Oh Lord, Help Me Keep My Panties on - By Lynda Burton Page 0,3

near tripped over the curb with laughter. A battery-operated vibrator, for me. Oh hell no! I laughed again and assured him that a battery-operated panty vibrator was out of the question.

I thought to myself, that shit would not only make me crazy, it would probably make me mad, and frustrated as hell. Shit, he would probably have a heart attack if he only knew I was already working with 110 volts when he wasn’t at my house. Damn, I’ve already gone through two vibrators in six months! A battery-operated vibrator wouldn’t have a chance. Shit, I dropped the first one and broke it. The second one’s another story.

One weekend while John was off playing golf with his friends, I was on a mission with my vibrator. In fact, it turned into “mission impossible.” I had a melt down, or should I say, it had a melt down. Just right before my orgasm, it went haywire. So I got up, put my clothes on, and drove straight to the city with the mighty wand in hand. Since it was still covered under the store warranty, I rushed back to the store to exchange it for a more durable model. When I handed the vibrator remains to the store clerk, he gasped for air and clutched his chest. “Girl, are you okay?” he asked. Then the store clerk asked laughingly the what, when, and why questions.

I explained to the clerk that I was on my ninth orgasm, the vibrator was on overdrive, and I was going for the ultimate vibrator marathon. Then there was a zzzzzzing sound, but couldn’t identify where it was coming from. Then I smelled an unfamiliar pungent odor and looked over at the wall. Holy shit! I could see white smoke emanating out of the wall outlet. I jumped up and pulled what was left of the plug out of the outlet. Melted plastic, sex, and the smell of singed pubic hairs filled the room. “Ugh! Shit, I just set my shit on fire! Oh shit! The vibrator had seized up and the tip fused itself to my pubic hairs! Holy shit! I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, grabbed the scissors, and performed emergency surgery on myself. When I got myself together, I dressed and packed the rest of the vibrator up and here I am,” I said to the store clerk. He laughed so hard, he started crying, grabbed his crotch, and ran around the store laughing hysterically. I guess he was about to piss in his pants because ran in the back and came back to the counter adjusting himself with tears in his eyes.

“Girl . . . after that story, not only am I gonna hook your ass up, Miss. Make-me-cum-till-I-kill-myself, I’m gonna bring your horny ass something from our new catalog.” He assured me that he had what I needed. I, on the other hand, didn’t want anymore mishaps nor did I want to be found electrocuted with a smile on my face by an out-of-control vaporized vibrator. We laughed another five to ten minutes. He held his stomach and staggered back to the inventory room laughing and farting with every step. After a few moments, he returned with three boxes for me to inspect. It seemed like it took us an hour to read the info on the boxes. Every few minutes he’d burst into laughter and have to run to the bathroom. Finally after running to the bathroom six times, we were able to read the specs on all the models that were on the counter.

But I still wasn’t able to make a decision. Then he flew in the back and returned with a silver and gold box. “Here, girlfriend, we got this in this morning.” He assured me that this vibrator was what I needed. The “titanium special” better known as the “T 1000” and it came with four attachments.

Then the clerk suggested that I go into the back room so I could have some privacy and to give it a try. He laughed and said to me a satisfied customer is his best customer and smiled. I replied, “No thanks, but if I have a problem with this one, I’ll bring this one back too.”

“I have no intentions of rushing my orgasm or muffling any moans and groans in your back room. Besides, could you imagine the looks on your customers face if they heard me!” So I gave the clerk a big hug and thanked