(2 of 3)
I cannot fully describe to you the absolute repulsiveness of the sexual aid I was given--both because this is a family magazine and because the English language is not equipped for the task. It was supposed to be a disembodied part of a woman, but it was more like part of a really expensive Halloween outfit to which someone had haphazardly taped a lock of Dweezil Zappa's hair. It felt like wet latex, smelled like wet latex and looked like something Sigmund Freud might have used to make a very twisted point. I figured it was designed for men without hands.
The device plugged into an electrical outlet and came with suction cups. This frightened me even more than the Zappa hair until the people from SafeSexPlus explained that I was supposed to stick the suction cups on my computer monitor once the "cyberdildonics box" popped up. This box could be made darker or lighter by Alexa's controlling the box on her screen and would make my latex gizmo vibrate at higher or lower frequencies depending on how much light she decided to give me. I don't know what sexual experience was supposed be replicated by a vibrating disembodied female body part, but I didn't want any part of it.
I was to have the same sort of control over Alexa's marital aid, which I assumed would be somewhat less terrifying.
I assumed wrong. "It's a little scary," Alexa confessed as we talked on the phone and I squinted at a live picture of her on a tiny, fuzzy box on my screen. I'm pretty sure she's pretty and possibly blond. "It looks like it might hurt me. And it's making these ramming noises. Like a jackhammer." I had never prided myself on being a gentle and considerate lover; "ramming noises" and "like a jackhammer," however, were not phrases I was used to hearing.
Alexa, ever the playful one, told me she'd take off her top if I could make her light box change colors, so I got one of the tech guys at work to help me. Soon I could see her yawning on my monitor. This, I thought, was getting to be more like the sexual experiences I was accustomed to.
After 20 minutes, I think I got the color to change and the scary jackhammer noise to increase. "I get turned on by anything sexual," Alexa purred as she took off her top and jeans. "But not this."
We talked some more, and she told me she'd named herself after Billy Joel's daughter, which I thought was in bad taste. Then I realized, looking down at the giant latex pudendum jumping around my desk, that I wasn't in a position to comment on matters of taste.
Still, in the name of science I concentrated on the image of Alexa on the screen and tried to act sexy. "You are driving me crazy," I told her.
"Really?" she responded.
"No."
"Damn."
This was the high point of our encounter--that and when I admitted I was incapable of having phone sex. "Having good phone sex is just saying how you feel," she told me.
"I feel silly," I confessed.
"Not like that."
Eventually we decided to stop. "It has nothing to do with you," she said as she pulled her jeans over her hips. "We're just asking each other technical questions, and it takes away the sexiness." Virtual sex was indeed eerily like real sex for me.