Sex Toy Review: OhMiBod's Club Vibe

OhMiBod’s Club Vibe was the first vibrator I ever bought, and the fact that it’s still my most-used vibrator speaks volumes about how incredible it is. The Club Vibe is a tiny yet powerful bullet vibrator meant mainly for external stimulation. It’s fairly pricey for a bullet vibrator at $49, but in my opinion it’s worth every penny. Its small size–it’s only 1 1/2 inches long and less than half an inch wide–makes it especially compatible with my sensitive body, which is a definite plus. But the Club Vibe’s best feature is its ability to plug into any mp3 player and vibrate in time to the music being played, allowing you to literally get off to music.

Because the Club Vibe can vibrate to any of the thousands of songs in your music library, it’s extremely customizable. I’ve found that the changing vibrations that occur with music are eons more pleasurable than the predictable vibrating patterns of most bullet vibrators. Experimenting with how different songs translate into vibrations makes the vibrator even more interesting. Most of the songs on my sex playlist, like “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails, work predictably well with the Club Vibe, but I’ve also found a lot of surprises. “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses has gotten me off so many times that I’m now at the point where just hearing the song on the radio turns me on. It’s also nice to be able to choose slower, gentler songs on days when I’m more sensitive.

The Club Vibe advertises itself as being able to vibrate in time to any noises it picks up, such as the music being played at clubs. It even includes a free one-size-fits-all thong with an opening for the vibrator (but since the Club Vibe is so small, it fits comfortably into most panties I own). If you’re looking for something to get you off at the clubs, I’d go with more traditional vibrating panties, though. The Club Vibe’s ability to vibrate to sounds is sporadic at best and completely non-functional at worst, making this feature a disappointment.

Besides these two features, the Club Vibe also functions as a typical bullet vibrator for when you feel like getting off the old-fashioned way. It works extremely well as a normal vibrator: the intensity of the vibrations is completely adjustable (although the vibrations can become very intense if you want them to be), and there are seven different vibration patterns to choose from.

Something else I love about the Club Vibe? It comes with a small velvety package to store it in, making it both inconspicuous and easily transportable.

Overall grade: A

Navigating Sex With a New Partner

Dating can be scary, and it’s especially terrifying for those of us who can’t or don't have PIV sex. Because PIV sex is the norm in society, sex partners may automatically assume that you’re into it unless you tell them otherwise. But explaining that you can’t have vaginal sex isn’t exactly the greatest first date conversation starter. So how do you let a new sexual partner know that you’re not okay with vaginal sex without scaring them off?

1. Set boundaries
Tell your partner early on how far you want your sexual encounter to go. When things start getting hot and heavy, let them know that you’re okay with what’s happening, but that you don’t intend to have sex with them. You don’t have to go into detail about your situation–just make it clear that you don’t want vaginal sex during this particular hookup. If you’re afraid of ruining the moment, offering a sexy alternative never hurts (think “can I give you head/eat you out instead?”).

2. Make sure you have enthusiastic consent
Enthusiastic consent is the idea that agreeing to something because you’re excited to do it is more important than simply consenting to it. Basically, don’t let your partner convince you to do anything that you’re not 150% into. If you aren’t enthused about something that you’re doing in bed–especially if it’s hurting you in a way you don’t like, or it doesn’t turn you on–stop doing it.

Don't forget to get your partner’s consent, either. If you’re not sure if you have enthusiastic consent, check in with your partner and see if they’re still enjoying what’s going on. A simple “is this okay?” or “does this feel good?” works wonders.

3. Communicate
Tell them what feels good (hint: you don’t have to use words) and what doesn’t. Chances are, what you like is very different from what your partner’s exes and past hookups liked, and your partner should respect that. Don’t be shy about explaining that some things hurt you, either–unless you’re hooking up with a douchebag, he or she definitely wants to know. Good communication also entails really listening to your sex partner: be aware that they also have boundaries that you don't know about yet.

