I am 21 years old and I have been the proud owner of 4 dildos. 1 missing, presumed dead, 1 tragically deceased and 2 very, very much alive.   

My first Dildo was a present from my first boyfriend. I must have been around 17 and we were very rapidly and clumsily discovering the exciting world of sex. Meaning we had realised there was more you could do than missionary, doggy and cowgirl.  

I think we were actually in the midst of an argument.  

I was trying to explain to him exactly how the tiny thing he had done had upset me and, for the first time ever, he didn’t argue back and just said how sorry he was. 

Weird. 

He wanted to give me my present.  

Okay. 

Out of a cheap, white plastic bag he revealed something that looked like one of those cardboard boxes that your Barbie dolls were packaged in. 

I looked at its contents bewildered.  

To be fair, I don’t think I’d ever seen one in the flesh. I genuinely think it took me about 10 seconds to realise what it was. 

He’d been in Soho with a mate earlier that day and they’d decided to go into a sex shop. He’d told his friend that he and I were in an argument and his friend told him there was one thing which every girl wanted and would make me forgive him instantly. 

A dildo.  

(Considering girls my age at this time still wouldn’t admit to the fact they wanked, this poor boy could not have been more wrong).  

My ex thought he’d really treat me. Instead of buying me a nice normal dildo, he had bought me a huge one (length and girth wise). Which had been finished with protruding vein detail and to finish it all off, glowed in the dark.  

Basically, it was a glorified lightsaber, which I had zero interest in shoving up my vagina. 

Thanks. I said. I love it. 

It needed two double-A batteries to work, which I took out of the TV remote from the family television room. It had one vibration setting and was very, very loud. Overall, it didn’t blow my mind and spent most of its sad life hiding in a chest in my room or under my bed. 

Last time I saw it I was 19 and my mum had finally agreed to buy me a double bed. I’m dismantling my childhood single bed with my little sister and as we lift the mattress, I see what looks like a giant glowworm under the bed and slam the mattress down. 

“Hey, could you ask mum where the screwdriver is, I couldn’t find it” 

My younger sister leaves the room.  

I hide my first-born dildo somewhere extra safe where no one will find it.  

I have now forgotten where that place is, I can only assume my mum found it while clearing out my room when I left for university and disposed of it accordingly.  

My second dildo, and probably my second love, like most of the great romances (Romeo and Juliet, Jack and Rose etc.) burnt bright and fast. The first semester of my first year of university had not served up the life-changing sexual experiences that I had hoped; I ended first semester sexually frustrated and broke, with a lot of free time while on revision-leave.  

One cold Edinburgh afternoon, my best mate and I decided to stop procrastinating on our laptops and to make a day of it, leave our university halls and head for the Christmas market set up by Princes street and do some very urgent shopping.  

The Christmas spirit was bound to give us some motivation. 

I’d checked my bank balance the day before and had a grand total of £27 to last me the next month. I was going along for the ride, not to spend any money. 

After being dangerously close to spending a tenner on a round piece of bread filled with melted cheese, I decided we had to leave the Christmas market before I found myself recklessly spending money I didn’t have. 

We walked along the high street aimlessly. We passed Ann Summers and I told my friend the story of my first dildo and how disappointed I was with the whole experience. She’d never used a sex toy.  

We decided to go in. 

Now Ann Summers was one of the first sex toyshops I’d properly entered. On a trip to Amsterdam, I’d popped into a couple but was too immature and not serious about purchasing anything that the staff gave me no attention. 

Now the staff at Ann Summers must’ve seen these two young women walk in; hair, a mess, freezing and oozing sexual frustration as we made a beeline to the back, towards the female sex toys. 

 I’ve never had someone explain and demonstrate something so precisely and concisely to me as the lady who talked us through the various kinds of sex toys available within our budget (I really should write a trip advisor review). 

She made my glow in the dark dildo with one setting seem like a Christmas cracker freebie.  

