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D.I.Y. Sex | Tickle the Bunny
| D.I.Y. Poll for Girls and Boys | Interview with Carol Queen
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by Bunny Fisher
MY PARISIAN FRIEND coined her own term for female masturbation: Tickle the bunny. Me being "Bunny" and all... Well, you can just imagine. I'm tickled.
But what is it about women masturbating that gets so many people's knickers in a twist? Several months ago I sat on a panel with Deb Stoller,
one of the editors of Bust (only about the hippest chick zine out
there). Deb confessed, in our pre-panel dinner, that it had taken
her and her friends a damn long time to get their butts down to the
adult toy store to pick up vibrators.
When Deb told me this, I was a little surprised. What's the
big deal about buying a vibrator? We're all supposed to be liberated, right? I
failed to consider a couple of things. I already had a vibrator, and it was a
gift — so I didn't have to shop for it. Also, I was mid-divorce and post-reproductive surgery, so even though I had blown out/burnt out
(yes, it's true) said vibrator, sex of any variety — self or
dynamic-duo — was beyond the last thing on my mind.
But as my husband became a distant memory and my lower regions
healed and my prospects for future fucks appeared distant to non-existent, I
realized something. OH MY GOD. I AM HORNY AND MY VIBRATOR IS BROKEN.
Oddly enough, it was on an (unsuccessful) mission to purchase a partner for my son's guinea pig that I happened upon a vibrator store. In the mall. No, really. Well, okay, they didn't call it The Vibrator Store. They
called it something like Sophisticated Massage Equipment. But the sub-text was clear.
I tried out a number of models (on my shoulders) and picked out a cheapy model to tide me over. I would have to order another catalog from Good Vibrations in San Francisco and get a real replacement for the multi-headed beast I had worn out over the years. I took the 10-dollar, cheap excuse for a vibrator to the counter. And I blushed. Yes, I blushed.
The guy said, "This needs batteries." Shit, he was just trying to do a
suggestive sell, not unlike, "Would you like fries with that?" But his
words made me defensive and I suddenly understood what my friend Deb had
tried to explain: Buying a vibrator can still make you feel like that 13-year-old girl you once were, standing on line to buy tampons and suddenly realizing you know the 16-year-old boy working the check-out counter. "I KNOW it needs batteries," I barked at the guy. "I have some. At home." Now he
blushed, and his eyes said, "Okay lady, okay. I was just asking."
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D.I.Y. Sex | Tickle the Bunny
| D.I.Y. Poll for Girls and Boys | Interview with Carol Queen
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