The Best Gifts Come in Small Packages

I received a small package last week which contained not diamonds, not pearls but something far more thrilling than expensive jewellery – a state-of-the-art, hi-tech, ergonomic, astoundingly inconspicous, his & hers G-spot massager. It was a gift from someone I’ve never met - a friend of a friend who designs sex toys and who seems to regard me as the perfect guinea pig for his latest inventions. I’m not sure if this is something I should be proud of – perhaps I’ll leave it off my CV...

The packaging was covered in enthusiastic claims. You know, the kind of jargon that immediately produces expectations that you’re about to have the most amazing experience of your life. Had there been any personal instructions attached to my new toy they might have gone something like this: ‘Prototype. Please try in all orifices.’ The packet was open. I briefly wondered where it might have been ‘tried’ before, but put that slightly disturbing thought to the back of my mind, told myself to remember to wash it before use, and laid the packet on the kitchen counter (the kids were away) with the best of intentions to try it out before the day was done.

Now, if you’ve been following my blogs you might think that I spend an excessive amount of money on sex toys. I can’t deny it, but just to put your minds at rest, they are for research purposes, and I can write them off against tax. It’s not creative tax evasion, it’s just one of the many benefits that come with being a Tantric Sex Goddess.

Anyway, compared to the ‘New and improved Rabbit’ I’d invested in from ‘SH!’, the women’s sex emporium in Hoxton a few months ago this diminutive bunny looked a tad on the under-fed side. I couldn’t quite imagine how this unassuming, little white gizmo could possibly match the pink pariah’s performance, with all its bells and whistles, gyrating penis with rolling balls inside, vibrating clit stimulator and numerous settings.

You’re dying to know, aren’t you? Ok, ok. But there’s a story leading up to the final verdict. As you know, if you’ve been receiving my newsletters, I’m writing another book to deadline for a publishing company who basically only pay up when they get the stuff, on time. This is writing taken to maximum stress levels. Not the fun and leisurely, creative writing of my youth, when I dreamed of being a novelist, spending hours gazing out of a window at some Elysian valley. At the moment I am what’s known as a jobbing writer, filling six pages on oral sex before Wednesday, ten pages on orgasm by the following Tuesday. This kind of writing is not conducive to a wild, juicy, spontaneous sex life. I’m more concerned about getting enough sleep for my brain to function adequately than for my body to get a suitable quota of physical contact or sexual stimulation. Many days spent in isolation with only a computer for company does not a sex goddess make! They should conduct a survey on how many sex writers actually have sex. A low percentage I would imagine. I’m drying up like a dehydrated fig. I think I’ll join a pole-dancing class when I finish this book.

So, to cut a long story short, the little white bunny (called the Nexus Duo Range Max 7, in case you’re interested) remained un-tested, looking forlorn, sitting between the juicer and blender for six whole days! How sad is that?! Every time I did the dishes she winked at me, but I couldn’t quite muster the energy or desire to free her from her wrapping.

The weekend came around and my kind and considerate, very part-time playmate, who lives a fair distance away, agreed to visit. I think he took pity when he heard the manic desperation in my voice, having spent six days straight seeing nobody, aside from my brother on Skype. True to form he showed up with a suitcase containing power tools, bondage rope and ceiling hooks. It’s rather handy as he’s a builder by trade. I also got him to bring his radiator bleeding key. Not the most romantic request, but I’m all for killing two birds with one stone.

We proceeded to have dinner in the civilised manner that we do before beginning a tantric-BDSM ritual. He and I hooked up on a Tantra meets BDSM workshop (that’s a blog for another time). Half the participants had come from the world of tantra the other half from the fetish world but unusually, he and I had come from both. It was a match made in Nirvana and I’m constantly grateful for how easily we seem to be able to play hard, and love tenderly in equal measures.

He’s a switched-on guy, and had noticed the toy on the kitchen shelf while clearing up after dinner. At a certain point in the night’s activities he produced the little mite and inserted it somewhere, but to be quite honest, having entered the ‘zone’, already flying in a state of euphoric ecstasy, it kind of got lost in the scheme of things, if you know what I mean. And let’s face it, at two in the morning, when your master has exhausted himself, punishing and pleasuring you, he doesn’t really have the energy or wherewithal to start experimenting with the settings on a vibrator.

After my hero left the next day, I noticed the new addition to the family, sitting on my bedside table. I could almost hear her whispering, “Try me”, like some enchanted object out of a Lewis Carroll novel.
So I obliged. Eureka! Now I know what the marketing people who wrote the blurb on the packaging were raving about. This is vibrator technology taken to a whole new level. How have they managed to refine a simple sex toy to such a degree of perfection? Some mad geeks out there have got a lot of time and patience, which is what must be needed I guess to design the next level of sex toy for the hungry consumer. The mind boggles (well, my rather pervy one anyway) imagining the research laborotaries...

There are seven settings, each one more jaw-dropping than the next. Any visitor I get at the moment I bring down the Max 7 and shove it between their fingers, saying fervently, “Check this out!” I mean, I’m like one of those preachers who attempt to convert anyone who comes within two feet. But honestly, you’ve never felt such subtlety in a vibrating gadget – little hums that build up to high-pitch revs and back again, short pulses that grow in intensity, slow wind-ups that peak and trough. There’s enough going on to keep you entertained for hours. Although the Max 7 is promoted as a G-spot massager I have to say that it’s equally effective for clitoral stimulation, especially if you like a more subtle approach.

Oh god, I’m beginning to sound like a telly ad!
Am I getting carried away? Do I sound a little hysterical? Perhaps I should start thinking about trying to find a serious boyfriend...