How to Have Anal Sex For the First Time (If You Are Me)

Kate Sloan

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Begin innocuously enough. Go out for dinner with the crush/bang-buddy/friend to whom you’ve just given a blowjob. Get a little drunk with him, on big pints of locally-brewed beer, and laugh at all the jokes he’s making because weed and BJs make him cheerful.

While talking about your sexual goals for the year, suddenly have a brilliant idea – but the kind of idea that maybe only seems brilliant because you’re drunk. Start to tell him, but think better of it. Cover your mouth with your hand. Blush a lot. Shake your head. Let him pry it out of you, because the more that you keep it inside, the better an idea it seems. Finally: ask him if he wants to be the first person to fuck you in the ass. Because you want it. Because you trust him. Because he’s been on both sides of butt stuff plenty of times before and knows what he’s doing.

Be pleasantly surprised when he immediately agrees, and yet also not surprised at all, because he’s sweet and chill and adventurous and seems to genuinely like you. Concoct a plan with him, involving a hotel room and hours of slow, luxurious warm-up. Nod sagely when he tells you, “Let’s sleep on it and decide tomorrow,” while knowing in your heart of hearts and butt of butts that you’ve already decided and the answer is yes. Pay the cheque and tipsily stumble back to his place together. Give him one more BJ for good measure before saying goodnight.

The day before, text all your friends and tweet to all your followers about your sodomous plans and get their advice. Put your favorite butt plug in and leave it in for hours on end, to re-acclimatize your ass to penetration after a long stretch of none whatsoever. Masturbate idly while the plug is inside you, savoring that weird mix of pleasure and unfamiliarity. Wonder idly if you should’ve invested in an anal thruster for a more realistic warm-up.

Send dude a link to a cheap hotel listing, which is your indirect-and-yet-very-direct way of saying, “Yes, I still want you to fuck my ass.”

Pack a bag full – and I do mean full – of toys and other sexual accoutrements. Two Pure Plugs, the Ryder, and the large Ripple. Two bottles of lube. Black latex gloves. A zillion condoms. A tightly-folded Throe. The Pelt, incase of spanking. Salsa, Tango, and Hitachi. Put the Uncut #1 in there because you’ll want something roughly the same size as the dick that’ll be going in your ass, and when you put the Uncut in your mouth to test its size, you think, “Yeah, that feels about right.” Start getting real fucking excited.

While tipsy at a Valentine’s Day party, hide in the bathroom and sext the dude: “Very much looking forward to doing things to you with my mouth tomorrow.” Because you’re slightly obsessed with blowing him. Squeal when he texts back, “Bring toys.” Later, actually scream, at a totally inappropriate moment during the Valentine’s party, when he sends you a picture of a woman getting DP‘ed with toys. Because, holy shit, he’s going to DP you. Go home and add the Eleven and Double Trouble to your already-bulging toy bag because you suddenly want him to ram you with something big and heavy.

The morning of, do what you usually do when you’re anxious: journal a lot, listen to soothing music, and worry disproportionately about how to do your makeup. Have a breakfast of 3 Oreos and a cup of coffee, because you’re too nervous to eat real food and also because coffee will help clear out your system. Go about your day, running errands and writing and doing chores, while inevitably unable to focus on any of it.

As the sun starts to set, glaze your body in coconut oil so you’ll be nice and soft for him. Get in the shower and shave your legs, your armpits, your vulva, your butt. Like most lengthy femme rituals, this is more about the way it makes you feel than the way it makes you look: eliminate some of your anxiety by eliminating all of your body hair. Wash your body with Lush’s “The Comforter” shower cream, because smelling like berry candy makes you feel like the hottest, beautifulest babe. Fill a bulb syringe with lukewarm water, squirt it into your ass, jump up and down a bit, then let the water flow out of you. Do this a few times, until you feel confident and clean.

Put on some cute underwear, a comfortable outfit that’s easy to remove, and minimal makeup that won’t flake off if you end up face-down on a bed. Take deep, calming breaths and then dance your ass off (no pun intended) to energizing songs for a last-minute burst of confidence.

