Vibrators To Die For

Do not gently into the dark night. Like we have to be told. Most of us decided long ago that we’ll be going kicking and screaming. And, hopefully moaning with pleasure, if my friend, Susan, has her way.

Approaching 70, Susan walked away from a power career as an environmental attorney long ago. Now, she’s got dogs, lives in rural New Mexico, and survives as a retired worker on minimum wage and minimum social security payments. She works in bookstore because that’s where the good conversations are—most recently one of Plato’s dialogs came up.

And she loves her vibrator, the Minipearl. Some people wouldn’t be caught dead with a vibrator. Susan wouldn’t be caught dead without one. So much so that when they send her packing to “a home,” she says, it’d better be one that has no rules against vibrator use.

Thankfully, she writes and I begged her to send me this piece—edited for length.

Retirement Home? Can I Bring My Sex Toys?

By Susan Tixier

I am not afraid to go to “a home” when the time comes, but I am afraid they won’t let me even talk about Minipearl, let alone bring one in. When we took Mom to Aspen Terrace Rest Home, we filled out forms about money and medicine, about religious preferences and food allergies. We made sure she had toothpaste, brush, soap, shampoo and, because she asked for it, her deodorant. Asking her if she needed a supply of triple A or double A batteries would have been confusing to her demented mind and, frankly, there was no need of hers that required them. At least, I think.

One day I’ll be going into a home and when that happens, let me be clear that I’ll need that (1) Minipearl can go with me, (2)  I have plenty of batteries, and (3)  there are no rules or reasons against my using it.

I don’t mind dying. Everyone dies. But I am in love with living; I would love to live long enough to see what is going to happen to this world. When the times comes to plan for my future, I want to make sure that the how and where for my Minipearl, my tiny, little, perfect battery-operated sex “thing,” has been specifically addressed.

Are rest homes ready for an old lady having frequent and multiple orgasms at the flip of a switch? Ought we not find this out, ladies? Seriously. Seriously!

My first Minipearl came from a shop not far from Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. The shop specialized in corsets and was owned and managed by an ex-Public Defender. She and I had more than the law in common. Corseting is a wonderful, sexy technique of being tied into a made-for-you corset. With the slow pressure on hips and waist, buttocks and breasts held firm, the corset makes every muscle significant when you move. Sitting straight is all one can do.

My lover bought me a corset at that shop. I chose a black over the hip model which cost a fortune and required no fewer than 32 specific measurements of my body which were then shipped off to England, where the corset would be made. My lover asked me to wear the corset under my blue wool business suit, with nothing else except very high-heeled pumps. He took me to lunch at the fine vegetarian restaurant, The Greens. Many women were there in elegant business suits, but none sat so straight as I, and none felt their ample bosom swell out between the top two buttons. Dementia will never take that moment, that lunch, that sexy feeling away from me.

Back at the corset shop one day, I asked the owner to recommend a vibrator and she told me about the Minipearl. It is teeny but oh so effective vibrating egg of a thing, not one of the huge faux penises. My lover bought it, used it, and I have never been without one. The vibrator, that is, not the man, which, unfortunately, I have been too long without. But that is another story.

I have gone through many since that first Minipearl, which says nothing about the adequacy of their construction, but more about the frequency of use, I suppose. Recently, I had my 67th birthday and a dear friend sent me a new Minipearl. It occurred to me then that there would be a birthday – not too soon, one hopes – when I’d be in a home and I would probably be prohibited from receiving such a gift. That thought gave me a fright.

What would I do? Could I ask the caretakers to organize an outing to a sex shop? Would it put off other customers to see a gaggle of old people in diapers, using walkers and wheelchairs, shuffling around as they tried to find their favorite sex toy? Maybe I’d have to organize a smuggling ring?

I have no idea idea if my fears are real or not. But I’ll tell you this much. I need to know. Now or at least very soon! So please if you know anything…

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