How I Vibrated My Way Through College, With No One The Wiser (Except For Me)

Clutching my new package under one arm, a shoulder bag filled with books over the other, and a box of takeout from the food commons in my hands, I anxiously speed-walked back to my dorm. I was the only one who knew what was inside of the box, and I was determined to keep that 7-and-a-half inch secret to myself. I zoomed past classmates and housemates, avoiding friends who might try to steer me away from my destination.

But inevitably, a girlfriend of mine would stop me in my tracks.

"Hey, Girl, I haven't seen you all day! Where are you going?" my friend asked. I stared ahead at my building, only 50 feet away, with longing and sadness. "Umm ... You know, just heading to my room. I am so tired! I stayed up all night reading for class. I really just want to eat and take a nap in my room before my next class," I replied.

"What? That's lame. Come on, I haven't eaten yet. Walk with me to the commons and let's eat lunch together," my friend said.

"No!" I shouted, crazily. She raised an eyebrow. Realizing my unnecessarily emotional outburst, I pulled back. "Sorry, Girl, I just really need a nap. And I'm almost at my dorm anyway. Let's link up later?"

"Sure ... get some rest. You sound like you need it. Just text me after class," she said, and we parted ways.

I essentially had three majors in college: Journalism, Art History, and The Clit.

I walked past her with hardly a wave goodbye. My legs pumped faster, as my speed walk accelerated into something just short of a light jog. Almost there. I could smell my burrito marinating in its container, which made my tummy let out a soft rumble. But I didn't care about food right now. My brain was fixated on the long and thick pink deliciousness waiting for me in my box.

I swiped my keycard, entered my building, ran up the stairs, and walked down the hall to my room — a single with a twin bed and a personal bathroom, perfect for privacy. I fumbled with my keys and opened my door, dropping my bag on the floor before closing my window shades. I walked back to my door and made sure it was locked. Next I washed my hands. Then I tore off my shoes and every piece of clothing from my body and undid the bun in my natural hair so that it was wild, full, and sexy. I looked in the mirror at my small yet firm and perky ass and smacked it. I looked like a hot brown afro-fairy-goddess. I went over to my stereo, popped my iPod in, and played a soft R&B tune by a male crooner. I flung the covers off the bed and hopped in clutching my new best friend.

Then I got to work.

That was my junior year of college. I was a masturbating junkie, finding every opportunity to penetrate myself with a new toy between classes, during study sessions, in the shower, after a shower — you get the idea. And can you blame me? College is one stressful time!

I wasn't having much sex then, either. I didn't want to sleep with just any campus dufus. By junior year, I'd had sex with only one guy there — to whom I lost my virginity. It was a horrible experience, one of those less-than-five-minute encounters that felt impersonal and embarrassing, leaving me confused and unfulfilled. To make matters worse, we broke up a month later, and he started dating my (then) best friend right afterward. It's safe to say that I was afraid of getting hurt again. Afterwards, I dated guys and had some fun with them, but I didn't have sex with anyone. I was determined to get to know my vagina before letting another guy visit it. The orgasm was my goal and self love was my means. I essentially had three majors: Journalism, Art History, and The Clit.


I only had three vibrators in college. My first was a purple, perfectly shaped toy with a slight curve at the tip and a medium-width shaft. It was slender enough for my recently de-virginized vagina but long enough to bring me satisfaction. Unfortunately, I threw it out after the school year ended for fear that my parents might find it in my room when I visited for summer break.

The second dildo was pink and pretty, one of those bunny rabbit vibes that have a clear jelly look. The width was wider, but I didn't enjoy this vibrator that much. I found the bunny ears distracting.

The third one was a complete experiment. It was less about pleasure and more about curiosity. It was a 9-inch flesh-colored dildo with a width that was at least six centimeters in circumference. That dildo would have ripped me apart — if I was able to keep it inside of me long enough. This toy felt excruciating, even when I practiced my breathing and pelvic muscle exercises, was aroused, and used tons of lube.

I started having sex again at the very end of senior year, and my partner was a friend-with-benefits whom I had unrequitedly fallen for. His penis was a different size than I was accustomed to — short and moderately thick, but unable to even brush against my G-spot. Our emotional chemistry didn't translate into a sexual connection, leaving me again unsatisfied.When we didn't work out, I found myself heartbroken and hornier than ever before. Realizing I had never experienced truly falling in love or having an orgasm with someone else, I decided not to have sex again until I found love.Which led to what I now like to call "The Drought."

It was an uneventful, sexless period of my life. As for many other recent grads, the stress of not immediately launching into a high-paying career made other areas of my life seem just as daunting and depressing.

It was unfortunate that I was losing touch with my body after getting to know it so well. Between moving back home, feeling like a post-grad bum and discarding my toys for fear of parental inspection, I was losing my newly-acquired sexual self awareness and confidence at an alarming rate.

I realize now that transitions have a major impact on how I view myself. Up to that point, I had no idea how to adapt to change. It took a while for me to discover that I couldn't be the same person I was in college while taking new challenges. But there were also parts of myself that I had to protect and preserve.

Fortunately, I started to find my way — into adulthood and back to the sexual exploration I'd found so important.

First, I finally found someone to fall in love with. Shortly thereafter, I received the great news that I was accepted to teach abroad.

I remember the day I found out that I had been accepted to the program. I got off work (from my figure art modeling job, go figure) and found myself walking into a little sex shop tucked into a quiet block in the West Village. Feeling celebratory, I purchased my 4th toy — a powder blue dildo with a suction cup at the end. I called it Sparkle Fairy.

I found myself masturbating once again, like an insatiable cookie monster. This time, I was masturbating with someone in mind whom I craved and adored.

Most importantly, I felt good about myself again. Masturbation became less about practice and preparation for the "real thing," or about proving something to myself. It became a beautiful and educational activity that I partake in; a physical way of reconnecting with myself while also finding balance in other areas of my life.

When I finally began having sex with my new partner, it felt like hearts exploding and third-eyes opening. Not only did I know myself well enough to know what I wanted, I'd found someone who knew what he wanted : the kind of sex where we learn about and connect to each other, too. It's because we know ourselves so well that we strive to know each other just as intimately.

These days, I see that life is like my resilient, ever-changing sexuality — something that I have to relearn and connect to everyday in order to evolve into myself and reach happiness.

Still, sometimes, I do forget to masturbate. Which reminds me...

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