Ten things I hate about Doxy Number 3

OK gang, listen up because I’m angry. For years – YEARS – I have been recommending the Doxy to anyone and everyone with a clitoris. It’s the turbo-charged fuckstick of my wildest dreams and by my rough calculations it has delivered more orgasms in the three and a half years I’ve owned it than any living human has given me over the course of the rest of my life. Myself included. I love Doxy so much I would recklessly and gleefully abseil down the nearest tall building to unfurl a ‘FUCK YEAH DOXY’ banner that could be read from miles away. But now Doxy has launched a new toy – a compact wand called ‘Doxy Number 3‘ – and I am, to put it mildly, livid.

Here are 10 things I hate about the Doxy Number 3.

1. It is quieter than the original Doxy

Blah blah yeah, sex toys should be whisper-quiet and discreet. Fine. If that’s your priority then get Doxy Number 3. I, however, want a sex toy that fucking ANNOUNCES its presence – with the deep, gruff rumbly tones of a muscle car gunning its engine at the lights. The delicious, growly revving of the original Doxy helps to compliment my orgasmic yelping: Doxy Number 3’s much quieter hum hasn’t a chance of competing with my cacophonous moans.

2. It is smaller than the original Doxy

Where you could conceivably use the original Doxy as a defensive weapon if you were so inclined, Doxy Number 3 is a much more compact version. It will fit easily into any backpack, and indeed most handbags. It sits snugly in my bedside drawer, and my partner can hold it easily in his hand when he wanks me off during sex.

Oh, SURE, some of you will think this is a good thing. But I ask you: if you buy Doxy Number 3 instead of the original Doxy, with what do you hope to defend yourself during the zombie apocalypse?

3. It is lighter than the original Doxy

Same as above, really: lightness isn’t a quality you’re after when you’re shopping for a melee weapon. However I will reluctantly agree that the lighter weight and smaller size of Doxy Number 3 may be of benefit if all you want is to have explosively brilliant orgasms without your wrists getting tired.

4. I don’t WANT to find a toy that I love more than my Doxy

If someone turned up at your house one day and said “Oh Hi Maud,” (your name is Maud – go with me on this). “Hi Maud, we heard you’re really keen on your husband.” …and you were like “Yeah, I adore my husband. I met him three and a half years ago and we’ve been inseparable ever since. I tell all my mates how amazing he is, have written blogs about how he gives me the best orgasms, and I eagerly look forward to returning home to him when I come back from trips abroad.” … how would you feel if they replied with: “Well we’ve upgraded him. This is Barry Number 3. Let me talk you through his new features”?

Would you say “ah yeah sure, why not upgrade the LOVE OF MY LIFE”? I don’t fucking think so.

How DARE they mess with your precious soulmate? How dare they imply that this person you have loved for YEARS is somehow deserving of a remodel? You’d throw them out on their arse, and rightly so.

Like Maud, I refuse to abandon the original Barry – I mean Doxy – that has been my constant companion for so long. It is still powerful, still beautiful, and it still more than does the trick.

But OK if you insist I’ll have this new husband too because the more the merrier.

5. Now I have to remember the name of one more sex toy

As I may have mentioned above, I recommend Doxy a lot. In fact I talk about it so much that if everyone I’d recommended it to had bought one, it would now be included as one of the ‘household essentials’ that they use to calculate the Consumer Price Index.

Recommending Doxy was easy for me, because I only had to remember one word – a four-letter word too, which is my favourite kind. Now, though? Now if people ask me to recommend a sex toy I first have to ask them qualifying questions so I can give tailored advice. I am incredibly lazy, and this is A LOT OF WORK, Doxy. It will eat into my wanking time. Fuck you.

6. The name of the sex toy includes a number, which makes me think there might be more and oh God then I will have to remember more names and this is all very difficult for me

Enough said.

7. People will now ask me to compare the Doxy Number 3 to the original Doxy and will likely try to claim that this two-thousand-word rant isn’t quite the comparison they’re after

See above re: me being lazy. But for what it’s worth, here goes…

Picture of three Doxy wands next to each other, with Doxy Number 3 in the center

Image courtesy of the lovely @DoxyNAmerica – from left to right: Doxy die cast in glittery black, Doxy Number 3, Original Doxy in black.

  • The original Doxy is a powerful, exceptional tool. About the length of my left forearm; deliciously rumbly on the high settings; makes me come faster than a sheepdog responding to a whistle; exceptional pulse mode that once made me bite my own tongue. It retails for roughly £90 (but you can get discounts like the ones on this sex toys page).
  • The Doxy Die Cast is powerful like the Doxy original but with a silicone head and a metal body that comes in a variety of beautiful colours. Plug-in, pulse mode, etc etc etc. It retails for roughly £150, but see above re: discounts. Also see above re: sheepdogs and whistles.
  • The Doxy Number 3 has the metal body and silicone head of the die-cast, but it’s smaller and lighter and all that shit. Plug in, pulse mode, blah blah. It retails for around £120 (discounts may or may not be available when it comes out). Sheepdog/whistle status remains the same.

Side-note: Doxy also make a toy that goes in your arse called the Don (formerly Doxy Skittle). It is less frequently talked about, but it’s also really good because honestly they just can’t fucking help themselves. 

