Passionate, sweaty, even reckless—the unbridled spontaneity of sex can be one of the things that makes it so damned fun. Now imagine that every sudden urge required a lengthy pause while you search for a bulky, hard-to-wear sexual aid that just might fall off mid-stroke. 

It’s a mood killer, to say the least.

Yet for countless men and women whose sex lives revolve around so-called strap ons—artificial penises that attach to the body using a strappy harness—it’s a uniquely bitter pill they’ve learned to swallow. 

Glenise Kinard-Moore aims to do something about it, turning a cocktail-napkin idea into a potential sex game-changer for LGBTQ+ people and the disabled alike.

The Atlanta creative is head of Skiimoo Tech, a Southside startup that aims to kill two birds with one stone: Improving sex for an often overlooked group of men and women while adding more Black innovation to the largely white-washed sex industry.

The company’s initial offering is the VDOM, a faux phallus which, unlike traditional rigid dildos, can be worn discreetly under clothing and transition from flaccid to erect and back again using a cell phone app. The device is slated for release later this summer.

She calls it a “prosthetic genital device,” and thanks in part to word of mouth and a clever social media campaign encouraging people to #DitchTheStrap, Kinard-Moore is already fielding pre-orders from people who feel she’s created a sexual game-changer. They include same-gender-loving women, men with erectile dysfunction, and even people with spinal cord injuries.

Their stories, she says, have let her know that something that started as a way to solve a sticky sexual situation can have a much broader impact.

“Some people see this as a saving mechanism in terms of some of the psychological and emotional issues they have,” she says. “It’s hearing all of those types of stories and the necessity for this type of product that makes it even more important.”

“I Can’t Say No”

The VDOM concept was born during a vent session. It was Summer 2018 and Kinard-Moore, who identifies as lesbian, was commiserating with friends about the limitations she felt having off-the-cuff sex with her new wife.

“I was sitting around with friends one day and said it would be so cool if we had a product like this, something that nobody would know was there,” she said. “All of my friends looked at me crazy for a minute then agreed.”

For most people, that’s about where the idea would have ended. But Kinard-Moore isn't like most people. She spent the next 10 months researching the engineering of, well, dildos. 

A natural tinkerer, Kinard-Moore was starting from ground zero: A veteran corporate information security professional, she had zero experience bringing a product to fabrication let alone to market.

What she did have was a natural curiosity and drive, nurtured during her tech-heavy upbringing in Huntsville, Alabama, and polished during stints as a public relations entrepreneur. By late 2019 she’d created Skiimoo and was ready to find an engineering partner.

“My friends say I keep 150 jobs,” jokes Kinard-Moore, who credits her parents, a computer analyst and a nurse, with instilling her unflappable drive. “If I see something as an opportunity, then see it as a necessity, then see it as something that can actually be done, I’m gonna go full speed ahead. I can’t say no.”

Filling a Need

Typically associated with same-gender-loving women who use them to simulate heterosexual intercourse, strap ons actually have a much wider audience and a history that goes back for centuries: Antiquated versions called “harigata” are frequently depicted in Japanese Shunga art from the early 1800s. 

In modern times, the demand has only grown, with one study projecting an 8 percent compound annual growth rate in the $33 billion global sex toy market through 2028. Users have expanded to include men experiencing erectile dysfunction, transgender men, paraplegics, and even heterosexual couples interested in more creative sex play.

But even as the demand increases, driven by everything from social media to Covid lockdowns, straps ons have stayed mostly the same. A typical model involves a silicon phallic appendage with a flat base and a harness with adjustable leg straps; the user places the dildo through a reinforced hole at the front of the harness, steps into the straps and tightens them until the toy is secure and ready for a romp.

Besides the obvious issues of interrupting the moment to find and put it on, strap ons are known for snapping harnesses and every kind of slippage imaginable.

Then there’s the matter of realism, a big deal for many trans men and people of color, who place a high value on an extremely natural-appearing appendage. The topic of flesh tones has long been a sore spot in an industry that didn’t offer realistic brown-colored sex toys until a Grenadian immigrant created them in the 1970s. Indeed just last June, industry publication Xbiz hosted a conference on diverse representations in the pleasure industry.

For Kinard-Moore the challenge was less about color - the VDOM will come in three different shades with plans for custom options - and more about creation.

Sex Toys in the Bible Belt

Once she figured out her idea was feasible, Kinard-Moore was left trying to find someone willing to help bring it to fruition - no small task in a region where sex toys remain a largely taboo topic.

In one case, she says a company was willing to create the device only if they could do so in secret, without wall diagrams. Then there was the matter of finding would-be investors willing to look past her invention’s risque nature.

“The biggest piece honestly is the lack of funding for this industry because it’s so taboo,” she says. “It’s so hard to get people’s minds away from what it is that we’re creating and focus on how we’re creating it and why we’re creating it.”

Perhaps the biggest hurdle was getting white male funders to understand the demands of a Black lesbian consumer.

“When people try to understand things they try to put themselves in that position,” she says. “Well, a heterosexual white guy is not going to be able to.”

That left the Atlanta creative to try a more grassroots approach, pooling $78,000 of her own money with crowdfunds to make her dream a reality. After Covid forced her to change manufacturers, delaying its launch, the VDOM is expected to ship by October.

Kinard-Moore won’t divulge the proprietary details of how VDOM works, save that it involves internal liquid and Bluetooth technology. She envisions adding vibrators and even sensors to the device; later, she hopes Skimoo can offer mental health apps and mobility devices.

For now, she’ll settle for helping men and women have better love lives. And fulfilling a bit of a personal need.

“I wanted to be able to have spontaneous sex with my wife,” she says, with a chuckle. “It’s just purely having the choice and having the freedom to do what you want when you want.”