Review: Bi Stronic Fusion

It sounds perfect on paper: a beautiful marrying of motion and vibration. But oh my god, this is a deeply disappointing sex toy.

Fun Factory Bi Stronic Fusion pulsator on an ornate rug.
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Wipe the stars from your eyes. Dash your dreams. Give up all hope.

It sounds perfect on paper: a beautiful marrying of motion and vibration. A self-thrusting shaft and a vibrating clitoral stimulator all in one sex toy, from the company that brought us the truly innovative and actually life-altering Stronic Eins. I was optimistic, believe me, just like you.

But oh my god, the Fun Factory Bi Stronic Fusion is a deeply disappointing sex toy. Its insertable portion is flawless — that’s the hard truth — but its clitoral portion is absolutely unforgivable. Terrible aim, dismal vibrations. We have here an ingenious thing wrecked by an ill-fated modification, like dill pickle soup made with too much pickle juice, or Facebook now that your racist relatives are allowed to join. Can’t enjoy it now, can you?

If I sound like a melodramatic soliloquy, it’s because this is the kind of toy that inspires hope in people. They hold it in their hands and start believing in miracles. Ah, here it is, finally: G-spot pleasure, the likes of which I’ve never known, and simultaneous clitoral stimulation! Never before have I felt so compelled to abruptly slap the sex toy out of their hands and implore them not to waste their money.

This review is my slap. This is my stern, unwavering eye contact. My plaintive but firm “don’t.”

Blame the clitoral stimulator most of all. It overshoots my clit by miles, and its vibrations are caps-lock GODAWFUL. They’re even shallower and buzzier than my “definitely not a vibrator” face cleansing device. They land somewhere between the infamous Princessa and Flash, two impeccable examples of how bad vibrations can be. This is a motor so unpleasant that, quite frankly, Fun Factory should know better than to utilize it in any of their toys, and certainly not in their most expensive one.

Yeah, because that’s a thing: the Bi Stronic Fusion costs $200. Nobody — NOBODY — should spend that much money on something this likely to suck.

Genital anatomy is always a hurdle for rabbits/dual vibes like this, and BOY IS IT A HURDLE for the Bi Stronic Fusion. (“Hurdle” is too gentle a word. “Nightmare” would be apt.) Used “normally,” inserted as far as feels correct, the clitoral arm lands way too high on my vulva. I have to bury the toy to the hilt in my vagina, past my G-spot and way up against my cervix, to get the clit arm closer to my clit. If I physically push the clitoral part down and ignore how unacceptable the vibrations are and how uncomfortable everything feels, I can eke out a bad orgasm. Only then.

To be clear: THIS IS NOT A THING I SHOULD HAVE TO DO. The point of a dual vibe is to get simultaneous, satisfying internal and external stimulation without having to involve two hands. But, of course, it rarely works out that way.

The most upsetting thing about the Bi Stronic Fusion is that if it wasn’t a dual vibe, I would be in love with it. The shaft is just girthy enough, just long enough, with a pleasing G-spot curve that, coupled with the steady back-and-forth movement, would surely win my vagina’s favor. Saw off that external arm and this would be a completely different review.

But instead, my only option for clitoral happiness is to lean the toy’s handle downward enough to wedge an actually-good clitoral vibe in there instead of using the shitty attached one. Great. Cool. Wonderful. Totally ideal situation.

I’m never getting the thrusting joy I should be, either. The whole point of the Bi Stronic Fusion, and the reason you’d spend several hundred dollars on it, is freedom of movement. Yet the shaft’s motion is incompatible with built-in clitoral stimulation: it’s either thrusting wildly and doing nothing for me clitorally, or stubbornly bumping my cervix while I attempt to hold it still against my clit.

I experience a deep, overwhelming sadness when people at the sex shop where I work bring one of these up to the counter to buy it. It’s like watching the world go by as a ghost — I want so badly to stop them, but I can’t. It’s not my place.

There’s no way this toy can become usable as a dual vibe. Even if it hit my clit like a bullseye, I’d still hate the buzzy sensation. Even if it had a rumbly motor, it wouldn’t stay in contact with my clit. Dropping $200 on this thing is not going to feel like a solid choice for most people on earth.

I know. I shouldn’t speak in absolutes. Some people may very well enjoy this toy anally, and I’m not saying it’s impossible for someone to like it vaginally — a very very very specific type of person, with the right anatomy and taste for high-pitched vibrations might like it. But that person is a fucking unicorn and most likely not you.

Lest you feel too downtrodden in this dystopian universe I’ve created, let me throw you some bread in the form of a memory. It was 3 years ago, and the world had just been blessed with arguably one of the most groundbreaking lines of sex toys in the last decade: Fun Factory’s Stronic pulsator line. Their first release, the Eins, was a perfect encapsulation of innovation and simplicity. I was, and still am, astonished by how much I enjoy it:

The Stronic Eins does fucking wonders for my G-spot. My G-spot is notoriously easy to stimulate, yes, but the sensation is so unique and awesome. The thuddy throbs, the back and forth movement… it just strokes my G-spot so consistently. Most toys are not consistent because, you know, I’m behind the wheel. And I’m not a machine.

. . . the Stronic Eins jostles my G-spot into oblivion with very little effort on my part. Quick, disgustingly effortless pleasure. The Stronic Eins is like nothing else in my arsenal, and it has already become a cornerstone.

I’ve loved nothing else in the Stronic line as much as the original Eins. If the follow-up Stronics were the unnecessary plot twists, the Bi Stronic Fusion is the shock ending that makes you scream at the TV and nearly quit the entire franchise. WHY DO YOU FORSAKE ME SO? HOW CAN I TRUST YOU NOW?

The Stronic Eins lives in the tip-top drawer of my desk [edit: as well as the newer Surf and G] with the best of the best, while the Bi Stronic Fusion is never going to be used again after I publish this. It’s wild to have such disparate feelings about two toys with so much in common, but it just goes to show that even the most awesome of sex toys can be ruined by turning them into rabbits.

The Bi Stronic Fusion should be struck from the Fun Factory canon.

You may think I am speaking in hyperbole. You probably think I’m a jaded bitch. That’s fine, but I trust my gut. I experience a deep, overwhelming sadness when people at the sex shop where I work bring one of these up to the counter to buy it. It’s like watching the world go by as a ghost — I want so badly to stop them, but I can’t. It’s not my place.

This is my place, and by god I’m going to try to persuade you not to spend money on this toy — no matter who you are or how you masturbate or how much disposable income you have. It seems easy enough to think, well, the Stronics are $170 to begin with, $30 seems like a small price to pay for clitoral stimulation. Don’t. You are so much better off getting the Stronic Surf or Stronic G and a corded egg, mini vibepocket rocket… hell, even a watch battery bullet has better vibrations. You’re still under $200, and you have no idea how much emotional distress I’ve saved you from.

I understand why Fun Factory made this toy: they had to. It was the obvious next step, to combine the pulsating motion with vibration. It needed to exist, and yet, I really wish it didn’t. So let this review serve as an elegy for the Bi Stronic Fusion. For all the people who will use it and curse the sky. For all it could have been and isn’t. For all it never will be, because now I realize how impossible that dream was.

Get the Stronic of your choice (*cough* Surf or G) at SheVibe, Spectrum Boutique, Enby, Good Vibes, Babeland, Fun Factory, Smitten KittenLovehoney (international), or Come As You Are (Canada).