This is mortifying. I still shiver and block it out when the memory arises: I tended to use whatever was available at the age of 16; in my case, my little sister's ken doll was just the right size. Being widely uneducated about how it all worked down there at that point, I would just sit on it and rock.
Well, we all know how easily those ken heads popped off.... yep. Into the the vajayjay. The problem was, I could not get it out myself. I flipped completely out, thoughts of it going up into my uterus and damaging my internal organs (again, not properly educated!) flying through my panic-induced brain.
What did I do? I told my mother. Took a deep breath, then blurted, "I was masturbating with a ken doll and the head came off inside me!"
The look on her face was a mixture of anger, disappointment and embarrassment. But she took me upstairs, and attempted to get it out. I was crying, mortified to the core.
It got worse. She couldn't get it out. So she: got. my. FATHER.
...who then got his pliers. That worked.
Dad never talked about it again; mom walked out of the room, scolding me, saying "come talk to me next time you want to do that!"
At least I didn't wind up at the hospital?
(Top that, someone. I dare you.)