Walk to the streetcar stop, carrying your heavy-as-fuck toy bag. Ride the streetcar and wonder what the other patrons would think if the bag accidentally spilled open and they saw all your butt plugs and fancy dildos. Get off where Google Maps tells you to, and walk toward the hotel. Start feeling intensely dizzy, partly from anxiety and partly from the exertion of toting sixteen pounds of sex toys through snowy city streets.

Arrive at the hotel, which is small and strange and reminds you of The Shining if it was shot on no budget. Schlep your stuff up to the second floor and find the room number that the dude texted you. Smile when he opens the door for you, because he’s cute and you like him and you’re happy you’re gonna do this with him of all people.

Tell him you’re anxious. He is too. Assuage your nervous hearts with weed for him, gin and chocolate for you, and giggly makeouts for both of you. This is a never-fail prescription.

Give him a beej. For two reasons. One: his dick is excellent, and having it in your mouth turns you on faster than just about anything else. And two: if you get nervous and back out of your buttsex plans, you won’t feel as bad about it if he’s already come. This move is strategic. Or… strabeejic, if you will.

Lube up a Pure Plug and slide it into your ass, while he gives you sage advice on technique and angle, like some kind of butt sherpa. Laugh a lot, because he’s doing silly impressions and voices for your amusement, and think: yeah, I definitely chose the right person to do this with.

Let him do stuff to your nipples and clit and G-spot, because holy fuck, he has talented hands. Do your best to give directions, because sometimes you get too shy to boss people around but you know you’ll need to be a top-notch communicator tonight if he’s gonna fuck your ass. Don’t come yet – you wanna save that for later.

Bend over and let him take out your Pure Plug and switch it for the Ryder. Recall when you first bought your Ryder, years ago, and tried to put it in with no warm-up and not enough lube, and how goddamn awful and stupid that was. Enjoy the contrast between that moment and this one: the slick way he slathers lube on the plug and lines it up just right. The utter ease of taking a big toy when you’re really ready for it. The encouraging words in your ear as you back up onto it and it slides in, pop, no pain, no problem.

Make out some more. Touch each other. Giggle. Play. This isn’t a race. There’s no schedule. No marks to hit. No obligation to follow through. Just do what you feel like. Teach him how to spank you. Show him how you like your clit touched. Tug on his chest hair. Kiss his cute face.

Recognize your readiness by how relaxed you feel. Anxiety dissolved and apprehension bested, grab a condom and some lube and get him hard in your mouth. Pull the plug out, slowly. Bend over the edge of the bed with a Hitachi pinned between your clit and the mattress. Smile against the sheets, because this feels like a game.

As he slides into you, breathe deep, cleansing breaths of calm focus, and then fast, heavy breaths of unexpected pleasure. Moan, writhe, bite your lip, grind against the Hitachi. Think about how easy it was for him to push into you. How hot, hard and slippery he feels inside you. How good this is, how much better it is than you even expected. Feel completely safe, and taken care of, and respected, and filled, and fucked.

Stop him after a couple minutes, because the sensation is… a lot. Curl up beside him and high-five him when he announces, “So, you’ve officially had anal sex now!”

When he asks how he can get you off, let him choose between the Eleven and the Double Trouble. Smile as he weighs each in his hands, taking the decision as seriously as you knew he would. And then lay back and let him fuck you so perfectly with the DT while the Hitachi’s mashed against your clit, until you come in the long and loud and wild way that you only ever come with partners who make you feel unashamed. Kiss his big lubey hands when he wraps his arms around you afterward and says, “That was hot.”

Once you’ve come back to earth, put your clothes on and go out for celebratory dinner and drinks at a nearby pub. Because, hell yeah, good sex is worth celebrating.

 

This post contains a sponsored link. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Interview: Tina Horn on Sexting, Style, Self-Discipline & Snuggling

Kate Sloan

tinahornI’m finding, increasingly, that my media consumption habits are based less around “What is this piece of media and what value will it add to my life?” and more around “Who created this piece of media and how much do I trust them?”

The world is full of books, podcasts, articles, and interviews on every conceivable topic. If there’s a piece of information I need to find, or a subject I want to learn about, I can do that in innumerable different places. So what matters to me more, now, is – who is imparting this information? Do I know them? Do I like them? Is their style and approach in line with what I want?

