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Come on Ladies, Let's Vagina-cise! The Kegelmaster Diaries Continue

Insert springs, close unit, lube up and insert

By Susanna Brisk
Published: Dec 15, 2007

The Kegelmaster arrived as promised, three days after my conversation with Sandy Allen, founder and sole proprietor of Kegelmaster2000.com. According to her website, after only one week, my vagina would be reaching new heights of tightness, continence and boundless sexual energy. This would occur by strengthening my pubococcygeal (PC) muscle, which stretches from the pubic to the tail bone, forming the floor of the pelvic cavity, which governs bladder and bowel incontinence and sexual function. But despite my vagina’s golden future, I was too afraid to open the box.

I took it on a ‘dirty weekend’ with my husband, which at this point consists of two days where we go away without the kids and attempt the sexual act. We went to Ojai, California, which I figured would be a picturesque location for toning my hoo-ha. I never even took it out – my new exercise machine returned with the dirty laundry in my luggage and was relegated to an unglamorous spot under the stairs. I found that we were under enough pressure to just accomplish sex without having to master a vagina-ciser, especially with my husband around. It just didn’t seem like it was going to be appropriate foreplay. Nobody likes a deadline and my vagina is no different.

Finally, two weeks later, my husband left town, and out of sheer boredom, I opened the box. Inside I found an eight and a quarter inch smooth purple contraption with a double plastic barbecue tong shape on one end. It comes with a discrete black carrying case and separate springs, which are inserted to create different levels of resistance. Also included are two different flavored lubricants, tropical and cherry. Why they need to be flavored escapes me. I disregarded the DVD because life is just too short to watch an instructional film about a Vagina-master, and instead focused on the short instruction guide. Insert springs, close unit, lube up and insert.

Ow. My first impression of the Kegelmaster. If you’re like me, you probably prefer to have some kind of sexual excitement before anything is inserted into your orifices. Otherwise we would all be having multiple orgasms at the gynecologist’s office. Nevertheless, I turned the knob until I felt the device opening and pushing against my breakfast from the inside, and started to squeeze. Squeeze, hold for two. I felt ridiculous. Squeeze, hold for two. And repeat. At this point, I caught sight of my facial expression in the mirror; it was one of such intent seriousness that I burst out laughing. This was not Dostoevsky. It was a vagina-ciser. When I was done with the requisite thirty reps, I felt a strange surge of pride. I haven’t been to a regular gym in about six months, just yoga and walking, and yet here I was having completed an inner bench press. I pictured myself having lunch with my girlfriends, “How much can your pussy bench?” while chowing down egg whites and protein shakes.

Over the next week, I used the Kegelmaster every night, right along with deep conditioning my hair and applying a facial mask. As the week progressed, I noticed a little soreness, but it was that good hurt you feel after a hard workout at the gym. I noticed myself peeing less frequently, too. Bonus.

Wow. That was my first impression when my husband entered me for the first time after only one week of using the Kegelmaster. “Did you get bigger?” I asked him, for the first time in nine years together. He couldn’t answer me as he was too busy concentrating on baseball and his grandparents naked until my first orgasm came on. “OH MY GOD,” I screamed, completely forgetting that I had two small children asleep downstairs. Kegel-YAY! I sweated and squealed through roughly nine more orgasms. Yes, really. Seeing as I’ve been able to climax from sex since my twenties, the Kegelmaster turned my husband into the ‘orgasmatron’ machine from the 1960’s classic “Barbarella.” I wanted to send Sandy Allen a tropical fruit basket, complete with pineapple flavored lubricant. My husband had moved onto the batting stats of the current Red Sox team, hanging in like a true Hall of Famer. After about twenty-five hard earned minutes, the event culminated in a delightfully shaky mess. The next day I still peed a little when I burst out laughing at my two-year-old’s markered up face. But I didn’t care. Now that I finally opened the box, every day is a ‘dirty weekend.’