There are certain questions that you just won't ask your roommate in an everyday conversation. Questions such as "do you use suppositories?" or "do you use sex toys when you masturbate or having sex?"

I used to think that unspeakable questions like these are the reasons why there are two rooms in our apartment instead of sharing one bed. Nonetheless, I know that my roommate doesn't take a fancy on any sex toys, that she'll never go buy one or actively look for pleasure from it. And all I did was to ask her straight-faced, while she was busy feeding her hamsters. She wasn't embarrassed by the questions at all; didn't ask why I was asking her, she answered, only to make me feel juvenile for making the question such a big deal.

Never mind, I was going to have dinner with my friend, Eunice that very same night. I would do my little mischievous experiment there with her- catching her off guard and watch her blush.

While she was chewing on a piece of tofu opposite from me, I asked, "Eunice, do you use any sex toys?"

"Yes, why?" There came the answer with a reflective question, not interfering her picking a piece of eggplant off my plate.

I told her my purpose and she obviously approved of it. She offered me what I thought should be everyone's dark secret like she had done this kind of interview many times before. Yes, she loved sex toys; I was told, both on herself and on others (if the other person wanted it too, of course). She even gave me her definition of a sex toy - something that was supposed to be playful, and something that one used to get frisky with. Indeed, she owned not one, but three different kinds of toys, namely, dildo, dildo and dildo. According to her, they were of different size and shape, material and name. She even went on to tell me how they could be used creatively to maximize her own pleasure.

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Although I listened to all the juicy details with interest, I somehow felt disappointed with the lack of dramatic effect that should've come with my initial question. I shifted in my seat, half wanting her to stop talking about sex so explicitly in front of me, half desiring for more of her "secrets" disclosed solely to me.

I called the rest of my closer friends, all lesbians living in Hong Kong, the same night after dinner, and asked away my question without further ado.

"Yes, why?" or "No, why?" was all I got all night. Not even a coy shriek or a hint of mumbling embarrassment, as if I'd just asked an obvious question and they demanded to know how I could be such an ignoramus. Was I exasperated! The fun of doing this article was drained with each phone calls. And I realized the joke was on me.

Well, so I was the one who seemed to be embarrassed by the whole idea of talking about sex with my friends, the closer they were, they more embarrassing it was for me. But if you asked me, as I couldn't see you from here, I would readily admit my first sexual encounter with Mr. Happy to you - that huge, thick, cold rubber rod of a pink dildo, given to me as a birthday present by my dearest friend Owen and his Mr. Right at the time. It was named "Happy" because they thought I should be happy with it, but the truth was, I felt disgusted at the sight of it. It looked too much like their "little bros" (one of our local terms for the male's sex organ). It totally wasn't designed to allow you to use it with imagination but to use it as a substitute for the "real thing".

Even the feel of it in your hand had to remind you that you're holding an imitation of something that was supposed to be "better." I said my thanks and laughed with them. Later, alone and naked in my bedroom, I was even more disappointed with Mr. Happy when I found out he wouldn't glow in the dark after I placed the batteries in. Needless to say, I never got intimate with Mr. Happy but decided to showcase it in my bedroom so that my women friends could share a good laugh with me when they visited me.

Of the 10 women I've asked, however, there were only two who claimed they enjoyed having a "helping hand" in bed with them. They both claimed that a sex toy was used just for the sake of pleasure and had nothing to do with penis envy. When asked about whether they thought it was a breaching of the "lesbian ethics" - if there is one, they both felt that those who thought that must have seldom visited a sex store in recent years, for nowadays, dildos came in every possible shape imaginable, like middle finger, fruit, mushroom and egg. Women bought them not for substituting the male parts but for the pleasure intrinsic in the design itself.

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The rest of them who didn't care for sex toys claimed that they simply didn't find them particularly arousing. Or in my roommate's words, "unless it can do what a human hand cannot do, otherwise, why bother with an alien object at all?"

The idea of a sex toy always implied the act of penetration. However, those who were not in favour of toys would not brand their fellow women as "traitors" if they were caught with a condomed dildo in their hands, or between their legs, for that matter. As Ah-ping so put, "a toy is just a toy." Love to play with toy cars doesn't make you a boy; loving a woman doesn't mean that you have to be a man. The same goes for how you reach your orgasm, it never means to change your sexual orientation just because you want your bolts and nuts in place.

There are not too many sex shops in Hong Kong, yet they are not hard to find, either. These stores are not risqu� or sleazy, in fact, one of them was owned by a woman. It was friendly and customer oriented. I've walked in there more than once without feeling the pressure of being leered at, or that I've trespassed into a forbidden region because of my gender.

The innovation of sex toys defies the traditional belief that women could only be sexually aroused (or conquered?) if the inserted object is long, hard and big enough, which could be anything from a gun barrel, a racket or any phallus symbol. Nowadays, what goes inside a woman's womb no longer has to be an object of chauvinistic aggression and male power.

For women who love women, it doesn't necessarily mean that they have to give up penetration and the sexual pleasure derived from it altogether. Mr. Happy offered me the kind of man-ness that I didn't need, and it ended up in the wastebasket one month later, but I know there are many Ms. Happy out there. With the help of the Internet, you can pick your toy to suit your various needs, be it on a lonesome night or a night when the both of you are dying for something raw and wild.

Whether the product designers are getting more sensitive to our needs or whether it is because they think women in general are attracted to cute things that are not practical (for example, all Hello Kitty accessories), it is for sure that we'll still welcome these creativities of theirs with our open, juicy-fingered arms.

And just in case you're curious, I am currently toying with the playful ideas that Eunice has shared with me - ways that are so wild and beyond all imaginations. But I can't share with you. It's her secret revealed solely to me.

The night is still young. Bon voyage!