That’s why I got so excited when I heard Tina Horn was writing a book about sexting. When it comes to sexuality, she has one of my favorite minds in the biz. I love her podcast, her writing, her random and irreverent tweets. Ever since the word “sexting” burst onto the scene, every sexpert in existence seems to have shared their best tips and tricks for the medium – but I don’t trust most of their advice nearly as much as I trust Tina’s. She’s a seasoned sex pro, a clever whiz kid, and a dirty-talk aficionado. If anyone can help you up your sexting game, it’s Tina.

And indeed, the book rules. It covers everything, from the basics (how to figure out which vocabulary words turn you on! how to use OkCupid!) to the more nuanced considerations of sexting (how to get someone’s textual consent in a hot and respectful way! how to take a sexy selfie that doesn’t suck!). I consider myself a competent sexter (sextress?!), but Tina’s book made me ponder the whole activity much more thoughtfully, and I think my skillz have improved as a result.

So, I was delighted to be able to interview Tina about her book. Except, in classic sex-nerd fashion, we got a leeeetle bit off-topic because there were just so many exciting sub-tangents to delve into. Including X-rated Animaniacs fanart. Read on for the interview…!

Girly Juice: What kinds of “proto-sexting” activities did you engage in, in the early days of the internet or before that? (I was all about cybersex in ICQ chats and online roleplaying games!)

Tina Horn: I often wonder how my sexuality would have developed differently if I had not been just right age in history to be going through puberty right when we got dial-up internet in my house. Technology continues to inspire an urge for self discipline and self control in me, and maybe that has something to do with furtive, measured trips to the family desktop to talk to my internet buddies when I was 13, 14. I can remember sitting at the wooden desk in the den, madly typing, learning about the world through language divorced from identity.

I’m going to tell you about something I almost never talk about, because I hold a lot of embarrassment about this even though it’s obviously normal and quite adorable. Like I said, I was an adolescent when the Internet became a thing people had in their homes. As a child on the verge of adulthood, I just sort of assumed, oh, ok, you start to grow up and then your access to the world gets bigger. I was too caught up in my own teenage narcissism to give media a historical framework. So what did I look for online? I searched Napster for EVERY SINGLE TORI AMOS B SIDE AND REM LIVE CUT, and I looked for newsgroups about the shows I was obsessed with: The X Files, Quantum Leap, and Animaniacs.

So here’s the thing about Animaniacs. It was a show for children, but it had a very mature sensibility. It was saturated in popular culture and had this sophisticated ironic Borscht Belt humor. So I was a kid who was looking for people to talk obsessively about Animaniacs with. And the internet was filled with adults who were, shall we say, in touch with their inner child. So I spent hours and hours in IRC chat rooms and newsgroups. I think I was honest about my age and I knew there were a lot of adults and they didn’t seem to mind how young I was. I felt accepted and respected in a way I didn’t among my normal peers. Maybe my internet friends were predatory or maybe the Internet was just new to everyone and the novelty of talking to a precious child was no big deal. But eventually they started sending me links to fan porn they were writing and drawing about the cartoons we all liked. I of course have a very vivid memory of clicking on a file in an FTP folder and slowly watching an image load: a hand drawn illustration of Buster Bunny fucking Plucky Duck along with an extended explanation of why it makes sense for cartoons to sexually experiment.

Eventually I got together IRL with some of these folks, and suffice it to say I think some of them may have wanted to seduce me. I guess I was smart enough to be creeped out by that.  I started to actually hang out with some theater kids at school and spent less time online. Eventually this one girl who I used to exchange Sailor Moon drawings with sent me this angry hand written letter saying I was totally shallow and didn’t care about my REAL online friends because some dumb teenagers made me popular. Which was hilarious because of course my new IRL friends were all the freaks and geeks of my small town. I am happy to say I realized how totally backwards and fucked that was even then.

