When the authoritarian regime forces sex shops underground, they start selling what fascists fear most—orgasms and hope.
(Note: This satire was written by Kim Faubel and appears in the October issue of SE Magazine.)
Living under fascism, a vibrator isn’t an indulgence. It’s a survival tool. To many, I am nothing more than an average sales associate. I stand before them in my freshly pressed, standard-issue polyester uniform, feigning compliance as I do my best to forget that the world is on fire. I smile. I swipe their loyalty card. I bag their items.
But to a select few, I am much more than that. I am the face of one of the last underground sex toy boutiques.
Welcome to Aisle 69, my darling degenerates!
Degenerates. The latest addition to a long list of forbidden words, censored because it “undermines the moral fabric of the nation.” But if you ask me, moral fabric was never meant to be crafted from polyester and divided by gender. It was meant to be torn off in a frenzy and dropped on the bedroom floor while something powerful hums in the dark.
Let me start by showing you our bestseller: the humble, yet reliable, Mini Wand Vibrator. To the untrained eye, it’s nothing more than a mushroom-shaped piece of silicone. To me, it’s a declaration of independence. Because while the government can try to legislate your uterus, your pronouns, your family and your bookshelves, they cannot confiscate the orgasm. Not yet, anyway.
Oh, this particular model? It offers ten speeds—nine more than most politicians’ brains manage on a good day. It’s fully rechargeable. That’s right, no batteries required—unlike our leaders who keep running on stale issues and dead traditions.
“The regime doesn’t fear our anger. It fears our orgasms, because a body that knows pleasure is a body that refuses to be owned.”
Now, over here, we have the classic dildo. Sturdy. Reliable. Always there when you need it. Which is more than I can say about the men who’ve written laws about bodies they’ll never bleed in. This model is perfect for those who are tired of dealing with fragile egos. We lock eyes because I see you. I know what brought you here. This handy silicone toy won’t whine when you ask it to go deeper, and it’s also available in rainbow colors—so when the regime comes knocking, you can wave it around like a banner in the resistance parade!
Lube? Yes, we have a variety of options over here. The regime tries to tell us lube is “against God’s will,” but if God really wanted us to succumb to friction, she wouldn’t have invented olive oil.
Now, I see you nervously eyeing the BDSM section, but allow me to clarify. Our government is all about control without consent. Bondage is the opposite. It’s control that you choose, boundaries you set, safety you create. For example, handcuffs in the bedroom? Hot. Handcuffs at a protest? Not so much! Ropes used to get tied to a bedpost? Hot. Ropes used to tie up human rights? Definitely not.
Ah, and let us not forget the butt plugs! I never forget a butt plug. They may make the pearl-clutchers, well, clutch, but fascism thrives on shame. It’s their favorite toy. Their leash. Their whip. And every time someone buys a vibrating butt plug, especially those ornamented with glitter and jewels, a leash snaps. A whip goes limp. More than a purchase, buying a butt plug is a political statement.
“Every sex toy out the door is an act of resistance.”
Do I sound dramatic? Of course I do. I’m a sex toy salesperson living under a regime that wants us to be silent and stripped of rights. If you think I’m just peddling sparkly butt plugs and rechargeable vibrators, you’re not listening. I’m selling rebellion.
Every dildo out the door is an act of resistance. Every condom sold is an assertion of choice. Every lube-filled pillow pack is an enthusiastic smudge on their rulebook. They call it contraband, but every vibrator I sell is a middle finger buzzing at 8,000 RPM against the state.
Fascism can steal books. It can police borders. It can try to choke the air out of art, and sex and play. But it cannot survive in a world where people still laugh, still fuck, still touch themselves under the covers at night. The regime doesn’t fear our anger. It fears our orgasms, because a body that knows pleasure is a body that refuses to be owned.
You may assume I’m only running a covert adult store to make some extra cash, but really, I’m smuggling hope. My uniform is polyester, my register is ancient, but my mission is eternal: keep selling joy until the walls come down.
Now, can I interest you in the latest addition to our suction vibrators? Because if we’re going to outlast fascism, we might as well do it on the highest setting.
Kim Faubel ventured into an adult retail store in early 2003 and submitted a job application. She has never looked back. When she isn’t busy writing, helping stray cats, improvising and cooking, Kim is the B2B Sales Director for the brands b-Vibe, The Cowgirl and Le Wand at COTR, Inc. She’s fairly certain she was burned at the stake in a previous life and she’s happy to be back.
