quizzical pussy

When guys learn that I have and use sex toys, they often want to try to involve them in our playtime. Once or twice a guy I’m boning has adorably suggested that I bring “it” over, betraying his naive belief that I have a single vibrator or dildo. This is clearly misunderstanding the scope of my not-immense-but-respectable collection. I tend to ask “which one?” in response, with an innocence that belies pure evil, because it’s fun to watch the sordid truth dawn on them. Sometimes, when I know someone a little better and may have described my menagerie a bit, he’ll have a specific request. Sometimes I’ll be asked to bring whichever is my favorite. Usually, though, in whatever form, there’s interest.

I’m not sure if it’s an insecurity thing where they want to insert themselves into that hemisphere of my sex life, checking it out to see how intimidating it really is, or if they’re genuinely curious. People being the precious snowflakes they are, I’ll go ahead and take the safe bet: some have the former motive, others the latter, and still others have both in various proportions. I’m mind-blowingly intuitive, right?

I relate to the curiosity part. That would be me, all the way. When someone gets a new phone, puppy, blender, car, or pair of nipple clamps, it’s hard for me to resist the urge to want to see, and play, and maybe make smoothies. I guess the other motive makes sense too, though. For instance, I think every guy should have his own masturbator, just on principle. There should be some kind of secular, sexular bar mitzvah: turn thirteen, memorize Closer by Nine Inch Nails, get your first fleshlight, and start practicing ennui: now you are a man, or at least a teenager. But, as much as I want every guy to have a sex toy or fifteen, part of me still hopes it doesn’t make my pussy feel less awesome by comparison.

My first boyfriend, Reginald Sleeth, bought me my first vibrator, which is pretty enlightened considering he didn’t actually seem to like sex (…or at least sex with me. I really never have grasped the depth and breadth of the problem there.) It was a purple insertable, a little thicker than a man’s thumb, with a curve at the top to hit the g-spot. We went to an “adult book store” to pick it out together. I was cowed by all the lurid packaging under the too-bright lights and the smiling woman at the counter trying to help me decide what would feel good, while I squirmed. Maybe Reginald tried to sooth my intimidated deer-in-headlights psyche by suggesting only slimlines and clit vibrators, but it’s also possible there was something else at work. Maybe, considering the fact that he was human (and not anybody’s definition of secure) he also wasn’t comfortable with me having a phallic presence in my life that threatened or even thrashed his penis. Either way, it was a nice gift that I put to very good use.

It’s always interesting to see how a partner uses a toy on me as opposed to, say, how I use a toy on myself. When I masturbate with something that vibrates, I usually apply it with steady pressure directly on or adjacent to my clit (depending on the intensity). It isn’t fancy, but the orgasms come in delicious waves. In my experience, a toy novice will try to tease me with the toy, running it lightly over nipples, clit, and labia, not giving the vibrations much purchase in any one place. I realize that’s more visually interesting for the person wielding the tool: tracing along the curves of the body, watching muscles tense and skin moisten along the path… it probably beats just holding a gadget in place while my clit silently laps up the tremors. But the visually interesting method supplies a psychological and physical tease, but it doesn’t actually feel all that good. There’s little hope of getting me off that way. I’d rather just have hands exploring the skin of my breasts or neck or back: that will turn me on more and has an excellent chance of giving me an orgasm as well.

Personally, I’d prefer to watch a woman get herself off with a toy before I used it on her. It’d be an excellent education in pleasuring her, and I can’t think of a better didactic tool than to get to watch a sexy woman come, preferably while making out with her between the being attentive parts. Or I’d at least ask her how she generally likes pressure, vibration, position. The questions wouldn’t have to be too clinical; when you know the nuances of how a toy can kiss a body (and I’ve certainly made a study of that), a husky “you like that?” can actually take on a wealth of meaning, in context.

But really, I’ve never found toys necessary with a partner. They’re fun to experiment with together, but I don’t miss them when they’re not in play. While battery operated devices are a vital part of my solitary sex life, and if you try to take them away from me I’ll cut you, sometimes a real, warm, aroused person proves the best possible sex toy there is. I mean that, of course, in the least dehumanizing way possible, you pretty snowflake, you.

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