"I'm not into that kind of thing." For 10 years, my partners made me ashamed of my sexual needs.

The following contains sexually explicit content.

It was Sunday and my boyfriend and I were having a lazy morning in bed. He was dozing while I re-read 50 Shades of Grey

I was up to the bathtub scene, and as Christian Grey soaped up a wet Anastasia Steele, my blood began to run south. 

While he washed between her legs with “relentless fingers”, warmth spread across my own vagina. 

With every sentence I consumed my pelvic muscles contracted. 

My clitoris tingled. 

And my heart raced. 

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At that very moment, Chris woke up next to me. 

“What are you reading?” he yawned. 

I flipped the cover over with a grin and an idea. 

“How about I read it to you?” 

As my mouth brought the scene to life, the sexual tension in my bedroom grew. 

While we lay there spooning, Chris pulled me in closer. 

I was halfway through the chapter when I felt his excitement dig into my back. 

But the literary encouragement wasn’t enough.

I needed more.

“Let’s watch that bit on Netflix,” I suggested and grabbed my iPhone, before skipping to every sex scene in the movie. 

Hot, naked and domineering, Mr Grey was my ultimate fantasy. 

But the visual aid still wasn’t enough for me. 

Crazed with desire and needing some more graphic stimulation, I made another proposal. 


“Should we watch some porn?” 

Without waiting for a reply, I hit the search bar and quickly navigated to my favourite genre. 


As two girls and a guy popped up on my screen, Chris’ hand slid over my hip and down between my legs. 

While we watched them all play together, I grabbed his penis. 

He was already so hard. 

With our eyes still on the video, Chris pushed into me from behind. 

I was so wet he slid straight in. 

Pleasure rushed through me as I arched my back and Chris kissed my neck, grabbing my bare boobs tightly. 

With one free hand, my fingertips found my clitoris, and I rubbed myself back and forth while he continued to thrust into me. 

Within a minute I was ready to explode, and I couldn’t hold on any longer. 

Neither could Chris. 

Over the sounds of the actors, I screamed out in ecstasy as Chris let go inside me, groaning hard.  

It was the most intense, long-lasting orgasm of my life. 

Or at least since I turned 30. 

Because before that, I was a totally different sexual being.

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After popping my cherry at 17 with my high school boyfriend, sex was a mission. 

It didn’t feel great. I certainly couldn’t orgasm. And I’d lost what sex drive I had. (It wasn’t until years later that I realised this was most likely a side effect of going on the contraceptive pill). 

I was also tired all the time and never felt like doing it. 

Then one day my boyfriend suggested we try having sex on his desk chair. 


With me on top, my clitoris was finally stimulated and – boom! 

It was a tiny, but very real, orgasm.

And I was hooked on this holy grail. 

While it didn’t happen every time, the potential was there, and I craved this new earth-shattering sensation with every nerve.


After a few years, that boyfriend and I broke up, and I became single for the first time in my sexually charged life. 

And boy, did I have fun. 

But it soon became clear that my friends didn’t agree with my new life choices. 

They openly judged me each time I went home with someone and loudly criticised me if I slept with a date.

They made me feel so bad about wanting to have sex that I felt like there was something wrong with me. 

So I simply stopped telling them about it. 

I kept my stories to myself and that part of me hidden. 

But it wasn’t just from my friends. 

I’ll never forget the feeling of rejection when a boyfriend told me he “wasn’t into that type of thing” when I dressed up in black lace lingerie. 

I remember rapidly pulling off my suspender and stockings while I held back tears of embarrassment.

Then there was the ex who refused to go down on me for three years and made me feel dirty for wanting him too.

But there is something about your 30s that brings a far greater understanding of who you are and what you want. 

And, most importantly, confidence that girls in their 20s can only dream of. 

I’ve now embraced that this is me, and I couldn’t be prouder. 

I love my high sex drive – even when the men can’t keep up – and I know just how lucky I am to be able to orgasm nearly every single time.

Since this – shall we say – cumming of age, my sex life has never been wilder, sexier, or more f***ing enjoyable. 

I’ve finally had the threesome I always wanted. I’ve joined a swingers website and swung with a stranger. And I dated a boy with whom I had more sex in public than in private. 

It’s more about me than ever and I’ve never felt so sexually charged or in control.  

I finally know exactly what my body needs, whether that’s some erotic fiction, pornography or mutual masturbation. 

I’m not ashamed to ask for it anymore. 

Or take matters into my own hands… 

Feature Image: Getty.