I don’t think I look like your typical sex toy merchant. My style is neither glamorous nor sexy. I don’t carry dildos with me wherever I go. And in the words of Bridget Jones, I’m always going to be just that little bit fat.
My day job, too, is a wonderful disguise for my on-the-side antics. People just don’t expect a senior lawyer to flog lube when she goes home.
Naturally, I get some strange reactions when the truth is revealed. Such strangeness is often magnified in the boys I date, particularly those I haven’t met before in the real life world (read: Tinder). From my vast study of the subject of telling one’s first dates one sells sex toys, the reaction of these lads generally falls into one of two categories: the ‘shit, this girl must be the most sexually confident woman in the world, I can’t keep up, what do I do now?-ers’ (for ease of reference, we will call them exhibit A) and the ‘oh yeah, surely this chick must be easy?-ers’ (exhibit B).
The poor exhibit A men often look plain old frightened when they hear the news. Their eyes dart to the side, they mumble an ‘oh really’ under their breath, and they divert the discussion off sex toys and their sale as quick as you can say ‘seven pulsating functions’. All topics of sex and sexuality, and all cheeky sexual banter, is officially off the cards from that point.
But I can handle the exhibit A boys just fine. They may be intimidated, sure, but at least they keep the non-sex related conversation going.
The exhibit B boys, however, are a whole different ben-wa ball game. In contrast to their exhibit A counter-parts, now the conversation can be on nothing but sex, and any attempt by me to divert it elsewhere is shut down quicker than you can say ‘additional clit tingling feature’. They want to know everything, and while I’m happy to answer questions, all that talk of sexy related themes seems to bring with it the wandering hands and certain (wink wink) assumptions.
In reality, I’m not looking for either an exhibit A or an exhibit B bloke. Sex toys are a product, people buy them, and I sell them. Simples. My role in that transaction does not render me overly sexually confident nor easy (but I’ll take entrepreneurial, if adjectives are being thrown around).
Ideally, I would like a guy who thought it was cool, thought I was cool for selling them and running my own little business, and who was willing to treat me like a lady without expectation even though I sell sex toys. I’ll refer to them exhibit C boys, a rare find, sure, but I’m sure they’re out there.
Naughty Miss Jones xx