Suki, mother of two and the brains behind the New Hampshire-based company, debuted OhMiBod in July, promoting the sin out of its none-too-subtle Jobsian design (ideal for the you-want-me-to-put-that-where? set), and dreaming up clever "acsexsories."

The OhMiBod takes AA batteries and is compatible with all iPod models. Volume controls the intensity of the vibrations, and OhMiBod users can upload playlists on the iMix section of iTunes and, uh, try to get one another off.

An alumna of Apple's product marketing department, Suki wanted to combine her love of music (mostly old R&B and Dave Matthews) with a desire to see women embrace masturbation as the oh-so-satisfying thing that it really is.

Because she eventually hopes retailers like Victoria's Secret will stock OhMiBod ("the first socially acceptable vibrator!"), Suki's gone out of her way to mainstream its packaging, swapping traditional Hustler girl motifs for the white cord/silhouetted iconography of its inspirator.

I'm unclear how it works legally when a sex toy company wants to align itself with a major brand, but Suki has seen Apple lawyers go after mock products with cease and desist orders. Still, she doesn't fear the big, bad seeded fruit. "At the end of the day, they don't manufacture vibrators."

So does OhMiBod actually work?

For its trial run, I start on shuffle mode. First up: Franz Ferdinand's "Well That Was Easy," followed by The Clash's "(White Man) In Hammersmith Palais," then Sodsai Chaengkij's "Shake Baby Shake." Not bad, but not earth-shattering either. Diamanda Galás' atonal, alley cat-weirdoism is akin to hooking the thing up to a garbage disposal, and warbly cowpokers like Bob Wills and Slim Whitman bleed out too slowly. Frustratingly for this former music editor, bad music (death metal, happy hardcore, etc.) works the best.

Case in point: I make the wholly coincidental decision to follow Eminem's "Real Slim Shady" with Alice Cooper's "School's Out," and I have my first official OhMiBod orgasm.

I yank the headphones off in triumph and that's when I realize OhMiBod is making a dull buzzy sound, not unlike a dentist's scraping tool. Worried it'll wake my roommate, I bury it under the covers and start again. Verve: bad. Slowdive: good. Le Tigre remixing Peaches: awesome. Gwen Stefani: totally unjerkoffable. Gun Club: holy mother of ... It goes on like this, me speed-clicking through random play, for 30 minutes — until I hit Bright Eyes' "First Day of My Life."

I stop cold. I'm suddenly maudlin, feeling very alone, me and my vibrator, lying diagonally in bed and wishing my man didn't live 96 miles away. It's not that the song isn't hot or the vibrator doesn't work. It's that this song, for me, has an emotional resonance. Masturbating to it is a sore reminder that no matter how hard I come, I'm still fucking myself.

Bottom line: Using nonsexual aural stimuli to bring oneself to orgasm can be challenging if you don't script it out beforehand. Even when my iPod wasn't going the sad-bastard route, I couldn't stop myself from picturing the mug of whatever artist happened to be playing at that particular moment — fine when it's Courtney Taylor or Jarvis Cocker; not so fine when it's Ozzy Osborne. Although I must say, for the record, "War Pigs" feels great against the perineum.