The Sybian is for me. His release is for me too.

I masturbate when and if I want.
No permission. No ceremony.
Preferably when he’s out with the kids.
That’s my space. That’s peace.

But the Sybian?
That’s different.

He bought it for me as a birthday gift.
Back then, he wasn’t a kept man.
He was a desperate man.
He thought the Sybian would
give me release,
give me pleasure,
de-stress me…
and have me want to have sex with him again,
because I’d be reconnected to my orgasms.

Now we know it doesn’t work that way.

His way to sex wasn’t giving me a Sybian.
His way to sex was becoming quiet, attractive, tethered.
His way to sex was through me breaking him back in, taming him, placing him;
because now he’s the kind of man I want to sleep with.

And the Sybian?

It didn’t do what his intention was:

It forces power.

If a woman’s body can birth children,
it can birth an orgasm that detonates.
Because when sensation overwhelms, there is

• No performance left.
• No pretending I’m in control.
• No looking good;

Only presence.
Only surrender.

This machine does not hold back.
This machine does not ask.