Pure Romance

On a warm spring evening in quiet midwestern town, 16 women got together for an evening of giggles, wine, and cheese.

Most knew the hostess from Junior League.

Well dressed. Well spoken. Well educated.

Fine women.
Good, all american women.
Salt of the earth.

As the wine poured and the nibbles were passed around, these women appeared unphased by the appearance of a 9 inch long purple dildo stuck to the windsill of the hostesses living room window.

The x-scream cream raised nary an eyebrow when it was promised to stimulated both partners at the same time.

Whips with delicate pink feathers protruded from the purses of these fine citizens.

Our hostess, who hails from the land of the loud and the pushy was stunned to learn her friends, colleagues, neighbors, and fellow volunteers had spent more that $1,450 on sex toys that evening.

It's possible I've been misjudging Illinois.

Just when I think I have this state completely figured out, it throws me curve.

Women were marching out of our 5 year old son's ocean themed room laden down with handbags they could no longer carry.

The best part?

The hostess orders last, getting 10 percent of the take off her order. Schwing!
And free stuff.
I love free stuff.
Platimum Pete will be all mine by the end of the week.

Oh, yeah, that's right. These same midwestern women bought out most of the supply of absolutely everything.

By 10:55 pm there wasn't a whip to be had, a cream to be smelled or licked, or a on switch in the vicinity.

They came.
They saw.
They shopped.

And then the came again.