by Mollie Gross
That’s also the time when good little wives place a pair of panties in the window hoping for a visit from the dildo fairy.
The dildo fairy knows your husband is gone and you need help. Rather than have you sit on a pickle, the dildo fairy comes by your home one night and leaves a dildo on your front door (usually wrapped and stashed in a decorative bag. How horrible would it be to have an unwrapped dildo on your porch if you lived next door to your CO?!)
I was the Del Mar Housing dildo fairy. I spent my evenings dropping off various dildos for preggers, ringing their doorbells, and then dashing off the porch to hide and see the look on their faces when they opened the wrapping to find their new special toy.
Ok, I admit I found such joy in shopping for dildos! It was very much like shopping for a car. I would ask the sales rep, “What kind of mileage does this one get? Can it go off-road? Is it harmful to the environment? What is your service plan?”
But I never used one. I didn’t want anything that could short circuit or electrocute me near my pee pee. Still, playing the dildo fairy was a hoot.
Many a “pregos” sleep through the night thanks to the dildo fairy. Word quickly spread when young children found their mother’s new toy. Explanations of the device pushed the boundaries of creativity. Who would have thought that a toothbrush holder or doorstop would be so elaborate, or have such an odd shape!
In addition to serving as the dildo fairy, I discovered I had many of the qualities of being a good old-fashioned homemaker, including the ability to sew.
One night while I was making pillows I thought about using Velcro or a zipper to add a pouch to the pillow. That’s when the potential hit me. “How nice to have a little discreet pillow on the bed for KY, condoms, feathers, and dildos! What JOY!”
So I began making dildo pillows. Why I am not a millionaire right now after making so many dildo pillows, I don’t know. I guess the bedroom drawer is hard to beat.
Or maybe it’s all in the Internet marketing.
SHOWER HEADS
I had heard there were other ways that military wives quench their sexual frustration. From QVC, a girlfriend purchased a unique showerhead that took care of her frustration.
Every time I called she had just taken a shower—sometimes three a day! Other times she would cut our conversations short, telling me she just had to take a shower—now!
The poor girl was walking around looking like a prune all day. At least she was a relaxed one.
SEX TOY PARTIES
Then there’s the inevitable sex toy party, thrown just before the boys come home. All the ladies get excited and wild with anticipation for this risqué party, especially when they know regular sex is just over the horizon.
A wild wife usually throws these parties, which is good. That means what you purchase is safe with her. She is hosting the party so she can get free merchandise or a discount on her own purchases.
My girlfriends and I went to one of these parties and found it to be as outrageous as we had imagined. While Beenie and I were expecting it to be kinky and sassy, we ended up sitting in the corner like two prudes.
What I did not expect was the nut job freak show salesperson. Why are the most disgusting people—the ones you never want to imagine having sex with anyone, anywhere—the ones selling these products? They make the evening even more uncomfortable because sex is all they want to talk about.
Inevitably, the saleswoman began passing around these dildos and describing her experiences with each one. I was trying to avoid throwing up. Then it took a turn for the worse. The scene was no longer cute or funny as images of this obese woman unraveled before us.
Obviously in need of dental work, poorly dressed, and more than a little skanky, she painted a vivid picture of sex with her lover using the very device you were … holding in your hand! I dropped a purple dildo as fast as my hand could open! I must have let out a small shriek.
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I wash all my toys and samples in the dishwasher.”
Oh, how comforting! “Remind me not to eat at her house,” I mumbled to Beenie under my breath.
I sank deeper into the couch as the rest of the girls laughed while touching and fondling this woman’s collection of fake genitals. Things started to get very raunchy very fast. I felt like I was participating in something dirty.
“Oh no. Is Jesus mad at me right now?” I wondered. “I’m married, but for some reason I feel so dirty, like I’m sinning!”
It was all too much—the penis pencils, sex oils, giant dildos, the edible panties. I couldn’t bring myself to buy anything.
When the party finally ended, and while others continued talking and laughing about their new toys, I applied layer after layer of hand sanitizer in an effort to help wipe the ickiness away and feel clean again.
I just prayed to God that after seven months it would be like riding a bike and that I would just pick it back up again. After the sex party, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to do it again.
THE HUSTLER STORE
My neighbor Michelle and I had many things in common, particularly our taste for a certain type of fashion. Without planning it, we would purchase the same lingerie at Wal-Mart (yes, the California Wal-Mart sells lingerie) and have a good laugh over it.
Our quiet Catholic husbands had a tough time with this. They didn’t like our discussions of such scandalous topics as lingerie while standing in our respective bedroom windows.
Toward the end of the second deployment, Michelle and I decided we needed to put a little enthusiasm back into our lives. That’s when we decided to visit the San Diego Hustler store.
God forbid we shop for oils, candles, feathers, panties, and such around base. We had reputations to uphold.
Well, the truth was Michelle was bored with the selection at the tiny porn store by the base. We wanted to find out for ourselves what was so great about Mr. Flynt’s store.
We left Michelle’s kids with a neighbor, telling her we were going shopping for reunion outfits. We had to tell a white lie. Who would watch children for free for a pair of horny wives who were headed to a porn store in San Diego?
