Peddling Pleasure

Smitten Kitten, the South Minneapolis sex boutique, recently launched its own version of the in-home sex-toy party, at which such wares as lubricants and vibrators are passed around for taste-testing, manhandling, discussion, and, of course, purchase. These “Pussy Parties” are geared to have a more urban, less hetero bent than, say, “Passion Parties,” which is what the industry leader calls its gatherings. Lindsey, a roaming sex educator employed by Smitten Kitten, presided over a dozen randy partygoers a few weeks ago. The hostesses were college students, Jessie and Jacqueline, who had booked the party in honor of their soon-to-be-married friend Liz. For the occasion, they’d wallpapered their Southeast Minneapolis living room with pornographic images—cutouts of naked men taken from Slurp and other similarly tasteful 80s-era publications. Seasoned pro that she is, Lindsey didn’t bat an eye. During a lecture on male anatomy, in fact, she pointed to one of the photographs of a gentleman in full recline and said, “This guy, there’s his taint!”
Suited up as if to assert an authoritative air, the twenty-six-year-old Lindsey wore a short red skirt, black tights, and a pair of tall, calf-hugging black boots. She’d applied a light dusting of makeup to her baby face, and her closely cropped auburn hair was wispy and spiked. Providing a hint of what was to come, she announced, “I’ve got the Cock Box,” and opened a vintage trunk to reveal a fantastic display of satin and hard plastics. Lubricants were stowed in satchels and side pouches, while vibrators were belted down by what looked to be a series of frilly garter belts. “I’d like you to know that my mom helped me make this box,” Lindsey said.
In the next hour or so, she would educate (“Semen comes out at twenty-eight miles per hour”), boggle (“You don’t have to worry about losing things in your vagina—your butt, now that’s a different story”), and pitch with equal zeal. She waxed poetic on the virtues of such products as Rocket Balm (“sort of like a hot, sexy Bengay”) and O’My Clitoral Stimulating Gel. As guests passed around the Fukuoku Finger Vibe, Lindsey suggested this inconspicuous massager would pack well for travel. It isn’t likely to bring its owner unwanted attention from airport security agents, although such a scenario didn’t seem much of a concern for Lindsey. “When I travel I put a big dildo on top of my suitcase,” she said. “I think it’s funny and I want them to check it.”
Among a batch of scary-looking toys, many of which bore a vague resemblance to weapons of torture, Lindsey introduced the Sea Goddess, an aquamarine, cactus-shaped contraption. This two-headed creature, she said, both pulses and “does a Ricki Lake-like neck twist.” An imposing doodad called the Echo resembled a chocolate soft-serve ice cream cone and had the all-important flared base. “You can put this in a harness or in a butt,” Lindsey said. “You can also put this in the dishwasher.”
She was also more than candid regarding her own sexual practices. For example, as a motivational reward to herself, she said, she inserts something called Smartballs every time she does housework. “It makes you shake your butt a little more while you’re vacuuming,” she said. More shocking still was her claim of having convinced men (yes, more than one) to insert things up their backsides; because of the opportune placement of their prostates, or P-spots, they’d all thanked her for it later, she said.
Shortly after bowling over the room with this last statement, Lindsey packed up the Cock Box and carried it upstairs, making herself available in one of the home’s private bedrooms so that partygoers could discreetly place orders and ask questions. Having spent the past sixty minutes under Lindsey’ erotic spell, no one in the living room seemed quite certain of how to proceed in her absence. One woman sighed. Another stretched her arms as she looked around. A few had their heads buried in their order forms, presumably pondering purchases of Body Wax Candles and Kama Sutra Honey Dust. Finally, a Pussy Party attendee named Alison spoke up. “I feel like I’m ordering Girl Scout Cookies,” she said.