Sex. Who Needs It?

Me! That’s who!

At the tender age of nineteen, I lost my virginity. Or my “cherry,” if that’s your preference. Or kumquat, or dragon fruit or better yet, kiwi, because of the fuzz.

Losing one’s kiwi at nineteen is relatively late in the game. But because I was an early masturbater, who only got better at it as the years went by, I wasn’t overly concerned. I wasn’t totally clueless about sex. I knew what an orgasm was and I knew how to get it. Easy peasy. Plus, I hadn’t met the “one” yet. That one special guy who deserved my kiwi.

One day, while hitchhiking with a girlfriend, I met “him.” He picked us up and I learned that he was quite a bit older than me — in his early thirties. He had sort of a southern Illinois twang that I found appealing. “Refined hillbilly.” Now, I cringe at the thought.

This guy also had a crazy name. Alliteration aplenty. Think “Don Diddley from Dayton.” I swear to God. But funnier.

I wish I could remember why I found this guy so appealing. Maybe it was all the pot I smoked back then. Or the cut of his jeans. Maybe I liked the fact that he was older. That wouldn’t be my first go-round with an older guy. Not by a longshot.

We quickly became a “thing.” He introduced me to his best friends, a crazy, drug-addled married couple who were a blast to be around. And I fit right in.

There was a lot of experimenting with drugs, a lot of great music and a shit-ton of good times. But no sex. Not until I was ready. And I’m happy to say I was never coerced or I would have been out of there like a shot.

And then, one night I was ready.

It was at the couple’s apartment. I have no idea where they were as my memory is hazy. You’d think it would be easy to remember your first time, but when your boyfriend laces a joint with angel dust and unknowingly, you smoke it, events become a little fuzzy.

What I remember: Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon album as the soundtrack for losing my kiwi — and not much else. The actual deed was a downer. I think I became nauseous from the drug. There was no hurling, not during the act anyway, but there was also no orgasm. He might as well have been trying to fuck a corpse.

Good times!

I know I’m not the only one whose first time sucked. It happened. I was over the hump, so to speak and ready to move on. And move on, I did. I rallied like a champ, by God.

Through the years, I had many boyfriends and many sexual encounters. I thought of them as learning experiences.

And then I met the guy who taught me about oral sex. He blew my mind. And not with angel dust. I never met anyone so dedicated to lifting a woman up, by going down. And go down he did. With skill-set that amazes me to this day.

We were together for a while. Until his being on parole and stalking me when I tried to break up with him and banging on my apartment door when I was with another guy and taking my car and stealing from me — until all that became a problem. The shit got ugly. But enough about that.

What I’m trying to say is, I learned that I loved sex. Oh, did I ever. From that first accidental orgasm as a little girl, rubbing up against my warm, fuzzy blankie…I knew that my sexuality was an integral component of who I was as a woman.

Getting older doesn’t dampen sexual desire. Just ask Helen Cassidy Page. But sometimes, things happen that necessitate a…hiatus.

Unfortunately, I’ve been on a hiatus. The details aren’t important. They fall into the “some things are better left unsaid” category.

But that said, I still need and want sex. So do I take things into my own hands? Hell yes! And if you’re in a similar situation, so should you. That’s why vibrators were invented. They don’t just fall off trees. Like overripe fruit.

There are plenty of sex toys for men I’ve discovered, but I won’t cover those here. I’m speaking mainly to you women, especially those experiencing a similar “lapse” and who may have never considered using a rubbery “tube steak.”

My advice? Just use it, sister. Get thee to Amazon Prime or adamandeve.com or any number of sites that sell vibes and get yourself a plaything. A pliant boy toy. Or, girl toy.

My vibrator is pretty basic. Silicone-based and powered by Rayovac. Oh, and he’s purple. (Mine’s a “he,” but that’s just me.) And big. That wasn’t a necessity. I took a flyer on the size when ordering, but I was pleasantly surprised!

My purple friend has a simple on/off dial that lets you control the intensity of the vibrations. How handy is that? I can start slow or I can go full-tilt.

Because I refuse to leave you with a bird in the hand and no clue how to use it, here are some tips for vibe first-timers from Flo.health.

Give your new friend a bath. Not really a bath, per se. Wash him per the manufacturer’s instructions to make sure he’s free of dirt and/or chemicals. You want whatever goes near your kiwi to be as pristine as possible.

Set the mood. That’s right. Just as you would if you were with a real partner! Take a warm bath first. Massage your body with lotion or oil. Light candles. Play the music that gets you going. (You can’t go wrong with Marvin Gaye.) And touch yourself! You know where. Your nipples, vulva, anyplace that gets you hot. Think of it as masturbating without bringing yourself to fruition. So to speak.

Experiment with speed and pressure. This is something only you can figure out. Whatever feels good to you, is what works. If you’re just starting out, again, you’ll want to ease up on the intensity.

Use the vibe all over your body. We have many erogenous zones aside from our kiwis. Nipples, backs of knees, stomachs, butts, even our feet. As Ann Wilson of Heart sang, go “Crazy On You.”

I can go no farther because the rest is up to you. Just as you take command of your health, take command of your orgasm! The fun is in the experimentation.

You can also use a vibrator with a partner but this isn’t about that. It’s about self-care during a sexual hiatus. Like finding an oasis in the desert. So make some “me time” and go to town.

I don’t know how long my particular hiatus will last, but I’m prepared. Unless of course, I get carpel tunnel syndrome. Now that would suck.

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. Her work has appeared in The Chicago Tribune, Chicago Sun-Times, and numerous other publications. Sherry’s manager is currently pitching her newest screenplay, a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story.

Thanks for reading, guys! If you’re into more, here you go: