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Ride the Wild Sex Bull - The Sybian Sex Machine - Somebody Had to Try It!
By Marjorie Skinner, Portland Mercury

What follows is a pretty freaky story. And I must warn you that it involves me, Beaverton, an eye patch - and a fuck machine. At least that's what I like to call it. Its real name is The Sybian Multiple Orgasm Sex Machine and it's a very fancy vibrator/sex machine tailored to enhance the ultimate sexual pleasure of all horny females. Apparently, even females like me.

Much like a mechanical bull, a willing woman mounts the Sybian base - a leather saddle-like half cylinder, fitted with a moving dildo attachment. The Sybian controls consist of two knobs: One controls its rotational capabilities, which are designed to stimulate the g-spot. The other controls the intensity of vibration. You can buy these babies over the internet for a couple thou. That's what George did, and he keeps it in a salon in Beaverton for women to come and pay money to - umm - give it a test drive. Still with me?

I will Do Anything For A Good Sex Story
Don't ask me why, but I'm the go-to gal around the office for all the sleaziest dares. And its true, I can't say no. So when someone found out about the Sybian Salon, I could hear the chorus of "We should make Marjorie try it" coming from clear across the office. To tell the truth, I was really nervous. The thought of being locked in a strange, empty room with a kinky sex machine was creepy - not to mention unerotic. Still, I was resolved that if I was going to go all the way to the suburbs, I was going to go all the way on the Sybian.

During negotiations with George, wherein I arranged to try out the Sybian and report on the experience, several things came to light. Although an attendant would be in the cottage - as the Sybian Salon is referred to - I would also need to bring a chaperone to be in the room with me. This prospect was even more horrifying than going it alone, as I wracked my brains to think of someone I would be comfortable with - and who would be willing or interested in sharing this extremely intimate moment.

As fate would have it, the very next e-mail I received was from my dear, kind, open-minded, trusted, and unabashedly perverted friend Bobby. I'll spare you the details of our relationship, but let me assure you they are as bizarre as the proposition itself, making him the perfect companion. So after a quick Google search of Sybian and one night of consideration, he agreed. It was a date!

I Meet The Sybian Sex Machine Master
When Bobby and I arrived for our appointment, George was waiting at the front door. He was an older gentleman with an eye patch. Bobby and I - in our giddy, nervous states - could barely handle it. We entered the Sybian Salon, a very small, barely furnished house. We sat down on a couch, so George could explain a bit about the salon, and this is when things started to get really weird.

After some perfunctory small talk, George abruptly blurts out, "Everybody wants to know about the patch!" He went on to passionately explain that his tour of duty in Vietnam had exposed him to Agent Orange, which we soon discovered never leaves you.

When the conversation finally returned to something relevant, George showed me his container full of flesh-colored penile attachments. For perfectly understandable hygiene reasons each Sybian user must purchase their own dildo, which is fitted over a large screw sticking out of the top of the Sybian saddle. They are shrink wrapped, washable, reusable, and the base is wide enough that when you sit on it, your humping action is not touching any other part of the machine. As long as you don't let anyone get all up on it, and you keep it clean, it is your personal barrier between your self and the nasty, nasty world.

Sybian Wild Bull Riding Room Safety
Finally, we were shown into the Sybian Riding Room - a teeny boudoir containing the Sybian Sex Machine, an alarm clock on a small table, and literally nothing else. No velvet curtains, no stereo, no erotic oil paintings - nothing to create an even remotely sexy atmosphere, unless you count the scary calisthenics-like chart of different Sybian positions hanging on the wall.

As George began demonstrating the functions of the Sybian controls, the dickless dick - the big screw that the dildo attaches to - began to spiral around in circles. In order to prove the strength of his machine, George asked me to grab it and try to prevent its spinning. I was a little taken aback, and put my hand on it loosely.
"Grab it! Grab it!" he commanded. "You can't stop it, it's too strong!"

