dildos in the mist

I'm back in Seattle today, my home away from home these days. Although the same could be said for Chicago or Sydney or a myriad of other ports of call around the world. It's good to be back in this rainy bastard of a city again. I missed it's caffeine-greased gears, gray skies and methadone clinic manners. It almost feels like home. When I checked into the hotel this morning I did my standard once-over of pulling the unwashed comforter from the bed, hunting down both the 'do not disturb' sign and the extra pillow from the closet and rearranging the furniture to my liking. When I opened up the minibar for a glimpse into my evening I saw this little pink vibrator staring back at me. Magic. I'm accustomed to assorted nuts, airplane bottles of gin and an occasional beer that, in a pinch, could be replaced by something similar from a shop across the street at a fraction of the cost the next morning. I can't say that I've ever seen a dildo before. Not in a minibar, I mean. I've seen them other places. I've purchased many in my day. Some as jokes, some as gifts, some, well to have a dildo at hand, who's to say what's right or wrong. I'm a pretty cosmopolitan guy. I can tell a story involving dp,new jersey meathooks, dog in a bathtub or a dozen other acts that are scarcely heard of outside of the circus or maybe a turkish brothel, but never have I been sold a dildo in a minibar. That's all I'm trying to say.