March 19, 2003

• Nothing like a Victorian breakfast room with a quaint bay window overlooking a blustery day in the city to begin my new diet.  In honor of Darcie, I'm gonna teach myself some moderation and eat whatever I want like a normal person.  No more "cheating" with thin-sliced bread, diet margarine and mayo, artificial sweeteners, and nonfat this and that; I'm having some real food and enjoying eating for a change.  Mmm, let's start French-style with one of those iced sweet rolls and a big round bowl of latte brewed from freshly ground coffee beans and spiked with real half-and-half and raw sugar.  Just a few bites if the bread and half the coffee, remember.  That's it.  So far, so good; I could have a mid-morning snack at ten.

  
  

  Dear Mom, she's such a love.  Before leaving for her parttime secretarial job she called me into my parent's room to see what could be done about my sore neck.  I love their room with its heavy-curtained back windows and plush carpeting, mahogany furniture and cool satin sheets, mirrored closet doors.  Opening a lower drawer in her lingerie chest, she showed me an array of things they have on hand for physical therapy.  There was a jar of Ben Gay, a hot water bottle, assorted bandaids, surgical tape, a package of Ace bandages, a neck brace ("Umm, not bad enough for that yet."), various foot relief products, a vial of tiny homeopathic tablets, a little can of tiger balm.  Everything smelled of mothballs.  Way in the back on the left I spied what looked like a big plastic white and blue mushroom with a heavy-duty cord attached.  Ah!  Wha's tha-at?  I see that!  No, you don't, thought Mother, gradually burying the appliance as she held up each possible remedy.  We decided on a heating pad and buffered aspirin.  Then she kissed me goodbye and went on her way.

  
  

  Hmm......I had exactly five hours to be a naughty girl, five and a half if Ma got stuck in traffic.  Dad would probably be gone all day at the restaurant, being they were past the beginning of the week slump, they had Spring break over here, too, and parents just like mine were wining and dining their long-lost college kids.  But just in case someone burst in, I left the vibrator in its camphorous nest and plugged it in from there.  It's one of those mega-power deals with a five-inch diameter head (Chelle:  "For women who can't find their clit."), three speeds, and a separate switch for deep heat.  Ideal for the perfect zipless orgasm.  (They say orgasm releases endorphins that can stop pain!) As soon as I heard someone home, I'd merely yank the plug, throw it back in, slam the drawer, and go powder my nose.  

  
  

  Wow, it was like having a jackhammer between your legs; must've taken only 45 seconds cold.   You could tell caring folks manufactured this thing.  The oscillations were so strong, they could probably not only penetrate  a pair of thick jeans and cotton panties, but a metal chastity belt (in case we ever get taken over by Iraq).  Sure beats the hell out of those puttering BATTERY-operated ones.  Talk about savoring one's time alone; I must've hit the master bedroom for a jolt six times before lunch.  I was beginning to see spots. 

  
  

  I had to tell Brett about it afterwards and he wanted to have phone sex.  But we chickened out midstream, remembering what his father's accountant had said about one out of every ten American phones being bugged by the I.R.S.  Shit, Ellie's uncle worked for the I.R.S.; I sure wouldn't want some bozo like him getting into my private life.  

  • 5:39 pm
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