“Uh, oh,” I said absentmindedly to DH. “I think it’s broken.”

In my hand, I balanced the toy upright. Instead of its usual stiff profile, it had an odd bend near the base and fell to the side. The long, thick and veiny dildo with the suction cup base was suddenly sad looking. It had served us well in many scenarios, including being stuck to the bathroom mirror as a surprise for me.

Now, looking at the wilted toy in my hand, I could hardly believe we broke this monster.

When I arrived home from work that day, the house was blissfully empty of kids, and DH and I took advantage of the alone time. This particular toy was large enough so that it wasn’t always comfortable for me but today, strapped to DH’s groin, it fit easily. I was wet, warm, willing. Our quiet dirty talk turned into the noise of hot sex, filling the bedroom as we screwed.

Now, looking at the wilted toy in my hand, I could hardly believe we broke this monster.

“I’ll take care of it in the shop,” DH said. He is a master at fixing non-functional toys and even creating new ones out of spare parts.

I washed the toy and put it back in the toy drawer for now. If I had to choose between broken toys and unused ones, I’d pick busted ones any day.

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