She looks at me with a blank expression.
“What, you think monkey is supposed to represent a cock in that phrase?” I ask her.
No reaction.
“I know, right? Why are so many animals used as a euphemism for genitals in the first place? Cat, rooster, monkey—does humanity have a subconscious bestiality streak?”
She turns on her heel and scurries into her house again—clearly not interested in dignifying my words with a response.
I carry the work phone, the laptop, the suitcase, and Precious into the bedroom, then light a few candles around the bed and play Leonard Cohen on my Echo to set the mood.
Opening the suitcase, I take out the vibrator, the toy I’ve been most curious about—mostly because Ava has been singing praises of hers so much I suspect she gets a commission from the manufacturer.
This specific vibrator is made of some squishy Space Age material that feels like a jelly made out of slugs—but sexy pink, so I guess it’s okay.
I already have my first quality complaint: the vibrator box doesn’t have any instructions on it, nor is there a little paper manual inside. There’s only one short note on the box: Get the Belka app for your phone.
I make a note of this in my testing document. It’s feasible the Belka peeps omitted more instructions because these are prototypes, but unlikely. The packaging is too polished for that, so this might well be an oversight.
Hopefully, my Bachelor of Science degree will help me figure out how to use a vibrator, even a smart one.
I get the app onto Precious and choose “Vibrator” from the screen with the different toy options. The app informs me that it’s connected to the vibrator via Bluetooth, and that the vibrator’s battery is full—a great start.
I click on the “Connect with Partner” icon and learn that you can do so via email, text, or even social media.
I opt to test the text version for now and put in the number of my work phone.
To make it seem like I’m testing the toys over the internet, I set up my work phone to connect through a proxy server located in Tajikistan—the farther, the better. Then I click on the text and am directed to download the Belka app. Once the app is ready to go, it opens up a small videoconference window—with options to see/hear your partner or not.
I document all this.
The setup was pretty effortless. Then again, it might be good to have someone less tech-savvy play with all this just in case—perhaps someone’s adventurous granny?
In any case, the work phone version of the app is now in “Giver” mode, while Precious is the “Receiver.”
I leave only the work phone in my hands because I need the controls on it. They consist of a start button and the knob for intensity.
First things first. I apply the vibrator to my forearm and press start.
Wow.
It’s not just vibrating. The strange material makes it ripple, for lack of a better term. It feels… interesting. I play with the intensity until I find one that I suspect will feel good on my clit, then stop the vibrator.
Hiking up the skirt of my dress, I pull down my panties. Just for shits and giggles, I’m wearing the gag pair Ava got me after my breakup. They boldly state “Open for Business.”
Carefully, I press the vibrator to myself. It feels tickly and a little cold.
Here we go. Time to start my workday.
I open the timer app for the “Duration” section of the testing document and reach for the start button.
Precious pings, stopping me.
Swapping the work phone for personal, I see that I just got a text from Ava.
Figures. Is it considered cockblocking when someone prevents you from using a vibrator?
When you get around to the toys, think of being impaled by the Impaler, her text states.
How did she sniff out what I’m about to do? She must’ve used her own vibrator so much she’s gained a psychic superpower. Or maybe she was bitten by her vibrator—by its Bluetooth, perhaps?
Precious pings again. This time, it’s the eggplant emoji.
I’m busy, I reply and silence Precious before grabbing the work phone once more.
As my finger hovers over the start button, I do my best to thwart Ava by not thinking of the Impaler.
Riiight. As everyone who’s ever tried not to think of something knows, the more you try, the more you end up thinking of the forbidden object.
And that’s doubly so for when said object is as hot as the one I have in my mind’s eye.
Fine. Whatever. I might feel better if I picture yummy lips touching my clit instead of slug jelly.
The image of hypnotic lapis lazuli eyes firmly in my head, I set a timer and press the start button.
Bzzz.
I drop both the phone and the vibrator as a powerful orgasm unleashes a wave of endorphins into my system. A full-on, toe-curling orgasm—as amazing as it was unexpected.
As the last spasms ripple through my body, I stare at the toy dumbfounded.
Did that just happen?
Is this a military grade vibrator, or did I just develop the female counterpart to premature ejaculation?
Chewing on my lip, I open the laptop and look at the testing document.
“Was orgasm achieved?” You can say that again.
“How many times?” Once so far.
“Session duration?” No clue. I put down a microsecond.
What now? Maybe I do the same test one more time? After all, whoever put the handwritten notes together implied there would be multiple sessions.
When I attempt it, I grunt in pain instead of pleasure. My clit is super-sensitive from the last go.
I might have to give it a little break.
With some trepidation, I snatch the dildo from the suitcase and open the packaging.
Again no instructions, just a small packet of lube and the thing itself—huge and made of the same squishy material as the vibrator, only avocado-green instead of pink.
I don’t mention this in my work report, but this thing reminds me of an alien tentacle. I mentally dub it Glurp.
Taking Glurp in my hand, I uncharitably compare him to my exes’ equipment.
Yup, Glurp is a big boy, almost frighteningly so.
Opening the lube, I nearly drown Glurp in the viscous liquid and bring up the mental image of the Impaler as I slide the tip into my opening.
Hmm.
It fits and feels kind of nice already. The prior orgasm must’ve gotten me ready for this.
I push Glurp deeper and pick up the work phone to bring the tentacle to life.
Bzzz.
I don’t instantly come this time, but the vibration or whatever it’s doing feels amazing. My inner muscles tighten, and I feel like I’m on the verge of something truly intense.
A few interesting options show up on the app, like A-spot and G-spot stimulation.
I’ll have to test them all, but for now, I decide on the G-spot because it’s the one I’ve actually heard about.
I jab my finger at the G-spot button.
Glurp begins to lightly twist inside me, as if zooming in on a target.
Bing-bing.
The videoconferencing app on my work phone hides part of the Belka app screen.
Crap. It’s Sandra, my boss.
What the hell does she want? There’s micromanaging, and then there’s interrupting your loyal employee from finding Nemo.
I stab the screen to reject the call.
The videoconferencing app expands to full screen.
Oh, shit.