For more sex education resources during the COVID-19 outbreak, check out our Better Sex Ed guide.  

I have a “hurry up and wait” kind of cunt.

I’m a sexual go-getter: a smooth talker with a high libido and eyes that don’t discriminate on whom they choose to devour. Problem is, my clit is much more discerning. I frequently tell porn scene partners, clients, and potential lovers that I need “a beehive on top of a lawn mower on top of a dryer” in order to have an orgasm. They always laugh and often get uncomfortable when I don’t.

The truth of the matter is that while I became sexually active at 14 years old, I didn’t have my first orgasm until I was in my early 20s. My savior came in the form of a Hitachi Magic Wand. If you don’t know what that is, do yourself—and your partner(s) a favor—and stop reading this article until you’ve purchased one from Good Vibrations. Don’t be misled by “fake” Hitachis. If you won’t listen to sex advice from a professional ho, then I fear you’re a lost cause.

Throughout college, I slung dildos behind the counter at a feminist sex toy store called Sugar. Companies were constantly sending us sample products to “try out” in the hopes that we’d then carry them in the store. Spoiler alert: We rarely did. Whether said toys reeked of chemicals, short-circuited in our hands, or obviously had never been tested on an actual human body, these rejected items accumulated fast. Instead of discarding them, however, we built shelves into one of the stone walls and formed our very own “Island of Misfit Toys.” We even decorated it with ribbon and tinsel because, well, we were really fucking gay.

Part tomb, part attraction, our wall became somewhat notorious in our small sex-positive Baltimore community. Little did I know that when I moved across the country, I’d start my own “Island of Misfit Toys.” Except that island would be my own goddamn bed.

For the past five years, my bedroom has been where vibrators go to die.

At first, I thought it was me. Did I possess some sort of diamond clit that sliced through the silicone head? Was I so strong that the pressure I exerted on the vibrator caused it to malfunction? Did it take so long for me to cum that the device overheated before I had a chance to enjoy its spoils?

It took until vibrator number six for me to reach my epiphany: A power greater than I was obviously screwing—no pun intended—with my orgasm. In order to better understand what might be working to disrupt my life force, I thought I’d compile a list of my misfit toys. I didn’t have any realizations while going over my past vibrators, but perhaps someone reading this will see a previously undetected pattern.

1. The Hitachi Magic Wand. The first vibrator to make me scream “Hallelujah!” was purchased during an academic trip to San Francisco in 2009. Like many, I was skeptical—and a little embarrassed—of its size and weight at first; it could easily double as a weapon and needed to be plugged into the wall. It wasn’t exactly a discreet object one could slide into their purse before going out to cruise. My first ride on the wand, however, resulted in almost instantaneous orgasm, and I was immediately converted. Shortly thereafter, I started noticing, though, that when I’d grind on the wand on my stomach, the sound would intensify as though it were working “harder.” Pretty soon the sound had escalated to full-on dishes-rattling-during-a-tornado, and yet I still prioritized my orgasm over imminent death. It wasn’t until the jangly vibrations started pulsing that I finally threw in the towel. Mind you, this original version of the Magic Wand has no “pattern” settings—only “low” (HAH) and “high.”
2. The Hitachi Magic Wand … again. Look, I know, but I was optimistic. Maybe I had just gotten a bum model! I hadn’t saved my original receipt to return the OG Magic Wand, so I had to purchase an entirely new one. To its credit, I had this one for a year before shit hit the fan. Conveniently, like every Apple product I’ve ever had, it started malfunctioning jusssstttt after the warranty expired. This time, the connection between the base of the vibrator and the cord seemed to have gotten compromised; the vibrator would lose power if I adjusted the cord ever so slightly. When I reached the point where I was taping the cord to the body of the vibe at the only severe angle it would operate at, I realized I’d gone too far.
3. The Hitachi Magic Wand … because I was in a state of catastrophic denial. Four months in, the space between the head and the neck of the toy started sparking. Literal fire. I do give myself credit for immediately tossing it in the trash, though.
4. The Mystic Wand Vibrator. After the Hitachi series of unfortunate events, I decided to downsize a tad. Perhaps I started with a Thoroughbred when I should have gotten my sea legs on a pony, I reasoned. The Mystic Wand’s appearance was reminiscent of the Hitachi, but it was smaller, lighter, cordless, and waterproof! Or should I say, “water-resistant.” Silly me thought I’d discovered a battery-operated sex toy that could be fully submerged. It lasted one Jacuzzi bath before sputtering its defeat.
5. Vesper by Crave. This one’s easy: The chain broke. It’s delicate as a pane of glass and definitely not worth the price tag. Plus, subtlety is overrated.
6. The Laya Vibrator. This purchase was made after I started working at Feelmore in Oakland. I had finally convinced myself to do serious research on vibes before purchasing them. Since I prefer to grind on them via lying on my stomach, the Laya’s ergonomic form was a BIG plus. Also, I have to say, it was much more powerful than you’d expect a vibe of that size to be! However, although I was becoming much more educated around vibrator performance, I still lacked the necessary knowledge on how to clean and store said vibrator. You’d think I’d learn from my experience with the Mystic Wand, but alas. After running the Laya under soapy water several times, corrosion set in around the batteries, and the device was kaput.
7. The Rechargeable Magic Wand. To be honest, this one broke my heart. I had such high hopes for the “new and improved” reincarnation of the Hitachi that I ordered it online two months in advance. Descriptions boasted a lighter body, a softer head, plus multiple speed and pattern settings. The best part? No obnoxious cord! What the company failed to mention, however, is that the wand didn’t exactly hold a charge well. Again, maybe it was just my model, but I soon lost count of the number of times I almost punched a hole clear through the wall because the vibe would die right before I came, despite having charged it for 24 to 48 hours beforehand. You need to be able to trust your vibrator, and I grew to trust the Rechargeable Magic Wand just as far as I could throw a dumpster of ’em.
8. The Doxy Die Cast Massage Wand. I lovingly refer to the Doxy as the “Linda Blair of Vibrators.” Why? Because merely a month after being gifted this gorgeous functional paperweight, the head started spinning around whenever it reached one of the higher vibration settings—which, of course, I needed to utilize in order to get off. Also, while the metal body of the vibrator is uniquely beautiful, it also gets really fucking cold, and I’m NOT into temperature play. It was a novel bedroom party trick for horror movie fans until I tired of it. I now use it on clients’ prostates. Gentle settings only.
9. The Wanachi Mega Vibrating Massager. Let it be known that I never would have purchased this vibrator; I won it in a drag show raffle. I mostly used it as a conversation starter—as well as something to whip out and threaten my submissive clients with! While the power of the Wanachi is genuinely almost unmatched, there’s a distinctive warning label on the body of this gargantuan hot pink erotic freak show that cautions against using the toy for “more than 30 minutes at a time.” The anxiety of knowing that I had only 30 minutes to cum proved impossible to ignore; I never got a single orgasm out of the damn thing. I subsequently gifted it to a clitorally-sensitive friend, of whom I remain envious to this day.

You may be thinking: Andre, it’s you. Maybe your vibrators keep dying because you keep killing them. Maybe. But I’m not going to stop until I find the glorious vibrator that my diamond clit deserves. And neither should you.