I recently purchased, after many years of deliberation, my very first vibrator. My god, those things are amazing (sigh). In fact, sat here at my computer, all I want to do is grab my new friend and Bing Bang! Have a jolly old time.

For years now, having irregular sexual contact (my man lives 200 miles away)– I’ve had to put up with being sexually frustrated. Half the time I’ve been able to distract myself by getting completely wasted, the other half I’ve had to give in to the sins of the flesh and take matters into my own hands, if you catch my drift.

Although, having said that, I’ve never really been one to masturbate. Not since I was a child anyway (yes, children do masturbate – shock horror! Get over it, it happens for fucks sake). It’s strange because when I was younger nothing could keep me away from my hairbrush (the handle, that is – don’t go getting any sick ideas, boy-o!). But, as I reached puberty, I sort of lost interest in myself and sort of found interest in the opposite sex.

So, having to grab moments of passion that were few and far between (albeit fantastic when I did have it and usually marathon sessions), my mind started to wonder to the joys of masturbation once more. I asked plenty of friends for their opinions and I came to the conclusion that they were probably a good thing. (And perhaps, the saviour of the human race as we know it. According to my research, if women didn’t flick themselves off once in a while all the men in the universe would be dead by now) But I still didn’t buy one.

I got a little side tracked and to be honest, I thought that if you were getting laid properly, you don’t really need them no matter how often that was. Following the birth of my beautiful child the sex obviously became even less frequent, I had a small person to look after so sex doesn’t tend to be on top of your ‘to do’ list along with buying nappy rash and nipple cream. So I was slightly distracted to my sexual needs, but, as the grub, sorry child, got older and less demanding, more pressing matters came to mind.

Having had several conversations over the years with my good friend Mary (she swears by vibrators), I finally plucked up the courage and skipped along joyfully to my nearest Ann Summers shop. First time round the shop, I couldn’t decide. I mean, there are so many different shapes and sizes and colours and different levels of vibration. I did covert the infamous ‘Rampant Rabbit’ but the price tag, sadly, read a little too much for my somewhat pitiful budget, so I left empty handed.

A few months later after much more conversations and deliberations, I ventured once more into the unknown world of The Vibrator. This time, on the advice of Mary, I purchased a little ‘clit stimulator’ by the name of Pocket Pleaser – a little purple number (my favourite colour), pleasing on the eye and on the clit! Could a girl ask for more? And, boy does it please?! Let’s just say, I like it a lot!

Then again, can I have too much of a good thing? I swear it becomes addictive. Constantly thinking, right, do I have time to have a quick play before I wash the pots? (I’m afraid it always wins on that one) Or after a particularly long day, do I go to sleep straight away? Or do I grab my new friend and stay up later than I‘d planned? I tell you, it starts all sorts of problems. Then there’s the jealousy. my man liked the idea of B2 (named after him – of that, at least he should be grateful) at first but when he realized that I really enjoyed it and asked, ‘better than my tongue?’ I didn’t respond favourably to him. Well, hesitantly I said, ‘not better, just different’. I don’t think he spoke to me for a week after that. Oh well, needs must.