I’m not sure how to frame this so I’ll just come out and say it. I suffer from F.O.S.T or Fear of Sex Toys. Ever since gorgeous Gail (blue mascara, cherry pout, high as a kite from the night before) burst into my university bedroom early Sunday morning 33 years ago, brandishing a huge rubbery latex truncheon of a dildo and shrieking “Have a go! It’s blinding!” I have recoiled at the very idea of entertaining myself (or anyone else) with any such item.
In the past I have made brief sorties into the wacky world of what was once coyly termed marital aids but these mostly involved benign fluffy handcuffs or discreet vibrating silver bullets or a French maids outfit that caught fire on a candle, singeing both sets of pubes in the process. An experimental ex-boyfriend once invited me to stick a courgette up his bottom but I declined, explaining that I had earmarked said courgette for a gratin and if he wanted supper he would have to find something else.
Now that I am an older married lady, I am more drawn to Netflix of an evening than an eroticised vegetable, so when a friend asked me to review a reciprocal sex toy for her online magazine, I recoiled. Would it be hurty? knobbly? Throbbly? And worse, would it threaten Jonji? But I needn’t have worried. The We-Vibe Match Couples Vibrator Dual Motor Remote Controlled Sex Toy looks more like a plastic mini stapler than something wielded by the SAS during a hostage retrieval.
The official blurb sounded promising: “Take your lovemaking to the next level with We-Vibe Match couples vibrator. Designed to be worn during sex, Match provides intense and intimate vibrations that can be enjoyed by both partners. Rechargeable and waterproof, Match will always be ready when you are..”
Something for the weekend, madame…
Where to begin? Well firstly the shape of the thing is utterly incompatible to all configurations of human genitalia. It comes with a remote control device with different vibration modes including echo, wave and tide. There’s even an app that allows your partner to control the vibration modes via their smartphone so s/he can enjoy your pleasure from afar. Woo! Imagine the phone calls: “Hello darling, I’ve put you on full wave, are you cumming yet?” “No you WALLY, I’m in the checkout at Tescos and there’s no MONEY in the account!”
We-Vibe Match wins the award for the most baffling sex toy on the market. You need a degree in civil engineering just to turn it on. In desperation, I texted my G.P friend who knows absolutely everything about anything but she was in a bad mood and having none of it. “R.T.F.M” she said. “What does R.T.F.M mean?” I asked. “It means Read The Fucking Manual!”
So I did.
The manual was printed in Magna Carta sized print and translated into Francais, Espanol, Portugues, Deutsch Nederlands, Svenska Polski, Cestina, русский, 日本人, and 中国. But after poring over the text and figs 1-12, I was none the wiser as to how to get it in my Fancy Article (as it was known in 1822). Other names for it are Lady Garden, Fou Foune, Downstairs, Tuppence, Jove’s nook, Fandango, Belle-chose and Mrs Fubb’s front parlour. My sisters and I were taught to call it front bottom but that’s another story.
For the next few weeks, We-Vibe Match became the bête noire of our bedtime routine as each night we’d dutifully take it out of its box, turn it on, watch it buzz through its 10 confounded modalities, pretend to staple together invisible memos, or grab at each others noses with it before the jokes tired and we both yawned, and put it back in its box. Needless to say the review was no closer to being written than the day I was invited to write it.
Husband baffled by sex toy
Months passed. The box got dusty. We received an invitation to a party in Paris. Jonji booked us into the Hotel Amour so there was no excuse. We couldn’t not bring the We-Vibe Match to The city of love. But the stress of getting the damned thing through Eurostar security nearly gave me shingles. I couldn’t for the life of me fathom how to remove We-Vibe’s battery and it could have gone off at any time. I even rehearsed the French for ‘forgive my dildo’ (veuillez excuser mon gode) but I needn’t have worried as the wee thing snoozed all the way from Kings Cross to Pigalle.
Party over and very much ‘in the mood’ we stumbled home and scrabbled with the box once more. Two bottles of Veuve Cliquot does wonders for the brain and I finally worked out how to insert the stapler without doing myself a mischief. Using the remote control, Jonji activated the external clitoral stimulator which had a corresponding internal G spot stimulator on the other side (even though everybody knows that the G spot is a myth designed to make men feel as if they have something to do with the female orgasm).
“How does that feel darling?” Jonji husked. “A bit boring frankly. Try echo.” “Echo” he said. “Echo” I said. He switched vibes. “And now?” “Still not feeling it. Try Wave, and introduce Master John Goodfellow (1653) while you’re about it” Admittedly Wave emitted a stronger vibe so Jonji obliged and off we went. At last something was happening. “How does that feel darling” I husked. “Well, to be honest it feels like I’m making love to a hard vibrating piece of plastic stationary” he said. “Can you take it out please?” so I did.
And that is how the We-Vibe Match ended up on the glass roof of the Hotel Amour restaurant.
Next time you’re there, do take a look.
Rose Wadham © 2022