🌶️ Sue’s After-Dark Diaries

Episode 3 – Battery Blues

Oh what a night, Sue gets the Battery Blues, now let me explain how this went down.

There are few tragedies in a woman’s after-dark life quite like this one: just as you’re cresting the wave of bliss, the mechanical hum you’ve come to rely on goes… quiet.

And I mean deathly quiet.

It happened on a Tuesday. A suspiciously uneventful day that should have been a red flag, women’s intuition and all the stuff. I’d just floated on home from yoga—feeling bendier than a pretzel in Pilates—and slipped into one of those moods where your skin tingles and everything feels like a caress, you know what I mean.

Setting my mood, I lit a few candles, stood back to admire the warm glow and the candles were flickering like tiny perverts. Set my playlist and Sade’s sultry voice was crooning in the background. My sheets were freshly laundered, the scent of lavender and recklessness hanging was in the air.

And Dan—my ever-reliable, slightly-too-loud-but-who-cares vibrator—was waiting for me. I’m sure if he could smile he would.

Love’s Labour Lost

Things started predictably enough. A few slow circles to get things moving. A teasing touch here and  a couple of pulses there. I was climbing the staircase to Nirvana barefoot and breathless.

And then… splutter.

A whimper. A pitiful buzz. A final wheeze. And then… nothing.

Dan had died. Mid-performance.

I was horrified “You absolute traitor,” I whispered, more betrayed than Juliet on the balcony.

I stared at him like he’d just confessed to sleeping with my best friend. One minute I was a goddess, thighs tensed in triumph, and the next I was a furious gremlin wrapped in a dressing gown, blinking in disbelief.

Operation Orgasm: Improv Mode

Naturally, I did what any rational woman in a sexual emergency would do: I turned the room upside-down like a lust-fuelled raccoon.

My top drawer? Total chaos.
Found:

• A sparkly bullet vibe from 2012 that now only lit up but didn’t vibrate.

• A wand that sounded like a Boeing engine and smelled faintly of burning plastic.

• A gimmicky vibrator shaped like a unicorn horn (yes, it came in a subscription box. No, it wasn’t magical).

Desperate, I even eyed the electric toothbrush for a good number of seconds. But we’re not quite there yet.

Moving on.

A Glimmer of Hope

Dan was plugged in with something bordering on reverence. But the blinking red light practically laughed at me. “Not tonight, love.”

There I stood: dripping with disappointment, heart racing, thighs still tingling like they’d missed the memo.

I poured a glass of rosé, stared out the window like a woman contemplating a life of celibacy, and seriously considered writing a review titled: He Died Inside Me – A Tragedy in Three Vibrations.

But then…PING, a lightbulb moment.

Shower Scene: Rated R (For Really Necessary)

I marched to the bathroom with purpose, clutching my loofah like a sword. If Dan was off-duty, I was calling in the understudy: the detachable shower head.

Let me tell you something, ladies—when life hands you limp vibrators, turn on the hydro-massage setting and aim true.

The water hit my skin like warm silk, cascading down my back, pooling in delicious places. I braced one leg against the wall, channeling my inner Cirque du Soleil, and angled the nozzle with precision honed by years of trial and error.

And then… hallelujah.

The moans? Operatic. The release? Apocalyptic. I might’ve knocked a shampoo bottle over and the conditioner, ok and the shower gel with my foot mid-climax. I definitely scared the dog, it was a huge clunk to be fair but when your on a mission

Ten minutes later I was wrapped in a fluffy towel and with my hair turbaned like a Roman empress, I had  emerged victorious.

Enter: Stan

Back in the bedroom, Dan blinked a cheeky green light. I gave him a second chance.

He buzzed.

I grinned.

He buzzed again.

I grinned again.

Then he… croaked.

“You little tease,” I hissed. Honestly, it was like being ghosted by a lover who still likes your selfies.

So, with fingers still twitching and patience worn thinner than my lace thong, I opened my laptop and ordered a new toy.

His name? Stan. Sleek. Waterproof. Thrusting. Eight speeds. Whisper-quiet. With memory settings. Be still, my beating bits.

Expedited delivery. I was not taking anymore chances again.

Peanut Butter & Post-Climax Clarity

Feeling pleased with my order and excited to meet Stan, I padded to the kitchen in my towel, still glowing, I decided a midnight snack was needed—peanut butter on toast, the food of champions. I licked the spoon slowly, feeling decadent and strangely powerful, as if I’d tamed a wild beast (aka my shower) and emerged enlightened.

I curled up on the sofa with a blanket and some sultry reruns. That warm, lovely ache was still pulsing through me, and despite the initial betrayal, I felt smug. Because pleasure doesn’t live in Dan or Stan or unicorn horns.

It lives in me.

Stan the Man?

Stan arrived two days later, sleek and silent like a gentleman spy. When I opened the box, I swear I heard a choir of angels. He had a charging dock, a velvet pouch, and a glossy user manual that I never read but flicked through while sipping wine like a smug sex goddess.

Dan now lives in the backup drawer. Semi-retired and definitely on probation.

Sue’s Reflection

Moral of the story? Always charge your toys. Know your plumbing. And never put all your orgasms in one basket.

Stan is currently performing admirably. But I’m not getting cocky—I’ve got a spreadsheet of backups bookmarked now. A woman learns.

So ladies, take it from me:
🚿 The shower is your friend.
🔋 Your toy is not invincible.
🧴 And always finish what you started—even if it takes creative plumbing and peanut butter toast to get there.

Suggested Reading:

• The Suitcase Surprise: Sue and Dan Hit the Road

• Dan and I: A Hot Summer Night Alone

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