The dog ate the dildo.

Matt used to always say that to me randomly. "The dog ate my dildo." For no reason at all. I never understood why, but now that he's dead and I've gained custody of his dildo drawer, it makes perfect sense. Before Matt died, he instructed me to slip into his apartment to remove the middle drawer from his bureau, and ever since that crazy night, it has been sitting in my closet unopened.

I am now preparing for a subletter to occupy my apartment while I leave NYC for an extended visit to Los Angeles. My flight is tomorrow, but I can't leave a bag of dildoes lying around, so I'm a little concerned.

As I had promised him discretion and acceptance with whatever I had found, I approached the disposal and/or disbursement of Matt's Dildo Drawer with an open mind. Hardly any day this week seemed like a good day for opening a dead friend's dildo drawer, but I knew my curiousity would eventually kill me. Tonight, I uncorked a bottle of Effen Vodka, brought out some ice, and opened the Dildo Drawer like it was the fascinating and mysterious safe that sunk with the Andrea Doria. I opened it expecting something fantastic.

Inside the dildo drawer was a long metal box with a lock. I flicked around the secret combination and on my third try, it opened. Inside the secured metal box were sewing implements, small kitchen gadgets, leather items, condoms, cuffs, cockrings, and about 6 of the gnarliest dildos I have ever laid eyes on. They all had little suction cups at the base, which made me laugh out loud.

Sitting on top of each other, the black dye from his leather armbands had leeched onto some of the realistic feeling dildo flesh, giving a few pieces in his collection the appearance of tiger cocks. Incidentally, they are not kidding when they refer to this as 'realistic.' One of these dildoes, had indeed been chewed by a dog. Unsure of what my next move should have been, I transferred them into a big brown bag from Bloomingdale's and continued with my packing for Los Angeles.