An Ode To Vibrators Past And Orgasms EnjoyedI am perhaps too much of a product of the consumerist culture in which I live but, on some level, I usually like my vibrators almost as disposable as the boys I use for the same purpose. Yeah, unlike Tracie, I don't go the plug-in route — it's straight-up, hard molded plastic and a never-ending supply of C-batteries for me. Or maybe it has a lot less to do with their disposability than a little nostalgia and a lot of fundamental cheapness about paying too much just to accomplish what my fingers could do for free. But what follows is a homage to the vibrators I've had to break up with along the way.The first time a vibrator ever met my ladybits was in high school and, rather grossly in retrospect, it belonged to my boyfriend's mom. What? We washed it off before and after. He wasn't particular skilled at my clit and neither was I, so we sort of just used it as a dildo a couple of times and then quit bothering with it. God, I hope she doesn't read this. If so... I'm sorry! I was young and foolish then! We really did wash it thoroughly! Personally embarrassing admissions aside, my second (and non-borrowed) vibrator was a gift to me from two guy friends for my 17th birthday. The one friend bought it at Spencer's Gifts and it was 9 inches long with a light-up tip (first question I asked: "Why does it need to light up?"). For the general amusement of the party I had for said birthday, they brought along batteries. My friends ended up — and when I say my friends, I mean, literally, almost every single one of my friends — played a game of surprise hot-potato with it in which the goal was to hand it, buzzing, to someone before they realized what they were touching. It got hidden in a drawer in my bedroom for a while and brought to college with me, since I still hadn't figured out that whole clitoral-stimulation orgasm thing yet. For some reason, I started using it with my first college boyfriend, and finally figured out how to get myself off. Once I did, I was hooked, so when he went away, I kept using it. It got used with and without a succession of boyfriends over the years, but finally bit the dust my senior year in college. RIP, baby. My second vibator I bought during graduate school, a similarly-unadorned hard plastic model in beige. Between a long-distance relationship, the end of that relationship and a second LDR, that shit buzzed its last less than a year into our relationship while I was living in New York for the summer. It had the same staying power as the guy I was seeing at the time, come to think of it. Fuck you, waste of $10. My third toy I purchased at a sex shop off Columbus Circle in NYC. I got all fancy that time and bought a gold-colored one — but still hadn't learned my lesson buying cheap vibrators: It lasted less than 6 months, so into the trash it went. I finally decided to get a little smarter about attending to the needs to my clit after that, and bought one with attachments, which lasted me several years. I even kept it all in the box, which was adorned with pictures of a naked girl utilizing it. The first time I hired movers, I stuck the whole thing at the bottom of a box of books which, naturally ripped open. The movers carefully hid any evidence that they'd found my vibrators, and then one of them left me a note with his telephone number. I never called. A couple years into my relationship with my fancy vibrator and accessories, I was on a business trip in New Orleans and practically squirming with horniness. I didn't mean to cheat, honestly I didn't, but all those sex shops on Bourbon Street were just calling to my clit, so I walked into one on a lunch break and bought my first penis-shaped (if still rigid plastic) vibrator. My boyfriend at the time wasn't happy about my purchase (because it was penis-shaped, I guess?), so I pretended like I didn't like it any better than my old toy and kept it hidden away when he was around. But, once he was gone, so was the old (and faltering) vibrator, attachments and all. To my great surprise, that spur-of-the-moment New Orleans purchase is still with me, 5 years later. I might have spent more on batteries than I ever would've on a Magic Wand, but I don't care. I know my vibrator is getting older and it's not quite getting the same RPMs as it used to and goes through batteries quicker than I remember (of course, that might just be me using it more often than I used to), but I already rue the day when I have to hide it in with a bunch of other trash no one will bother picking through and go to a sex shop and buy a replacement. Maybe after that I'll suck it up and do the environmentally conscious thing and buy a plug-in model, but something about fucking myself with anything that has a cord hanging off of it might be a little too scary and/or tampon-like for me. Earlier: Sci-Fi For Women: Marrying Your Vibrator How Do You Dispose Of Broken Vibrators?