8 Reasons the “Squirt is Pee” Study is Bad

Kate Sloan

Recently I was chatting with some friends about the 2015 study that “proved” squirting is the same thing as peeing, and I got incensed afresh about it. You can read the study yourself online if you’re curious, though I’m about to make the case for why you probably shouldn’t.

To be perfectly clear: I am not a scientist, nor am I a doctor. I have, however, been a sex journalist for nearly a decade, so I’m pretty accustomed to reading studies and extracting key findings from them. I first became interested in this study when I wrote a piece about it for Maisonneuve years ago, and I interviewed many experts and key players in the field as part of that project. With all of that said, here are 8 reasons this study is, in my view, not to be trusted…

 

1. It only had seven (7) participants. SEVEN. Many experts agree that studies smaller than about 100 people are unlikely to be statistically significant or predictive of a general population. I asked the lead researcher, Samuel Salama, why he only studied seven women, and he said, “I wish [I had] more, but it is difficult to recruit women who accept to participate to the protocol [sic].” He also claimed that his study was nonetheless the largest one that had been done on the topic, which is in fact false; previous studies done on the squirting-versus-pee debate have included sample sizes as large as 27, and there was even a previous biochemical analysis study on this subject that had 11 participants. (Still not enough, but better than seven, I guess.)

In an interview, I asked a sexual health research coordinator what they thought about this study only having seven participants, and they said this:

“I think, if you only study seven people, that’s just ridiculous. Like, what the fuck. That is not statistically significant in any universe. It doesn’t prove anything. … It’s bonkers! Bonkers! Seven people is like, nothing.”

 

2. The lead researcher seems to have had an axe to grind. I asked lead researcher Samuel Salama why he decided to study this topic, and he told me it was his 3rd-year sexology thesis and that he chose the subject of squirting “because you can read a lot of bullshit on the topic.” This suggests to me that he had already formed an opinion about whether squirting is pee before he even began the study, since he felt all the previous research on it was “bullshit.” Scientists are supposed to keep an open mind about the potential results of their studies; otherwise, the results are prone to being tainted, just like Salama thinks ejaculate is tainted by pee.

 

3. Participants were recruited under odd circumstances. The study’s seven participants were all referred by physicians, which suggests to me that the women themselves, their doctors, and the study creators all viewed squirting as a medical issue rather than a normal part of sexual functioning. This creates a biased dynamic that no doubt would permeate the whole study. Participants were also required to have a BMI that falls within the “healthy” range despite BMI having been long ago debunked as a useful measure of body weight and health.

In an interview, I asked a postdoctoral research fellow at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health if it could be problematic that all the participants were recruited via their physicians, and she said this:

“It definitely creates limitations on the generalizability of the results. For example, since the sample is limited to a certain set of women who saw these particular physicians and were then referred, we have to consider whether or not there are systematic differences between a) women who choose and/or are able to visit a physician and those who do not or cannot, b) the characteristics of women who visited the specific physicians included in the study versus women who selected different physicians, or c) women who were referred to the study and actually participated, versus women who were referred and chose not to participate, to name a few issues. Thus, the interpretation of the results should be considered within these limitations.”

 

4. It’s cissexist. I mean, it’s certainly not unique among sexological studies in this way, unfortunately, but this is still worth pointing out. So-called “female ejaculation” is a phenomenon that can happen to anyone who has a vagina, not just cis women.

 

5. It took place in a lab setting. This, again, is definitely not unique among sex studies, but I do think it’s worth noting because we just don’t have the same sexual responses in cold, clinical environments as we would have in our own cozy beds. IMO it’s absurd to think that someone getting sexually stimulated in a lab room, while being monitored and measured, would have exactly the same experience of and response to that stimulation as she has at home. As Emily Nagoski, Ph.D., details in her book Come As You Are, stress has a physiologically inhibiting effect on sexual arousal, and thus I don’t think a sex study can be purely effective and accurate in a lab setting. The participants of this study even noted that the amount they squirted during the study was less than they tend to squirt at home, suggesting the results were in fact different than they would be in everyday life.

 

6. The results were inconclusive, but not described as such in the study. This, to me, is the most pressing and obvious reason this study is problematic. The study measured levels of urea, creatinine, uric acid, and prostate-specific antigen (PSA) in each participant’s pee both before sex and after sex, and also measured those levels in each participant’s squirt. Those first three ingredients – urea, creatinine, and uric acid – are found in urine, while PSA is typically not.

