I’ve had the same vibrator for 10 years — using it isn’t just about sex

This week’s diarist is a successful single businesswoman (Picture: Myles Goode)

Welcome to How I Do It, the series in which we give you a seven-day sneak peek into the sex life of a stranger.

This week we hear from Rhiannon*, a 35-year-old entrepreneur living in Notting Hill, London.

She’s demisexual, straight, and recently single, after finding out her boyfriend of six months had been unfaithful.

Currently, she isn’t having sex with anyone, but considers herself to be a sexual person. ‘When I’m in a relationship, I’m usually the one initiating sex and I’d happily have it most days,’ Rhiannon says.

Back in her 20s, Rhiannon says she wanted to get married and have kids what she wanted in her twenties — but that’s changed now.

‘Most of my close friends married quite young and I assumed that would happen for me too,’ Rhiannon explains. ‘Instead, I ended up in a rocky on-and-off relationship which ended when he left me for someone else and married her within six months.’

Now, Rhiannon is a successful businesswoman and says she’s built a life for herself she ‘genuinely loves’.

‘I have financial and emotional freedom, a beautiful home, wonderful friendships, fulfilling work, and the ability to travel,’ she adds. ‘I no longer see marriage as the ultimate marker of success or happiness for a woman.’

So without further ado, here’s how Rhiannon got on this week…

The following sex diary is, as you might imagine, not safe for work.

Monday

Earlier this month I had a colposcopy to check my cervix following my HPV diagnosis, and I was warned my next period might be painful. I didn’t realise quite how much.

The diagnosis came as a shock since I’d had the vaccine and have had very few sexual partners, but risk doesn’t always look how you expect.

I’m in the thick of it with cramps today, but I already have a date booked with Max*, who I’ve been speaking to on a dating app. I don’t want to cancel because I’m actually excited to meet him.

We meet in a pub and although I don’t find him conventionally attractive, it goes well enough that we move on to dinner.

There’s an ease to it, but I keep a bit of distance physically. We don’t kiss. At the end of the night, he asks me back to his place. I politely decline and sense a shift in his mood — he’s clearly annoyed.

He seems to lose interest, an obvious red flag for me.

Tuesday

I wake up to a notification from the app I met Max on. After each date, the app offers you the chance to swap numbers. But I get a message informing me that Max doesn’t want my digits. Apparently he thought we didn’t have enough chemistry.

I take it surprisingly well, partly because I’ve dated enough by now to know that ‘chemistry’ can mean all sorts of things, and I’ve found that people who expect to feel it straight away are often not as emotionally mature.

I do feel relieved to have found this out early on, although there is a small part of me that’s slightly offended, as I quietly assumed he was rather smitten.

I’ve taken the day off as I’m still not feeling great, so I spend most of it on the sofa watching Netflix, before eventually giving in and going to bed early feeling sorry for myself.

Wednesday

I go to visit a friend who’s just had a baby, and on paper she’s everything I am not: in a loving, committed relationship, a full-time mother of two under two, and financially dependent on her partner.

It’s important to me that, even if I did decide to have a family, I’ve structured my life in a way that I’d still be financially secure. I want to retain my independence.

My friend often pokes fun at my lack of a sex life, but today we laugh that neither of us will be having sex this month, albeit for very different reasons.

I bring her a gift, something for her rather than the baby, and as we sit together she opens up about how she’s really feeling, from the toll of postpartum to the quiet anxiety around not having a career to return to, which I find surprisingly difficult to hear given how brilliant she is.

I expect the visit to stir something in me — whether it’s regret, longing, or a hormonal reaction to the baby — but as I leave, all I feel is a clear sense of gratitude for the life I’ve built and the choices I’ve made.

I’m not certain I don’t want children. I love children and think I’d enjoy being a mother, but I’m far more flexible about what that could look like and less attached to a rigid timeline or traditional narrative around it.

That said, I would only want to have children within a stable, committed relationship.

Thursday

I’m finally feeling better, and the day disappears quickly as I try to catch up on all the work that’s piled up.

By the time evening comes around, I have another date lined up, this time through an app that sets you up on a blind date once you match. So, I’m going in completely cold without having spoken to him beforehand.

I arrive in good spirits, but it quickly becomes clear we have nothing in common, and the conversation never quite finds its rhythm.

After 37 minutes, we both agree it’s not going anywhere, and given we each have a long journey home, we call it there and part ways.

I get home, shower, and head straight to bed, and for the first time in over a week of feeling unwell, I’m finally back in the mood for a bit of solo time.

Masturbating for me is less about the physical release and more about reconnecting with my body. I use a clitoral-only vibrator I’ve had for close to a decade and cherish. It’s probably one of the most reliable things in my life.

I know exactly what works for my body, and there’s something reassuring about that familiarity. It’s not that I don’t enjoy vaginal sex with men because I absolutely do, but it rarely results in climax for me in the same way.

That said, my beloved vibrator is definitely beginning to show its age. The battery now has a habit of dying on me at deeply inconvenient moments — it may be time for an upgrade.

Friday

I trundle through work and find myself thinking more about sex than I have all week. Now I’m feeling better, it’s like that part of me has quietly come back online.

By the evening, I give in to it, and the night ends with a solo session with my trusty vibrator again. It feels grounding in a way that’s almost emotional as much as sexual.

For me, orgasm is much more connected to clitoral stimulation, fantasy, anticipation and feeling mentally relaxed.

I replay moments of chemistry I’ve had with people in the past. It’s less ‘wild passion’ and more a quiet sense of pleasure, tension release and feeling back in my own body again.

I orgasm, then I go again.

Saturday

I spend the day with friends, and it reminds me how full my life already is. There’s an ease to it, the kind that comes from being known properly, even though they grew up in a very different environment to me.

They were raised with no shame around sex, while I grew up in a very conservative immigrant household where I was taught to wait until marriage.

Despite that, I lost my virginity at 19 to my long-term boyfriend. Since then I’ve only had four sexual partners, all within significant relationships.

We discuss my recent HPV diagnosis, when you tell someone, and how much you owe them early on.

What I find difficult emotionally is feeling like I suddenly carry all of the psychological burden and responsibility of disclosure, even though the virus itself could realistically come from almost anyone.

That said, for me personally, if I was entering into a serious relationship or sleeping with someone regularly, I would choose to mention it because I value openness. But I also don’t think women should be made to feel ‘contaminated’ or responsible over something that’s almost universal.

I leave feeling reassured, both by their perspective and by the sense that I’m not navigating any of this on my own.

Sunday

I let myself sleep in and as I lay in bed I find myself in the mood again, so I spend a bit of time alone with my vibrator, drifting into familiar thoughts and even catching myself fantasising about an ex.

With this particular ex, who was my long-term on-and-off boyfriend throughout my 20s, I’ll think about the way he used to touch me, the familiarity of his body, the way we fit together in bed, or moments where I felt particularly wanted and relaxed with him.

Sometimes it’s as simple as remembering a lazy Sunday morning together, him pulling me closer half asleep, or the feeling of knowing someone’s body so well that everything felt easy and instinctive.

It feels more reflective than emotional, like revisiting something rather than wanting it back.

The rest of the day is calm and easy, and I head out for a long walk in the nice weather, which feels like a reset after the week.

I head to another first date in the evening which I don’t expect much from, but he turns out to be thoughtful and easy to talk to, asking the kind of questions that make for a friendship, which I have always seen as the best foundation for something more.

I want an early night, so we part ways, but he takes my number without trying to push things further, which is refreshing.

I’m not sure if anything will come from it but who knows…

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