Pure Caresses

 

Last week, I turned thirty-two. I was born on the second day of the Summer Olympics in Moscow, apparently during the 100 meter qualifying round. I won my parents’ attention, at least, but I like the symbolism of something so big, so amazing, and yet… so pedestrian (just a qualifier, after all), happening at the same time as my birth.

In high school, I made friends with a guy that was born in the exact same hospital, on the exact same day, mere minutes before I was. And I have four other birthday twins on Facebook. One of them was the best of friends with the Layman in high school, and yet, we met independently of him, and it was a while before she and I figured out the connection.

That’s what it’s all about: connection. A million different people and relationships have brought me here, and I’m building on the hope that there will be a million more to follow. Relationships are the stuff of life. And in a very practical way, they are the foundation of my business.

It’s taken me a long time to get here—product development, marketing research, analysis of the competition… and yet, through it all, I have been incredibly hesitant to define my ideal customer. All my very favoritest blogs suggested that this should be one of the first steps I took in creating my business plan. But I was reluctant. It felt to me like a limitation, and quite frankly, it still does.

See, I didn’t want to just focus on married women with children. While I am one, it’s a very narrow target audience. Even expanding that focus out to just women is limiting. Just because I have a vagina doesn’t mean that’s all I wanted to talk about. Women also don’t have a monopoly on being concerned with what they put in and on their bodies.  And, let’s face it: everyone but the very young and the very old are having sex.

So age was out. Gender was out. What was left? Just two things—quantity and quality. Is it possible that I can define my ideal customer as someone who isn’t having regular, great sex?

I think it is.

Regardless of age, gender or sexual orientation, sex is not a matter of degrees. You’re either having it, or you’re not. But GREAT sex, well, that’s a whole different animal, isn’t it? Especially because my definition of great sex is probably not the same as your definition of great sex.

But if those definitions aren’t the same, how will we ever get on the same page? Well, first… we have to talk about it. We have to talk about ALL of it, the good, the bad, the weird, the fetishes. All of it, in every painful, excruciating, embarrassing detail.

So, let’s get this party started, shall we? We’ll start with the easy stuff—a frank discussion of your favorite sexual position. (We’re easing in gently, so you can even comment anonymously if you prefer.)

A comment will also earn you an entry in our first ever giveaway for a Pure Bliss Gift Set. That’s 4 oz. of Pure Touch Organic Massage Oil in a scent of your choice, 1 oz. of Pure Rain, our organic water based lube, and 2 oz. of Pure Silk, our organic oil based lube (pick your favorite scents). It’s a value of $34.99, and it could be yours, just by telling me your favorite position. Pretty sweet deal, eh?

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Gather round, as I tell you a tale of utter incompetence and ineptitude. Mine. You see, I am… I am an excellent cook. (Feel free to pull out your best Rain Man voice for that one. I so deserve it.) I can clearly remember being a precocious six-year-old, trailing after my grandfather’s apron strings on Christmas Eve, whilst I learned the finer points of marinara.

Housekeeping, on the other hand… well, let’s just say that I’ve spent the last decade trying to figure that one out, and I still pretty much suck. No, that’s a lie. I TOTALLY suck. The problem is, I also mostly hate it, and that really doesn’t help much.

As a night owl, born and bred, my sleep schedule sucks harder than even my cleaning schedule. So typically, I stay up late two or three nights a week and try to get caught up on work and writing, but also on laundry and cleaning. There’s something soothing about the stillness of the laundromat at three in the morning. It’s almost zen.

This particular late night, my to-do list looked something like this:

• Make laundry detergent
• Clean out fridge
• Prewash diapers
• Load dishwasher
• Make the Layman’s lunch
• Print shipping labels for orders
• Write blog post

It was going fairly well. At not quite midnight, the laundry detergent was simmering, the post was laid out in my head, and the dishes were half done. So I stepped out of the kitchen to go to the bathroom. Now, I’d like to tell you that I got distracted by something shiny. But, uh… that would be a lie. The fact of the matter is, I got distracted by something smelly and literally covered in shit.

And as I finished prewashing the diapers, a thought occurred to me. It was not a happy thought. It went something like this…. “Hmm. Bet my laundry detergent has boiled over by now.” And boy howdy, was I wrong.

To say it had boiled over would be the equivalent of saying the sun is warm. I mean, it’s accurate, but it’s all a matter of degrees, isn’t it? Yeah. Not only had I boiled my pot DRY, I had also flooded the stove with a bubbly concoction of shredded soap, borax and washing soda. Sadly, this was not my first day at the boiled-over-rodeo, because I kid you not, my only thought at witnessing the carnage was, “I wonder if half-cooked detergent will clean as well as boiled milk?” Thankfully, it does.

So now, at not quite four in the morning, my to-do list looks like this:

• Make laundry detergent
• Clean out fridge
• Prewash diapers
• Load dishwasher
• Make the Layman’s lunch
• Print shipping labels for orders
• Write blog post
• Drain stovetop
• Clean stovetop
• Wipe down stove front; inside of oven
• Sweep floor
• Mop floor
• Wash walls
• Clean hood vent
• Clean burners and drain pans
• Clean up the mop water the cat spilled (because obviously, I TOTALLY deserved it)

But, there is good news—my stove has never been this fucking clean. And, I got an extra post out of it. So everybody wins. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make another pot of laundry detergent before I go to bed.

[So what does this have to do with sex, exactly? Well, I’ll be honest—nothing for you. But I can guarandamntee that I’ll be getting some extra special loving tonight, what with the state of my kitchen floor. Hey… maybe even ON the kitchen floor!]