If you look at the graphs that lay out the data on what was actually in each sample (click the image to see it larger), you’ll see that the distribution is actually pretty all-over-the-place. Some participants’ squirt (represented by the red bar in each chart) contained medium-to-high levels of the components of urine, while some contained barely any at all. Most participants’ squirt contained a high proportion of prostate-specific antigen compared to other ingredients, which – if anything – supports the idea that squirt is a separate fluid from urine, containing its own unique ingredients.

The writers of the study note early on, “Because normality of data distribution could not be ascertained, we preferred to use the median as the measure of central tendency and minimum–maximum values as the measure of variability.” This is just not a fair or effective way to do a study like this. Even I, as a relative layperson, can glance at these results and see that some of the women’s squirt is scientifically similar to their pee, and some of the women (especially participant #5, and to a lesser extent, #4 and #6) clearly squirt a liquid that is demonstrably different from their urine. You can’t just “average out” the results and decide that a handful of women squirting something chemically similar to pee means all women who ever squirt are squirting pee – especially when the results of your own study don’t even bear that out!

 

7. There’s traces of pee in penile ejaculate, too. It is well-established that semen contains uric acid and urea, probably due to the fact that both urine and semen come from the same hole and will naturally intermingle to some extent. I would argue (as did many of my scientist interviewees) that the same happens for people with vulvas, and that this explains the overlap in chemical makeup between some vulva-possessing people’s urine and ejaculate.

 

And finally… 8. This study will damage, and has damaged, the lives of people who squirt. The hypothesis that squirting = pee has already caused so much pain, stigma, and even trauma in the world. I interviewed Spanish sex educator Diana J. Torres about squirting and they told me stories of women they’ve known who have had their G-spots surgically removed as treatment for “coital incontinence” that was actually just squirting. “Usually science is not separated from politics,” they said, “and in a patriarchal system, it has been instrumentalized to support it.” I have to agree.

In the aftermath of this study being published, headlines circulated worldwide, announcing that squirt was actually just pee. My friend Epiphora launched a “#NotPee” campaign on social media to fight against the stigma and misinformation. Many people replied to say that they’d been shamed for squirting in the past. I hate to think what happens when that shaming escalates to ostracization or even violence.

“I don’t know why they keep revisiting it. I don’t know what the political import is to prove that it’s urine. It seems weird to me,” said philosophy professor (and proud squirter) Shannon Bell when I interviewed her about this. “If you compare it to studies on [penile] ejaculate, there’s almost an investment in women’s ejaculate not being as sexual a fluid… and I would say that’s got a political component to it.” Like Bell, I see this entire debate as being yet another manifestation of the male-dominated science field refusing to believe women and other people of marginalized genders about their own damn bodies.

I’m tired of it. I want better, bigger studies on the subject, that are constructed in more compassionate and sensical ways. But mostly, I just want people to stop caring so much whether squirt is pee and whether pee is gross. There is a lot about sex that could be considered gross, and most of us continue to have it anyway. If you’re actually disgusted by your partner’s pleasure, maybe you should let them go so they can find a partner who actually wants them to have a good time in bed without feeling ashamed of their body and the fluids it produces.

I Miss Strip Clubs (…But I’ve Only Ever Been to One)

Kate Sloan
I don’t have any photos of strip clubs, but I do have this picture of me naked at a sex club… Close enough, I guess?!

One of the first things I learned about Portland upon arriving there was that it apparently has some of the best strip clubs in the country. I didn’t know how or why this was true yet, but my friends who lived there insisted that it was. I believed them wholeheartedly. I put on a low-cut dress and some sparkly shoes, and off we went.

It turns out that the reason Portland’s strip clubs are so great is partly a legal one: unlike clubs in some other states, they’re allowed to show you full nudity on stage – and to serve alcohol. While I’m sure that’s a combination that can get messy at times, on the night I took advantage of these two freedoms, it was nothing but bliss.

My friends and I crowded along the tip rail, clutching dollar bills and cocktails. Boobs were shoved in my face. Thighs were parted directly in front of me. I could hear the squeak of hot skin against the metal pole. My glasses – worn so I could see the dancers’ beautiful bodies better – were complimented and then removed from my face to prevent them from getting smashed by errant legs. It was a whirlwind of soft flesh, big beats, sweet drinks, and good vibes. I threw money onto the stage with abandon during every dance, mesmerized.