I think this has influenced my subsequent relationship to evolving technology, from texting to Skyping to naked selfies to online dating to Snapchat. I’m very skeptical about the relationship between our virtual selves and our IRL selves. I think technology can facilitate wonderful fantasy exploration, but it’s imperative that we can distinguish between fantasy and reality. That skepticism and self control really informs my proscriptions for etiquette and ethics in my Sexting guide book. I don’t mean to sound like no fun! Think about it: BDSM is also about negotiation, restraint, boundaries. When you have self discipline, you can be absolutely disgustingly filthy and profane and ecstatic within your agreed-upon parameters. When you know the size and shape of your pen, you can go hog fucking wild.

GJ: As a fellow writer, do you share my attraction to people whose grammar, spelling and vocabulary are on-point in textual communication? And how do you respond to people who tell you that this preference is elitist or picky?

TH: You know, there are such cretins out there that my bar is actually quite low! As long as someone is not being a complete troll, I’m pretty tolerant of slang, abbreviations, misspellings, creative grammar. I think the most important thing for me is STYLE. I’m sure we know some people whose use of slang is tacky and tone-deaf, while some people make me bust out laugh when they say something is on fleek or whatever. Same goes for grammar; you can get imaginative with grammar to demonstrate rhythm, emphasis, tone, even surreality. I guess what I’m looking for is writing that I can hear, as if the person is speaking to me, and there are formal and informal ways of achieving that with different digital mediums.

I used to joke that I thought the most important OK Cupid question was, “What does ‘Wherefore’ mean in Juliet’s famous speech about Romeo?” (It means Why, as in, Why must the man I love have a name my family hates?). Then a friend pointed out how classist that is, to weed out people you won’t date because they haven’t had a certain kind of classical education. I think both perspectives are valid. I do value people who appreciate literature and theater, and like to nerd out about language. Then again, I DON’T value exclusively dating people who have a similar education, background, or life experience as me. It’s important to know what you value, but it’s just as important to be critical of your own prejudices and the way our personal lives perpetuate systems of oppression.

GJ: I sometimes get anxious about starting sext conversations because I worry the other person will think I’m overeager, “too sexual,” etc. Any tips for mitigating my anxiety around that?

TH: I don’t believe in playing hard to get, but I do believe in finesse. You can tease without misrepresenting yourself. Use your sexting language to seduce. Sometimes you have to withhold a little in order to get the satisfaction of making your partner beg for it.

Think of your sexting conversation as a story, with a prelude, exposition, rising action, climax, and denouement. Or a pop song that starts off quiet and builds and builds its excitement and dynamics. Or think of sexting as a strip tease, in the classic burlesque sense. You can burst onto the stage fully nude and lewd, or you can appear fully clothed and slowly reveal more and more until you have your audience wrapped around your g string.

GJ: Are there sexual acts you like to sext about that you don’t actually like to do in real life? Or vice versa? Why’s that?

TH: Sexting is totally a place for fantasy. If you have a sexting partner who is capable of distinguishing between fantasy and reality, then go for it! The more absurd the better!

GJ: What celebrities or fictional characters do you think would be amazing sexters? Why?

TH: David Bowie has been on my mind so much lately, so I’m gonna let myself imagine his prolific, surreal, romantic sext life. Suck, baby, suck.

GJ: Do you ever have to do aftercare after intense/kinky sexting sessions? How does that work?

TH: I think if you’re sexting to get yourself and/or your partner off (whether it’s by language message, picture, or video) it’s important to stay with the person after orgasm. Unless you’re on the same page about using each other for stimulation. The magical thing about sexting is that you have such an effect on someone’s body, their nervous system, whether you’re across town or on another continent. Sometimes it can be jarring to feel so close to someone to the point of sexual ecstasy, and then get dropped back into reality. I would say use the same principals as IRL self care: let the person know you’re thinking of them, remind them of how hot your sexting was. The virtual equivalent of snuggling!

Thank you so much to Tina Horn for being as thought-provoking and generous as ever! Go check out Sexting – I’m sure it’ll elevate your sextuality to the next level.

A Dick Worth Sucking

Kate Sloan

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A friend once told me that in her ideal life, she would give a blowjob every day. Her partner would get home from work in the evening, he’d drop his pants, she’d suck him off, and then they’d go about the rest of their night. She considers giving head as important to her emotional well-being as the other self-care routines in her life, like skincare, yoga, and long leisurely baths.

