My Body and Other Adventures: Have Toys, Will Travel
A few years ago, the lovely editor of QM, Lorien, and I went on a three month adventure through parts of Eastern Asia and beyond. We had each bought a largish backpack that still met the carry-on requirements for international flights. We were starting the first week of January in Japan (freezing) and working our way south to Thailand (tropical) before heading to Cairo (Muslim) and then meeting up with my parents to be wined and dined in Italy (fancy). We spent months discussing the combination of thermals, bikinis, and modest apparel each of us was packing. We shared links to shampoo bars and lotion bars and portable chargers. We went into the minutia of packing for months.
The only thing we did not discuss was sex toys. A month into our trip we progressed past the hostel phase and arrived at a two bedroom apartment in Thailand. At this point, it had been four weeks without romantic contact for both of us, and there were still nine more to go. This was when I learned that Lorien is a much smarter woman than me: she had brought a vibrator with her, while sadly, I had not. I had thought about it, sure, but had not wanted to be that person bashfully locking eyes with airport security.
I grew to regret my bashfulness. I was so intensely jealous as my friend was one room over with her very own vibrator (thank you, Lorien, for being discreet when using it). I even went online to see how complicated it would be to receive mail at a sketchy Airbnb run by a sweet but useless Swiss man in Thailand. Turns out it was very complicated. So, I spent a month on the beach reading, sunning, swimming, and not having orgasms. I survived (okay, I thrived), but it seemed like a waste. Still, I wasn’t sure if I would travel with my own toys in future. What if they turned on? What if someone found out?
Then, a few stops further along in our trip, the worst thing happened. Okay, maybe not the worst thing, but Lorien’s backpack came off the luggage belt buzzing away. And it was fine. In fact, the whole trip was wonderful and (aside from that one instance of momentary confusion) the vibrator caused no issues. So, after I got back, I vowed to myself that leaving home would no longer mean leaving my sex toys behind.
Armed with my newfound confidence, I decided to honor this resolution when traveling to meet my boyfriend in Hawaii the following year. After a long hunt for lubes that fit in my liquids bag, and much debate about how to pack a dildo without it getting covered in lint, I found myself staring down airport security.
I was going through a TSA checkpoint, unafraid and looking forward to my trip. As I waited for my carry-on to come out through the baggage screening, the belt paused. I looked up, and yes, there it was: my bag full of dildos on the security screen. Maybe if there had been just one dildo it could have been mistaken for a weirdly shaped toothbrush holder or something. But a half dozen? There was no getting around it — they were definitely dildos.
I watched as the TSA agent looked at the screen for a moment. Then the understanding hit him. He called a colleague over and they looked at the screen together. One of them finally looked up at me and made direct eye contact. Instead of feeling bashful, I looked right back at him and questioned with my eyes: “Do you really want to open that bag?” First, the agent blinked and then the belt kept going. I hopped on the plane and had a wonderful week with my boyfriend.
Do you really need a bag full of dildos for a week-long getaway? Probably not. But would I highly advise bringing one? Absolutely.
Here’s the thing: sex toys are awesome. So why are we so ashamed of them?
Many people seem to associate sex toys with a personal failing. Needing or choosing a sex toy is seen as a way that we compensate for our inability to have or enjoy sex “correctly”. The implication is that the “correct” way is two (or more) bodies rubbing up against each other with no enhancements. I have had many conversations with women who are ashamed that they need lube, for instance, because they feel that they should be able to enjoy sex without it. My beloved boyfriend with the bag of dildos admits to being intimidated by larger-than-life insertables, because he worries that his natural body will be judged and found lacking. These beliefs are fueled by a narrative that sex toys are how you fix something that is wrong with you.
But happily, sex toys are not making up for something missing. Nothing is wrong with any of us. Maybe your body needs a certain kind of stimulation. Maybe you need more lubrication. Or maybe you would just rather have a little something up your butt. None of these things indicate a deficiency. Toys are a way for us to be intimate in different ways or to get to know our own bodies better. There is no shame in taking control of and enjoying sex alone or with a partner. So yes, it might be a little awkward watching your bag full of dildos freeze-frame on a screen, but don’t blink. Be proud that you are owning your sexuality and have fun on your next trip out of town.
Published Mar 1, 2020
Updated Dec 15, 2022
Published in Issue V: Taboos