I thought of this recently when I read sex journalist Tracy Clark-Flory’s new memoir Want Me, in which she recounts – among numerous other things – many a night spent as a customer at local strip clubs, drinking in the atmosphere, tipping dancers, and intermingling bittersweetly with the raucous dudes in the crowd. While acknowledging that strippers are people and that sex workers don’t deserve to be reduced to stereotypes or props, Tracy also notes that being in that type of sexually charged space made her feel empowered and excited, in a way that may be unique to female clientele at strip clubs. It’s a very particular experience, and one that I miss, despite only having tried it once.

That’s right – I, a seasoned sex writer, have only been to a strip club ONCE!! This is 100% just because of social anxiety – I basically can’t go to unfamiliar places without someone to accompany me, and such plans have never lined up quite right for me to be able to check out a strip club in Toronto, where I live. I dearly wish I was the type of woman who could be brave enough to stroll confidently into a strip club, solo, but that’s just not who I am (yet?). I could always look into making a private exotic dancer booking, for a less nervewracking experience, but I miss the atmosphere of a strip club itself just as much as I crave seeing strippers show off their talents.

The pandemic has been a potent time for reflecting on regrets, and fantasizing about the future. Everyone I know seems to have a mental list of things they want to do, people they want to see, and places they want to go – whether for the first time or the hundredth – when they’re safely able to again. The more that I think about it, the more I realize that going to a strip club is one of those wistful wishes for me. In many ways it feels like the polar opposite of what the pandemic has entailed: people crowded closely together, maskless, eating and drinking and staring up at charismatic naked beauties on stage. I’m no expert, but I would imagine that a lot of the people who regularly go to strip clubs do so in part because they like the bustling and in-your-face vivid vibe of that environment – otherwise, wouldn’t they just stay home and watch striptease videos? – and all these months of social distancing have given me an increased appreciation for that type of energy.

I’ll still be deeply nervous when I eventually go to a strip club again, I’m sure. This year of lockdown hasn’t magically transformed me into a shameless extrovert. But I think I’ll have an even greater appreciation for strip shows now than I did before, especially having seen how much sex workers – an already profoundly stigmatized and marginalized group – struggled to make ends meet during these lean times.

I’m not really religious, but I could see how going to a strip club after a pandemic could be a spiritual experience. What secular act could be more church-like than gathering in a darkened room with other congregants, imbibing sacred libations, and tithing dollar bills to dazzling goddesses dancing under dappled lights?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

9 Ways to Access Pleasure & Intimacy Without Having Sex

Kate Sloan

What with pandemic stress, chronic pain, and a shifting libido as I get older, sometimes I just don’t feel like having sex, even though I genuinely think my partner is the hottest person in the world. Sexuality is mysterious like that.

That said, I’m lucky enough to be with someone who understands that “standard” sex is not the only way to feel connected to a partner, make them feel good, or express your love for them.

Here are 9 ways you could have a pleasurable, body-based, and/or romantic experience with your partner, without delving into “sex” territory:

 

1. Masturbate together. A classic! I love to do this when I’m too tired/achy to put much actual effort into sex. Bonus points for using a good wand vibrator – it makes getting off much easier for me and also enables me to focus more on my partner because I can just “set it and forget it” on my clit.

2. Just cuddle, without expectations. I remember when I was ~16 and cuddling with a romantic prospect felt like the most exciting, intimate thing in the world. It still can be! If you find it awkward or boring to just lie there, you could watch TV or listen to a podcast together while you snuggle up.

3. Give or receive a massage. There are soooo many styles of massage to learn about and try out, from Swedish massage to Tantric massage to hot stone massage – but even just keeping it super basic with some massage oil and unskilled rubbing can be blissful and connective.

4. Watch comedy or horror together. Weird pairing, I know – but I really do think these genres are two sides of the same coin, neurochemically. If you pick an uproarious comedy or a terrifying horror flick to watch with your sweetie, the two of you will go through some intense feelings together, which can be connective in and of itself – plus you’ll get the endorphin rush associated with laughing super hard or getting scared shitless. (If you need recommendations: my all-time favorite comedies include The Birdcage, Anchorman, The Producers, and Down With Love, while my fave horror movies include Get Out, The Exorcist, Midsommar, and It.)

5. Draw on each other. My friend Casia Sobolewski loves to do this, and first introduced me to its sensual pleasures. Get out an assortment of different-colored markers – ideally the washable kind that kids use, not Sharpies! – and create some art on one another’s bodies. In addition to being a delightful creative project, this also creates a tickly, sensuous feeling on your skin that is truly unique and even kinda sexy.

