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Written by Step Tranovich.

Art by Step Tranovich .


November 19th, 2018 was definitely the worst day of my life. I was laid off, my best friend died, and the doctors told me my hands likely wouldn’t be fully functional again for years, if ever. Disabled, unemployed, and grieving the loss of one of my closest and most emotionally supportive friends, I felt myself fall into a pit of depression. Little did I know, adorable alien sex toys were voyaging on the edge of consciousness, poised to abduct my depression and take me on a remarkable journey.

What was I worth, now that I could do nothing?


But before the sex toy abduction and after November 19, there was just me – in the rawest sense. My hands barely worked, I couldn’t cook for myself; I could barely use a phone in short bursts. All my daily activities physically pained me, and doctors could not identify the mystery illness.

I am non-binary, but I was raised male, so woven in my upbringing is the belief that my worth was a result of what I did. What was I worth, now that I could do nothing? Was I nothing? No, I’m here, I believe in myself, and that’s worth something to me. Was that it? That I believed in myself?

In the blank canvas of a future that lay before me, a deep part of my psyche spoke to what it should contain; MAKE ALIEN SEX TOYS!!!

… WTF subconscious, I am unraveling the mysteries of life here, and all you could think about is getting off!?


Do you want a dick or a vibrating MOMA sculpture?


But, hear me out: I often lamented about how no sex toys felt right on my gender-fluid body, and they were all too serious anyway. Do you want a dick or a vibrating MOMA sculpture? Why are those my only choices!? Cute alien sex toys would be more fun.

I spent a lot of time thinking about how they could come to life. I did a little work when my hands were up to it; drawing things, messaging people, and researching. I learned more about the limitations of my body, and more importantly, how not to cross them.

The more I settled into my limitations, the less they seemed to matter. Things just started to happen and with much patience, and before I knew it, I had my first Cute Little Fucker in my (still dysfunctional) hands. It felt as if I had a future again.

And then my health got worse.

No one could tell me if I was dying

I woke up one morning, and I couldn’t feel my feet. My partner rushed me to the ER. After hours and dozens of doctors, they had no answers but said it probably wouldn’t kill me today.  The numbness spread from my legs to my face. No one could tell me if I was dying. Nothing could prepare me for the fear, and for months I didn’t know whether or not I was dying.

Living every day like it’s your last doesn’t mean going out all the time; it means being grateful for life and everyday things. I would lay in bed aching in my soul and instead discovered gratitude. I would sit with gratitude until I felt warmth fill my stomach. I would do this until I felt full.

These became some of the happiest days of my life. I was so fully aware of how thankful I am for the amazing people in my life, my experiences, and how much fucking fun it became to make, test, and HOLD my cute alien vibrators!