Remembering my vibrator

Writer Twanna A. Hines recalls her Rabbit vibrator, and who might have it now:

Somewhere on New York City’s streets, there is a homeless woman who has my vibrator. The first sex toy I ever bought, I accidentally parted ways with it while moving out of my Hell’s Kitchen apartment. Fortunately, “losing it” can be very liberating.

I was raised Southern Baptist, and no one ever talked to me about genital self-play. So I didn’t ask about it and didn’t cum until I was a 22-year-old graduate student living in Florida. “What do you mean you don’t own a vibrator,” my friend Sydana asked in a tone that suggested, to me, utter disbelief. “Girl, you need to go out and buy one today!”

So I walked into Rick’s Toy Store—a typical one-stop porno shop with DVDs, blow up dolls, condoms and furry handcuffs in college town Tallahassee, Fla. As I stood in the aisle fingering and poking the collection of packaged delights, a male associate noticed I was visibly uncomfortable. He was about 5-foot-8, 145 pounds, built and had dark brown skin clothed in baggy jeans and a white Dolce & Gabbana shirt. He was handsome with black, over-styled, gelled hair that refused to move. I like pretty boys, but he was slightly too smooth for even my liking. Read on >>