“If I’m going to merely ramble, maybe I should just snuggle under the warm covers…and play with myself.”
― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

This was initially just going to be a simple pondering about sex toys. I’ve been thinking of buying myself a birthday present, most likely the Doxy Massager having read such extraordinary reviews that I wished I already owned one…

…and then Girl on the Net launched her ‘no vibrators for Lent’ challenge and, possibly naively, I was genuinely surprised to discover that some people didn’t make themselves come without a vibrator anymore. It reminded me of the simple pleasure of just touching myself, making myself wet with my own hands…whenever and however I want, and I began to wonder if I really wanted to spend money to change that. Are they really worth it?

My sex life over the past decade has been, well, variable – years of drought followed by brief flurries of excitement – and so I have spent the majority of that decade in charge of my own orgasms…but always just on my own, with no assistance. I do have a Rampant Rabbit that I was given as a 21st birthday present but it always seems like more hassle than it’s worth. I love…I really love to be completely filled and stretched beyond what hands and fingers can achieve, but the Rabbit just doesn’t feel as good as a real cock. It’s harder, makes strange noises and, most importantly, isn’t attached to a hot man! It feels too artificial…maybe I’m doing it wrong.

So I stick to what I know I am doing right! After years of experimenting, I know just how to get what I need from my body. I can make myself come in less than a minute…if I wanted. Carefully positioned friction and pressure combine with fantasies that make my toes curl until I explode almost before I’ve even started. It’s hard and hasty, and exactly what I need late at night when I’m tired but too wound up to possibly sleep without release. When I’ve got the time, I can take it more slowly. Gently stroking myself and enjoying the different sensations as I trail from soft hair to warm flesh, circling my clit and feeling it harden beneath my touch. Reaching further down, I run my fingertips through the slick moisture. There’s no friction now as I slip over myself, gliding back and forward, my other hand teasing my breasts and playing with my nipples. I can feel these orgasms building from deep within me, controlling them with the work of my hands, making me pant and shudder until the overwhelming energy floods through me and I have to stifle a moan of satisfaction.

If my touch and my own fantasies aren’t enough, it never occurs to me to supplement them with toys. This is what erotica is for…a picture may paint a thousand words but sometimes those words are hotter than any image. I turn myself on by reading about all those experiences that others have loved and I haven’t yet had, how they moan and cry and beg. I visualise myself in their position, and savour what makes me wet and what makes me laugh…

And anyway, sometimes the timing isn’t all that appropriate to be playing around with battery operated devices. It can start simply…a hand inside my shirt to touch my skin, crossing my arms to gently cup my breast, drumming my fingers against the crotch of my jeans while watching TV. Sometimes these prohibited touches develop more purpose…I might slip my hand into my knickers on the train home, moving slowly until I secretly come; or briskly rub my clit when bored in a traffic jam to make the journey home more entertaining; or just clench and relax my cunt repeatedly when sat in teaching or in a meeting, relishing the feeling of tension and release, and occasionally eliciting a hands-free full body shiver to tide me over until I have some privacy and can extend this shiver to its full potential…there’s no point in getting bored with myself after all!

Which brings me back to the question at hand…should I try something completely new? Invest in something electronic to see if it’ll change a habit of a lifetime? But also, when it already feels this good, do I really want to?