About ten years ago, my boyfriend bought me my first ever sex toy. We spent ages in the shop choosing, then eventually came home with a rabbit-type thing that the sales assistant recommended because ‘you’ll regret it if you go for the smaller one.’ That afternoon the boy hand-fucked me with a growing sense of awestruck wonder as I went from ‘oh that’s odd’ to ‘mmm fucking hell’ through to ‘DON’T STOP DON’T STOP OR I SWEAR I WILL EAT MY OWN TONGUE.’
Like that very first wank you ever have, nothing quite compares to the first time you find a sex toy that does something so utterly new to your genitals that you’re not sure whether to worship it or burn it as a witch. Since then I’ve used various vibrating cock rings, dildos, bullets and vibes and I can honestly say that nothing has come close to recreating the surprise and delight of a genuinely new sensation. Until now.
My considered opinion on the Doxy massager
I get frequent requests from companies to review sex toys, and previously I’ve always said no, because I figured I’d struggle to say anything other than ‘this feels pretty nice on my cunt.’
I don’t have any such problems with the Doxy, because holy clit-battering hell, this thing is amazing.
As soon as the boy touched me with it I let out a half-strangled moan of surprise, followed swiftly by a few involuntary gargles, a fair amount of shouting, and eventually tears and some sort of odd reflex-laughter. I flailed my arms. I yelped. I screwed my face into scary expressions. I invented new blasphemies. At one point he mistook my twitching for signs that I’d finished, and he stopped, causing me to let out an anguished scream of such deep and abiding misery that even I was concerned for my own welfare.
It didn’t just make me come. It did this weird and incredible holding-pattern thing, where I came just to the edge of orgasm then thrashed about on that plateau until I could barely see, speak, or do anything other than push back against it as hard as possible, grit my teeth and beg for the first waves to hit.
Hmm mmm mmm!
After a few minutes in this happy-scary-horny Utopia, the waves eventually did hit, kept right on hitting, then dragged me off the ravaged coastline of my keening arousal and swept me out for more. I had about half a second in which I realised an orgasm had happened before the second one started, and I turned back into that weirdly gurning sexual banshee again – grabbing bedsheets and scratching the boy and stuttering those freakish moaning noises at the ceiling.
Jjj jjjj nya!
How loud is the Doxy massager?
A few people have pointed out that wands are quite loud, and therefore not great for discreet usage. Well, yes. It is loud for the same reason a space shuttle is loud, or the screeching delight of a recent lottery winner: the former is noisy because it’s powerful and the latter is noisy because it’s hard to keep such good news quiet. The sound coming from the actual toy is academic because, as you can hear, it’s eclipsed by my own involuntary wailing.
So, to clarify, you’re saying the Doxy massager is good?
Yes. I am saying it is good. I am saying it made me do and feel things I have never done or felt before, and when it comes to sex toys it is very much My Sort Of Thing.
This is not a gentle toy. This is not a ‘discreet’ toy. This is what would happen if you mated a vibrator with a jet engine: industrial hardware for your cunt.
I won’t give you any giggling bullshit about how I’d marry it if only it could do the dishes as well, because quite frankly it wouldn’t even have to do the dishes. The Doxy Massager could sit on my sofa scratching its nutsack while I vacuumed under its feet and I’d still marry it. On balance, though, I’d need the boy too, because it feels particularly good if I hold it to my clit while he fucks me.
So when I tell you I don’t do toy reviews, please understand that I still don’t: this is emphatically not a toy review. I have not calmly weighed up the pros and cons of a particular product, like a journalist for ‘What Fuckwand?’ magazine. I’m the irritating friend who won’t shut up until you’ve watched The Wire. I’m your Mum telling everyone how talented you are. I am the wide-eyed, chirpy stranger who accosts you in the street to talk about Christ. I’m not impartial: I’m evangelical.
The Doxy massager is my new favourite thing.
Isn’t the Doxy massager actually a sports massager?
No. It’s not. I mean it says it is, and the instruction manual still gives hilariously coy information about ‘soothing tired muscles’, but the company Twitter feed unashamedly sports a lady pressing it to her cunt. It’s for your cunt.
I am a guy. Can I use it on my ballsack?
Sure, knock yourself out. I rubbed it on my dude and his reaction was obviously less earth-shattering than mine, but then to have a more earth-shattering reaction than me he’d have had to jizz bullets. He does, however, like the fact that when I come with it, my cunt gets much tighter and twitchier than when I come any other way, and that obviously feels pretty great around his dick.
You clearly like this. But will I?
Not a clue. While I’m fairly proficient in the subject of ‘how stuff feels on my clit’ I am no expert in how stuff feels on yours. Sexual fulfillment depends on personal taste, but if your personal taste is anything like mine, you’ll probably see the face of God.
This is the most swearingly enthusiastic sex toy review I’ve ever seen. How much are these guys paying you?
They’re not, although I did get this toy for free after I got pissed and told the representative from Belle de Soir that if I liked it I could get him some sales. He’s promised to let me know whether my ringing endorsement has an effect, and if anything turns me on more than being frigged with a massive power tool, it’s stats nerdery. So what I’m saying is that I have a vested interest in you buying this, because I get to be smug, but if it weren’t the most intense thing I’d ever used I wouldn’t bother saying so.
You can understand how I really want to try one of these; so, as my birthday is on Saturday, I am buying myself a couple of presents: a purple Doxy and an hour with a male escort – I’ll tell you about both.