My collection of sex toys is probably something that I’ll take with me to my grave (figuratively speaking, of course). I’m not one of those bloggers who sees her selection of intimate sex toys as a ‘content creation’ opportunity. Indeed, although I’m proud to call myself a sex positive writer, I’m by no means an exhibitionist.
With that being said, I have thought that it might be a good idea for me to share my first experience of the kinky side of London, which endeared me so much to the city in my first year.
Kinks are not something that many people are familiar with at a young age.
They’re rarely covered in your conventional sex-education classes and, unless you happen to have stumbled into a particularly dark corner of the internet, you would be forgiven for being unaware that they even exist. Having a particularly secluded childhood, it wasn’t until I left home for the first time that I discovered the heady worlds of sex toys and pornography.
My parents quite happily helped me pack my bags and sent me on my way to London back in 2008. They felt that they’d raised me right: they’d taught me to eat my vegetables, steered me away from drugs and were perfectly happy pushing me out the door and into a brave new world, without a fear that I might stray from the righteous path.
Of course, how were they to know that I was to be thrust into an alien world, full of strange people who had seen and experienced far more sexual oddities than either of them could conceive?
They weren’t to know that my room-mate was a raving sex toy enthusiast with a penchant for sharing. They probably didn’t expect me to miss my home so much, to the point where I was willing to experiment with these toys in order to bring myself some sort of solace. But that’s more or less what happened.
Jessica claimed to have a collection of the most powerful sex toys known to man. There might have been some fabrication on her part, but in my youthful naivete I found all of them to be quite arresting, so much so that I was willing to believe her. In the first weeks of university, we happily played together, ignoring the gaudy pre-organised ‘Freshers’ nights out and opting to educate each other on our lives thus far, amidst binge-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
It didn’t take long for our new found mutual interests to start breaking out of our bedroom. Bolstered by each other’s newfound boldness, we decked ourselves in 90s era faux-leather get ups that Buffy would be proud of and headed out into the seedy London nightclub scene. Ten years ago, London’s alternative clubbing scene was still alive and well; yet to be ruined by the ever encroaching gentrification of the world. We relished prancing through the S&M warehouses, the notorious gay clubs and hardcore dance nights.
We were quite happy to discover that two barely 19-year old girls were welcome pretty much anywhere they wanted to go – they were golden years, and ones that I never told my parents about.