My very first sex toy was a rabbit vibrator. The rabbit vibrator, in fact: the Rabbit Habit, which, although not the first rabbit vibrator ever, was arguably the most popular one after being featured on Sex and the City. I was 15 and bought it off Amazon* with my father’s credit card.
At that point in my life, I was fetishizing PIV to a degree that was frankly bizarre. So it was the promise of the Rabbit Habit’s rotating shaft that seduced me. I hoped it would feel like a penis in my cunt, and had detailed visions of lying in bed getting fucked for hours.
To say that it didn’t live up to my expectations would be an understatement. I didn’t feel much of anything that first time I used it, just a vague sensation of “Yep, there’s something in my vagina all right.” Even the buzzing rabbit ears were underwhelming, more awkward than anything.
I was gutted. I remember gritting my teeth and rolling onto my stomach (my preferred masturbatory position at the time) and giving myself a quick, angry orgasm just to prove to myself that I wasn’t the problem.
(I should mention that, like the Hitachi, I eventually learned to use the Rabbit Habit and even came to enjoy it, but it never took me to the level of ecstasy that I’d fantasized about.)
Almost immediately, I started searching for a new vibrator, a better vibrator, one that wouldn’t fail to live up to my expectations. There came the Nubbly G and the Pocket Rocket, a weak-ass generic bullet vibe and a boring-as-fuck plastic “beginner” vibrator.
By my second year of college, I owned so many sex toys (largely vibrators, but some other ones as well) I had to buy an under-the-bed storage container to house them in. Now, at age 30, I have two plastic storage totes full of toys, plus spanking implements and other kink paraphernalia stashed elsewhere in the apartment.
To be honest, my sex toy affinity is almost pathological at this point. I buy toys less because I want to use them and more because I just want to own them. I want to collect them. I’m the Horace Slughorn of sex toys.
I’m still waiting for the Chosen One to appear at my doorstep, unfortunately. Preferably not in the company of Albus Dumbledore, trying cleverly to tempt me back to teaching, but I suppose I’ll take what I can get.