I owned just one vibrator. Total.
It had two settings:
A $5 bullet grabbed from Amazon as an add-on item. Cheap as cheap gets.
…and it was perfect. No pressure.
~ Perfect, because I allowed a friend to buy it for me without beating myself up
~ Perfect, because I didn’t feel guilty about not even trying it for weeks
~ Perfect, because when I tried it and didn’t like it, no loss
But most of all…
~ Perfect, because I learned so much about my body from this little thing.
And when it finally did work for me that was pretty cool, too.
The concept of getting off on vibrations was foreign to me. I’d never pictured it, experienced it, or heard about it. But, well, here now I have this vibrator. Whatever – I’m game. Wasn’t impressed right off, but I didn’t mind hanging onto it.
One day Dom and I were kicking around on a call and I was surprised to begin experiencing arousal. That lightbulb moment when the sensation actually felt welcome instead of objectionably ticklish, when I began learning what my clitoris likes and how to sneak up on it with the vibe just so. It was far more stimulating than humping a wad of bedding with some torture on the side (my only method for the decade+ prior) and as I felt energy culminating I instinctively realized my lifelong record of silent orgasms was about to be obliterated.
With horror, I remembered I didn’t have the house to myself.
I had to wait.
Hour after painstaking hour.
Until finally, alone at last, I let loose screams that had nothing to do with pain.
It was one of the single most defining moments of my life.
A few orgasms later, I noticed the batteries were dying. Wait, you mean this thing doesn’t last forever? I was hungry. My appetite had been whetted and I wanted more – more vibrations, more release. Days passed with me fixated on nothing besides squeezing out the last bits of use as it gasped, faded, and sputtered to a stop.
Did you know that you can get 100 watch batteries off eBay for a couple bucks?
Rolling in my newfound power, I quickly learned to hack my own vibration settings by mixing partially used batteries with new ones. Brand new batteries usually made my clitoris scream bloody murder, so instead I organized them by degree of spent-ness and then swapped out multiple times per session to customize the intensity. I became an expert at unscrewing the tiny plastic cap of that cheapo thing and dumping the batteries in record time, swearing when the cap wouldn’t screw back properly so I could get back to screwing around.
But hey, a one speed vibrator had been turned into infinite speed variations! At under $8 for the complete setup and untold months’ worth of batteries, I wasn’t complaining. Much.
It was slightly disturbing when some of the batteries fell apart and spewed their powdered innards everywhere.
I suppose you get what you pay for.
Bullet was used daily, and then some. With my clitoris so picky about wooing I spent hours convincing it there was nothing to flinch from. Must approach from the side, at a certain angle, with gentle vibrations that don’t stay in any one spot for too long. Do not get too close too fast or it calls red and I’m back to square one. Learning all this was painstaking work when I was so desperate for release, but that small taste of explosive orgasm had awakened a deep ache that pulled me forward. I alternated between the joys if rediscovering release and the frustration of finding it unattainable.
As weeks passed, my technique improved and with it my satisfaction. Yet – something was missing. I could tell by the way that other bloggers casually mentioned vibrators and orgasms as though getting off wasn’t difficult, or at least shouldn’t be. I knew I yearned for more stimulation, which seemed along the lines of the “powerful” and “deep” vibrations so popularly discussed. Plus, everyone says watch battery powered bullet vibes are crap anyway.
So after a lot of research I finally bit the bullet and ordered a Turbo Glider. And a Salsa. And a Little Secrets. Each of which are substantially more powerful than my humble bullet. Yay! Stuff that’s going to work better! I was beside myself with excitement.
Disappointment doesn’t even begin to cover what happened next.
Nothing worked. My clitoris recoiled. This can’t be happening. Days of hardcore experimentation left me quietly returning to my trusty bullet, feeling deflated and a little sheepish. While all the vibrator experts hailed power as king, I clung to my tiny prize. It meant everything to me. It meant safety. It meant options. It meant orgasms more satisfying than I’d ever experienced before.
I was ashamed to admit to the blogosphere that the items they love caused my clitoris to totally freak out and cry for its gentle bullet back. I felt defective, not to mention completely useless for the sex product review industry. The ache for more power was driving me crazy, and yet my clitoris was recoiling from it with ridiculous spasms that were most assuredly the total opposite of pleasure.
But giving up wasn’t an option. My body insisted there was more to orgasms than this. And when I finally got my hands on a knockoff of the Fairy Mini, it induced the breakthrough I was looking for…
…and a break-up with my bullet.
I didn’t actually realize until later that I’d never looked back. Aside from a single unfortunate incident I haven’t used that bullet since. In time, after a lot of Wand Therapy I grew to love the Salsa and Turbo, but the bullet has long been banished to a lonesome corner of my closet hidden safely from prying eyes.
I’ve moved on. But what’s the saying, you always remember your first? This was my first. This cheap, plain bullet introduced a massive amount of personal growth and positive experiences into my life, challenging me to learn about myself and love myself and be gentle with myself in ways I never had before; honestly, in ways my current vibrators don’t. It opened up a whole new world of possibilities with my sexuality and I will forever treasure those memories.