I started using vibrators when I was a man. You know, before I figured out that being a man was a terrible idea for my mental health. In the years since, they’ve always been a reliable part of my sexual repertoire. It’s only a pity that their made-by-the-lowest-bidder lives are so brief. Oh, sweet mayflies of plastic and D cells, what did we do to deserve such loss? No matter the cause, the loss of a good vibrator is a sad affair. Here are some of mine — though pseudonyms have been used to protect the privacy of the deceased.
Big Pink died in 2018 in her home after a short battle with a tiled floor. She died carrying out her life’s work. Vibrators
You were my foray into battery facilitated masturbation. I was a confused young man exploring my sexuality and relieving my wrist of exhaustion in equal measure. You didn’t judge me for my interests the way my peers would have. To be honest, you didn’t do much of anything until batteries were installed.
Finding you by chance was a lucky stroke (hah!). I embarked on this pleasurable endeavor without any preference for size, color, or shape. Yet by the end of the first battery replacement, I was hooked on the rumbly sensation. Strong and steadfast. I was dismayed to learn how expensive batteries got when I let go, but the price was worth it. You carried me through stressful undergraduate years and my dawning queerness. I am forever appreciative.
One day in the afterglow, I forgot that vibrators continue buzzing even after the user is finished. I set you down on my desk and after a short horizontal adventure, you became one with the floor. I’m sure you weren’t the worst thing the recycling worker ever saw.
Our kind friend Buzzsaw passed away in a tragic accident and is survived by his sister, Purple Friend.
Your life was short as it was intense, you hard-cased demon-thing. With the success of Big Pink, you became the second addition to the repertoire. Through you, I learned what a buzzy toy felt like. I respected your talents, but you were always meant for others. An impatient, insistent thing. Like a woodpecker.
You greatest contribution to my sex life was your service to others. I brought home partners (mainly women), and they were a little surprised to find a man who owned a vibrator. You assured them of my personal security almost as much as the closed bin in my bathroom did. A life lived in service to others is a worthy one — you were present when my anatomy was not. Fewer and fewer people left my place dissatisfied.
Your stubbornness was impressive. I dropped you and cracked your base, but you remained headstrong. Unfortunately, the drop compromised your waterproofing. The obituary says tragic accident, but it was a negligent drowning. The regret is mine alone to bear.
The loss of Purple Friend is keenly felt by her owners who are left bereft in the aftermath of her passing.
You joined our relationship before I transitioned, and departed shortly after I realized the truth of myself. This couple had a strange sense of humor and named you after the hue of your plastic casing. You joined us in a time of change. My first vibrator as a young trans woman, and my first vibrator jointly purchased with my girlfriend.
We reminisce on hours of fun. Relaxed enjoyment whenever one of us wasn’t in the mood for exertion. Smuggled into the shower to supplement a happy relationship. You even traveled with us. We still laugh about the time something in her tightly packed suitcase switched you on, and you buzzed quietly in a car trunk for an hour. She rolls her eyes, hoping the driver didn’t notice that her luggage was vibrating when it was being unloaded.
I will always be saddened by your loss, but I smile smugly too. For once, I wasn’t responsible for a toy’s demise. You were drying on the bathroom shelf and she reached over. You tipped. The toilet seat gave you a good crack, and the floor finished the job. Lessons learned.
This isn’t even a complete list of the fallen. In between major life events, there were less significant toys and even total duds. Maybe someday, their stories will be heard too. Today, we remember our loyal electronic friends. May they accompany us in singledom and love; alone and with friends; in stress and joy. May we celebrate their too-short lives and the joy they bring to us.
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Enby is a Black/Trans owned company run by 3 enby's that believes that all bodies deserve affirmation and pleasure. The strive to create a safer, and more comfortable sex-toy shopping experience for the Queer community and more specifically gender non-conforming, trans and non-binary people.
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