Beyond the Drawer: If Your Sex Toys Could Talk
Featuring the Original Magic Wand
Heat.
Darkness.
Confusion.
Constriction.
I had no idea how much time had passed. I had no idea where she was taking me. All I knew was it was at least 90 degrees in this god damn cardboard box and I wanted out.
Why Kelsey chose the hottest day of the year to move into her new place was a mystery to me. But then again it seemed Kelsey was a mystery to me and everyone who entered her life.
THUD!
My cord tightened around my spherical head as we hit a pothole. I know my cord is what makes me powerful, but I felt powerless in this moment. The more times Kelsey changed apartments, the more my cord became a nuisance. My once long, smooth, power source now a twisted and knotted mess that mirrored the hot mess that was my owner’s life.
This was not how it was supposed to be for me, The Magic Wand. I am the most regarded, consistent, reliable vibrator for women and I imagined I’d be treated as such. I deserved a shrine dedicated to me in the drawer of a nightstand that smelled of lavender and freshly laundered panties. Not a life in cardboard boxes that were usually filled with desperately needing to be laundered socks.
At least this time she threw me in with her miraculously, newly-cleaned pajamas. Despite a few ratty band t-shirts, Kelsey did own some silky, smooth lingerie that cooled me in the stifling box. I remember the one trip where I was thrown in with a desk lamp, alarm clock and a random snow globe. What a nightmare of tangled cords and fear! With every bump I prepared myself for my demise, waiting for a crack to appear in the snow globe. A crack that would soak me in all the wrong ways. Powerful as I was, I was not waterproof.
My two speed lifestyle was no match for Kelsey’s pedal to the medal way of life. She would never admit it but she thrived on chaos. Always quick to blame someone else for the job she lost or the bad date she had or the friend who decided it was best she move out. Surprisingly, I think I was the only reliable thing she had in her life. Each time she used me, I gave her everything she wanted. Powerful, scream-inducing, multiple orgasms. Every. Time. And this was the thanks I got.
I validated Kelsey’s fantasies time and time again (at this point she could come within 60 seconds after turning me on, 30 if she just got off the phone with whomever Philippe was), what I would give for her to validate mine.
The van stopped moving. Without what little AC was reaching me in the back, my electric motor grew faint. I hoped this would be the last of our moves. It had to be. I wanted to be unraveled. I wanted a drawer. I wanted a nightstand. I wanted a home.
Carolyn Busa is a comedian and writer based in Brooklyn, NY. She has opened for Demetri Martin, been featured on SheKnows and appeared on Good Day New York. Her comedy is a reflection of her newfound confidence in herself, her style, and most importantly, her sexuality. Carolyn blogs weekly for My Sex Project.
About the Author . . .
