quizzical pussy

The fabled hitachi magic wand

This is it, people. The Hitachi Magic Wand, the Cadillac of vibrators, the oldie-but- goody, the sultan of snatch. Das Wunderwerkzeug.

I was ten or so when I looked under my parents’ bed (I don’t remember why, but when you’re ten do you really need a reason?) and found a “personal massager”. It was definitely Magic Wand-shaped, although it was brown and cream colored, a tell that it had probably been purchased in the seventies, when they married (at least it wasn’t harvest gold like their stand mixer). I’m not sure if their device was a knock-off or a previous iteration of the legend; the Hitachi Magic Wands I’m familiar with are always a crisp white and blue.

I wasn’t entirely sure what I was dealing with here, but I had a vague feeling that it possibly had something to do with this sex thing I kept hearing about. (No, I had not yet connected that what I routinely did with the hand shower was in any way related. Why do you ask?) It’s possible that my mother, who to this day is a very religious and reserved woman, actually used it to massage her neck or something. But honestly, what are the odds? She used it to get off, right? And good for her!

My point here is not to think of my mother masturbating, or to invite you to think of my mother masturbating, so seriously, stop. My point here, I think, is that the Magic Wand’s reputation for being timeless is well-deserved. It seems to cross generational and ideological barriers. It seems to get the job done for an astonishing range of women, and the fact that my mother had hers well over a decade speaks to its dependability and durability if nothing else.

When I began to get serious about my sex toy collection I was impressed by its reviews and testimonials. Sure, It looked less scintillating than a lot of the other toys available, but everyone agreed that there was not a better clitoral masturbation aid anywhere. It was a perennial staff pick at every major sex toy retailer: women with access to dozens, hundreds of toys always came back to this, the Cadillac of vibrators. Also, I loved that you could plug it in. I burn through batteries like David Lynch burns through crazy.

So I ordered one. Of course I ordered one! I couldn’t wait to have the orgasm of my life, and then follow it up with another just like it. And another. And another. I was going to make it sorry it ever met me and gave me those come-hither product reviews.

It came in a long rectangular box that I appreciated for not being plastic clamshell packaging. The neutral exterior and the carefully worded booklet enclosed seemed intent on projecting a “you just bought a personal massager, not a vibrator, dammit!” attitude. This amused me, because I was all too ready to corrupt the shit out of my new toy. So I scrubbed up the “soft, flexible head” with dish soap quickly, perfunctorily. I dried it off, plugged it in, and…

It was. Sort of. Meh. It wasn’t like I couldn’t get off with it, but that’s really not saying much since I can technically get off with a smoke detector. It just wasn’t very compelling. It has two vibration settings for your pleasure: “boring” and “clitoris-searing”. On low I could have a quick orgasm, but it wasn’t any better than I could do without a toy. On the high setting I would sometimes have a great, gushing orgasm, but even if I braced it against my pubic bone and let the radiant sensations get me to that climax I would still feel sore right after. Both settings left my clit numb every time. All this is better than having zero orgasms, but for me it wasn’t the spiritual experience it seemed to be for every other woman on the planet.

I was the lonely voice of dissent with a numb pussy and a long future in front of her, full of buying batteries.

Yeah, I tried buying the attachments. Yes, I tried using it through my clothes. Honestly, it’s just not my favorite sex toy. I wanted it to be. I was ready for it to be, but it didn’t work out that way. I would still recommend it, though, because every woman I know who owns one loves hers. Then she looks shocked when I tell her it isn’t my cup of tea; it’s like I’ve just told her that her first born child looks like a lamprey.

I’ll admit that in spite of all this, I just used my Hitachi Magic Wand mere hours before writing this. My hips and lower back were feeling tense and I needed to work out some (actual muscle) tension. Yes. Alas, I’m actually using it as a personal massager, and I absolutely adore it in that capacity. I feel like the one guy who actually did read Playboy for the articles, but it seriously pummels the knots right out!

I guess I’ve finally succeeded in downgrading an intimate relationship into a highly productive platonic one. Go figure.