I was faking it…

one woman’s search for orgasm

Posts Tagged ‘vibrators

My little vibrator

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The first [vibrators] were awesomely large, with a big box attached to the mains. One imagines that they were also awesomely noisy. But then they were miniaturised (relatively speaking). Hand-cranked versions became available, which presumably must have been distressingly prone to running out of power long before satisfaction had been achieved.
                         -Vivienne Parry (source)

“Internal or external?” said the large-busted sales assistant with the lip ring as she gestured towards the display of vibrators.  With her generous thighs, dyed- black hair and plunging neckline, she was exactly the kind of person I’d expected to meet working at a women’s sex store in a part of my city known as the hippy/dyke street.

She was sensual and earthy yet tough—and so much calmer than the woman with the tense shoulders and the nervous smile standing next to her.

Though I’d often been curious about the store, the words ‘female sexual empowerment’ written in bold letters above the awning, I’d never dared to go inside until that day.  I hadn’t quite known what to expect, certainly not a rack of black leather harnesses and shelf full of small, stainless steel balls.    

Maybe I wasn’t ready for this, after all.

I remember once having a conversation with some girlfriends when I was in my mid-twenties about the weirdest places and ways we’d had sex.  The best story included a secluded grove of trees just off a busy hiking trial and a red rubber dildo.   

My contribution?  A hotel bed.  My sexual past is fairly ‘conventional’–which is why I wound up huddling near the Joy of Sex book stand  in my local sex store stand, as far away from the leather and steel as possible, for the first ten minutes of my visit.   Not only have I never done ‘it’ in any way that could be remotely considered ‘kinky’, I certainly have never discussed the possibility of doing so with a complete stranger!

hotel-room

pretty raunchy...not

And yet, there I was, standing next to this woman who was obviously an expert in these matters–and now I had not choice but answer her. 

“Huh?” I said.  Internal or external?  Oh no!  She was not going to make me say it was she?

“What variety are you looking for?” she said.  She was going to make me say it.

 “I want one for my vagina.”  Not my liver or whatever else she was referring to.

She smiled. It was the same smile my mom had given me when I’d asked her what the difference between tampons and pads were and when do I know which one to use?

The sales assistant then proceeded to give me a brief rundown on the different kinds of vibrators her store had to offer. I had the feeling this was not the first time she had done this.

“First off, external vibrators,” she said, picking up a small device that looked like a triangular ipod, “are for stimulating the clitoris, whereas internal vibrators are used to stimulate the walls of the vagina.”  This time the object in her hand looked more like a rubber banana–a long, smooth shaft.

Then she pointed to something that looked like a cactus, with two arms and soft, spiky bits sticking from all over it,

“This can be used for simultaneous internal and external stimulation,” she said.

I’ve never used, nor owned a vibrator before, but whenever I think of one, I imagine the banana-kind, or as my sexpert friend had called it, the classic ‘internal’ vibrator—a little more than an ipod but not quite desert-flora.

That, however, was not the most difficult decision I would be asked to make. Whilst there are a lot of different ‘features’ to choose from within the ‘classic’ internal vibrator category—water resistance, rechargeable, textured—the real question has nothing to do with function and is all about form.

To the left of me was a row of neon orange, green, pink creatures that looked like they had escaped from the local Toys’R’us. And to the right, a line of dark plastic penises, complete with bulging veins and foreskin.

Choosing between plug-ins and batteries was easy—this however, was ultimately a question about the nature of my sexual desire. What did I think was hotter: a grown man or children’s toys?

I went for the green glow wwormyorm with a smile on his face.

Now, before you judge me as a sexually repressed woman who’s attempting to return to that peaceful and pure time of her life, before she had never heard of words like ‘masturbation’ and ‘clitoral hood’, by surrounding herself with artifacts of her childhood, the truth of it is that the reason I chose the vibrator I did was because the other ones looked kind of scary.

I couldn’t help but imagine the massive plastic Robocop-man that those phallic-shaped vibrators had once belonged to, and who would surely come looking for his lost member at some point, banging on my door and announcing to my whole building that he was going to arrest me for…masturbating?

Interestingly, though Solot and Miller, in I Love Female Orgasm states that 44% of Canadian women, and 45% of American ones, own vibrators.  That’s a lot of ladies, yet I’ve never heard any of my girlfriends exchange stories about the weirdest place and ways that they have ever ‘self-pleasured themselves’.  And in light of my own bizarre-vibrator police fears, I think I know why: shame. 

It would seem that female masturbation is one practice that has yet to ‘come out of the closet’.