Flow: The Cultural Story of Menstruation by Elissa Stein, Susan Kim Page A

the remedies and arising from the touch of the genital organs required by the treatment, there followed twitchings accompanied at the same time by pain and pleasure, after which she emitted turbid and abundant sperm. From that time on, she was free of all the evil she felt.”
    And yet, the medical profession emphatically did not suggest a woman try this at home by herself (perhaps with a nice glass of wine, listening to some music, and surrounded by cushions). No, it was a medical treatment to be provided by a professional—a doctor or midwife—at a scheduled appointment, for cold, hard cash. If one were lucky, one could even find someone to stop by for a house call.

    Going to the doctor’s for such a treatment was nothing like putting on an oversize gown that ties in front and scooting your bare butt down to the end of the table where the stirrups are. Back then, a woman remained not only standing, but fully clothed; the doctor would have to bend down and reach up under all of her heavy draperies in order to locate the right spot, working completely by feel. Not surprisingly, the treatment was incredibly taxing; it probably took the hapless doctor time to even find the clitoris, and after that up to a full hour to achieve the desired result. Plus it was difficult; one doctor back in 1660 ruefully compared the technique to rubbing one’s stomach with one hand while patting one’s head with the other. As a result, midwives were often employed to do the actual handiwork.
    But by the late nineteenth century, the second stage of the Industrial Revolution, which had already transformed farming, manufacturing, transportation, and the face of labor forever, also brought us the vibrator. Dr. J. M. Granville, a British physician, developed a mechanical model in 1883, and overnight, doctors found they could treat hysteria patients in mere minutes instead of hours.

    What a boon! The vibrator quickly became a staple in doctors’ offices, and as treatments sped up, revenue streams (ahem) shot through the roof. According to Rachel Maines in her 2001 book, The Technology of Orgasm, the eventual variety of vibrators offered in the late nineteenth century rivaled and possibly surpassed the inventory of today, even in the best-stocked sex shop: “musical vibrators, counterweighted vibrators, vibratory forks, undulating wire coils called vibratiles, vibrators that hung from the ceiling, vibrators attached to tables, floor models on rollers and portable devices … powered by electric current, battery, foot pedal, water turbine, gas engine or air pressure … at speeds ranging from 1,000 to 7,000 pulses per minute.”
    And with the first public utilities bringing electricity directly into the home, special vibrators were quickly developed and sold through catalogs for use in the privacy of one’s own boudoir. The “electrotherapeutic industry” became wildly successful; vibrator ads began to jockey for dominance, discreetly, against ads for hair pomade, ribbons, and lavender soap in women’s magazines like Needle Craft, Modern Women, and Women’s Home Companion. One brand, the Moon Massage Vibrator, was advertised as “the little home doctor.” Even the supremely square Sears Roebuck catalog carried, in a 1918 ad called “Aids That Every Woman Appreciates,” a blurb for a portable vibrator that came with ominous-sounding attachments, like the “buffer” and “grinder.” The vibrator was electrified nine years before the vacuum cleaner and beat electric frying pans by almost ten.
    To say that there has always been an obvious need for genuine, clitoral-based sexual gratification for women—provided either by doctor, midwife, or mechanical/electrical device—seems to be quite the understatement. And yet, what’s so odd about the need for female pleasure? Certainly, men have been availing themselves of the services of prostitutes from the moment those early hominids stood upright and certain women could say, “Hey there,