#2. They Are Surprisingly Cagey About Human Relationships
For a group of people who have no problem hiking up their metaphorical skirts and exposing all of their deepest crotch secrets to Internet strangers, they sure are bashful about divulging their relationship status. This is not a hobby group that likes to be tied down (figuratively). They steer clear of labels like "boyfriend" or "wife" and opt instead for weird, clunky names for the person who presumably stands in the room watching their significant other pounded senseless by a steel robot.
After reading so many of these, even "partner" sounds strangely intimate. I like to imagine the person writing that review agonized for half an hour on whether "sexual associate" wouldn't be more accurate. And for some sex machine enthusiasts, putting any label at all on the condition of the relationship is unthinkable. Instead, they just leave the noun out completely like it was all just too much work to think about. This happens with such regularity it's hard to believe it's a mistake.
It all feels like a secret language only they speak and no one ever acknowledges it out loud, because, let's be honest, no one outside the community spends 12 hours reading sex machine reviews hunting for patterns. It seems more likely that they've been waiting for me all this time, burying clues for me to find like some sort of lascivious Moriarty. It would certainly explain why they all spell "heed" as "head" with absolutely no indication they realize their own sexual pun.
#1. Some of Them Should Probably See a Doctor
I know we are all built differently, and that sensitivities vary from person to person, but I'm genuinely concerned that some of the reviewers might be pounding themselves into paralysis. They engineered vibrating monstrosities out of pneumatic tools and flew too close to the sun aboard their flying/fucking contraptions, I'm sure of it.
The machines they are discussing, by the way, are essentially sexualized jackhammers. It's not a feathery tickle that these people can't feel -- it is a rubbery nightstick that strikes at 150 thrusts a minute. I don't think a problem this massive can be solved by throwing money at Amazon.com. I think only hospitals know how to deal with someone who is this dead from the waist down.
Also, here's a tip for all you ladies, and I'll leave you with this: If you start a conversation with me with the words, "I'm a woman who can take a beating," I am immediately afraid of you. You have cracked a door into the terrifying, haunted trauma house of your life and then immediately shut it, leaving me to guess at everything inside. Call me prudish, but I will never be able to give you what you want, because we walk different sexual paths, you and I. And that's absolutely fine, but I will do my best to never end up in a room alone with you.