Toy Story 1

We'd never been to the local sex shops. I'm pretty sure that way back then I'd never been in a sex shop at all. I'd browsed the online version but I'd never taken the long walk to the big scary restricted premises upstairs.

I revealed this little snippet of information to a sexually liberated friend of mine, Brandi, and soon we found ourselves in the car with Arthur driving us to the nearest main street in search of a sexy birthday present for myself. We managed to locate three open doors, all decorated with combinations of flashing signs, strings of coloured party lights, and a very unattractive musk pink paint. Since all the exteriors looked equally sleazy, we decided to check out all three in turn and see what they had to offer.

After some discussion and a thorough exploration of each shop we decided that the table of jelly toys were the best option, so the three of us trundled back up the stairs and started to paw over the extensive selection of colours, lengths, widths and shapes.

The worst thing about buying a vibrator with friends is that there is almost the expectation of being a size queen. Even worse is when you've been with very few men and have never owned a sex toy. How are you supposed to know which wibbly wobbly willy to buy?

I decided to go with what I know. I chose a purple one. Nothing like picking your playthings based on colours of the rainbow. Brandi gravitated to a thick black number. Giggling and grinning we took our choices over to Arthur at the counter. He shot Brandi a mock admonishing look and said "no, I'm afraid you'll have to pay for your own, it isn't your birthday" as he put my new toy on the counter to pay. The guy behind the desk looked at me, and then at Brandi, then looked at Arthur with the type of respect that is normally accompanied by a high five.

Mr Purple, my very first vibrator, has served me well since that day. On top of helping me learn how to bring myself to orgasm more easily, it taught me a bundle about buying sex toys.

• Jelly, as wonderfully cool and squishy as it is, attracts dust like a starving Swiffer. Dust (and in our case, cat hair) is not something you want to jam into your girl parts.
• Cheap toys mean cheap motors. This isn't necessarily a bad thing however combined with jelly and some uber-cool pussy clenching it does seem to strangle buzzing ability at most inopportune moments. Any sort of pressure slows the vibrations to a labouring rumble which, while quite pleasant, is sex toy speak for "get off me! I'm dying!"
  
• Big lumbering vibrators are good for getting that full-o-cock feeling, but not so good for getting off with speed and accuracy.

My toy drawer is still home to Mr Purple. It now lives in an out of reach corner, marinating in pthalates (Arthur: Phthalates are bad, 'mkay?) and still managing to collect dust through two protective plastic covers. What can I say, da toy got skillz. I haven't got the heart to throw it out, but these days I never use it.

These days I've got options. ;)