WARNING: This post includes graphic descriptions.
As told to Zoe Simmons.
I am TRAUMATISED.
A few weeks ago, I decided to buy myself a treat—a toy, to be exact. You know: a special toy. I’d seen it being raved about in a lot of women’s groups online. And when my best friend bought one and gave it a 10 out of 10 rating, I thought: why not?
Mum, Dad, other family members: if you’re reading this, STOP NOW.
It’s the first toy I’ve bought in four years—so understandably, I was nervous. And skeptical. Out of all of the men I’ve slept with, none of them were able to get me off. If a human man with years of experience and lots of practice couldn’t do it, what hope did a little rechargeable toy have?
Mum, I mean it. STOP READING. GO BACK. YOU SHALL NOT PASS.
But boy, was I wrong. I came three times in five minutes on my first go. The toy is honestly heaven. I saw God; we’re on good terms. He’s happy for me and for all the thousands of other women enjoying themselves with this magical device.
It became a nightly ritual I’d look forward to. I’d done it. I’d replaced the need for a man with a $70 toy off the internet. Until one night, things went VERY wrong.
This is a toy for the clitoris. It vibrates, and allegedly mimics the feelings of really good oral (can’t confirm, have never had good oral. Sorry past boyfriends).
Like any other night, I’d charged it and was ready to go. I lit a candle. I closed my door. And I began.
Then I felt a sharp pain.
I didn’t think much of it. And when I felt wetness, I thought it was a good thing. Until I lifted it away and saw blood EVERYWHERE.
It was a truly horrifying moment.