For those of you ladies who have never been to one of these stores, know that your modesty will remain intact (slightly) if you stay downstairs. The downstairs is harmless enough—lingerie, soap, candles, and lotions.
Upstairs is the danger zone. And, of course, that’s where Michelle had to go to find the special lube lotion she just had to have.
I became more and more nervous with each step. I began to sweat. I refused to lift my eyes off the ground for fear I would see something that I didn’t want to see. Of course, the first thing I saw was a six-foot black penis pillow. Why would anyone want to take a nap on that?!
When we got to the second floor, I was mortified. Ten years of private Christian education had not prepared me for this. I was surrounded by things I had never imagined.
Questions whirled in my mind. Why would someone need a rubber fist? Or a giant head with an open mouth?
I decided it would be safe to check out the jewelry. I saw lovely pearl necklaces. Well, I thought they were necklaces until I read their purpose. Let’s put it this way, I have heard of a pearl shooting out of a clam, but not a bearded clam. My husband may have been seeing some bizarre things in Singapore, but this took the cake!
My obvious embarrassment made Michelle laugh and taunt me with a fake rubber anus.
For once in my life I could not even make a joke. My eyes were taking everything in. My mind was trying to process things it could not begin to comprehend.
It was then that I found myself in the gay porn section. Before me was a picture entitled “Leap Frog.” Something was wrong. I squinted and looked more closely. It didn’t depict the way I played the game as a child. The name described the position of the men engaged in the little game.
I was backing away in disgust when I heard Michelle gasp. I knew something was amiss because there wasn’t much that could shock Michelle.
And, yet, there it was. On the giant big screen TV, in high definition, was a huge gyrating anus! We knew it was time to go!
We dashed down the steps to the first floor. I looked around and realized there were no other customers in the store. But the employees were running around frantically talking into their headsets.
We ran to the front door and discovered it was LOCKED!
That’s when an employee approached us. “Oh, I am sorry we didn’t realize you were still in the store. You will have to wait back here. We are expecting Mr. Flynt any second.”
Just outside the front windows we saw a mob of men standing behind ropes waiting to get in. Behind them were TV camera crews from every network imaginable.
Our hearts collectively jumped up into our throats. Our dirty little secret, our husband’s careers—everything—would be exposed simply because we wanted a little lube and a feather tickler.
We were frantic to get out of there, but couldn’t risk appearing on TV. We pleaded with the 19-year-old female clerk to let us out.
“Please, you don’t understand. We need to leave, now!”
The clerk stared at us as if we were from Mars. “What? You could have your picture taken sitting on Mr. Flynt’s lap!”
“He ain’t Santa, lady!” I yelled back.
She finally agreed to unlock the door when Michelle started crying.
As we walked out, trying to hide our faces, Michelle turned to me and whispered, “Oh no! We have to go past the entire crowd to get to the car!”
Of course, the car with its Camp Pendleton officer sticker on the windshield and bumper sticker majestically proclaiming its passenger as a Marine wife was parked right in front of the store.
Michelle was weighed down with purchases packed in large bags proclaiming “Hustler” in bright red lettering.
“We’ll never make it,” I thought.
I turned to her and said, “Your hands are too full. Give me the keys.”
When the door opened, I dashed out past the TV cameras and perverts. Flashes went off all around us as reporters desperate to catch the frenzy that had exploded out of the store did their best to capture us on film.
I heard Michelle muttering, “Please God, don’t leave me. I’m a mother! My children can never know!”
I leaped behind the wheel, cranked the engine, and squealed out of the parking spot. Within seconds I pulled up next to Michelle, who was standing helplessly on the curb holding a Hustler bag over her head.
Just then a news crews surrounded her and began taking photos. I rolled down the passenger window and yelled, “I’m here! Get in!” She jumped into the car and we sped off in our effort to escape Sodom and Gomorrah. But we never looked back.
We watched the 11:00 p.m. news expecting a report on Larry Flynt’s visit to San Diego. We were sure they would report that two Marine wives had tried to run the billionaire over. We could see our sketches being shown while the reporter announced, “Not much is known about these women, or why they wanted to harm Mr. Flynt. They are described as blonde Marine wives, who enjoy strawberry coconut sex lubes and tickle feathers.”
Our prayers must have been successful: none of the stations reported a thing.
WHO ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH?
Trying to sleep when your husband is gone is a joke.
My looks started to fade because I was not eating well, getting laid, or getting enough sleep.
Night was the worst time for me. That’s when I felt the most loneliness. I dreaded going to sleep. I hated being in that bed alone.
My thoughts would start racing. I tried reading. I tried writing. Nothing worked.
I would lie in bed for about two hours, get up, and start organizing the house. I would climb in all the cabinets, throw things away, trash the place, and make a ton of ruckus.
I became a mad woman.
Sometimes Michelle could hear me. When she did, she’d call to see if I was OK.
There I’d be at 2:00 a.m., going through closets, digging under the beds, organizing photos. Sometimes I would just walk over to Michelle’s house—but I would always take my phone in case Jon called.
