From a series of letters to a friend, March 1994, which I ran across in my files, concerning a woman we'd both bedded at different times -- my side of the correspondence only. Let's call the subject Miss A. She and I had lived together for several years. After we broke up over an affair she'd had, she made a point of seeking out and sleeping with at least six of my closest male friends, as I discovered over the course of the next several years, to my considerable amusement. She'd traveled all the way to New Orleans to add this particular notch to her belt. I didn't hold this against any of my chums; she was a hot, flirty little piece, and we had, after all, gone our separate ways. The subject arose when, after bringing up their brief affair to clear the air between us, he mentioned her inability to come via any means at his disposal.

. . . Miss A's problem actually surprised me too, especially as she is not only very sexy in her behavior but highly sexual and comparatively uninhibited. While she loves to fuck, she achieves orgasm only via prolonged pussy-eating (there's a Swedish word for napkin, "tvatt-lapper," that simply cries out for punning usage) -- I'm talking half an hour to 45 minutes of steady, unrelenting mouthwork -- and even that undependable, or (dependably) a vibrator self-applied to her clitoris, preferably when she's being taken doggie-style. She could reliably bring herself off in 5 minutes or less that way, whereas even her own fingers couldn't seem to do the job. . . .

(Apparently, though she often traveled with it when we were together, she hadn't brought her Big-O facilitator with her to the Big Easy, because this information surprised my friend.)

. . . Consequently, Miss A generally preferred to bring herself off -- I tried using it on her once or twice, but apparently the positioning, pressure, etc., were very specifically calibrated and best left in the hands of an expert. Also, she uses one of those humongous plug-in jobbies -- not the one with the little points, but the large model that looks vaguely like a scaled-down Louisville Slugger. Since she's just under 5 feet tall, this machine always seemed unnecessarily, even disproportionately (indeed, almost ominously) oversized to me. But she wielded it adroitly, preferring to do so face down with her backside up in the air and something -- her fingers, mine, my cock, a dildo, or any combination of these -- stretching either or both of her nether openings. Due to its size, this vibrator tended to get in the way of the reamer, as I recall, though its effect on the testes at the end of the in-stroke was not unpleasant. . . .

. . . I agree with you concerning the general harmlessness and definite benefits of such devices on the whole. My experience with Miss A suggested, however, that it was possible to become addicted to it, in a way that made it a necessary component of the act (in terms of achieving orgasm) rather than a condiment -- not a fetish object, exactly, just a mandatory inclusion, without which one is left unsatisfied and frustrated. Not having known her in her pre-electrification phase, I can't say if this was the only way she could ever have consistently achieved satisfaction or if it gradually became that. So mayhap there was no alternative in her case. But I know that she always seemed disappointed by the fact that, in a prolonged bout of 69, I would come (not at all prematurely) in her mouth -- she did suck like an angel, and swallowed -- while she would usually have to resort to the device after my lips and tongue wore out. . . .

(My friend wondered, somewhat naively, about whether one could use such an instrument when traveling outside the U.S. in countries with different electrical systems.)

. . . Your persistent curiosity re the vibrator suggests a surprising lack of knowledge about new technology on the part of so mechanically minded a gent as yourself. Miss A's model was a plug-in, which abroad (pun intended) would merely have necessitated an adapter. However, battery-operated models of various sizes, clearly designed for not only external but also internal application, have been available for years. Open your eyes next time you're in your local drugstore; they undoubtedly have a stock of these electric dildos on prominent display, sometimes in the front window. . . .

Perhaps I should add that, to the delight of my subsequent bed partners, I have since the end of that affair kept several vibrators on hand, a phallus-shaped battery-operated model, a plug-in massager with a variety of removable heads -- and "The Club," as I came to think of the one Miss A. favored. I have found these much appreciated as available menu items, though I bring them out only on special occasions.

For instance, I find that a woman who's bound and immobilized, as a number of my lovers have requested, often begins to juice merely from hearing the low hum of the plug-in model and seeing it at hand, before it even touches her. One of them told me that knowing herself helplessly restrained and feeling the steady, implacable, mechanical shudder of the vibe (she liked the long one inside her quim and the tip of the plug-in held just under -- but not on -- her clit) reassured her that it wouldn't stop until she'd come. And so she did.