My next relationship lasted almost a decade. It was… safe. Everything about it. I resigned myself to the idea that I was one of those people who just couldn’t have orgasms. After a few years, I started reading erotica online, and once again I was drawn to the BDSM stories, but they were mostly about slaves and pain and humiliation, things that I found intimidating (and still do, to some extent). I found some more sites with more floggers and fewer cages, and that old flutter returned. A whim at an Ann Summers party had furnished me with a vibrator that gave me my first ever orgasm. Things were looking up.
The trouble is, he just wasn’t very good in bed. The hurried eruptions that had been quite flattering initially had revealed themselves to be all there was on offer. Suggestions of focussing on foreplay came to nothing. He’d made it abundantly clear he didn’t like going down on me, and wouldn’t use the vibe on me because ‘the buzzing made his hand feel funny’. When your sex life consists of fumblefumblepokepokewhoops and then he falls asleep while you get business done alone, is there any point bringing up any of your kinky fantasies? I tried; the handcuffs came out again, but he wasn’t really interested. We got a bit of spanking in there, but he kept stopping to apologise every time he left a mark. Sweet, but not really what I was hoping for.
I spent my twenties with a secret erotica habit and a husband who kept wondering where all the batteries are going. It all came to a head when I realised I’d had enough of being disregarded, and I embarked on life as a single mum
So I’m in my thirties single, with a head full of ideas and no clue what I’m doing. Erotica isn’t getting it done for me, and my faithful vibrator is on it’s last legs. Time to be brave and venture out into the world of BDSM, I guess…