I considered myself a sex toy aficionado long before I probably was one.
I knew nothing about brands. I owned and happily used non-body-safe toys. In fact, the whole concept of different materials needing to be used and cared for differently was foreign to me.
Still, I was at least vaguely aware of popular toys, which is how I found out about the Hitachi Magic Wand. Sex bloggers raved about it and reviewers rated it highly. So I bought it.
I was 19, nearly 20, and going through my first breakup. My ex-girlfriend was stringing me along, insisting she needed space, promising me we’d get back together eventually even as I could sense the distance between us gaping wider and wider as the weeks dragged on.
With the heartbreak compounding my clinical depression and anxiety, getting off had become impossible. That warm, spark-like feeling of pleasure I usually got from masturbating started eluding me and failing to build to orgasm.
The Hitachi was, and still is, known for its power. I’ve heard it called a brute and a bully, and it’s a favorite in forced-orgasm porn. I thought it would be the perfect solution to my problem.
After I tore open its box, I remember being astonished by the Hitachi’s size. It was longer than a wooden spoon and heavier than a metal baseball bat, and the head was as big as a tennis ball. I was skeptical that it could make me come.
My favorite toy at that point was a small plastic lipstick vibrator. (A toy that I positively loathe now, by the way.) I liked to put the not-quite pointed tip of it to the side of my clit and massage in tiny circles. Basically: a small point of contact, very focused and concentrated vibrations. With the size and shape of the Hitachi, I wouldn’t be able to create a similar sensation.
Still, I gave it a try. I lay on my back, spread my labia with one hand, and tried to find a good position to rest the Hitachi’s rumbling head so it would stimulate my clit.
It didn’t work. I tilted it this way and that, repositioned the head, pressed harder, all while getting more and more frustrated with my body’s failure to spark and light up like a Christmas tree.
Eventually I gave up and switched to my last-ditch masturbatory position: on my stomach with the toy between my tensed thighs. Humping something was how I’d learned to masturbate as a preteen, and even now the technique is foolproof. Although the orgasm sometimes leaves much to be desired, I can never not get off on my stomach.
And I did get off—but the orgasm was pitiful, barely a fizzle of pleasure, and it left me even more frustrated than before. The next day, my vulva felt bruised, a bit like my scalp does the day after I’ve knocked it against the sharp corner of a cabinet.
I buried the Hitachi in my closet, fully intending never to use it again. I told friends that the only thing it could possibly be good for was to beat burglars over the head with, and I tried to forget about it.
But as I started reading more and more sex blogs, becoming more and more of a brand snob, I found that the Hitachi was still everywhere, talked about like it was the holy grail of sex toys and the most-recommended solution for anorgasmic women.
Maybe, I thought, the problem is me?
When I was 25 or 26, I decided to give the Hitachi another chance. I was dating around, properly treated for my depression and anxiety, and my sex drive had fucking skyrocketed. I wasn’t trying to get off anymore; I was playing with myself. I was trying to see what I could do: testing the full range of sensations I could coax from my body. I had masturbatory sessions that would last hours.
This time, the experience was much more positive.
Wildly positive, actually.
In part, I suppose, because I was in a better place emotionally. But also because I had patience, an open mind, and an interest in experimenting.
I discovered it feels a lot better when I don’t part my labia and touch the wand to my clit. I like the head pressed just below the mons, the vibrations rumbling through my labia before they reach my clit. I came and came and came, and when I couldn’t come anymore on my back, I turned onto my stomach to come again.
By the time I was finished, the sheets were soaked in sweat and my knees and calves were shaking. It was lovely. I glowed for days.
I adore my Hitachi now. I love it so much I ended up buying a second one—or rather, my first Original Magic Wand, because Hitachi decided about 10 years too late they didn’t want their massager to be seen as a sex toy. I keep one on each floor of the house.
If the Magic Wand were a person, I imagine she would be the sort who commanded you to kiss her boots, call her Daddy, be her whore or her chair or anything else she wanted you to be. Not usually my thing, but I’d make an exception for her.