Sex toys really are quite a bit more fun than I would have thought.

Generally speaking, I am a Prude; Vanilla, if it could be made from something less dangerous than alcohol.

Wouldn't it be nice if I could blame this on some ass-backward Catholic upbringing, or even just terribly conservative parents? Yeah. I've been to church like twice, and my dad had a porn collection that required its own room.

So much for those theories.

Rather, my crippling inhibition comes from something altogether less interesting: I'm insecure. Sexy, huh? Even my problems are bland. fuck

By some means of Woman Magic, my seemingly equally vanilla wife has managed to get toys into our bedroom and let me think it was her idea. It's easy to forget that I'm baffled when I'm convulsing like a clumsy electrician. I'm still working this out, but the end result is a lot of giggling and a new respect for plastics.

Question: Once one begins down the "What's this do?" path, where does it end?