I Bought My First Vibrator At A Mom's House Party & Never Looked Back

I thought I was being invited to another MLM party, which are what most parties are in my town these days. It was my third invite to this kind of party, so I felt I had to say yes. This is the rule of living in a small town: You are allowed to say no twice, but the third time needs to be a yes or you can just forget having friends.

The sister of my co-worker, Karen, was hosting a party at her house, and Karen said I had to come. “No excuses; I know the kids are gone for the weekend,” is exactly what she said. One of the great things about being a single mom of four boys is that you can get out of doing almost anything unless they are gone to their dad’s for the weekend. Then everyone knows you’re just sitting around doing nothing.

I said yes. I made a hot dip. I ironed a button-down shirt and grabbed $30 because I knew I would buy something under duress and figured that would be my budget. Maybe a garlic press or a face cream I would never touch. This was what I thought I would buy at Karen’s sister’s very nice little bungalow on a dead-end street a few blocks from my house. A house where, because I’m in a small town, I knew almost everyone inside when I walked in: Liz from the grocery store. Ella from my son’s swim lessons. All moms, all familiar, all drinking wine about an hour later while we passed around sex toys and tried to decide if we were butt-plug people.

“I used to have one like this, but it just died on me,” Karen’s mom – yes, Karen’s MOM – told us all after a round of “truth or dare” was played as an ice-breaker.

Let me be clear here: I did not know sex toy parties existed before the host answered the door wearing a corset over her T-shirt, carrying what she promised me was a toy whip. Karen would not look at me because it turns out that she knew this was a sex toy party and didn’t want to tell me. It turns out this was something that happens all the time in our small town. Moms getting together on a Friday evening to give that classic “rabbit” vibrator a second look. “I used to have one like this, but it just died on me,” Karen’s mom — yes, Karen’s MOM — told us all after a round of “truth or dare” was played as an ice-breaker.

My ice, I feared, would not break. Though I am now older, I was once a woman in my 30s who was not having any sex at all, not even with myself. I put all of my energy into being a mom to my boys and making friends and working, and this was enough, I kept telling myself, this was enough.

I decided I did not miss sex because sex had become dangerous to me. I was always afraid to be distracted from my kids. To let a man into our lives who would change me and change us and remind me that I was a woman on my own. This had happened to me before. Sex with my then-husband had been our only common denominator. We chose each other because we wanted each other. We were bad parents together, bad spouses, bad at everything together except in bed. And the idea of meeting someone who could hypnotize me or distract me from my life with my sons… it was too much to bear.

Sex never felt like it had anything to do with me.

Because sex did not belong to me then; it was about him. I stopped being a person to him and became a performer. I had to pay my dues, keep him interested, stay sexy. When our babies were born, it was a chore to be “allowed” to take the full six weeks without sex that the doctor ordered. Sex never felt like it had anything to do with me.

Needless to say, this party had me blushing all the way to my toes. I actually wished I was at a weird MLM party buying shark leggings or a purse I didn’t want or even that garlic press I would never use. Anywhere but here, where all of these women were cackling and talking about orgasms like they were no big deal. Women had their credit cards ready to roll and were heading back to the private shopping room to fill their bags with vibrators, massage oils, edible underwear. They talked frankly about wanting orgasms and getting them on their own and with partners. When one other nervous mom shared a rumor that she had heard, that vibrators make sex with men less satisfying, the answer was a resounding “who cares?” It had never occurred to me that I might not have to care if I was performing sex well for a man. That I might not have to perform sex at all.

This is where it happened. A loosening in me. When all of those moms cajoled me into claiming sex for myself. I admitted that I had never used a vibrator; they said, “Oh sure, that was me too,” and I stopped feeling embarrassed. They all talked about buying their first vibrators and got excited to help me pick one out. “Here’s a nice starter model,” one mom said, and she was serious. She called it “discreet,” which helped even though no one would be in my bedroom when I used it.

I tried it out that night. I was emboldened by these moms but still nervous enough to make the dog wait outside the bedroom door in case she tried to watch me. She sighed and glared at me as I closed the door, but even this felt like a powerful decision. This sex was going to be just for me. I was going to figure out what I liked without the ticking clock of a partner in my bed.

That vibrator changed my life. I do not exaggerate. After weeks of trying it out, experimenting, learning my own body, I found a sweet balance I didn’t think would ever be available to me. Much to my great relief and shock, I was able to be a mom, be a friend, be productive, and give myself an orgasm whenever I wanted. My ice broke.

Jen McGuire is a contributing writer for Romper and Scary Mommy. She lives in Canada with four boys and teaches life writing workshops where someone cries in every class. When she is not traveling as often as possible, she’s trying to organize pie parties and outdoor karaoke with her neighbors. She will sing Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” at least once, but she’s open to requests.