Even as a sexual health peer educator, buying my first toy felt impossible.

This summer, I got to experience The Brain Tattoo Storytelling Method, created by the organization Dear World, and captured my first vibrator story through this body “tattoo” and photo.

At age 20, I became a sexual health peer educator at Lehigh University, about 80 minutes from where I grew up in Pennsylvania.

The program was run through the health and counseling center, and we were trained to go into dorms and classes to teach and facilitate conversations about safer sex. I started in the fall of 1993, when the focus was on something called Outercourse—basically, how to enjoy sexual activity while reducing the exchange of bodily fluids. Super sexy name, I know. But this was the height of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, when being exposed to semen, vaginal secretions, or blood felt like a direct path to death.

I loved learning and talking about these topics. That Thanksgiving, I even did a condom demonstration on a beer bottle at the family holiday table, much to the horror of my extended relatives. At the same time, I was taking a Human Sexuality class that was both challenging and exhilarating. So yes, I was that person. I talked about sex A LOT.

Then, for my 21st birthday the following March, a close male friend gave me a gift certificate to the nearest “adult” store so I could buy my first vibrator.

What a perfect gift for me, right?

But I didn’t go.

Weeks passed, months passed. I really wanted a vibrator. I had trouble reaching orgasm both alone and with my boyfriend, and I hoped it would help. But I couldn’t make myself go to the store.

I was too embarrassed.

Despite my education and public speaking about sexual health, the thought of walking into a sex toy shop, picking something out, and facing another human being at checkout was too much.

Eventually, my boyfriend drove me there, left me in the car, and walked in with my gift certificate. Fifteen minutes later, he emerged with my new “friend.”

I was grateful for his comfort and courage in the space where mine was missing. The battery-powered vibrators of the mid-90s weren’t much to brag about—hard, plastic, cream-colored, and almost-boringly phallic—but it was mine. Mine to explore my own body, to discover new sensations, to practice pleasure on my own terms.

My first vibrator looked like this: simple, plastic, cream-colored, yet absolutely intimidating to buy.

And yes, it felt liberating. It felt like empowerment in a small, plastic, buzzing package. (Though, in a future essay, I’ll share why it took me two years to figure out how to actually use it in a way that worked for me!)

What strikes me now is the gap between what I was teaching and what I could allow myself to practice. I could hand out condoms in front of strangers without flinching, but I couldn’t buy a vibrator without shame. That’s the paradox so many of us live in: we know more than ever about sexual health, mental health, and the importance of authentic communication, yet when it comes to our own desires, curiosity, needs for connection, or pleasure, embarrassment stops us cold.

Owning my first vibrator wasn’t just about orgasm—it was about taking myself seriously enough to give my body the chance to feel good. That’s intimacy too.

This Week’s Practice

Take a moment to notice: where does embarrassment still hold you back from exploring something that might bring you joy, connection, or pleasure? It doesn’t have to be sexual; it could be asking for help, joining a dance class, or telling someone what you really want.

Your practice: write down one thing you’ve been curious about but too shy to try. Then, ask yourself what support you’d need (a friend, a resource, a small first step) to take action.

Because courageous intimacy begins not when we’re perfect or fearless, but when we’re willing to admit: I want more for myself.

~Dr. Jenn Gunsaullus — San Diego Keynote Speaker, Relationship & Intimacy Coach, & Sociologist