Buzz Kill – 3 Embarrassing Stories

posted in: Life | 0

by Shoot Hyacinth

These are actual, factual events from my life… thus I have changed my name to protect the innocent and so I may hold onto a tiny shred of what’s left of my dignity and so I don’t start receiving random packets of batteries in the post. Here’s my three embarrassing sex toy stories!!



Getting ready to move house and I thought no time like the present to cull the wardrobe. I mean, who wants to lug unwanted clothes to the next humble abode? So I enlisted the help of my mother. A little wine, a little laughter, this moving house could get a little enjoyable right? Well 10 minutes in and I stumbled across ‘the rabbit’ hidden away in the athleisure wear drawer, I quickly shoved it in the green bin liner bag I was holding before I had to explain the intricacies of a battery operated chick-stick to my mother!

It was time to move onto packing the next room, bathing children, prepping dinner and doing general mum stuff. I seemed to have successfully hidden the wee Rabbit from mummy dearest. Hours later, hubby had to drop 2 bin liners to my mother’s house for her to up-cycle and 3 bags to St Vinnies. However, my mum decided to take all of the bags to see if she could rehome some of my old clothes. It was 3 busy and manic days later when I got the call. My dear old 69 year old mother (yes that’s really her age!) had found the rabbit. She was mortified. Not at the thought of me having – and I quote – “a back up for the bedroom” but because she thought I really wanted to donate it to St Vinnies!



On moving day my quiet, reserved brother, who lovingly volunteered to help move our furniture was lifting a bedside table. This particular bedside table just happened to be the home of a massive fluoro green butt plug that I was given 4 years earlier at my hens night, which as if on cue, burst out of its happy little enclave! The bouncy nature of the silicon anal impaler ensured that it didn’t just fall to the floor in a disgraced thud. Oh no, that whopping sucker, bounced off the bed frame, across his rubber thonged feet, onto the tiled bathroom floor and meandered to a halt right back where it began… next to the bed and next to my bewildered brother who promptly placed the bedside back in its place and said he needed to go outside for a fag!


Open Sesame

After losing the fluoro impaler (admittedly unused) and having the, ahem, well-used rabbit find its way to its eventual nirvana, I celebrated my birthday and I thought now is as good a time as any to replenish the pleasure chest! I jumped online, trawled the thousands of wares on offer, and believe me, there are literally thousands of gizmos and gadgets on offer to satisfy every flight of fancy! I picked a couple of items that piqued my interest and one that I thought may stoke my inquisitive fire at some point in the future. I checked their postage disclaimer 3 times, I even phoned the toll-free help number to ensure that the package was going to be delivered as discretely as humanly possible.

Good news is, the package arrived. No distinguishing marks or features, no neon sign over the box exclaiming ‘sex toys enclosed’. BUT did I personally receive the package? Um no, the receptionist at my workplace did. And being the ever so helpful poppet that she is, she EVEN OPENED IT FOR ME!!!!

She came into my office and slowly closed the door behind her. I knew. I could see the box had been ripped open. We have an open door policy. Something was wrong. Panic set in. My dignity now resembling a postage stamp slowly slipping down a drain. Slowly I reached for the box and with a frog in my throat said, “well, guess we all know what plans I have for the night…” Die. I seriously died. I have sat in traffic for weeks now repeating that same god awful line over and over cringing.

Now. Where are the new arrivals? They’re not in a bedside and they’re not with the athleisure… We just hired a new cleaner who looks kind of straighty-180, so I’ve popped them in a really safe place. In the manhole in the roof! MUST remember me before we go moving house or god forbid get an attic ladder installed – I’m not sure my poor heart could cope with another outing!