For approximately two-and-a-half minutes, I felt sort of bad about not having a romantic scene with which to frame this particular review. But then I realized that the Fun Factory’s Stronic Eins isn’t really a romantic toy. It’s more of a …

“It’s a fuck machine!” Susan says, with more enthusiasm than I can possibly get across in mere text. “It’s not a romance toy; it’s a fuck toy, and it’s cool as shit, and tons of fun!”

How can I possibly follow that discerning and insightful commentary with any of my own? “You don’t need to,” Susan says. “Let me talk.

“You know that contraption you sometimes see in porn movies? A dildo attached to a long mechanical arm attached to a motor sitting on some cart in some sex toy laboratory or sparsely decorated bedroom? A woman lies down in just the right position — and, apparently, at the perfectly calculated distance — and then the motor-driven dildo does the rest. That’s a fuck machine, right? I admit, it’s somewhat intriguing, but once you put any actual thought into the logistics and mechanics, it gets rather ridiculous pretty quickly.

“The Stronic Eins has all of that intrigue, but none of the ridiculousness.”

The other night, after toasting the end of another day of real-world responsibilities with a couple glasses of Glenfiddich 15, Susan called me up to our bedroom. It was dark when I walked in, the only light flickering from a bank of candles set up on one of the windowsills. Susan was wearing a pair of tall, knee-high boots and … nothing else. But I had no time to enjoy the view. Before I could verbally express my delight, she blindfolded me. And then escorted me to the bed, stripped me naked, and laid me down.

“Then I got the feather tickler out,” Susan says.

Which was definitely unexpected. She swept it up and down my chest and abdomen, and along my thigh. Next, she traced the same pattern across my torso and down my other leg. Occasionally she’d take it away altogether and I’d squirm for more.

“I was teasing my own nipples whenever I did that!” Susan says, still beaming about her conquest.

That explains why the duration of those pauses seemed to continually increase. Robbed of my vision, I was at Susan’s mercy as to when and where she’d get back to work with the tickler. I’d anticipate a brush down my arm and instead she’d gently stroke my cheek. It was invigorating on several levels. And then, for the first time that night, she caressed my member with the feathers, and I thought I was finished.

“When I ‘dusted’ along his shaft and down to his balls, his cock actually surged,” Susan says. “So I dropped the feather tickler and grabbed the last item from the set, the LELO Noa. I turned it on and put it in, but right before I slid myself down on Rydell’s cock, I yanked the blindfold off!”

It was an incredible scene that left me completely powerless to practice any sort of climax control: The blind buildup with the tickler, the black boots, my wife — outfitted with a wicked smile across her face and a couples’ vibrator already buzzing her pussy — straddling me. Indeed, I was finished.

“The stereotype is that women never want a man to come quickly,” Susan says. “Let me explain something to you. After 16 years of marriage, I’m proud as hell that Rydell still gets so excited by me that sometimes he just can’t hold back.”

“It’s so hard,” Susan says.

I wish I could claim credit for owning the object of her observation, but she’s actually describing the Jopen Key Comet G. And it didn’t take her long to provide that report. “That’s what I noticed as soon as I opened the package. I don’t know how you couldn’t.”

The Comet G is approximately eight inches long and shaped like a lazy “J”. Its stunning, first-impression-making solidity is thanks to a molded glass body, about half of which is sheathed in a thin layer of silicone. “I’ve always been fascinated by glass dildos,” Susan says, “but have never tried one. It felt very different.”

“I don’t know how else to say it … it’s just so hard! There are a lot of things that make the Comet unique, so I knew it would provide some new sensations, but I wasn’t expecting the hardness to be such a big deal. It seems like usually toys mold to you, at least to some extent, and that’s part of what makes them work. The Comet — aka Mr. Glasscock! — does not mold to you. Instead, you’re at its mercy. But I found that exciting, too, and part of what makes it work.”

I can’t argue with Susan about the significance of the Comet G’s rigidness, but I’m fairly certain that its shape is equally responsible (if not more so) for the toy’s ultimate success. In addition to the ergonomic curve, the insertion point boasts a good-sized bulbous head. The end result of those two design features is a wand that some users will swear has magical properties: the ability to seek out, stimulate, and satisfy one’s g-spot.

“Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever truly found mine, or if anybody’s ever actually hit it,” Susan admits. “I’ve never been obsessed with trying to find it.”

Speak for yourself, dear.

Susan doesn’t struggle in the orgasm department, so I suppose as a couple we’ve never made locating her g-spot much of a priority. (And, between you and me, she simply doesn’t have the patience to put off climax while I finger about for a little bean-size hot zone that supposedly has a slightly different texture than the surrounding hot zone. Hey, cut me some slack, the pussy is one big hot zone in my opinion.) All that said, who wouldn’t want a go-to “button” to push to drive his or her lady partner way over the edge? To that end, I’ve been on a semi-serious, 16-year quest to chart a consistent course straight to Susan’s Grafenberg region.

Obviously then, Mr. Glasscock has become the Clark to my Lewis, and while our expedition isn’t complete, the journey to this point has proved fruitful.

Not wanting to challenge the directive of those three little words (at least not right away), I decided to provide Susan with some quality, unaccompanied — and spontaneous — research time.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said one morning after returning from the gym.

“I left something for you in the soap tray,” I replied, and then walked out of the house without saying another word.

My only concern was that she wouldn’t be able to figure out how to turn the thing on. When it comes to sex-enhancing devices, I’m all for ease-of-use, but the Thrill’s on/off/mode-selector button — a barely-noticeable nub between the charging nodes — takes simplicity to a new level.

“It’s perfect,” Susan says. “I actually love the one-button design: turn it on, cycle through the different vibrations, turn it off. Simple. And you can do it all in the heat of the moment without having to look to be sure you’re pushing the right button. Because there’s only one of ’em. Perfect.”

In Susan’s eyes (and hands — and elsewhere, I guess), the Thrill also is perfectly designed. Instead of the more traditional phallic vibrator, this one is U-shaped — and buzzes at both extremities. The result is simultaneous g-spot and clitoral titillation. “And it has a handle,” Susan adds. Indeed, according to the literature, the miniature coffee-mug style handle is intended to allow the “user to control pace, pressure, and friction during stimulation.”

“I don’t know if the handle made all that stuff so much easier,” Susan says. “For me, it’s really the whole Thrill that makes achieving solo satisfaction so much easier. Cock-shaped vibrators are fun … until I want something inside me, then I lose the clit vibrations. ‘So get one with a built-in clit stimulator,’ you say. Sure, those are great, but sometimes it feels awkward to reach so far down between my legs to guide it to just the right place. I feel like I’m all catawampus to one side. And don’t even get me started about trying to use one of those in the shower, all hunched over like Quasimodo. So sexy.



“But the Thrill eliminates all of those issues,” Susan continues. “I get the insertion and the clit vibration, and because of the horseshoe shape I don’t have to reach any further than my mound to grab the handle to make all the subtle adjustments I need. So, yeah, the handle really does allow me to control the pace, pressure, and friction … And I’m not worried about throwing my back out of whack to make it all happen, whether I’m standing up or laying down on the bed.”

So, what all did happen that unaccompanied and spontaneous morning?

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing we have handles in our shower,” Susan says. Ah yes, the happy serendipity of buying a house from a lovely headed-to-the-nursing-home couple who needed a little extra stability while bathing. “Without those handles, I might’ve fucked up my back for different reasons.”