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The Georgetown University student newspaper, the Hoya, has a story this week about the phenomenon of on-campus “pleasure parties.” Reporter Alex Lee writes about a pleasure party she hosted at her Georgetown townhouse:

Sitting cross-legged on my living room sofa here at Georgetown, Jenny Cancelado holds in her right hand twelve inches of vibrating, scintillating and writhing purple plastic. “This,” she beams, “is the Endless Pleasure. It is the Cadillac of our toy line.” After a litany of lubes, lotions and other little extras that were a part of the so-called pleasure party hosted at my townhouse, Cancelado had saved the toys for an encore.

I knew a girl like this in college. She was so “progressive” and “open” about her sexuality that she made sure to corner every dorm resident and explain her progressive openness to them. This openness came in the form of extensive PDA displays with her boyfriend, whose tiny single-room dorm she conquered shortly into our first semester; inappropriate butt-squeezing, from which no one was safe; and, of course, a  psychological void that could only be filled by offending someone by saying something “outrageous.”

It wasn’t long before the Pleasure Party invitation came in. As Lee explains in the Hoya piece, Pleasure Parties are promotional gatherings targeted at women. At them, sex toys and accessories “are presented to guests who are offered an opportunity to touch, smell and even taste products. . . . [the event] strives to create a setting where women can express and explore their sexuality openly and on their own terms.”

In my experience, though, the Pleasure Party is actually the place where “exploring your sexuality” meets “exploiting your friends” through “pushing expensive product.” I declined the invitation.

Photo by paper or plastic?