Guest blog: Sex Toy Story starring the magic wand

Today’s guest blogger is Carolyn Busa – a writer/comedian who grabbed my attention with her previous incredible piece ‘I want to be fucked like latte art.’ Go check it out, because it’s fabulous, and then pop back here to read today’s funny Sex Toy Story, written from the perspective of a magic wand. I’m especially delighted to bring you wank-focused stories because it’s Masturbation Month at the moment. So read this excellent guest blog, follow Carolyn on Twitter or Instagram, and if you’re Pixar, please don’t sue.

Sex Toy Story: magic wand adventures





I have no idea how much time has passed. I have no idea where she’s taking me. All I know is it’s at least 90 degrees in this god damn cardboard box and I want out. Why did Kelsey choose the hottest day of the year to move? She’s a complete mystery to me. But then again it seems Kelsey’s a mystery to everyone who enters her life.


Pot hole. My cord is now strangling me around my spherical head. My cord is what makes me powerful, yet I am powerless in this moment. Every time Kelsey changes apartments, my cord falls victim. My once long, smooth, power source has become a twisted, knotted mess that mirrors the hot mess of my owner’s life.

This was not how it was supposed to be for me, The Magic Wand. I am the most regarded, consistent, reliable vibrator. I thought I’d be treated as such. I deserved a shrine in a cozy drawer dedicated to the number of orgasms I am capable of providing. It would smell like lavender, not cardboard.

At least this time she threw me in a box with her miraculously, freshly laundered pajamas. Despite a few ratty band t-shirts, Kelsey did own some silky, smooth lingerie that cooled me in this stifling box. I remember one trip where I was thrown in with a desk lamp, alarm clock and a random snow globe. Fuckin’ nightmare. Every bump I prepared myself for my demise. Waiting for a crack in the snow globe that would soak me in all the wrong ways. Powerful as I was, I was not waterproof.

My two speed lifestyle is no match for Kelsey’s pedal to the medal way of life. She would never admit it but Kelsey thrives on chaos. Always quick to blame someone else for the job she lost, the bad date, the friend who decided it was best she move out. Honestly, I think I’m the only reliable thing she has in life. Every time she uses me, I give her everything she wants: Powerful, scream-inducing, multiple orgasms. Every. Time. And this is the thanks I get.

I validate Kelsey’s fantasies time and time again. At this point she can come within 60 seconds after turning me on (30 if she’s on the phone with whoever Philippe is). Oh, what I would give for her to finally validate mine!

The van stopped moving. With what little AC was reaching me in the back, I can feel my electric motor growing faint. I hope this is the last of our moves. It has to be. I want to be unraveled. I want a drawer. I want a nightstand. I want a…

“Welcome home!”

Home? Did I really hear that word? Or was I hallucinating from the heat? The voice isn’t Kelsey’s but it does sound familiar. Maybe it’s Phillipe? No. I remember once hearing Kelsey say to Phillipe, “God your voice makes me wet. It’s so deep.” This voice isn’t deep. It’s complicated like Kelsey’s but somehow wiser. Layered. More mature.

“Hi Mom.”

Mom. There’s something about Mom’s voice that is calming. Seconds ago I was frustrated and scared but now I feel… safe.

The truck is open. I hear Mom talking but I’m only catching a few of her words. Something about Kelsey’s ‘future’ and this move ‘being for the best.’ I hope she means the best for me too.

I feel some air as I’m being moved out of the truck into a building that smells like all different versions of Kelsey. This mixed with the smell of the lingerie around me has me going crazy. Where am I?

Another thud.

Except this time it’s not a pothole. My box has been placed on the floor. I’m flooded with light as the box seems to be opening. But above me I don’t see Kelsey. It’s Mom. Gosh, she’s beautiful. However I must look terrible because she seems shocked to see me.

“What is it?” Now I see Kelsey too. Wow. Their similar eyes are giving me a rush. “Oh my god.” she says. Interesting. I’m not plugged in but Kelsey’s face is turning the color I always seem to make it turn.

“The Magic Wand!” What? Mom knows my name? And… and… she’s picking me up! “Do you know this is the same vibrator I have?”

“Ew mom, don’t!” Kelsey has torn me away. She’s holding me much less confidently than she usually does. I wonder what’s wrong?

“Oh come on. Relax. Consider this a bonding moment for us.”

“Yeah, OK Mom. Can we just finish unloading, please? Jesus.”

“OK, OK. But first. Let’s put her where she belongs.”

Mom takes me in her hands again, smiling. She’s taking me somewhere, somewhere next to the bed. It looks pleasant, there’s even a vase of flowers and a picture of what has to be a young Kelsey.

“In you go.” she says.

“In what?” I think. But it’s too late. No. Not late, right on time. Because I have finally been given a home. A place to rest my motor. I’ve been given…a drawer.


  • Etta Stark says:

    Oh that was lovely! Hate to think what my wand thinks about me. 🙂

  • SpaceCaptainSmith says:

    Ha! That was cute. A+ :)

  • Jenny says:

    Compliments! Nice story!

  • Amen Ra says:

    That was terrific. Her use of anthropomorphism was perfect. Right down to how the wand “feels” abandoned but ultimately finds “home” in the drawer of Kelsey’s childhood bedroom. I aspire to write more like this one day. Thank you for sharing it and thanks to Carolyn Busa for the artistic writing.

  • tk says:

    The ending with the mother acknowledging and accepting her daughter’s sexuality was very endearing.

    All the parental figures in my life were always consistently sex-negative. :(

    • Girl on the net says:

      I’m sorry to hear that tk, and yeah I am with you on the mother’s acceptance of her daughter’s sexuality! I really love how their relationship is portrayed in this post! <3

  • Phillip says:

    I wasn’t prepared to like the audio stories as much as I did. They were great and often a bit sad. I guess the times are difficult ones and it is hard to smile all the time. I really did like them in somewhat the same way I liked the young woman I knew who was a dancer. We were alone and she stood on the glass coffee table and danced. I was surprised and now a bit embarrassed as I didn’t know she was that fucking good. I had never had anyone dance just for me before. The audio is like that. Just for the listener! Maybe for the wanker too?

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