When I got my first vibrator, I didn’t know what had hit me. Friends had told me I needed to buy a one and I said, “I have two hands, but thanks.”
Why didn’t I want to give it a try? Multiple reasons. I am a bit romantic about the body. When I was with my first boyfriend, I refused to have sex unless ALL of our clothing was removed. Just two naked bodies dancing together. Somehow tube socks, bunched up dirty underwear, and especially whirring, purring machinery screwed up this sepia toned image of perfect, graceful loving for me. Should I have called myself a purist? I certainly had a passion for sex but I had a lot of rules in my mind about what did or didn’t count as “good” sex. Apparently one of these rules was that there had to be two people and you couldn’t go around cheating with toys.
And then I went to a sex-positive seminar at my university. A sassy, boudoir-y, red head spent a few hours playing us videos of people having sex, instructing us on how to find the G-spot, the prostate, how to do proper kegel exercises. She taught us how orgasms will pretty much save your life (lower risk of heart disease, better circulation, makes you look younger…fairytale stuff). And at the end of the night, after half the crowd had left in a hurry to try out her tips and advice on themselves and playmates, she announced that we would all be receiving a free vibrator. “Free?!” I whispered excitedly into the dark auditorium, “They can’t possibly be free. For three-hundred people!?” I looked around wildly, and, sure enough, people were beginning to timidly line up by the stage where little packages were being distributed from a line of large cardboard boxes. “Those are all filled with vibrators!?” By this point I had more than forgotten any strange reluctance to experiment with toys and jumped into line. Minutes later I exited the auditorium with a shiny, silver bullet in a cheap plastic bag. Off I ran to my bedroom, the testing lab.
It was different, friends! So steady and confident were the quick pulses. As soon as the little bullet touched down between my legs, I knew it would be mere moments until I was lifting off again in orgasmic bliss. Never missing a beat, my new vibrator carried me from zero to delirious in about two minutes flat. I flopped, breathless, against my pillows in amazement before clicking my bullet on again and going at it a few more times just for good measure.
Since that first meeting, my vibrator has become integrated quite wonderfully into my sex life. It did not replace my hands, as I once feared (though if you don’t like using your hands, good for you!) but instead just allowed me to have way more orgasms. Here’s why-
With my hands, I know my session is about to be personal, extended, sensual. It takes longer to build up that sexual tension, takes longer to tease it out and finally release it. But your masturbation session is customized. Fingers change rhythm and position with more dexterity (ha!) than a machine can and so I get a more nuanced but more complex experience.
My vibrator on the other hand, is my best friend when I am just so horny or exhausted or my roommate is coming home in five minutes and I need to get off NOW. Like a magic wand, I just tap my vibrator to the spot I want to transform, and POOF!, in seconds I’m finished.