Blushing and confused, I admitted that "no, I couldn't stop it" - and I wanted to cry.
Next came the signing of the legal immunity waiver, relinquishing the Sybian Salon from any fault if I were to incur injury - emotional or physical. I ran down the checklist.
No, I am not pregnant.
No, I don't get seizures.
No, I don't have an IUD--uh, oh.

"Oh, actually I do have an IUD," I admitted, thinking for a moment, with a mixture of relief and disappointment, that I was off the hook.

"Thank you for being honest with me," said George. "You can just cross that line out and write, "I do have an IUD, then initial it."

"Uh... uh-huh, but is it safe?"

"Think about it," he said. "You're putting a hard machine part inside your body."
"Yeah, but it's not like its going as far up as my uterus - right?"

Let's pause and think about the situation for a moment.
Millions of women put hard machine parts inside their bodies every day - at least when they're using a vibrator. It's realistically impossible to accidentally stab yourself in the uterus - where IUDs live - which was the danger he seemed to be implying. This made my mind reel. George, the closest thing I had to a Sybian expert onsite, had clearly missed a few memos on intimate female anatomy. This also made me think there could be any number of realistic dangers that he didn't know of. But since I couldn't think of any either, I said, "fuck it" and signed away.

There was one last warning before we began with the Sybian exoerience
George assured us he would be right outside banging away at his computer keyboard, that no one around would know or hear anything, and in no way could we do anything in there that was going to shock him. But - The only thing that would make him curious was silence. After all, how did he know he wouldn't open the door and find two dead bodies who had perished from - ohh, a double heart attack brought on by too many multople orgasms, for instance?

She Lines The Sybian Up - She Shoots - She Scores
So there we were, stuck in this tiny, sterile room, guarded by a stranger in an eye patch who was threatening to come in if he didn't hear us making a noise. I had just possibly signed away my uterus, and I was somehow supposed to ride this monstrosity to the point of getting off??!! It seemed an impossible task.

As soon as the door closed, Bobby and I mouthed silent "Oh my gods" to each other. After some muffled giggles and panicky whispers - and some fake louder giggles to pacify George - I took off my panties. To top everything off, I'd forgotten to bring lube, but luckily found some facial moisturizer in my makeup bag.

And So The Sybian Bull Riding Experience Began
I mounted the Sybian, and gingerly began testing the controls, keeping myself lifted up somewhat, nervous about relaxing onto it totally, especially with Bobby making cracks about it electrocuting my IUD. Most of our time was spent giggling and being freaked out and uncomfortable. I was nowhere near orgasm, although in a totally different context I could see how it would be hot. I mean, the Sybian contraption really does cover all the bases - it even has little clit stimulators on the base of the plastic penis.

The clock ticked onwards, and my thoughts went from, "I can't do this, there is absolutely no way I can do this here," to "I must do this, goddamn it! I came here to come and as God as my witness riding this mechanical sex bull, I AM GOING TO COME."

It was difficult to say the least, and I kept cranking up the vibrations that were starting to make me numb. I even sort of pseudo tried to fake it, weakly saying, "I sort of came" - but that didn't fly with Coach Bobby. And a good thing, too, because even though it took me 45 minutes, and even though I felt a little weird and gross about it, when I finally dropped all the blushing and bullshit and really bore down on the thing, I finally got a big, full orgasm. I think Bobby almost clapped. Then we got the hell out of there.

If You Like The Sybian You Buy The Sybian
Although I'd like to, I can't recommend the experience of renting a session with the Sybian - there are too many factors that gave me the willies. But the Sybian itself would be an excellent addition to an adventurous sex toy-collector's stash. And though you may be tempted to think that, like buying a car, you should try it before plunking down the dough, you don't need to - because, hey, I already did. And if I can get my rocks off under those conditions, then you will surely be able to do so in the comfort of your own home.

Maybe I'm a prude, but the only thing I really got out of the situation was pride in my ability to get off despite totally groady circumstances. That, and a bunch of tit hickeys that Bobby gave me after we hung out the next few times and couldn't keep our hands off each other.

Hmm, maybe there is something to the place after all.
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