4. Live in the moment
Try not to stress about what would happen if your partner found out that you can't or don't have vaginal sex. Save your worries for later and enjoy the moment!

Vulvodynia and Me

“I’m never going to have sex.” It was the evening after my sex education class in fifth grade. My sweet, approachable teacher had tentatively brought up the idea that some people thought sex felt good, and my mind was reeling. This was a preposterous lie, I knew–sex was a necessary evil that some people went through in order to have children, and I wasn’t going to be one of them.

“Don’t you want to have a baby someday?” My mother probed, probably assuming my apprehension was due to that typical childhood disgust of cooties and romance.

“I’m going to adopt,” I told her resolutely. Even before I understood the logistics of sex, I had a vague idea of how babies were born, and I’d made up my mind at a surprisingly young age never to procreate. I didn’t dislike children–I just couldn’t picture myself giving birth.

The disconnect between my body and my desires only deepened when I went through puberty. Outwardly, I wasn’t any different from my middle school peers. I idolized Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp (this was the era of the first few Pirates movies) and the rebellious boy in my grade who skipped class to smoke on the playground. My pastimes included watching striptease videos of a voluptuous woman named Keyra and fantasizing about whether the cute boys in my classes wore boxers or briefs.

But the idea of putting anything inside my vagina left me deeply uncomfortable. I couldn’t watch porn because seeing something as big as a penis inside someone else’s vagina made me squeamish. Even lesbian porn left me squicked due to the haphazard way the women raked their long, sharp fingernails over–and even more horrifyingly, into–such sensitize flesh. Everyday experiences such as going to the gynecologist, watching childbirth scenes in movies and discussing female genital mutilation in class left me unbearably anxious.

Eventually I decided this was a personal flaw and I just didn’t have the balls to have sex. Medical professionals reinforced this viewpoint: even gentle investigations of my genitals left me in serious pain, but my protests were never taken seriously. One nurse even told me my problem was that I was “uptight.”

It wasn’t until the first time someone tried to get me off that I knew something was wrong. I hadn’t dated much, assuming that nobody would be interested in a girl who couldn’t have sex. But when a guy I’ll call Dweezil asked me out, I knew I had to take the chance. Dweezil was astoundingly hot as well as funny and charismatic, so I’d been harboring what I thought was an unrequited crush on him for months. Our impending date left me incredibly turned on and too excited about getting intimate with him to worry about my pain.

As it turns out, Dweezil was as amazing in bed as I’d thought. Our first kiss left me wetter than I’d thought I could get, and the chemistry between us only got steamier from there. Soon enough he had his hand in my panties, caressing my clit–and while I liked what he was doing, it didn’t feel good. In fact, it hurt, even when I told him to be gentler.

To some extent, I could understand not wanting to be penetrated. But I knew clitoral stimulation was supposed to feel good, was supposed to lead to mind-blowing orgasms the likes of which I couldn’t even imagine.

So I swallowed my pride and mentioned my problem to my gynecologist’s nurse practitioner. Almost immediately, she placed a pamphlet in my hands and told me I had vulvodynia–one of many female sexual disorders involving vulvar and vaginal pain and sensitivity. The pain is difficult to treat and it will take years of physical therapy before I can attempt to have PIV (penis-in-vag) sex.

But somehow, my diagnosis was reassuring. Having vulvodynia means that there’s nothing wrong with my sex drive or my sexuality. I’m a fully sexual person who just can’t have vaginal sex, and that’s okay. (Besides that, I have friends who don’t enjoy PIV sex, or who don’t feel safe having it, and that’s okay too.)

There are thousands of people who can’t–or don’t want to–be vaginally penetrated. But that in no way means that people who don’t engage in vaginal sex can’t have hot, active sex lives. Despite my therapy, I’m still in pain almost constantly, and on most days involving my genitals during sex is difficult or even unthinkable. But my sex life isn’t deteriorating: on the contrary, I can’t imagine how it could be better. And that’s why I created this blog: to showcase how to have an amazing sex life that doesn’t include vaginal sex.