During a recent coital crisis—read: dry spell—I texted my friend Molly.

“It’s bad,” I wrote.

“I’ll take care of it,” she responded.

I relaxed. If anyone could solve my problems, it would be Molly. She works in the pleasure product industry, after all. A few days later, I received a white bag. “Meet the FORM 2,” her note said. I pulled the box out of the bag and my new vibrator out of the box.

It was two-pronged like a Peeps Easter bunny and smaller than the palm of my hand.

'It’s so… cute,” I thought to myself.

Previously, no such adjective could have described my sex toy menagerie. Take the Sqweel 2. It claimed that “10 tongues are better than one.” With a black base and—you guessed it—10 pink “tongues” that whirled in a circle. It could have passed for a bizarre handheld portable fan. (For the record, one tongue is just fine.) Then, of course, were the two Rabbits. They were tinted a pretty silicon bubble gum pink, but that didn’t make up for their phallic and vein-y exteriors. Fun Absolutely. Attractive? Definitely not.

They satisfied all pleasure principles and failed the principles of aesthetics. I hid the toys in a drawstring bag under my bed. The FORM 2 though, with its small and smooth shape, actualized even Burke’s conception of beauty. I plugged it into the wall and waited till nightfall. (Conclusion: feels as good as—maybe better than—it looks.)

From then on, it’s remained on my windowsill. Partially because my only free outlet is there, but also I think it complements my Miyazaki plush toy in a modern, sexy l’object d’art kind of way. If guests ask, I’ll casually point and say, “Oh, it’s from Japan” (which isn’t a total lie, I got one of the two there). Or, more often, tell them the truth.

They’re a little surprised. But it starts an interesting dialogue. It’s refreshing.

Female masturbation needn’t be secretive or stigmatized. Unless, of course, you’re using an ugly vibrator.

—Alexis Cheung

Photo by Alexis Cheung.