Plastic Boyfriend

So I’m sitting on my futon, watching TV with my friend. My roommate is in bed, lofted above us. We can hear her on the phone with her boyfriend (a male ballet dancer). The conversation is the typical seedy crap - “I miss you”, “I miss you more”, whatever. It’s easy for us to drown her out and pay attention to Nicole Richie on the screen when out of nowhere, my roommate hangs her hand over the edge of her bed, dangling a massive, black plastic penis in our faces and asks “do you guys mind?”. Pardon? There were no words. It was as if she’d shoved “Mr. T” in my mouth and choked me on it. My roommate, being socially retarded, didn’t even notice our shock. She just filled the silence by saying “it’s been a while, don’t mind me! Just let me know if you can’t hear your show”. Really? Because I’m pretty it wouldn’t have been a big deal to ask us to leave for a minute. So here I am, watching the Simple Life with just two feet separating myself and the virtual pleasure palace above. But now, she’s getting started. I can’t leave, that would just make it awkward. I’m trapped. To make things worse, my roommate can’t do two things at once – she has to put her phone on speaker so she can get situated. This is what Hell must be like. Her boyfriend is on the line, getting her in the mood with euphemisms about her “flower” and other wildly inappropriate references to the human anatomy. I understand that we’re from a generation of sexual revolutionaries where it is socially acceptable to discuss our private lives in a very casual manner, but talking and doing are very different things. I don’t think it will ever be okay to pleasure yourself in a room of non-paying customers. My head is buried in a pillow, muffling my laughter/ shrieks, but I don’t think my roommate would have been able to hear me. It sounded like something I’d seen on Shark Week up there – thrashing, groaning, and splashing? Nasty. The only buffer between the futon and the loft was the gentle humming of her plastic boyfriend. The upside to this (I know, right?) is that it really has been a while, so it doesn’t take Romeo and Juliet but just a few minutes to finish their phone conference. Well that’s weird – they don’t even cuddle after. Just a quick “love you, call me tomorrow” and they’re off the phone. I feel used. My roommate dismounts from the loft, toy in hand, and does a naked waltz into the bathroom to “freshen up” (her exact words). Never in my life. I need a cigarette.

-joanna