One of my favourite things about being a sex blogger is introducing people to new sex toys that they end up loving as much as I do. Recently someone emailed me to say thanks for recommending the We Vibe Nova 2 (a fucking excellent vibe, and I think one of my most shared blog posts ever, most likely because it was written in the midst of some Emotional Turmoil), and I get plenty these days about Zumio and AMO as well – both excellent clit vibes which Do The Fucking Job in ways that make my eyes roll back in my head. But when it comes to these moments, there’s one toy above all others that blows my inbox up with love: the Doxy. Today’s guest post is by the fabulous Emilia Romero, who wrote this stunning guest post about losing her husband and finding BDSM. Today she’s back with a hot and beautiful story showing what happens when you discover Doxy…
What happens when you discover Doxy
Chatting with my friend N recently, I mentioned that my vibrator was broken and I was going to buy a new one.
“Out of interest,” he messaged, “how much are you going to spend?”
“About £7.” I typed back. At which point he immediately replied:
“We need to talk.”
This is how I entered a world that I’m going to call The Land Of Good Vibrations.
I’d lost the joy of sex
I had decided, aged 45 and newly single for the first time since I was 20, that I was done with sex. Done with pleasure really. That kind of thing could be left to others. I’d been shown repeatedly that my enjoyment was irrelevant. When that happens for so long, you really start to believe it. I’d resigned myself to accept that my body was now basically numb. Instead of sex, I’d get on with finding fulfilment through checking my phone 700 times a day or having a daily bath (phone in hand), which I convinced myself was wonderful self-care. As I lay in water that slowly became bubbleless and tepid, I’d congratulate myself on taking these moments for ‘me-time.’
I would have the occasional session with my faithful bullet, but these were perfunctory – over and done with as quickly as possible. It was just a task to get finished before I got on with my actual to-do list. I was so low down my own list of priorities that even my wanking had an air of self-reproach about it.
Maybe I’m worth it
After meeting up with N, an old boyfriend, and discovering that my body could feel the kind of things that I’d dismissed as Not For Me, my attitude changed a little. But my vibrator didn’t.
I owned a small bullet, perfectly functional, did the job, couldn’t complain etc. I thought that was all I needed until the day it broke and N suggested I replace it with a Doxy. Looking online, I baulked at the price – spending that much on myself and my body seemed like pure selfishness. But I had made a promise to myself to try new things and the purple colour really appealed to the mini teenage goth in me so I went ahead and ordered one.
It arrived on my morning off and I went straight upstairs to bed. I’d read reviews online and was somewhat excited but also not getting my hopes up because I was still a tiny bit convinced that I was a bit dead inside really. Meeting up with N had shown me that with someone else helping out, I could definitely feel all sorts of wonderful things, but home alone, my pleasure wasn’t high up on the list of goals. That said, I’d bought the Doxy now, so I lay back, pressed it against my knickers (a friend had suggested I avoid bare skin at first) switched it on and –
OH MY GOD.
Texting N afterwards, I excitedly wrote, “I’ve just come six times!! In a row!!!!”
When you discover Doxy…
I was an instant convert and fan. They say you never forget your first time and that’s certainly true for me and my Doxy. The first orgasm was so fast and deep that I felt it in my nipples and toes. I’m fairly certain that even my elbows were jumping for joy. The second one was a slower build up, my cunt clenching as I lowered the intensity and ground myself against my new best friend. By the sixth, I was on my knees, knickers off, calling to God and may have even forgotten my own name at one point.
Wednesday mornings became a whole new regime of self-care as I swapped baths for orgasms. Unlike the old-me style ‘let’s get this done then’ masturbation, these were luxurious, languid sessions, where I’d delight in my responses to the new toy. I learned about my own body in a way I never had before. I sometimes even watched myself in the mirror, an inconceivable act just a few months earlier. Here I was, making time for and taking charge of my own pleasure. I was giving myself permission to stop doing housework and instead work on myself. Afterwards, I would take photos of myself, full-lipped and rosy cheeked and send them to N, totally delighted in myself.
There are other vibrators and sex toys available and I’m now the very happy owner of a few more. My collection includes a new bullet, a vibrating butt plug, a glass dildo (worth a blog post all of its own) and silicone g-spot and rabbit ear toys. Each one provides its own unique contribution to my arsenal of fun. They’ve certainly helped during the last few months when I’ve often craved the touch of another human with a deep and plaintive ache. I’ve had to rely on myself a lot more and though they don’t put out the bins or hug me when I cry, my toys have certainly helped me through some difficult days.
It’s no overstatement to say that all of this has helped with the ongoing journey to recover from my past and grow in confidence, both sexual and personal. It’s not just about coming, delightful though that is. It’s about thinking I’m worth the time and the attention I’m now giving myself. Playing with my Doxy and other sex toys has made me realise I want more pleasure, more wetness, more clit-throbbing goddamn joy in my life. And, when life allows, I am very determined to go out and get it. I’m hoping to include a whole plethora of playmates in my quest, but for now, my toys and I are doing our best.
Wanna buy a Doxy now? Of course you do! Grab one direct from the Doxy site and use the code GOTN15 for 15% off anything plus free shipping. Doxy sponsor my website but they didn’t ask Emilia to write this blog, she just wanted to because once you’ve fallen in love with the Doxy, you have a tendency to become something of an evangelist.