I think about this often, and my opinion on it seems to change from week to week. There are times when the thought of a daily blowjob is so unappealing, I want to keep my mouth closed for the rest of my goddamn life. And then there are times – like now, for instance – when even just the mental image of a cock resting on my tongue is enough to get me going. And I think: a blowjob a day? Every day? For the foreseeable future? Yes please.

But why does my attitude about BJs flip-flop so drastically? I think it comes down to the dicks that I have at my disposal at any given time. Because if there’s not a dick worth sucking in my life, I barely think about blowjobs. But as soon as I find a cock that makes my mouth happy, it’s all I can think about. I’ve got BJs on the brain. Like, nonstop.

My idea of the Perfect Blowjob Recipient is multi-faceted. Partly, it’s about technical specs. Is the dick shaped and sized in such a way that it won’t make my jaw ache after thirty seconds or curve up into my uvula? Is it clean, well-groomed, and pleasant to the touch? Does it harden in my mouth satisfyingly when I’m doing a good job?

But what makes or breaks any kind of sex for me, what takes a cock from “aesthetically pleasing” to “incredibly fun to suck,” is really the personality of my partner. More than the physical sensations of sex, what makes an encounter memorable for me is how much fun it was, how excited I felt, how my emotions and psychology got looped into the experience. And with that in mind, I have some tips for folks who want to be a good blowjob recipient. Or at least, my ideal blowjob recipient.

Firstly and most importantly: make me feel comfortable. Set me at ease. Prioritize my safety and emotional well-being above your pleasure at all times. Maybe that sounds like a lot of work, but it’s really just a chain reaction you can set up once and it’ll domino the rest of the way with only occasional nudges from you. Say things like: “You look gorgeous doing that.” “Is this okay?” “Your mouth feels so good.” “Let me know if you get tired and want to stop; that’s totally fine.”

My anxieties and insecurities are what kept me from loving blowjobs for a damn long time. I was so distracted by thoughts of my own inadequacy that I missed out on the actual sensual pleasure of having a cock in my mouth. If you front-load enough of these assurances into our first few BJs together, you’ll imbue me with the confidence and calm to keep giving you stellar head without getting nervous about it. It doesn’t take a lot of effort and the payoff is enormous.

Secondly: fucking appreciate what I am doing. And I don’t just mean privately feel grateful for my blowjobs inside your own head. I mean express your appreciation. Tell me when something feels good. Bring it up not only during, but after the fact: “That blowjob last night was amazing.” “That thing you did with your tongue made me come so hard.” “I loved the way you touched my balls.”

Make some noise. In talking to other women about sex with men, one of our main complaints – and that’s not an exaggeration – is that men don’t make enough noise. Performing oral sex on a silent partner is unsatisfying in the same way that it’s unsatisfying to flip a light switch when the bulb has burned out. In past relationships, when my blowjob enthusiasm has dwindled, it’s been because I got tired of pouring my heart and soul into a dick that might as well have been a banana for all the response I was getting. It can take some time to train yourself into making noise in bed if it doesn’t come naturally to you, but it’s worth doing: your sounds guide me, fuel me and reward me. And that means you get more BJs.

Thirdly: cultivate the skill of giving direction that doesn’t feel like a rejection. I love the process of teaching someone how to get me off, and I love being on the receiving end of those lessons as well. But this requires a careful balance of correction and compassion, and it’s easy to fuck that up.

Never tell me that I’m doing something wrong; show me how to do it right, instead. Never imply that the way you like your dick sucked is the only way, the best way, or the way I should have learned long ago; acknowledge that it’s just the way you like it, so it might take me a while to learn. Encourage me when I do what you want, with pleasure noises, words of affirmation, and physical touch. God, if I could learn everything in my life by having a hot person stroke my hair and call me “good girl” when I got it right, I’d be way better at volleyball and piano and CSS than I am.

