The Diva Cup

Author’s note: This is kind of a touchy subject amongst guys since it deals with the menstruation cycle. Jamison, who has been around me for at least seven years, was horrified when I told him about the Diva Cup. If you hate reading about periods and/or vaginal insertions, you’d better skip this entry. Or if you really can’t stand to hear what a gay man and a flame dame have to say to each other during a casual encounter.

Jamison and I were going to go to a fashion/art show somewhere near Echo Park. It was the friend of a friend’s event, with free admission until 10 and free alcohol until 10:30. What more could prompt me to go out on a Friday night? I told Jamison that I would pick him up (he’s near the Disney Music Center) and then head over to the event.

Usually I arrive incredibly late. Tonight I was early for a change – early enough for Jamison not to be ready. We were chatting about the coffee house when we realized that we were hungry (and tired). The event was vetoed and we started scanning the internet for places to eat. Being our usual dirty selves (he was making fingering gestures towards me, and I was trying to figure out what it would be like to have a long penis with the visual aid of the tape measure on his desk), we managed to get onto the topic of the Diva Cup whilst trying to narrow down the possible restaurant choices.

It was my fault. I mentioned that Margaret Cho had blogged about the Diva Cup and Jamison did a Google search. He started laughing when he realized what it was and tried to find video of how a woman would insert the apparatus. It got worse when he scanned the rest of the search items and found this LiveJournal Community posting (not for the faint of heart, especially if you have an active imagination).

We ended up at 8oz. Burger Bar for dinner. I had my usual tuna melt and Jamison had the 8oz. burger. While we were eating, some of the sauce from his burger dripped on to the plate.

“Kathryn,” he said, pointing to the stain, “I need a Diva Cup“.

Pointing to the little container of ketchup on my dish, he said, “I’m gonna need one bigger than that!”

I sort of regret telling him about the Diva Cup, only because I know it’ll be his favorite word for months on end. For some reason, I just assumed he was in the loop.

I guess I should have known better since it was I who told him about Fleshlights.

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