"Eeeeew, you said, Penis!"

That's what one of my 9-year old peers said to my observations on how men pee. The glances of the other girls smack me lightly in condescension with a flurry of giggles. I remain silent for the rest of playtime.

"Jane" is taking me to a sex-toy party. I insisted on driving there myself, but Jane wants to make sure that I attend, and so she tells me to come to her house at 6:45 p.m. so that I can drive with her. I show up fifteen minutes late, and Jane is bothered but happy I'm there. As we drive to the house, Jane babbles, "This is going to be so cool; you and I have never done anything like this together...it's so much fun, and of course there will be games...but you don't have to participate if you don't want to...and you'll get to try out some of the stuff, but don't be nervous..." I tune out for a moment pondering why I've never bought sex toys or attended one of these parties. Just a simple girl with simple tastes?

I am a high school sophomore in Health and Hygiene class and Mr. "Smith" is explaining some studies from Masters and Johnson on human sexuality. I liked Mr. "Smith". He was pretty easygoing explaining sex; there was no question too embarrassing, and he talked to the class about sex as if we were already adults fucking our brains out instead of nascent prepubescents.

Mr. Smith explains the stages of sexual response and some us shift at our desks. A couple of insecure students sneak gleeful glances around the room trying to reap some laughter to ease the tension, but no one is laughing. Mr. Smith is so sincere explaining foreplay that no one dares to mock.

Mr. Smith explains sexual arousal or "vasocongestion" and I learn, for the first time, that women get erect too. Up to that moment from the circle of older women in my life I was given the impression that sex with men had to be endured and got over with. The idea that I could respond to sex too was enthralling. I raise my hand, and Mr. Smith acknowledges me. "How many orgasms can a woman have?" Someone in the class blurts "Oh, my God!" but I hold my ground and wait for my answer from Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith is sitting astride his desk at the front of the class, and he leans forward and says clearly with hesitation, "You can have as many orgasms as you want." All murmuring has ceased, and Mr. Smith smiles benignly in the midst of gaping mouths. I have been rewarded for my courage. I take the secret of tumescence tuck it away in the recesses of my mind, and sometimes during the night in the quiet of hush of bedtime return to that image of a soft, dewy plum, my one idol of narcissism.

Jane and I arrive for the party. The hostess asks us to take off our shoes. She has a vegetable and fruit plate with the standard buffalo wings at the kitchen table. The hostess is making chocolate martinis for everyone. Jane and I head into the living room where Sex and the City is on the T.V. The sex-toy party hostess has her wares on a card table near the T.V. and she asks Jane and I to sign our names on the an attendance sheet. I am handed a couple of catalogues with an order form. The other women in the room have already had their martinis and are now swapping stories about their current love lives. I decide I'll have a Pepsi first and Jane insists that I try the chocolate martini. "A little later," I tell her.

The turn out is more that the hostess expected in spite of the cold weather. I finish my strawberries and the party gets underway. We start off playing one of the sex games for sale. The sex-toy girl asks us to solve the following riddle: "You fill me up from behind and when you're done your hands smell, but once you're done I can go all night. What am I?" Various answers are shouted out until someone says "gas tank". There is wild applause and a flurry of giggles and it's on to the next question. I tune out once again not accessible or available. The women in the room shriek in excitement as the naughty entendres are read out...a candle...a cup...a pillow. I'm ready for that martini now.

What does "getting laid" really mean anyway? What is it that we want to hold down or subdue? There an ever-present clock ticking in our minds and in our souls that makes the distance between our bodies insurmountable. What's the shortest amount of time allotted from loneliness to my embrace? We are thirsty, but the waters raging underneath are inscrutable to us. Time imprisons, another workday, another summer, another winter, and before you know it, you're wandering blindly, heading toward the cottage in the woods, your soul in a crushing vice of industry and capitalism.

Getting laid. There is a sweet rhythm of blood that we carry from the womb, a primal thrusting that lurks under our skin. When we are in our heat, stroking and caressing, trembling and shaking, blood takes over, pulse to pulse, vein to vein. I surrender the first time, you have your way; you surrender the second, and I'll have mine. Mouths open, we try to swallow all that our blind hunger will allow. Coming to dissolution, the ticking sound races until there is only a steady hum that pulls our bodies taut then gives sweet release, and we can embrace that lovely death where time can no longer imprison us.

The games are done, and now it's time to shop. The sex-toy girl passes around the flavored lubricants and massage oils inviting us to take samples. I look at the multi-colored array of gels with aromas of fruit, flowers, and chocolate. The woman next to says, "Mmm. I could eat his ass up with this one!" and once again boisterous laughter fills the room. I'm trying to resurface since Jane is casting glances my way. I'm swallowing down my chocolate martini which isn't quite wise since the thing is loaded with Grey Goose and I haven't really eaten.

The sex-toy girl now pulls out the vibrators... "rabbits," "hummingbirds," "beavers," "panthers,". There's "Herman" and the 8-inch "Cyber Syd". A thick 7 ½ vibrator comes my way: it is translucent with a diamond cut, multi-speed rotation with churning pearls inside. I watch the pearls bob and stretch within the rubbery skin. But it only makes me want the human flesh more, and I wonder if he can hear me.

There is an indescribable pleasure in wanting a man. The sound of his voice might turn your legs to water or it could be the humble, almost grateful reach of his hand for yours. You could be sitting there at the kitchen table watching him make your breakfast. He is standing at the stove with his back towards you, moving purposefully, and then you can't help but move towards him and press your lips against the blades of his shoulders, your hands reaching around to find that sweet pulse again. And it doesn't matter if he's round, thin, hairy or balding, his body arching over yours while that backside moves and undulates bringing your legs up and over into reverent prayer makes him the most beautiful thing in the world.

Over the last hour, the sex-toy girl has shown us vibrators, mitts, rings, lotions, "bullets" and beads. It is now time to order. We are allowed to go one at a time to the back room to order our items discreetly, ironic after the raunchy excitement of the evening. The martini has given me a nice buzz and I lose my place in line, but I don't even care. I've selected a few items to buy and add them up on my order form. Jane is worried about me, because she's never seen me like this before, but then, she's never seen me drink before. Someone prods me to the bedroom, and I finally get up with my checkbook. The sex-toy girl is surrounded by cardboard boxes of merchandise. She surreptitiously scans my order, takes my check, reaches for a few items, then hands me my paper bag.

Jane is waiting at the door and I manage to find my coat in the other bedroom and put on my shoes, but I am slightly wobbly. "Oh God..." Jane begins babbling again, "Maybe you should stay the night...I don't want you to drive". "I'm fine," I say. And I mean it. We walk to the car in the cool night air and the sky is clear; I could almost touch the stars. Staring up, I trip over the street curb trying to get to the car door, eliciting an "Oh, shit" from Jane. "I'm fine, " I say, "Just get me to your place so I can drink water or something...."

Jane starts talking as she starts up the car and her voice is only an obscure dubbing to the voices in my head. I can't stop looking up at the sky for some reason. Leaning my head against the window, my eyes are transfixed on the stars. I wonder where Orion is, that mighty hunter, but everything is becoming a blur, and the thought that he's somewhere above me is enough. I close my eyes and let the blood take over.