Our culture teaches men that their sexual pleasure is a foregone conclusion, that they should be reserved and stoic in bed, and that all women should love giving blowjobs for their own sake. Not all of these beliefs are necessarily evil, but they do add up to a whole lot of men who don’t adequately appreciate, thank and reward the people who blow them. And I know my experience isn’t universal by any means, but when I feel unappreciated and unacknowledged, I feel unsexy. It’s your enthusiasm that will get you laid, and laid well.

This month brought the first time in my life when I actively craved giving a BJ the same way I crave having sexual things done to me. My lips and tongue and throat ached for it, the way my clit can ache for pressure or my cunt can ache for fullness. And it was because the particular person I was fantasizing about is indeed my Ideal Blowjob Recipient. His dick is on-point, sure, but it’s his behavior, his attitude, his whole approach to receiving head that makes me want to drop to my knees in front of him literally whenever he asks.

My mouth-lust for him got so bad that I did something I could have never predicted I’d do. “Hey, I’m sorry if this comes across as totally crass or un-‘chill,'” I wrote to him, “but I can’t stop thinking about going down on you and I’d really like to do it again soon.”

And, what do you know? He took me up on my offer. See? I told you enthusiasm will get you laid.

Review: Pleasure Works Cadet

Kate Sloan

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Sometimes you meet someone who seems perfect on paper, but there’s just no spark in person. They’re smart, funny, sweet, ambitious, adventurous, creative, charming, and a genuine pleasure to be around – but you just can’t muster up a sexual attraction to them. It’s frustrating as hell, and sometimes it can keep you from firmly rejecting the person, because they deserve to be wanted and you want to want them but you just… don’t.

That’s how I feel about the Pleasure Works Cadet. It’s a perfectly fine dildo that deserves love, from somebody, someday. But it’s not getting any love from me, hard as I might try.

The Cadet is made of silicone that has a little squish: it’s bendier than O2 but significantly firmer than VixSkin. It has a mild, strange scent and taste that remind me of the chocolate from advent calendars (?!). Its base is substantial and makes it anal-safe and harness-compatible, and it’s long enough (6.5″) that you won’t render it too short by strapping it into a harness.

The 1.6″ diameter feels ideal to me. I don’t need to warm up or stretch myself open before I take it, but it’s girthy enough that squeezing around it feels satisfying.

imageThere’s some raised veins on the shaft, but they’re pretty mild so my vag barely registers them. The head has some weird ridgy texture on it, which Bex told me bothers her but which I can hardly feel. (I should note, however, that my vag has historically not been all that sensitive to texture. If you are, you might dislike this like Bex does.) The coronal ridge is definitely noticeable in use but it’s not exaggerated; mostly it just reminds me of an average penis… which unfortunately means that it barely hits my G-spot. In fact, I only seem to get decent G-spot stimulation with this toy if I thrust it very fast.

And that’s a problem I have with the Cadet: thrusting it fast takes effort. The textured shaft and draggy silicone create resistance, and I find the base hard to grip if I’m trying to pound myself at a decent clip. Adding more lube helps a little, but I hardly ever seem to gather the speed and momentum I want. And when I do manage it, usually my wrist hurts like hell afterward.

imageI thought I’d like the Cadet because it’s theoretically long enough to hit my A-spot – usually toys need to be about 6″ or longer to reach that deep inside me. But nope, it doesn’t even do that. The head is just slightly too wide and blunt to slide past my cervix into that pleasurable nook. When I push the Cadet all the way into me, it feels so close and yet so far. Dammit.

So, while I’ve had some pretty good orgasms with the Cadet, it’s never going to be a favorite of mine. It barely hits my favorite spots, even when I run myself ragged trying to thrust it at top speed. If you’re looking for an average-sized, realistic, silicone cock for strap-on purposes or otherwise, I’d recommend the Tantus Uncut #1, Vixen Leo or Mustang instead. They all make my vagina way happier than the Cadet.

Sorry, pal. I tried. But it’s not me, it’s you.

 

Thanks for sending me this toy, SheVibe!

Review: Doxy Wand

Kate Sloan

imageAround Christmastime, Carolyn from Betty’s Toy Box delivered me a Doxy Wand and some homemade holiday cookies, in a big gift bag with a kitten on the front. It was honestly one of the best Christmas gifts I’ve ever received – and not just because her cookies are off the chain. No, as good as those cookies were, the real star of the show was the vibrator. It turned out to be even better than I’d hoped.