6. Do spa treatments on each other. My partner is a foot fetishist so I imagine they’d be quite keen to give me a pedicure if I asked; what spa-esque procedures would you find fun to do for a partner? Apply a goopy sheet mask to their face? Shave their legs in a vaguely kinky manner? Moisturize every inch of their skin?

7. Indulge in sadomasochism. Now, certainly it’s debatable whether kink “counts” as “not sex,” since – for many kinky people, myself included – kink scenes often feel like sex and essentially are sex even if there’s no genital contact, orgasms, etc. But it’s good to be reminded that kink is an option for when more conventional/vanilla sex feels inaccessible or unappealing! I can think of few things that make me feel closer to my partner, or more loved by them, than receiving a lengthy hand-spanking, flogging, or paddling.

8. Have a singalong. If one or both of you play an instrument and can do live accompaniment, so much the better! But you can also just pull up some karaoke tracks from YouTube or Spotify, or just sing along to your favorite tunes. Making music with a loved one is tons of fun and feels like a collaborative project, kinda like sex in its own way.

9. Meditate together. If you’re spiritually inclined, or just interested in mindfulness, this could be an interesting couples’ activity. I imagine it’d be grounding and refocusing to hold hands with my partner while we both meditate; afterward, we could talk about how it all felt, and what we thought of the experience.

 

What non-sexual activities do you find sensually pleasing and connective to do with your partner(s)?

 

This post was sponsored. As always all writing and opinions are my own.

6 Ways to Simulate Group Sex

Kate Sloan
Photo by Kynan (I think?) of glass dildos some friends and I made together in 2015

As scads of people get vaccinated, and lockdowns start to lift in response, I’m seeing more and more jokes on social media about options for group sex opening up as well. For friends of mine whose lives ordinarily contain a high concentration of threesomes, foursomes, and moresomes, the pandemic has brought on a particular type of group-oriented touch starvation that many are hoping to rectify as soon as it’s safe to do so.

But I’m also seeing a common sentiment among these folks that despite their previous willingness to jump into such activities (and more power to ’em), they’re nonetheless feeling hesitant to wade back into those risky waters when we’ve spent the past year avoiding other people like… well… the plague. Sure, depending on your vaccine status, it may or may not be medically okay for you to go hook up with a handful of other vaxxed folks who you find on dating sites like Tinder for Couples, but will it feel okay psychologically just yet? Maybe not. And that’s quite reasonable!

For anyone who’s unable, unwilling, or just hesitant to hop back into group sex, but still craves it, here are some suggestions for replicating it without the actual “group” part…

1. Fantasize. I’m sure you’ve been doing this already if you’re orgiastically inclined! Break out your filthiest mental images and imaginings, during either masturbation or partnered sex. It’ll amp up your excitement, plus studies show we’re better equipped to handle situations we’ve already visualized and practiced in our minds.

2. Use sex toys. A realistic dildo can help you feel like there’s another dick in the room; a full-lipped Fleshlight can feel like an additional mouth has joined the chat; hell, if you’re lucky enough to own a sex doll, you can dress it up (or strip it down) to create the sense of another horny person’s presence. Toys aren’t the same as another human being, naturally, but they’re a decent stopgap measure for the time being.

3. Incorporate bondage and sensory deprivation. If you’re tied down and can’t see what’s happening, it’s much easier to suspend your disbelief and go along with a fantasy that someone else is in the room with you. Maybe your partner could put on some group-sex porn to create a sexy sonic backdrop for your scene, and then silently pretend to be a near-stranger touching you while you squirm and writhe.

4. Talk dirty about it. Whether in person, over the phone, or via text, you can share fantasies with a partner (or hopeful future partner!) about what you’d like to do in a group scenario. This, again, is a lovely way to ponder your desires so you’ll be better equipped to pursue them when it’s safe to do so – and perhaps to commiserate with someone who is feeling similarly orgy-hungry!

5. Zoom with friends. If you’re a kinky pervert, you probably have friends who are too, or at least online acquaintances. See if they’re missing group sex as much as you are; maybe they’d be up for a Zoom orgy, Skype threesome, friendly fuck over FaceTime, etc.

6. Put on a cam show. For some people, much of group sex’s appeal comes from its exhibitionistic qualities. If performing for others is the main thing you’re missing, you can always hop onto a cam site (such as tinderforcouples.org, which has a live cam chat feature) and show off for adoring strangers. Just be sure to cover your face and any identifying tattoos, birthmarks, etc. if you want to protect your privacy.

