Emily Buys Lube: Hilarity Does Not Ensue

Fact: I engage in pre-marital sex. 
Fact: Although sexually active, I am not what you would consider sexually experienced... that is, until recently.

Enter: Boyfriend with an overactive libido.

After I became sexually active with my boyfriend, it took several months for us to reach a comfort level to start exploring our sexualities. Partially due to embarrassment and inexperience on my part, but mostly because of the fact that his penis happens to be the length of the average new-born.

Scary? I'd say so. I tried to be a trooper, but usually afterwards I spent hours nursing my vagina back to health with Vaseline and ice. And so, I pushed forth, each time getting slightly more tolerable than the last.

It was however after a minor vaginal tear and the inability to hold my bladder that we realized that maybe, just maybe, there was a solution--lube.

I had always associated lube with anal sex and old women, so I was ashamed to admit we needed lubrication. It was either that, or continue walking around like I had a yeast infection. So I gritted my teeth, put my pride aside, and we decided to go to Wal-Mart.

If I was going to get lube, I was going to get the good stuff. I had seen commercials for His & Her KY, was curious, and figured that this was an ideal solution with our penetration issue.

I told my boyfriend to idle the car in front of the entrance and wait for me. I would only be a moment. I planned on stealing the KY rather than paying (I'm a broke college student, what do you expect?) And the more people you have, the less inconspicuous you are. I'm just a plain, young white girl, obviously living off of Daddy's wallet...no one would suspect me to be a compulsive thief.

However, when I reached the lubricants, the KY was OF COURSE the only lubricant inside of its own safe, clear plastic security box. I picked it up and subtly tested to see if I could crack it open.

Failed.

So I decided it was worth the 15 bucks and proceeded towards the checkout. I looked at the available cashiers with the shortest lines. There was a cute boy about my age, an overly friendly woman chatting up her customers, and an overweight excessively hairy man with Urkle glasses and pit stains. I decided on the latter, simply because I figured approaching a man, so obviously virginal, would be the least awkward. He would be too uncomfortable to look me in the eyes, let alone make any suggestive comments about my purchasing lube.

When it was my turn, the first botch in my plan happened. He had to get on his radio to call over a younger, more attractive employee to open up the security box. Already it had drawn enough unwanted attention to the fact that I was prepping for a long weekend of "What's in my pocket?" and "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Then, as I was swiping my credit card, so close to freedom, he spoke.

"Does this stuff work?"

I flushed immediately. I shrugged, staring straight at the abused credit card pad, trying not to think about it. If I   didn't partake in his attempt at small talk, then maybe I could salvage this. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't be humiliated.

"Ah, you're a first timer, aren't you?" He asked. He smelled like fritos, a musty corn chip aroma. "Do you know if it tastes like anything?"

My mouth went dry at this time and I muttered something incomprehensible, scribbling quickly on the signature pad. Please, please God, let me just get back into the car.

So, because I was of no use to him, he turned to the lady standing in line behind me.

"Do you know if this tastes like anything?" It was an elderly woman wearing a sweater-vest, with blue hair and crow's feet. She raised her eyebrows, looked at me.

Please, please, just shrug and ignore him. Please. 


"I heard that it does have sort of a minty taste, but it goes away really quickly so it doesn't make a real difference," the woman said objectively.

I had heard there was a sale on Bleach in aisle three. I wonder, if I chugged it right there in the store, if they'd make me pay.

"Really?" He asked the old woman. He smiled and nodded towards me, "She's a first-timer." He gave me an obnoxious wink and then rubbed at his pit stain.

The old woman smiled at me sweetly and then patted me on the back.

"There's a first time for everything."

The cashier handed me my KY in its little plastic bag, gave me a cheesy grin and shouted,

"ENJOY!"

I turned and bolted, saying some form of "thank you" and pretending I couldn't hear everyone within six feet of me chuckling to themselves, watching me as I shoved my way past the handicapped Wal-Mart greeter.

"Come back again!" she tried to shout to me from her wheelchair, and I swear she was watching my bag swinging by my side with a mocking glint in her lazy eye.

New Rule: Never trust a virgin.

Emily