See, I’d been hearing increasingly good things about the Doxy. JoEllen, Lilly, Potter and David all raved about this wand’s power and ease of use. Plenty of reviewers have said they prefer their Doxy over the Magic Wand, which is a bit like saying “This ketchup is better than Heinz” – I won’t entirely believe you, but I will at least listen to your reasoning.

The Hitachi Magic Wand kickstarted the entire wand genre of vibrators, and let’s be real: few of them even approach the excellence of the Hitachi. I like the adjustable dial on my Bodywand, but its ridged head annoys my clit and it’s louder than I prefer. The Lelo Smart Wand is elegant, ergonomic and rumbly, but mine died completely after about a year so it’s basically just a beautiful paperweight at this point. I like the small size and comfy handle of the Jimmyjane Iconic Wand, but its controls are in a weird spot and the rounded head makes pinpoint stimulation impossible.

As you can see, many companies have tried to improve upon the Magic Wand, but it never seems to go quite right. The Doxy, on the other hand, actually does feel like a better Magic Wand in many ways. That’s pretty remarkable.

A caveat: the Doxy’s never going to dethrone the Magic Wand Rechargeable as my go-to wand, simply because it’s not rechargeable. You’re chained to an outlet while you’re using the Doxy. The length of its cord is generous, but I still prefer the cordless experience of the MWR. That said, the Doxy’s fucking rad, and let me tell you why…

First off: it’s RUMBLY AS HELL. This is so, so, so important to me, and to many other vibrator users I know. My main complaint with the original Hitachi is its numbing buzziness – I like to be able to feel my genitals while I’m having an orgasm, thank you very much! – so I adore and appreciate rumblier wands. The Doxy’s vibrations stimulate my internal clitoris, not just the skin on the surface, and that results in deeper, stronger orgasms and less numbness. Yum, yay, yes please.

The buttons on the Doxy are huge, clearly labeled, and easy to press. They are like the “large-print books” of vibrator buttons. One turns the toy on and off, and the other two increase and decrease the speed. Occasionally my “+” button gets stuck if I press it too hard, which makes the vibe skip up a couple settings instead of just moving to the next one; this is mildly annoying but seems to happen less often the more that I’ve used the toy.

The head of the Doxy is made of a squishy PVC. It’s probably porous, so you should put a condom (or silicone attachment) on it if you want to share it with non-fluid-bonded partners. The head has a lot of give to it, so if you like to press vibrators hard against your body, you might find the squishiness annoying. I tend to hold my vibes very lightly against my clit so I haven’t run into this issue, but it’s something to keep in mind.

We need to talk about the various settings on the Doxy. The first one has been a particular source of fascination for me: it’s so low, it’s laughable. If you judged the wand’s value by this speed, you’d think it was poorly designed, because the toy’s handle conducts the vibrations waaay more than the head does. But that first speed is the only one for which that’s the case. (Don’t ask me why, I’m not a vibrator engineer!)

The second speed is the one that makes me come, 90% of the time. It’s a significant jump up from the first, which annoys me sometimes, but then I just hold it adjacent to my clit until I’m ready for more direct vibration and it works out fine.

I’m not typically a “power queen,” so the second speed is usually as much power as I need. But there are several stronger settings above it, and it’s good to know they’re there. Everyone should have a super-strong vibrator around, in case of those days when your genitals just aren’t very responsive and you want to blast yourself into orgasm.

The Doxy is basically what would happen if the Magic Wand and the Wahl had a baby together. It’s got the shape and controls of a standard wand, and the jackhammer-y rumbliness that I love about the Wahl. I still prefer vibrators with a more pinpointed shape, because my clit is an attention hog and would rather have all the vibration to itself than share it with my labia. But if you like broad stimulation and rumbly vibration, I think you would adore the Doxy Wand. It is the high-powered, effective, sleek, modern wand vibrator we need – nay, deserve – in 2016.

 

Thanks to Betty’s Toy Box for hooking me up with this toy!