Folks who are missing group sex, what has helped you deal with this craving during the pandemic?

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Reviews: We-Vibe Tango X, Satisfyer Curvy 3+, & Lelo Smart Wand 2

Kate Sloan

I was sent these three toys recently while researching some pieces for the Insider about the best sex toys for couples and long-distance play. Here’s what I thought of each!

We-Vibe Tango X

I’ve long been loud about how much I love the original We-Vibe Tango. It has most of the qualities I’d ever want in a clitoral vibe: small, rumbly, powerful, firm, versatile, quiet, and waterproof. But it was missing a few key features – namely, it lacked a travel lock, had only one button you had to use to scroll through all 8 modes, and had a notoriously bad battery that was finicky as hell to charge and would tend to die completely after 1-3 years of use. Hence me owning several Tangos in my time.

The new Tango X has fixed all of those issues: We-Vibe added buttons for navigating between settings, provided a travel-lock option, and equipped the toy with a better battery that charges more easily. They also added an ergonomic silicone finger grip, something I hadn’t known I wanted but that makes the toy a lot easier for me to use on bad hand pain days.

The vibe is just as rumbly and strong as it ever was, albeit with more steady vibration settings to choose from so the jumps between settings don’t feel as abrupt as they used to. The addition of extra buttons, in particular, makes this toy much less annoying to use during partnered sex, because I don’t have to scroll through aaaaall the settings to get back to my fave, thus interrupting the action with some ill-timed vibration patterns. I’ve used the Tango X with my partner several times now and it is even more intuitive and well-suited to partnered-sex applications than it used to be, plus it remains a trusted choice for masturbation, whether I’m pairing it with a dildo or using the Tango X on its own.

I find it impressive that We-Vibe managed to keep the Tango X relatively affordable – $75 at time of writing – despite all these upgrades. (Canadians, that’s about $99 for us.) It remains an absolute staple in my toy collection, and because it has such rumbly and variable vibrations, I think it’d make a great gift for any vulva-possessing person in your life who has expressed wanting a clitoral vibrator but doesn’t quite know what to look for. Bravo, We-Vibe – bravo!

Satisfyer Curvy 3+

This ultra-sleek pressure-wave toy looks to me like something a grown-up Regina George might use. It’s cool, modern, and ergonomic as hell.

I was interested in the Curvy 3+ because Satisfyer gave me its predecessor, the Curvy 2+, back at ANME, and I loved it more than I expected to. The softly rounded edges of the “mouth” made it more comfortable around my clit than a lot of its pointier-edged counterparts, it had a broad range of settings and patterns, and its shape and matte silicone made it easy to hold onto, even when lube got involved. The “handle” end also vibrates and is insertable, incase you want to switch back and forth between clit stimulation and G-spot vibration – great if you’re travelling and don’t have access to other toys, I guess – but I didn’t end up using that feature much because, well, I own many, many dildos that feel better than the Curvy 2+’s handle.

That said, after trying the updated 3+ version, I actually prefer the earlier one! The 3+ has a flatter design that feels less sexy and more clinical in my hand somehow, and consequently its insertable end is also slimmer and less satisfying; it pokes my G-spot rather than filling me up. Most crucially, the “mouth” of the 3+ is smaller, shallower, and has less rounded-off edges, whereas the 2+ has a mouth that’s a good 0.1″ wider and 0.2″ deeper – which may not sound like much, but can make a big difference for a clitoral pressure-wave toy. I can fit a significant amount of my hooded clit into the Curvy 2+, but pretty much only the tip will comfortably fit into the 3+ and generally I have to pull back my hood a bit (yowch!) to even accomplish that much. The 2+’s mouth also has those gently rounded edges that make it much comfier to use, even when I’m pressing the toy firmly against my body.

Satisfyer’s app functionality is worth mentioning here, because it’s really fucking good. Like Lovense toys, Satisfyer toys connect quickly to their corresponding app and are super responsive when you’re controlling them that way. My partner and I have found my Satisfyer Curvy 2+ useful when we’re 500 miles apart but they want to “go down on me”; short of hiring a cunnilingually gifted sex worker and whispering instructions into their ear via audio call, the Satisfyer app is the closest my partner can get to performing oral on me when they can’t actually put their mouth on me.