So: if you want to orgasm, but you’re broke and/or you enjoy the satisfaction of a hefty toy – get Doxy Original. If you want to come and you are rich or fancy and you enjoy the satisfaction of a hefty toy – get Doxy Die Cast. If you want to come, you like things smaller and more discreet, and you have £120 – get Doxy Number 3.

Better option if you’re a Doxy fangirl like I am: get all of them and place them on display in your bedroom so that before sex you can point dramatically, put on a serious voice, and invite lovers to “choose your weapon.”

8. I have to confess a secret I wanted to hide

The eighth reason I hate Doxy Number 3 is because writing about it means I have to tell you a secret: my boyfriend isn’t very keen on the original Doxy.

Ever since this incredible sex toy first body-slammed me into the bed with an orgasm so powerful the only thing I could say was ‘jjjgggrrrrfffkkkkj’, I have sensed a reluctance on the part of my other half to use its powers to their full. When I ask him to use it on me he umms and errrs and frowns and eventually says ‘oh, go on then’ with all the enthusiasm of someone who’s been asked to take the bins out. He doesn’t really like the noise, you see. Or the weight. Or the size. It’s not that it makes him feel inadequate, it’s just that – in his words – it’s hard to concentrate on banging when you’re also piloting the equivalent of a fighter-jet somewhere near the entrance to my vagina.

So – again – I guess if what you want is a toy that your (unreasonable) partner finds easier to manipulate while they’re fucking you halfway into next week, I should reluctantly recommend you pick up Doxy Number 3. But don’t go thinking I’m happy about it.

9. Doxy Number 3 is really, annoyingly good

All of the above would be forgiveable, I think, if Doxy were a British company on a par with some of my other favourites like Wetherspoons and Greggs. Both these institutions have one thing in common: they do stuff to an absolute bare-minimum, half-arsed standard. Not a gold standard that has you screeching with delight and recommending them to all your mates, but a standard that makes their loyal customers rise to their feet, shuffle uncomfortably, and mumble heartily in one voice:

‘I s’pose that’ll do.’

If Doxy could produce a toy in this can’t-be-arsed fashion, one which gave me no more than a second’s pause before declaring it ‘fine’ then at the very least I could take comfort in the fact that I wouldn’t have to write about the fucking thing. But it’s good, this Doxy Number 3. It’s really, really good. It’s a compact-yet-powerful, lightweight-yet-robust, orgasm-inducing fuckwand that both I and my partner adore. It’s irritatingly, deviously, horribly good and I have a repulsively hot sex story to tell you about it when I have had time to reflect on just how angry I am at Doxy for making the bloody thing.

10. I did such a powerfully epic review of the original Doxy, I don’t know how to top it

My original Doxy post was the first time I’d ever written about a specific sex toy. I only did it because someone had given me a Doxy and promised I’d love it, and I was so cunt-clenchingly shocked by how much I did love it that I figured I’d have a go at writing about it. And – unlike Greggs developing their decidedly mediocre vegetable pasty – I did not do a half-arsed job of this blog. There was enthusiasm, swearing… there were even NOISES for fuck’s sake. I literally recorded my orgasmic caterwauling the second time I used my Doxy so I could embed that shit in a blog post.

If I want to write a more enthusiastic review than that one it will have to involve either hiring a skywriter or writing an actual song about it. The only thing I can come up with for this post is a crap parody of 10 Things I Hate About You, and even when I throw in a poem to match the one from the film, it’s still not cutting the mustard.

I hate the way you thrill my clit

And your compact, shiny frame

I hate your lightweight chassis

I hate your fucking name


I hate your smug new upgrade to

A toy I’ve loved for years

I hate you so much it makes me slick:

I’ll drown in quim and tears.


I hate the fact you’re just so good

I hate it when you try.

I hate it when you make me yelp

Even worse when you make me say ‘jjjgkrrfhwhy oh God why would you stop Doxying my clit seriously why’


I hate the way you’re not the same

You’re quiet, light and small.

But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you.

Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

See? It’s shit. It’s a shit poem and a shit blog post. Because honestly, what can you really say about a toy that does something you fucking KNOW you love, but in an ever-so-slightly different way? I have no idea how to do anything attention-grabbing enough that it’ll do this toy justice.

I mean… I guess I could record myself being wanked off with it while reading something aloud? But that would be a bit weird… and kind of pervy… and…


Listen to me reading Elizabeth Barrett-Browning’s Sonnet 43 while getting quite vigorously wanked off with a Doxy Number 3. (I am not joking. This is exactly what this clip is. And it really does get straight to the point as well because I had to cut the chat/sexy noises that both of us made in the build-up to the poem itself. Do not click on it when non-consenting people are within earshot)

See what you have reduced me to, Doxy? See what horrors your incessant tinkering has wrought? What was wrong with just making one sex toy and leaving it like that forever? It’s like when NASA couldn’t be happy with just putting a man in space, they had to send a bunch of them to the moon as well. Smug bastards. Your insistence on creating a sex toy that has made me as happy as the original Doxy means I now have to really go some to write a review people pay attention to.


If you’d like the chance to win A Doxy Number 3 of your own, there’s one up for grabs if you retweet this [competition now closed].

But whatever you do, for fuck’s sake don’t buy it.

You’ll only encourage them.


OK, I guess if you really want to you can buy Doxy Number 3 for £129 (and use the code GOTN15 to get 15% off plus free shipping anywhere). Doxy didn’t pay me for this review, but they did send me the toy for free because they know I am a fangirl. They also sponsor my site by buying ads. 


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