Dearest Reader,
We come bearing a dire warning. A crisis is quietly vibrating its way into bedrooms across the nation. Women, femmes, queers, people with vulvas: they’re being led astray. By what, you ask?
Not drugs. Not cults. Not the newest season of Bigg Boss.
By sex toys.
Yes, those little silicone-coated trinkets. Once hailed as mere "tools of curiosity," they’ve become agents of chaos. Before you plug one in or slip one under your pillow, consider these devastating ill effects that might disgrace upon you and your house:
You might become addicted… to your own damn pleasure.
First, it’s one orgasm. Then another. Next thing you know, you're multi-tasking: filing tax returns while feeling toe-curling bliss, topping off Monday morning coffees with extra buzzes. You used to settle for missionary mediocrity. Now? You know what your body likes, and you're out to get it. Terrifying.
You might stop thinking your orgasm is optional.
Sex toys have this annoying tendency to reveal that your pleasure is not, in fact, a side quest. You’re the main character now. You might even… gasp! prioritize your own climax. The horror! Patriarchal structures are quaking in their boots.
You could experience intimacy without penetration.
Be careful. Once you realize that sensuality, satisfaction, and sexual agency aren’t defined by someone else entering you, you might start redefining sex on your own terms. The heterosexual agenda? Crumbling.
It may treat your medical conditions better than Rohan from Hinge.
Do you suffer from vaginismus? Pelvic pain? Dryness? Anxiety around intimacy? Your toy won’t mansplain your body to you. It’ll work with you, patiently, gently. It won’t say “just relax” while poking you everywhere. We simply can’t have that kind of reliability in modern relationships.
It never stealths, never “forgets” a condom, and cannot impregnate you.
Imagine: a sexual partner who doesn’t try to coerce parenthood, won’t shame you for being on birth control, and can’t give you chlamydia. Alarming, right? Won't someone think of the falling birth rates?
It doesn’t mind if you bring someone else to bed.
In fact, it prefers it! Your toy is a team player. Threesome? Group play? Long-distance relationship? It’s unbothered. The most emotionally secure companion you’ll ever own. Ugh. Nasty.
It can go all night and still want more.
Toys don’t get performance anxiety. Or bored. Or sleepy. They don’t snore. They don’t pull out and ask, “Did you come?” like an idiot. They just deliver. Again. And again. And… again.
It sticks around through the rough days. Even period days.
Bloated? Crampy? Weepy? Your toy isn’t logging off. In fact, it might be the only thing that helps. It's consistent. It's low maintenance. It doesn’t say “maybe you’re just too emotional.” It just gets it done.
It doesn’t ask you to dress up or look pretty.
Your sex toy never cares if you’re in sweatpants or crying over a rewatch of Pride and Prejudice (the Colin Firth version). It doesn’t need winged eyeliner. Or clean sheets. Or fancy lace undies. It just wants to be near you (and ideally, washed afterward).
It may radically change your standards. Forever.
This is perhaps the most dangerous consequence of all.
Once you meet a toy that:
Listens to your pace,
Makes you feel good without guilt,
Never shame your desires,
And doesn’t ghost you after a climax,
…you may stop settling for bare-minimum partners entirely.
And what then?
A world where people can have self-respect along with sexual autonomy?
Where no one’s waiting around for someone else to “give” them pleasure?
Where orgasms are abundant and shame is out of stock?
Yeah. That's a hell of a slippery slope.
If you use a sex toy, you may become…
empowered.
satisfied.
unbothered.
free.
We can't have that now, can we?
