Careful What You Poke In There


Okay, first off – this DID NOT happen to me. I almost wish that it had because really? It’s some funny ass shit. If it had happened to me, I’d totally own it. (Hey, I told you all about the penis of doom, right?) This DID happen to someone I know who wishes to remain anonymous and let their incident serve as a warning to others.

I guess you could call this a guest post.

Without further ado…..

A Very Bad Egg

I recently bought a vibrator. After much searching and reading of reviews, the one I settled on was the Trinity 10 Speed Vibrating Egg. Check it out, if you would. It is fairly important to the story that you have a real idea of what I’m talking about. I’ll wait…

Back? Okay. So, my highly anticipated new toy arrived, unfortunately, the day my husband left with our daughter to visit his family. I hadn’t told him about my purchase, figuring it would be a pleasant surprise. That said, I didn’t have the patience to wait to use it, so I decided to take it for a test drive.

I inserted the egg and grabbed the remote. Turned it on. Let me just say, it was nice. Not wanting to waste too much time, I decided to scroll through the varying speeds. I pushed the button on the remote. No change. Huh? Pushed it again. Again no change. Weird. It is supposed to have a range of up to fifteen feet and my arms are far less than that. I figured I’d remove the egg and give it the old once over. Maybe the batteries were loose or something. I reached up and tugged at the attachment that would, I’d so innocently believed, retrieve the egg. You may be sensing that things were about to get ugly. Well, you’re a fucking genius.

Tug. Tug? Okay, fine, TUG!

I cannot even begin to describe to you the sinking horror the swept over my face when I realized I was standing in my bedroom, holding the wire attachment, or at this point I should more accurately describe it as DETACHMENT, that was supposed to remove the vibrator from my previously happy nether regions. Yes.

Deep breath. This can’t be that bad. I’ll just, um, fetch it out. I’m flexible and all. Surely I can reach up there and get it. And that’s what I did. Or tried to do. The moment one finger made the faintest contact with my former friend, I felt the egg slip out of my reach. Very much out of my reach. And? It rested WAY farther than I had any hope of ever going. Where no man had ever been before. Nope, not even the big ones. It simultaneously turned sideways. I think I may have heard it laughing.

I’d be a liar if I told you I’d given up then even in the face of mounting hopelessness. Out of sheer desperation, I performed some likely never before seen acrobatics on the floor of my bathroom in a vain attempt to rid myself of the, oh yes, I failed to mention, STILL VIBRATING egg. No luck. I realized fairly quickly that there was no way I was going to dislodge this thing all by myself. Might I add that I’ll probably never again be able to use those grilling tongs to cook a hot dog again? Ahem.

Okay. Calm down. More deep breaths.

I’d just go to the emergency room. Surely they’ve seen crazier shit than a Mom of two hoping to spice up her sex life with a vibrator stuck in her vag. Right? I mean, really. Right? Shit, I’d hoped so!

But first…FIRST, I had to shut this fucking thing off. Without even absolute silence the quiet hum was very audible to me. I had no doubt any other patients in the waiting room would be sure to hear it. The remote was not cooperating. I deduced that the wire attachment was in fact the antennae and that likely the remote hadn’t worked because the wires were loose, hence my present predicament. I thought, maybe, just MAYBE if I could get the remote close enough to its counterpart it would work. And so…I carefully, VERY carefully (with the powerful grip of a stealthy ninja!) held the remote with my thumb white from pressing so hard on the OFF button and began its ascent into what is apparently, the great fucking abyss, I guess.

And? It worked. YES! No longer was I a woman about to go to the emergency room with a vibrating vibrator stuck in her hoo-ha. I was simply a woman about to go to the emergency room with a vibrator stuck in her hoo-ha. At the very least I was NOT a woman about to go to the emergency room with a vibrating vibrator AND a remote stuck in her hoo-ha. There is a god. Or a Something. But hey, I’m agnostic and had always been open to the possibility. Now I think I’m a firm believer in Something.

I quickly arranged childcare for the baby and made my way to…The Emergency Room.

Fortunately there were only three other people there. A couple with a sick kid. Well, it’s unfortunate the kid was sick, just run of the mill sick it appeared, but I was glad the place wasn’t packed. I filled out the requisite paperwork, leaving the Reason for Visiting part blank until the very last. I finally settled on, “I have something stuck in my vagina. Namely, a small vibrator.”

I handed my clipboard to the young (might I add, attractive) guy at the check-in counter and returned to my seat. After a moment, he picked up my paperwork, giving it nary a glance and said, “All righty, and why are you here today?”

“Um, I’d really kinda rather you just read my explanation on the paper.”

“Hmm, let’s see. Ah yes. I wouldn’t shout that across the room either. Okay. Come on back.”

With a bit of overkill in the feigned dignity department I made my way across the waiting room and took a seat in the chair he’d waved me to.

“Now, I know you are just fine, but I still need to take your blood pressure and your temperature.”

“Well, don’t be surprised if my blood pressure is a little high what with me feeling like an asshole and all.”

He laughed. I was relieved.

All was well. He accompanied me to the guts of the ER, a nice private room (finally), where I was seated with (another, DAMMIT!) man who was to obtain more information.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

“So how long has this, um, object, been stuck?”

“Well, I suppose it depends on whether you’re asking how long it has actually been there, which I’d say about two and a half hours, or how long has it been there that I would consider it stuck? Which I’d say a few minutes over two hours.”

Okay my dear readers. You caught me. I enjoyed the test drive for a bit before deciding to check out the other speeds. Carrying on…

“And, how would you rate your pain right now on a scale of zero to ten, zero being no pain at all, ten being extreme pain?”

“Well, if you’d asked me that question two and a half hours ago, I’d have said negative ten, but since you’re asking me now, I’ll say zero.”

Cracking a smile, “Okay, we’ll get you set up with a female doctor and nurse.”

“That would be GREATLY appreciated.”

You know, the rest is par for the course (I imagine, at least) as far as having a small egg-shaped vibrator removed from your hoo-ha goes. I had an awesome female resident (who successfully completed her first removal of a ‘foreign object’ from a vagina, though she preferred the term ‘slippery little sucker’ to ‘foreign object’. Patayto, potahto, as they say). The assistant nurse was an absolute doll. I’d finally shed all pretense of dignity before their eyes and admitted I was maybe a little, tiny bit embarrassed to which the nurse responded, “Oh, honey, don’t you dare be embarrassed! You have NO idea what we’ve seen. At least you put something up there that belonged there!” I was pleasantly surprised by that observation since I was absolutely CONVINCED I’d get some sort of somber lecture about the need for extreme caution when presenting my girly bits with foreign objects. Whew. Dodged that bullet. Um, that was funny, what I just said right there. Because these vibrators are also called bullets. Jesus, I’m just full of the humah today!

So there you go. That’s my story and I wanted to share it with you because a month out (don’t be mad it took me this long to tell you) I have finally rid myself of the abject horror of the situation enough to realize this story? Is pretty fucking funny. And people should get to laugh at it. I’m just oozing with a sense of purpose right now, thanks to you!

Also? A little birdie did tell me? Never, ever stick a real actual egg up your arse. Much less three of them. Apparently they are a bitch to retrieve. Even for the experts. And coke bottles make for bad dildos, ladies. They can create a pretty strong vacuum and be VERY difficult to remove. Don’t say I didn’t tell ya.

May you all have a fine weekend that isn’t interrupted with objects hiding in your coochie. Or the coochie of someone you love. And “thank you” to the lovely lady that told her tale!