The Hitachi

Is the Hitachi Magic Wand really the best in sex toys? Is it a fad or a trend that people rave about it? Why do they keep appearing on boom mic poles in porn?

The Hitachi Magic Wand is like Buddha in that it will lead you to higher stages of consciousness. Partners may come and go, but a Hitachi is forever. A stressful day can be unwound by this plain looking device. Start with your back and work your way down. It’s so powerful you don’t even have to take your panties off to make it work. You can be so drunk you couldn’t spell your last name and it will still make you cum. You can use it on someone and turn pleasure into torture. You can make someone orgasm into exhaustion and then cum again just when they thought they couldn’t do anything more.

People don’t speak in tongues because a spirit has inhabited their body, they were using a Hitachi. Rome could have been built in a day with a Hitachi. The holes in my wall happened because I own a Hitachi. Time is of no concern because I can go from zero to stained sheets in two minutes with a Hitachi. When I have a partner who fumbles and can’t actually locate my clitoris I can hand them that magic wand. I’ve never had another sex toy that I wrap my legs around. If I had only one outlet in my house, it would belong to my Hitachi.

I rave about it because I’ve always considered myself a penetration junkie. In every other instance I actually need something inside of me to cum. Oral sex has never really been enough, nor have any other small vibrators. A light tapping on my clitoris simply won’t do. I would hardly say I resigned myself to a lifetime of fucking hard from behind, it’s something I look forward to having as much as possible. I was a bit cynical when I heard so many people go on and on about this piece of machinery. I considered myself to be a member of an elite minority that could cum solely from penetration to my pussy or my ass. This toy taught me something about myself that I wouldn’t have known otherwise.

Masturbation is one of my favorite activities. I started consciously touching myself in middle school and I’ve been consistently logging hours ever since. I’ll have sex and still masturbate afterward. When I’m stressed, I’ll jerk off. Whenever I’m working on a major time consuming project I’ll take a five minute rest to jerk off and clear my head a bit. I’ve absentmindedly done what the Dyvinyls sang about while riving from the Bay Area down to L.A. on the 5. It has nothing to do with ‘getting some’ from a partner. It has everything to do with focusing on my own body and my own fantasy. Some of the things that turn me on are just for me. Sometimes I jerk off thinking about telling someone else what the erotic content in my mind is, but I like to leave something special just for me.

The thing is, I have shit to do. My job, my personal relationships, and wasting time on the internet are also very important to me. The Hitachi allows for a quick pick-me-up. It’s made masturbation as simple as popping a fine chocolate into my mouth. It doesn’t take too much time and its infinitely more earth friendly than going through batteries. I don’t even have to worry about someone noticing that I put a foil wrapper in a tashcan. In fact, a solo romp will burn off some calories. I feel refreshed, I’m in a better mood, and I’ve even heard my immune system gets a little bit of a boost.

I rave about the Hitachi because if using it makes me feel so good, it might just be what that cranky lady at the DMV needs. Maybe the reason why that guy in line at the post office is being such a jerk is because he’s frustrated that his wife doesn’t want sex because she’s having a hard time with an orgasm. It worked for me and I have no problem being an evangelist for the machine that helped.

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Posted on December 24th, 2008
Posted by Miss Maggie Mayhem

I used to work as a proposition player in a casino. In fact, I still have a form of I.D. in my wallet that required a background check on myself that included my family members, roommates, and my credit status. For those in the know it’s worth more than a Driver’s License.

So what was my official job as a prop? My official duties included knowing everything about the game from the way the shuffling should look to every form of cheating known to man as well as signs that someone has come up with a new one. My job was to attract players and get them to open their wallets. My job was loss prevention. My job required being a siren to gambling addicts who might stay a little longer because of a pretty girl who was also a card shark.

I was one of the few women you find in this position. A game of cards is still primarily fueled with testosterone. There are fewer women that are willing to hang around in a sleazy casino night after night running statistics through their head while smiling at every kind of rude comment imaginable. My job was also to take money in the form of chips that I could roll with ease across my fingers.

My unofficial job was to be hated and wanted. For a time, that was pretty fun. I would wear my classiest all black outfits because if I’m to be a femme fatale then I’m going to do it right. I wore red lipstick, I wore heels, I wore stockings with seams down the backs of my legs and I did very well in the pocketbook. Sexism exists in a casino and more than once someone wondered if I was a cocktail waitress that was a little lost. The thing is, sexism can work in your favor.

Domination isn’t always aggressive. It can be subtle and slowplayed. At the tables, my strategy was always to make someone else think they were in charge. You want to pressure people to make calls that they believe they came up with on their own. The art if getting someone to do what you want without having them catch on is a key skill in a casino. Without a riding crop or rope I could put people into bondage and create quite a bit of pain.

