I run a pretty clean blog. I try to keep things family friendly and, uh, tasteful. However, I’m going to just warn you right now that whatever I write in the next few minutes just might, uh, transcend my usual blogging, and my mother may not want to continue reading past this paragraph. That disclaimer aside: I went to a Passion Party last night.

Call it irony, call it karma, call it chance, but whatever it is, I have met five Passion Party consultants in the past three weeks. In fact, unbeknownst to me, my next door neighbor, with whom I share a living room wall and because of that, the intimate details of what we watch on television in the evenings, is a consultant. That’s a lot of people pushing sex toys on one little Air Force Base!

Now, I admit I went to this party fueled by a morbid curiosity about who else would dare show up to such a naughty, naughty event. I also went expecting to blush and stammer and eat large quantities of food out of nervousness. While I did do my fair share of eating, I actually didn’t do all that much blushing. The plain truth is that there wasn’t an item in the room that I hadn’t seen before on some sordid level or another, and since there was one other woman to whom these things were clearly quite new, I forgot my own inhibitions and thoroughly enjoyed watching her eyes bug out and her features twitch whenever some particularly interesting toy or lotion was pulled out. Really, why be squeamish and on edge when you can enjoy watching someone else do that for you?

The women attending represented a pretty average, normal crosscut of women. A mental image of a Passion Party may be of a bunch of bimbos sitting around in too small bustiers, drinking cheap wine and describing intimate details best left to oneself, but in actuality, it’s a bunch of mommies who would really enjoy a little bedroom time without a toddler pounding on the door.

At this party I was struck by the exact same thoughts I had when I ventured into some San Francisco sex stores with my sister in-law a few years back. Namely: “What’s the point of it lighting up?” “Why purple dolphins?” And the perennial favorite, “You want me to stick that WHERE?” As with food, not everything was for everyone, but there was definitely something for everyone, sluts, prudes and everything in between. The experience was quite educational, and let’s just say I came home with a whole list of ideas and an extensive wish list. I also came home with a long list of “not in a million years” items and ideas.

Now, I am not one to trash on a person’s sexual proclivities. I feel very strongly that as long as both people are happy and leaving a sexual situation with their dignity and self respect intact, there’s probably no harm in whatever brand of fun you’re having. Anything that strengthens a marriage is a good thing, and I think a healthy sex life plays a big factor in how much you like each other and how much of your spouses’ insanity you are willing to put up with on a daily basis. At any rate, it’s nice to go to a party like this and at least check out your options. And consider whether or not the cheap military housing could actually support one of those swings without the roof coming down. The general consensus on that point, as discussed at the party, was no. Bummer.