I was 17 years old and had just moved into an old rambling shared house in North Richmond, Melbourne. I had to lie about my age to get a room. The house was a classic old Melbourne shared house, with creaking floors, dodgy extensions, mouldy ceilings, and a giant fig tree in the back yard. I was paying $45 per week. It was full of freaks, dogs, punks, yogis and artists. I was in seventh heaven, I had just left my family home in rural QLD and was ready to take on the world.
One day my very eccentric thespian housemate S. announced that we were having a dildo party that night and that all the boys had to evacuate the house for the evening.
We prepared a feast fit for queens- Figs stuffed with ricotta cheese, roasted eggplant served whole with tahini sauce drizzling out of it, mountains of cheeses, fresh sourdough bread laden with cold-pressed olive oil, and wine, yup, lots of wine.
That evening when all the ladies gathered around, the guest of honour arrived. The Dildo Rep. Dressed in a sharp 2 piece suit with immaculate platinum blonde hair and a perfect matching manicure that carried a briefcase bursting with sex toys. And these weren’t any ordinary sex toys, they were toys designed for women by a woman. And they were designed for your absolute orgasmic pleasure.
It was just like a Tupperware party. One by one, the rep pulled out the loot sporting colours of metallic pinks and purples, they were sculptural and curly and almost cartoon-like.
She got us to sit in a circle, and after introducing each toy’s pros and cons, she got us to put them on the tips of our nose to feel them.
So there we were, a bunch of half tipsy giggling gals full on figs and wine sitting in a circle with sex toys vibrating on the tips of our noses. Secret women’s business eh?!
And then finally the rep pulled out the creme de la creme, the Queen Bee of all the toys. Her name was Miss Bliss. She a was a purple curvy, beautiful thing, all set with a 7 x channel matching purple remote control.
She was sexy, pleasurable, non-toxic, you could wash her, preen her, she wouldn’t break up with you, she wouldn’t get you pregnant and she was solely dedicated to giving you a good time every time.
I was sold. I rose up from the circle, and like someone possessed, I walked into my room, got my piggy bank, and smashed it open with a hammer and dug out my total life savings of $180. I gave it to the rep, and that night I took Miss Bliss home to bed with me.
She was wonderful. Truly remarkable. Better then I imagined. Far out, This was living.
I took her everywhere to me, to festivals, overnight trips, overseas, interstate, everywhere.
I didn’t need a man now, I had Miss Bliss. I ranted and raved about her attributes, I was even thinking of becoming a dildo rep myself.
Until one day, I left her for a few nights in my caravan at my parent’s property.
I came home after and realised that Miss Bliss was missing, I couldn’t find her anywhere. She wasn’t where I had put her…. Damn. I started getting nervous. Freaking out a little. My prized possession was missing.
Thats when my little sister came in to my caravan to tell me that she had found a “purple lamp” and taken it down to my father to show him. He took one look at it and went “what is this rubbish?” and chucked my “lamp” down the composting toilet.
And that was that. Miss Bliss had gone where no sex toy had gone before. Down our composting toilet. And once you went down there, there was no coming back. That was it. My Miss Bliss was gone. I was devastated. I was depressed. I was inconsolable. I had lost my dear friend.
I never let my sister forget about it. I reminded her of it for years and told her that when she makes some proper cash, the first thing she has to do is buy me a new Miss Bliss.
And what can I say, she lived up to her word, and a few years ago she gave me $180 of cold hard cash. And ironically instead of buying a dildo, I spent it on avocado smash and lattes like any true millennial in overpriced Melbourne Cafes. But hey I had trained up my fingers well by then.