Oh, Fun Factory. You poor things. Do you not realize what the word “bouncer” insinuates here in America? That’s the guy who slices up fake IDs in vodka commercials. The guy who tells you your slacks are not appropriate for the sex club. The guy whose existence you begrudgingly accept because he might protect you from peril at some point, but who is mostly just macho and huge and ridiculous.
It’s true that the Bouncer needs a technical name, though, since simply meandering across its shape would not grab your attention. You’d never know without reading a description or holding this dildo in your hands that each ripple contains a free-moving ball, ready to roll around when the toy is jostled.
Yeah — kegel ball style.
This may have never been done before, at least in a dildo? It’s pretty cool. You should’ve seen my boyfriend’s face when I handed it to him and asked him to shake it. He looked so magnificently bewildered. Anything that garners that reaction needs to go in my vagina, stat.
But life with the Fun Factory Bouncer is not as simple as insertion. It’s not a set-it-and-forget-it dildo. At least not if I want to feel the unique sensation promised by that initial intriguing shake.
The first order of business is talking my vagina into chilling out. Its instinct with insertables is to clench, to grasp, but clenching impedes movement, and movement is what the Bouncer needs. So it feels a bit like a battle: my PC muscle against the Bouncer. Or my PC muscle against my brain? It requires re-wiring and conscious relaxation.
The second issue is, well… I didn’t realize how truly lazy I am with my dildos until I got the Bouncer. I don’t constantly or consistently thrust with most of them; it’s more like a gentle nudge here and there. I only speed up and get into what could be described as a “rhythm” when I’m near orgasm.
With the Bouncer, to feel the inner balls, I have to jiggle the shit out of the toy the entire time. Even a generic thrusting — which would already be more movement than usual for me — won’t do it. I have to grab the base and shake the toy in a tight, swift, back-and-forth motion, like I’m setting the glitter adrift in a snow globe.
When I get it going, the rolling sensation of the balls really does feel unique and rad. It’s similar to what the LELO Luna Beads feel like, but more pronounced and more pleasurable in the context of masturbation.
It’s as if my vaginal canal is a putt-putt golf hole getting neverending holes-in-one.
As if my vag is the dome in that kids’ push toy that I just learned is grotesquely called a corn popper.
It’s as if I’m really bad at similes.
Against my G-spot, if I can keep up the jiggling, I fucking love it. I want it to continue always and forever. I want to bask in it, savor it. Especially when I’m about to come.
But it’s a lot of work. The sustained shaking. The persistence. My hand gets tired, and I feel pressured to reach orgasm faster, to ensure that I’m able to jiggle adequately leading up to — and through — the peak. Yet I want to jiggle the entire time, because failing to do so means a mediocre overall masturbation experience.
That’s because the Bouncer’s form is otherwise unimpressive. Those wimpy little waves do nothing for me, other than awkwardly sitting right at my vaginal opening. It doesn’t have texture for my vag to delight in. It’s too rigid. It’s not a great G-spotter, so just squeezing it with my PC muscle while it’s stationary doesn’t do much.
The rolly balls are the Bouncer’s saving grace, but I cry knowing there’s no way to automate their movement. I tried holding my Hitachi against the base of the Bouncer, but the rolly balls remained stubbornly still while the rest of the toy vibrated. Typical penetrative sex acts don’t make the balls rattle either, so the Bouncer would not excel in a harness — unless, say, you were strapped into a vibrating belt weight loss machine.
Until someone invents a robot to hold the toy and do the correct motion for me, I’m stuck with the fallible object that is my left hand.
I’m a whiny bastard, I know.
I want to take a moment to give Fun Factory props, though. This is a toy that needed to exist, and they created it without resorting to sweeping, grand statements about its orgasmic abilities, without prescribing who should use it and how, without dramatically patting themselves on the back for their genius. This, still, is rare in the adult industry.
If the Bouncer gave me its delicious rolly ball stimulation with no effort on my part (like my beloved Stronic Eins does), I’d be gleefully hawking it to anyone in search of a new sensation. It really does feel neat. But it requires serious hand stamina, its shape is dull, and its three-digit price of $100 makes it less of an interesting thing to try and more of a splurge.
I have no doubt there are people in this world for whom using this toy will not be a strenuous endeavor. I applaud you, my valiant comrades and fellow dong worshippers. But remember, the sensation is very much tied to the amount of effort exerted. There’s no getting around it.
So start pumping that iron in preparation now — this is a dildo for people willing to put in the grunt work.