Requiem [F]or a Hitachi Wand

I possess a respectable pussy. The labia are asymmetrical, and my secret prayer with each new partner is that they comment on it in some way.

So that I can tell them that I love how the asymmetry is an apt representation for the duality of humankind. Man and woman, Ying and Yang, good and evil?

But, my glorious reader, that is so NOT important right now!

I am positively incensed and angry that my Hitachi wand broke.

You see, once, I was in the Hall of the Mountain King once, and he bestowed its knowledge to me. It is quite the predicament to find yourself in, you know? To be with a stranger, ankles fixated to a spreader bar, and he introduces you to a Hitachi Wand.

Most… find it in a sex store? Or even, online? In these COVID-y times?

I digress! I wander.

*I wonder, was it overuse?*

The important thing is this. I am one-whole-bottle sloshed in non-descript Riesling currently, and my Hitachi Wand that I bought from the Bowels of Jeff Bezos, AKA, Amazon?

Broken! Inert! The inner motor no longer vibrates the head! At this point, I should just make it into an effigy of makeshift karaoke microphone. What do I do with its carcass? hiT uP My DMs, yo. I am not mechanically inclined, you see.

The truth is, I need to pay respect to my first Hitachi Wand, and it brings me great sadness to announce its passing.

I work in a hospital, and the day it arrived was one of the first days on the COVID floor. I overused it that direct night, and while the orgasms were hamstring-numbing, I admit I overused it. It’s tempting to drown out the sorrow of the day in coming. Over and over. And I fell victim.

Eventually, I would use it to reminisce. I really do believe the Hitachi Wand is a powerful tool to remember and lose yourself in memories of being held in the arms of good men. And quirky, soft, feminine women who braid hair…

My first wand taught me how strong my pelvic floor was. The muscles on your pelvis are a beautiful, striped bowl, my fellow vagina bearers. It is powerful. I hope all of you reading this have the chance to realize just how powerful you are. The pelvic bowl is the bearer of life.

It is also a basin of wonderment and warmth to those beyond you, seeking intimacy and escape.

Whenever I made myself cum, I lost myself in reverie to those men (for, I am cis-gendered and primarily heterosexual) who lacked the words to express their despair. Intimacy is rare.

I will miss my wand for the different speed functions. For the way I could tease myself and learn my limits and pace. For the way I would shove ever-girthier objects in my pussy and see if I could push them out with my vaginal, orgasmic contractions. It was delightful to feel them in my feet afterwards.

I guess, my wand made me feel powerful. Powerful in a way that does not involve conflict or war. Death, suffering, conflict.

My Hitachi gave me a respite from all of that.

And, every time I used it, I was in that place with nipple clamps and apple cider. The climax of Chopin’s first ballade. *Presto con fuoco*. When sorrow melts away, life seems infinitely precious in its futility, and voices break from moaning and pleading for that orgasm to never end, while knowing it must cease eventually. Abruptly, even.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/n7guk4/requiem_for_a_hitachi_wand