Utterpants: "Good evening, Mr. Vibrator. Thank you for agreeing to this interview at such short notice. You must be very busy at this time of the year."
Mr. Vibrator: "Please, don't be so formal. I've seen you naked. Call me Fred."

Utterpants: "Okay Fred. We're sure our readers are keen to know where you're coming from. Where were you born?"
Fred: "I was made in China by a rubber corporation with a thousand other vibrators. We must've looked quite funny; an assembly line of little soldiers wearing helmets, ready to fight the war against horniness. From there we were shipped to England. Damn lucky for us; they cut the heads off vibrators in Saudi Arabia, you know. America's not a lot better; it's no fun spending your life up the bottom of a 300-pound trucker from Texas. And no one ever wants to go to Russia because it's hard to stay hot in such a cold climate. Once in England we were divided up and shipped to different places. Most of us went to sex shops, some to schools and the unlucky buggers went to Catholic priests.”

Utterpants: "Schools?"
Fred: "Oh yes. They hand us out in sex education classes, you know. English girls have the highest rates of teenage pregnancy in the world—well, except for Texas. I guess they think that starting them off on vibrators at thirteen will keep them from getting pregnant."
Utterpants: "And does it?"
Fred: "Hell no. Just makes them hornier than ever, luckily for us."

Utterpants: "Fascinating, Fred. Do you like your job?"
Fred: "Love it. Who wouldn't? Sure, some days are harder than others. We vibrators can have headaches too, you know. But for the most part I wouldn't trade my job for any other."

Utterpants: "Are there any special challenges at Christmas?"
Fred: "I'll say! Every parent who buys their daughter a vibrating Harry Potter Broom or an electric toothbrush at Christmas is putting a vibrator out of work. Not to mention all the scented advent candles, Yule logs and Craftsman tools. Some vibrators never recover from the trauma of rejection over the Christmas holidays."
Utterpants: "Craftsman tools?"
Fred: "Screwdrivers mostly. Some girls will wank with anything just for the novelty."

Utterpants: "What's the most difficult part of the job?"
Fred: "Shopping for shoes, I'd say."

Utterpants: "Some have called you heartless womanisers who travel from woman to woman with no real commitment. How do you respond to those accusations?"
Fred: "Do womanisers generally make women happy? Because we always make women happy, and keeping women happy is an uphill job, let me tell you. Sometimes, it's a real bummer, but what the hell, somebody has to do the dirty jobs, right?"

Utterpants: "Er, right, Fred. Is there anything you don't like about being a vibrator?"
Fred: "We've all heard the horror stories, about how unsuspecting vibrators are lured into bed some nights never to be heard of or felt from again. And the baby stories—please, don't leave us lying around if your baby is teething. That happened to my Uncle Ivor. One day Sharon left him lying on the coffee table. Next thing you know the baby was using him as a dummy, sucking him off like he was a lactating breast or something. Ivor was so mortified he committed suicide in the toilet. I mean what a humiliation for a bloke called Ivor Biggun!"

Utterpants: "Is there anything you're really afraid of?"
Fred: "Being an agnostic—with Buddhist leanings, I've always feared the Church handling me. I had a cousin that happened to. One minute he was minding his own business hanging next to a tube of KY Jelly at a posh sex shop in the King's Road, and the next he was taking turns walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death with two very curious and liberated nuns. It wasn't all bad, though. He got Sundays off."

Utterpants: "Any final words to our readers?"
Fred: "A sex toy is not just for Christmas. If you leave us in the bottom of the wardrobe to gather dust after the festive fun is over, don't complain about your pussy itching when you finally require our services. Here's another thing most women don't realise. If our batteries run down, we're not completely useless. Just talk dirty to us. Hell, we love that!"

Utterpants: "Thank you for your time, Fred, you nasty cum guzzler."
Fred: "You're welcome. Now turn that bloody tape recorder off, stand under that mistletoe and drop your knickers!"

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Story © 2004 Jennifer Gardner. Picture & construction © 2004 utterpants.co.uk /A161205