Sexuality Thought Leader: Beth Keil
Finding my mother’s dildo was never on my midlife bingo card, but that moment gave me an unexpected window into her unapologetic sexuality.
The Pact: Hide The Sex Toys:
Ten years ago, when my mom was 80, she told me about a pact she and her friends made:
When one of them died, someone would rush to their bedside table and remove the toys. They didn’t want their families finding their vibrators and dildos.
At the time, I laughed. But I didn’t take it seriously—and definitely didn’t imagine I’d be the one on “clean-up duty.”
Stage Four, Drawer Three:
In September 2023, Mom was diagnosed with stage four cancer. She was still sharp, still herself—living at home with round-the-clock care.
By January, my sister and I were both in town. While visiting, my sister pulled me aside and said, “Check the dresser for anything you want. Don’t let her see you take them.”
I was confused—until I opened the middle drawer.
Purple Pocket Rocket, Gray Towel of Mystery:
There it was: a small purple vibrator, casually buried under socks. Next to it? A soft gray towel, clearly hiding something long and cylindrical.
“Don’t let her see you take them to the kitchen,” my sister hissed.
My brain screamed, Say it! Tell Mom you’re her dildo finder! But I knew better. The aide in the room was already mortified. I’d been set up. I carried the mystery bundle to the kitchen. When I unwrapped the towel? Lavender dildo. Full-on, beautiful, proud.
And all I could think was: YEAH, MOM.
At first, I was stunned. Then something shifted—pride, maybe. Or awe. My mom had a sex life. She had desire. And she honored it, unapologetically. It wasn’t a dirty little secret to her. It was simply part of being human.
Sexuality Is Not Shameful, Even in Death:
Here’s the thing: I saw her toys as a celebration of her vitality. Her desire. Her humanness. But the vibe in the house? Shame.
Quiet disposal. Quick trash bag burial. No acknowledgment. No conversation. I complied. I tossed her toys and, at my sister’s insistence, the towel. But not without noting: Mom was a Virgo. If there was ever a pristine dildo in existence, it was hers.
Finding My Mother’s Dildo Showed Me We Deserve Better Endings Than Shame:
This story isn’t just about vibrators. It’s about the way we silence female sexuality at every age, especially at the end. My mother lived fully. She loved. She self-pleasured. She had a drawer with socks and secrets. And she deserved for that to be met with a knowing wink, not a panicked cover-up.
Our culture rarely lets women be both aging and sexual. We’re either invisible or inappropriate, dried up or desperate. But maybe we’re none of that. Maybe we’re still curious. Still sensual. Still whole. My mother didn’t stop being a woman just because she got older. And neither should we.
Have you had a moment like this, where something taboo cracked open something real? I’d love to hear it. Drop me a note or join the conversation in our Sunday RoundUp. This isn’t just my story; it’s ours.
And, P.S. if you’re looking for a great one for your nightstand table drawer, we like a couple ourselves… the Come Hither Rabbit, and the Tongue Vibrator (doesn’t suck…or, does it??)
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About the Author:
Beth Keil helps her clients change and transform their lives. She offers a special focus on helping people claim the birthright of their erotic identity and to live in the joy, intimacy, and connection it brings. Beth is a Registered Nurse, MindSet Coach, and a Board Certified Hypnotist. Through her work, she enjoys integrating all her interests, experiences, and skills to bring sensuality, sex, and the erotic into greater awareness and conversation. You can schedule a 30-minute complimentary phone consultation with Beth using the Discovery Session icon.