I got into a routine of renting movies and sewing at night. I made purses or pajamas. I wasn’t very good, but it was a project I could easily finish. Plus, it exhausted me, which was exactly what I was looking for.
A lot of wives started scrap-booking or finding any type of busy work to distract them from their loneliness and stress.
Eventually, though, I would have to crawl into bed alone. There I’d be, staring at Jon’s pillow that no longer smelled like him. I’d reach out, close my eyes, and say, “One day I will reach out again, and he will be there.”
I think the hardest part of those months alone was waking up in the middle of the night, reaching over for Jon, and discovering all over again that he was not there.
One night I started watching Joel Osteen on late night TV. What a lifesaver!
His sermons gave me hope, and helped change my perspective on so many things. Every time he preached I found myself thinking, “This guy is talking to me!” I started to look forward to Sunday nights because I felt such peace after one of his sermons.
If you have a strong church community, go every week. You need that support. If not, worship with devotionals, praise music, or watch Joel Osteen, Dr. Ed Young, Joyce Meyer, or whomever you feel speaks to your faith.
Some moms would let their kids sleep with them, but I don’t think it’s a good habit to start. Most of the moms who let their kids sleep with them found themselves facing a nightmare when Daddy came home. By that time, the kids were not willing to return to their own rooms, while Daddy is eager to get back his spot in the marital bed.
In fact, it is even more important for kids to have a routine when Dad is away. Let it be a special occasion for the kids to sleep in your bed, not a habit.
Since I was lonely and had no children to cuddle, I tried to get the cats in bed with me. Cats have their own agendas. They prefer to come and go as they please.
If I put the dogs in the bed with me, they were sure to get into trouble when Jon came home. Most of the time, I just slept alone. I tried to keep my routine as normal as possible so when Jon came home we would fall back into our normal lives as seamlessly as possible.
One night I heard a horrible noise coming from the office (the bedroom next to mine). It sounded like someone trying to open the window.
So much adrenaline started pumping through me that I thought I was having a heart attack.
I was trapped in my bedroom, which was at the far end of the house. I was afraid to go down the hall. I was sure whoever was breaking in was also planning to kill me.
If only the damn dogs were in bed with me! Even though they were tiny they should have heard the noise and started barking! Where were they? As I stood in my bedroom door, my vision blurred, and I began to cry. All this time I had worried about Jon being killed, when the reality was I was the one who was going to die.
By the time the noise stopped, I was shaking violently from head to toe. I prayed to God to give me strength. Was someone in the house?
I waited for ten full minutes before moving.
When I didn’t hear any other noises, I tried to convince myself that the intruder had heard me and left.
I took a deep breath, walked softly down the hall, and entered the office. Nothing was out of place.
What I did notice was the wind blowing the blinds back and forth, making a lot of noise in the process. I watched the window for a few minutes and saw the blinds scrape the sill. They were the cause of the noise. It was simply the wind moving the blinds.
I had gotten myself all worked up over the wind. Still, I had never been so frightened in all my life.
I laugh now when I think of this, but it’s also really sad. It shows the degree of exhaustion a military wife can feel when she is alone while her husband is deployed in a war zone.
Let’s just say this: the dogs were in bed with me for t
he next week. Screw bad habits! I needed to sleep.
ON BASE PREDATORS
There is a type of sneaky predator lurking around the base who looks completely harmless.
And you can’t put your trust in the MPs. They’re the ones who allow this predator on base. He’s one type they just wave right in.
He arrives early in the deployment. You’ve not showered in two days. Your roots have grown out three inches. You’ve permanently stopped shaving (even your chin), and you lost your toothbrush three weeks ago. You’re at the point in the deployment when your hygiene routine is on hiatus. Since you have no one to look nice for, you’ve given up.
This predator knows when you’ve reached this point of deprivation. Your pockets are now bulging with combat and separation pay that is begging to be spent. Worst of all, no man has paid attention to you in a long time. You’re totally defenseless.
It’s late in the afternoon and you’re still in your PJs and house robe.
That’s when you hear someone pulling up in your driveway. You look through the keyhole and see him. Your knees go weak. You know you won’t be able to resist.
He approaches the door, rings the bell, and says, “Ma’am, I know you’re inside. It’s just me, the MEAT MAN!”
So now there’s a man in your driveway tempting you with his MEAT! Some company has sent out this hot guy in a truck with a cooler full of meat for sale. On a base. With women who have been alone for a long time.
He begins to tease you by saying things like, “Just step outside and I’ll show you a sample. You look like the kind of woman who can handle a lean cut of meat.”
It has been wayyyyy too long since you’ve heard seductive talk like that!
The next thing you know, you’re out in the driveway looking at this stranger’s meat! It’s in your hands. He suggests ways to treat it and baste it.
You’re sweating. You can’t remember the last time you held meat in your hands.
Before you know it, the meat man is telling you it will only be $2.99 a pound.
That’s when you finally regain your composure, stand tall, and counter, “No, sir! I will not pay more than $2.49 a pound!”