Ahh, Ten-ga.

Jelly is fun, sure. You can pluck it, you can squeeze it. You can even knead it, like a cat ready to do it. But delectable as gels may be, I prefer my longterm toys something solid. I like to keep glass objects in my toolbox. They look like sculptures, in certain circles, with none the wiser.

(giant candy cane on Christmas morning, tally ho)

I’ve even got a special thermometer of my own. To be hygienic, naturally I keep a few wrappers around, individually packaged, and I stash them magically on a tabletop.



In the course of these acquisitions,
I’ve accumulated a bit of wisdom and know-how.

  • Thy local grocer/convenience store shall stock condoms only of the lubed variety. Thus I have seen, thus it shall always be.
  • The internet offers competitive pricing. No need to buy from sex shops, unless purchasing clothing. Figures come in all dimensions. Sizing measurements do too.
  • The upside to patronizing brick-and-mortar stores: reusable bags, the nice kind. With tissue paper on top. All the ones I’ve seen are brandless or logo’d with a monogram. Bonus points if a recipient of your new ‘gift bag’ recognizes its design.

This information could come in handy. Next year, maybe. Or anytime, really. Just so you know.


I wonder if I’m still allowed to indulge in teenage angst
Or if I have to call it something else, now

YOURS TRULY: I find that ‘quarter-life crisis’ has worked out quite well for a floormate of mine.

LADY RAE: Brilliant!

Plus there’s an assertion floating around that, by the age of 20, we really have lived out half our lives, from a relative point of view.
So, relatively speaking, we could keep it simple and call it midlife crisis instead.

LADY RAE: I refuse to believe I’m half-way done

Whereas I’m of the “Who wants to live forever anyway?” camp.
Also, I’ve been telling people

LADY RAE: You have?
How have they been taking it?
…sorry. Go on.

YOURS TRULY: I’ve been telling select people
that when I’m done with life, I want my remains cremated and compressed into a diamond
and then traded to a drug lord
and everyone can get as high as a kite on my dime.

LADY RAE: Oohhhh

YOURS TRULY: Personally, I think it beats having a funeral pyre
and would cement me as a hedonist for life and after death.

LADY RAE: That it would
And as the life of the party, too

YOURS TRULY: Some people save for nest eggs. Not me. If/when I do accrue the money, I’ll start compiling the guest list and thinking about the ‘reception’.
But that’s at least two decades away.
Maybe there’ll be something newfangled by then to try.

LADY RAE: Planning for death so young
You’re enough to make every dead poet from Shakespeare to now wiggle in their graves

YOURS TRULY: Hey, keep some relativity in perspective.

LADY RAE: I’m not judging!

I’m, like, forty when I go walking down memory lane.

LADY RAE: I’m just saying. Think of the corpses, N
The corpses

YOURS TRULY: The corpses are worm food. I wanna be a distributed set of donated organs and a rock on a drug lord’s finger.
Maybe I’ll donate my brain to research.
…maybe I’ll be revived as a cyborg.

If that happens, I want to be involved
Can I have your brain?
That way, when they get around to cyborg technology
and are looking for donations
I can say, “Here! Have this one!”

Hmm. I was thinking of directly approaching researchers myself.
But if you have the storage and the ice…

LADY RAE: I’ll plan ahead

I’ve been on that side of town. I’ve been to sex shops.
I’ve seen their goods; you can have ’em.

Now don’t get me wrong –
The ergonomic dildos are mighty sleek and shiny,
and some of the glass pieces are absolute works of art…

But what is up with the rows of sausages for sale?!
I mean, if that’s what’s on offer – ahem.

My feeling is, if I’m going to go for penis,
I’ll go for real prick, thank you very much.


Not some rubber simulacrum.