How could I ever have thought I knew what a dildo was before now. Big ones, small ones, one just for clitoral stimulation with over 30 settings, one for penetrative pleasure with magnets for extra intensity, all in ones, double ones.  

I was getting horny just being there. This was already better than any guy I’d been with. 

  We finally settled on one called the rampant rabbit. It was mind-blowing. Over 30 vibration settings, clitoral and penetrative stimulation, a curved end to reach the mysterious G spot (which I still don’t think exists) with magnets hidden inside to encourage blood flow. (This point confused me also, but the lady assured me it was going to blow our minds and I trusted her, she seemed kinky). And to top it all off it was half price, reduced from £80. 

Hello, overdraft and hello, incredible orgasms.  

Our lovely sales assistant goes to the back to get us two rampant rabbits in their boxes but returns empty-handed.  

“I’m so sorry but we’ve sold out!” 

Before we have even exited the shop, we had both ordered it online to be delivered to our university halls ASAP.  

We walk back as the sun sets over Arthurs seat, tingling with excitement joking how we will never leave our rooms again.  

 Finally. 

An email from my university halls reception informing a package has arrived.  

‘Size: medium’ 

I’m in my friend’s rooms doing flashcards and drinking tea when it arrives, and I tell her what’s been delivered and run to reception to collect it. I think this was the most excited I had been since I got a £20 tip waitressing. 

I bring it to my friend’s room and unwrap it from its incredibly immaculate box. But just as I’m about to pull off the sticker to unstick the plastic cover I see a warning message: 

*Not suitable for use for anyone with the contraceptive coil* 

I have the contraceptive coil, and this is the only time it has ever failed me. 

 I took it back and got my £40 refunded.  

This was my second experience of heartbreak. 

My mate that had also ordered it, spent a lot more time in her room than usual. 

Dildo number 3. Sexually frustrated and heartbroken over the loss of my dream dildo, I purchase a slightly cheaper less extravagant one. Focusing on clitoral rather than penetrative stimulation. 

First time I used it I lit candles and played relaxing music. It was like I was losing my virginity the way I’d imagined when I was younger. 

It is to this day my most treasured possession.  

 Note to self: stop getting so emotionally invested in dildo’s and more emotionally invested in real-life relationships. 

So, wanking, oh what a glorious thing. I love wanking. At least I do now. When I was younger, to admit that you wanked, as a girl, was extremely uncouth. However, I remember boys my age around 12 or 13 talking about how one of their arms was stronger than the other because they wanked with it. While I was there in complete denial that this thing, which I did and had done for years, was the absolute equivalent to what these smelly prepubescent boys were discussing openly. I still find now at university, women aged 18-23 still denying the fact that they’ve ever had a little fiddle! While I’m here strumming myself to get to sleep most nights! Cheaper and easier than sleeping pills.  

It’s seen as embarrassing. It used to be my biggest secret. But since I’ve admitted to some women about wanking, I’ve realised loads of girls do it and have done for years! 

Boys, friends, and boyfriends have openly admitted to me and others in crowded pubs or on public transport, their first wanks in their dad's office just before going off to prep school aged 9 or 10. But for us ladies, it seems to take us a much longer time. Why is this? What is this weird sexual suppression that begins at such a young age? How confusing for us, when boys at school are openly talking about wanking and we are shamed for admitting that we do such a thing. Our sexuality is suppressed and yet we are surrounded by images of women being sexualised everywhere? How bloody confusing for us all. I’m confused! I spend a lot of my time trying to make things very simple for myself now; I imagine 12-year-old me was super confused, not to mention all the other women in the world who have much more important things to think about and deal with than wanking. 

So, I encourage every woman to: 

1. Buy yourself a sex toy (they don’t have to look like huge erect penises).

2. Talk to your friends about wanking.

3. Learn to love your pussy, and yourself, along the way.

Collage by @imogen_skye_art.