While I’m sure some people will appreciate the aesthetic updates and functional differences of the Satisfyer Curvy 3+ versus its predecessors in the Curvy line, it’s the Curvy 2+ that has captured my heart (and my clit’s heart, if it had one), and that’s the one I’ll be reaching for more often in the future.

Lelo Smart Wand 2

Obligatory caveats about Lelo: ethically, they are… not great. They hired a domestic abuser as their spokesperson despite abuse survivors’ outcries against this, produced condoms that seem like a health hazard, sued We-Vibe in a vindictive act of patent-trolling, and released a sex toy excusively for male bankers (????), among other things.

While I do think their products have had a sharp decline in quality over the past decade or so, their Smart Wand line is a rare diamond in the rough, IMO – albeit with some problems of its own. I loved my original Smart Wand, although later it betrayed me by dying after only a year. No matter what I did to try to recharge and revive it, it was simply dead, dead, dead. I was just outside of Lelo’s 1-year warranty period so the best they would’ve done for me is provide me with a 50% discount code to buy another one, which – given how quickly the first one had perished – seemed risky and futile.

When I was at ANME in early 2020, I saw a new version of the Smart Wand on display which was bright turquoise (or “aqua,” according to Lelo). This exact shade is one of my favorite colors ever – in fact, I’m currently typing on a computer whose hard-shell case and keyboard cover are both the same color as my Smart Wand 2 – so I ached for it on those grounds alone. Later I asked Lelo for one, and it is just as glorious a hue as I remembered.

I’m not actually sure what’s different about the Smart Wand 2 versus the original Smart Wand; it’s been too long for me to remember and Lelo’s product copy is annoyingly unclear on this point. I do know that a lot of people reported mechanical issues with the original Smart Wand, most notably that sometimes the vibrations would jump around erratically, suddenly ramping up to a high setting or dropping to a low setting without users’ consent. This glitch was mostly reported as happening on the toy’s highest settings – and unfortunately, some reviewers say the Smart Wand 2 has the same issue.

I personally haven’t experienced this glitch, and didn’t experience it with the original Smart Wand, which suggests to me that maybe I use this vibe differently than the folks who noticed this problem. Pressure is often a culprit when vibes glitch out, but I’ve experimented with various amounts of pressure while using the Smart Wand 2 and still haven’t encountered that particular glitch (though I do notice that the vibe tends to get a bit weaker when you press it into your body, as often happens with vibrators). 🤷🏻‍♀️ Your mileage may vary, and purchase at your own risk!

I actually kind of love the Smart Wand 2, I’m somewhat ashamed to say. It’s gorgeous, smooth, and glamorous. Its handle has an ergonomic curved shape that I find useful when I massage my neck and shoulders with it. It’s reasonably quiet for a wand vibe, especially on the lower end of its intensity levels, and gets very strong and rumbly when you want it to. It’s also 100% waterproof, something that used to not matter as much to me in wand vibes but that matters enormously to me now that I live with chronic pain and thus do some of my best relaxin’ and wankin’ in the tub.

But despite all its glamour and strength, the Smart Wand 2 does have some problems. The buttons annoy me at least once every time I use it; Lelo has a bad habit of designing toys with buttons that somehow seem both oversensitive and undersensitive, sometimes requiring multiple presses to go to the next setting and sometimes skipping a few settings with just one press. I also find that the “+,” “–,” and “pattern” buttons are pretty indiscernible from one another when you’ve got your eyes closed or are using the toy in the dark, so I’ve accidentally started a vibration pattern many times when I meant to hit the “+” button instead, potentially ruining or losing my impending orgasm.

I’m also not especially fond of the rounded head. It works well for muscle massage, but one of the reasons I love my Magic Wand Rechargeable is that it has a more squarish shape so I can use its head’s edges/”corners” to produce a more focused, pinpointed sensation on my clit than the broad roundness the Smart Wand 2 allows for. However, if you like all-over vulva vibration, that won’t be an issue for you.

The Lelo Smart Wand 2 costs a whopping $199, and as stunning and seductive as it is, I don’t think it’s really worth that amount of money, especially when you can get a more dependable Magic Wand Rechargeable for just $130, or We-Vibe’s Wand (which is fully waterproof like the Smart Wand) for $170. The Smart Wand 2 reminds me of a beautiful but erratic socialite – and while that kind of person is fun to spend a night with once in a while, generally I’d rather come home to a reliable sweetheart like my Magic Wand.

 

Thanks to We-Vibe, Satisfyer, and Lelo for sending me these toys to try! Have you used any of these? What did you think?