thought why not keep it? Even tho’ it is big. (Did I mention the years of sexual repression? Because at 47, I must be the oldest vibrator-virgin in the USA. Well, the oldest to then try it. I am sure there are plenty of women my age and older who have not used one, but they will probably never use one.)

Now, I had read on the Babeland site that this model gave some people problems when it came to opening up the battery compartment. I read the instructions. Then I squeezed it on the designated places on either side of the base, and pulled at the bottom of the base. Nothing.

I worked on that thing for over 5 minutes. Squeezing the matte-black, lifelike-feel, realistically shaped vibrator in my hand. Very lifelike. But I didn’t get it open. Then I had to go to my blood-donation appointment. Then lunch at Mom’s.

Did I mention the box also contained a set of those egg-shaped “balls” to insert inside oneself, useful for kegeling? Mom knew about them, too, and started to tell me how they were supposed to give a woman a “continuous climax”, and then to tell a story she’d heard about a woman in a business meeting who had left hers in…. I know that sex and toys didn’t start with my generation, and I knew my mom and her second husband liked going to the “middle-class” sex shops when they visited me in Seattle—and I really didn’t like knowing about it then! But there are aspects of our parents’ lives that most of us really don’t want or need to know. If you have ever found porn in your parent’s nightstand, you know what I mean. (Actually, I found a bad porn novel in my parents’ nightstand once. Do not go through your parents’ nightstands, no matter what you think you are looking for! Ever!)

The third and last item in the box was a sampler of lubes, one of the most intelligent items I can think of. My mom wanted to know if any of them were warming, or tingly. This was another discussion I never wanted to have with my mom, but the writer part of me stepped back and took notes. I mean, this is the kind of material you can only dream of….

Back at my apartment later with Mom once more, I was moving the box containing the toys out of the way and I told her about trying to open the battery case and how I couldn’t. So she wanted to try. I told her how, showed her where, and she tried. Then I tried with her. Here we were, a 47-year old woman and her 69-year old mother, our hands wrapped around a matte-black, lifelike-feeling, realistically shaped vibrator, struggling with it.

Is this a bonding experience?

We didn’t get it open. I’m sending it back. Pleasure shouldn’t be that much trouble before you even start.

Postscript:

She made another comment on the size of the vibrator, how it is the size of a horse and it would hurt to use it, etc. I felt I had to do my daughterly duty. And besides, it would be fun.

Holding it up I said, “So, you’ve never seen a penis this size?” I should probably feel guilty about the pleasure I felt in asking this.

“No!”

“I have. I’ve seen one even bigger.” I really am a very bad, bad daughter.

“Don’t tell me who!” Now that is an appropriate Mom-type of response! A hard belly-laugh feels good, especially in the middle of a highly stressful time, so I achieved satisfaction via the new vibrator, even though I didn’t get batteries anywhere near the thing.