Long Distance

Long distance is its own special torture. You watch each other jerk off over Skype, you try to dirty talk through the lag, you pretend that counts as sex. It doesn’t. You both know it doesn’t. You come, you close the laptop, you feel worse than before.

The We-Vibe 4+ is what gets invented for exactly this situation. Vibrator for her, app for you, control it from thousands of miles away. Pulses, waves, surprise vibrations—whatever rhythm you decide to send her. At least you’re doing something. At least you’re not just watching.

I’m skeptical it actually fixes anything. Sex through an app still feels like you’re fucking a screen, separated by servers and time zones and the basic fact that she’s not there. But I understand the appeal. You’re alone. She’s alone. But at least you’re touching her somehow, even if it’s just a vibrator you bought her, even if it’s sad and mechanical and nothing like the real thing.

The fantasy is that it keeps her from leaving you for someone who’s actually there. Someone local, someone who can take her out and fuck her without scheduling it six months in advance. The reality is different. But you try anyway. You spend the ninety euros or whatever it costs, you download the app, you press buttons thousands of miles away.

Maybe it helps. Maybe it doesn’t.