But it’s also wearing to keep stranger hours than a streetwalker. The bars aren’t quite as crowded at 6AM and it was hard to keep in touch with friends who seemed to occupy an entirely different world than I did. It was also hard for me to keep my conscience clear after watching someone go through the rent and a few cash advances rather than the cage. There were people that I would see for three consecutive shifts at the same seat, in the same clothes, eating food from a TV tray up against the table. I loved the feeling of always having an ace up my sleeve, but sometimes I hated really noticing the grime that collects in the corners of the room.

I did have a clandestine lover affair with a coworker. This was absolutely forbidden by the management who seemed to think that romantic sparks would create a Bonnie and Clyde situation. It made everything all the more exciting for me. My black skirts got a little tighter and whenever I knew that my partner was at a table behind me I would get out of my chair and bend over the table to examine the hand. We would brush up against each other and speak in innuendo constantly. It made the night go by quicker.

We could have been fired if someone caught on and that turned me on even more. It was viking sex on a burning ship. Giving him eyes and a smile might attract someone’s attention, so it meant so much more and had to be done carefully. We would pretend to walk to different sections of the parking lot and leave in the same car and fuck to the sunrise. The casino was already an underworld its own and we had gone a layer deeper.

The sex we had, naturally, was kinky. Two people already skilled in power games and the role of observation can have quite a bit of fun with one another. We were also free to make more noise because most people were at work when we were in bed. He didn’t even know a thing about BDSM until he met me but the language and flair of it was something he had naturally. Yes, I taught him about bondage, the thrill of a hand around a throat, and how to leave a proper bruise but he was a born natural.

Things ended not long after I left the casino. It wasn’t the same for either of us, but I’ll wager that he hasn’t fucked anyone the same since he met me. I provided him with a vocabulary that would allow him to ask for something he wanted. I hear that he’s a bartender now and sometimes I imagine putting on something sleek and dark, coming over to his counter, and leaving red lipstick on a martini glass. I don’t always have an ace in my sleeve, but I tend to carry one in my purse.

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Posted on December 24th, 2008
Posted by Miss Maggie Mayhem

In my downtime I like to play a game of fetish hunting on Craigslist. I’ll think of some random keywords and see if they pop up. I usuaully get pretty lucky and as you can imagine I have an active imagination.

But just when I’m starting to search for the really fun stuff I’ll click on a link only to find out that it’s been flagged. These people are ruining my fun! What if I was the person who wanted to get lucky that way? Not only is CL cracking down on escort ads they also have a team of people who have  dedicated their lives to hitting two buttons: refresh and flag.

I should have included these folks on my list of the very likely kinky. This kind of work requires a type of dedication that I don’t have. I don’t sit up late at night looking for something offensive to tear down. To be fair I happen to have a soft romantic place in my heart for two people with very obscure sexual interests finding one another in this big world of ours. Some couples share a love of sailing and book reading clubs, but others share a love of pretending to be St. Bernards with speculums and lots of lawn furniture. That’s a bond that can be hard to shatter.

I’m also pretty strongly opposed to censorship on the internet. Some people happen to disagree with me and I think that’s unfortunate. Now if Craig is the one taking down ads that is one issue, good samaritans deciding what I should look at and contemplate answering is another one entirely. I’m not calling out for retribution, but it would be nice if there was a feature that required some form of vague identification for flagging or at least a way to respond. At least then someone with a little barrel of whiskey strapped around their neck, 27 types of specula, and a plastic adirondack chair can make a plea for finding someone to share that with on a cold winter’s night.

And to indulge my own curiousity, I would like to know if it’s just a few people or a large community of flaggers. Is it mostly coming from one section of a city where the water could be tested or is it evenly spread around? Although I have my theories, I have no way of testing them.

Until then there’s someone sitting alone on the couch watching Beethoven all by themselves. Doesn’t that make you the least bit sad?

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Posted on December 23rd, 2008
Posted by Miss Maggie Mayhem

Blonde beaten and fucked.

Of course I’m always interested in anything with anal. When you add in seamed stockings, I’m really turned on to the whole visual. I’m also a sucker for a naked male with a hard on smacking some ass. I like it when I get the visual effect of someone turned on by sadism and bondage. The moment when the model says she hasn’t been fucked like that since grade school with the sly turnaround look of her dominant partner was also very hot. Even when I was doing some very unimpressive sexual activity with inexperienced partners I can still remember the power of feeling like I had discovered sex. I lost my virginity in a car on the blind side of a curve in the road a few blocks from my parents’ home. The comment shot me right back to my days of fogged car windows even in the middle of an L.A. heat wave. There may not have been floggers, spanking benches, or zapping but there was the ubridled lust of two people fighting against my curfew and wanting as much of each other as possible.

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Posted on December 23rd, 2008
Posted by Miss Maggie Mayhem