A Sex Toy Saved My Life

Here is your WARNING.  

This story is about SEX and human anatomy...specifically the penis and its unicorn companion the female G-Spot (don't feel bad boys, you all have a g-spot of your very own).  If you are easily offended turn your head and look away...now.  

If not, Be Pleased.  

Almost a year ago, I met Captain Hook.  Tall enough for my head to nestle into his chest while standing, muscular legs and a close replica of the man I had before him, except for one thing.  His thing.  Captain’s penis hooked upwards towards his belly button.

We met the way most people meet.  The easily navigable free hook-up site of the 21^st century - The  Facebook. I liked a photo of him and a mutual friend and our on-line romance set afire after that.   During all the phone calls and chats he never mentioned the shape of it or gave prior instruction on how to use it. 

One afternoon, we’d been sexting back and forth and Captain sent a picture of his oiled, banana penis.  The phone dropped to the floor and slid face up towards the office vending machine.   My coworker leaned to pick it up and I slammed my paper cup of green tea onto the counter and motioned for her to back away. 

“NO! No, I GOT IT!” I grabbed the phone, left the tea and shuffled back to my desk.    

The mechanics of sex with this man concerned me.  How would I tilt and contort my body to curve around this boomerang?  Would I have to skip a meal before sex?  How far would it go into my mouth? Would I have to hang upside down to suck it?  Why didn’t he have a regularly shaped penis? What’s wrong with him!???  The back of my neck started sweating.  This was not going to work.

But it did.  Our first sexual encounter soaked my bed sheets.  Captain Hook’s dick remedied a decade of G-Spot neglect.   So naturally, I lost my mind and started cooking his meals, wearing mascara and smuggling him out of town on business trips. All I could think about were orgasms.  If an argument ensued, I freaked about when I would see his penis next instead of whether our brief relationship had run its course. 

I tried to end it a few times.  At night, when my bed was empty, instead of my hand finding its way into my panties, it’d slide over to my cell phone to call The Captain and the sex-crying-cooking-sex cycle would begin, again.   

An erotic magazine editor sent me two sex toys for review. The Ben Wa balls I tested were a hassle to insert and caused extreme paranoia.  When I trotted back and forth from the copy machine at work I knew my coworkers could hear the clanking metal coming from my pants.  

But, the second toy saved my life.  The Satisfy Me Curve Silicone Dildo arrived on a Monday morning. The Fed Ex delivery man asked why I was smiling.   

“It’s Christmas!”

“But it’s August.” He said, confused, handing me the chewed plastic pen to sign my name.  I thought about telling him that he’d just handed over a dildo, but told him they were magic mushroom spores and contraband from South America instead. 

I dropped the box onto the sofa, stabbed a pencil into the side of the packaging and tore strips of paper back to reveal my gift.  She was purple, 8 inches long, had a slight bend, and grip-easy handle. This beauty promised to demystify the G-spot.   The first time I used it, I felt those familiar quivers in my belly. My hands and feet started to heat up and I lost track of time.   No batteries, two satisfying pleasure ridges; she was created to deliver precision G-spot stimulation. 

Orgasm fail proof.  

Now, I had an 8-inch inanimate phallus that encouraged me to embark on the painful process of dick detoxification.  With accountability partners and a less habit-forming magic-stick, I successfully completed all 7 steps of breaking addictive behavior. No More Captain Hook.   For good measure, I texted him a picture of his compliant successor.   He responded with, “I can’t be replaced.” 

“Of course you can’t, honey…but your penis can.”