Sex Toys for Couples: A Calm Guide to Trying Them Together

Let's open with the least seductive sentence in this article: nobody needs a sex toy. Plenty of couples have years of good, connected sex without ever owning one, and if that's you, there is no gap here you're supposed to fill.

What a toy can do is widen the range of what the two of you are able to feel together — sensations that hands, mouths and bodies simply don't produce on their own. That's the whole case for them. Not a repair, not an upgrade. A wider range.

Toys are not "a women's thing"

The shop window suggests otherwise, and so does most of the marketing. But there is something here for every body. Vibration, pressure, fullness, texture — none of that is anatomy-specific. If one of you has quietly filed this whole subject under "her department", that's worth un-filing.

For any anatomy: the plug

Whatever your body looks like, a plug offers something genuinely different from everything else in the drawer: a steady sense of fullness rather than movement, sitting in the background while the rest of sex carries on. For some people it changes very little; for others it changes how everything else feels.

The how-to — talking first, preparation, going far slower than you think you need to — is a whole post of its own, so we won't repeat it here: read our beginner's guide to anal stimulation.

Two things that aren't optional, though. Anything used anally must have a flared base or a retrieval loop. The rectum has no natural stopping point, and a toy without a base can travel far enough that only a doctor gets it back. And lube, always — the anus doesn't lubricate itself.

For a partner with a penis

Two common entry points:

• Sleeves and strokers. The fleshlight-style ones. They give an enveloping pressure a hand can't really imitate, and they're easy to bring into sex you're already having rather than treating as a solo device.
• Ring vibrators. Worn at the base of the penis during sex, so the vibration reaches both of you at once. Worth naming clearly: this is a shared toy, not a solo one. Nobody sits it out.

Lubricant: when it helps, and when it isn't optional

Use lube whenever it makes things better — that's the whole rule. It isn't a sign that anything is wrong; arousal and natural wetness are only loosely related, and both shift with cycle, stress, medication and age. For anything anal, treat it as mandatory.

Three points that are easy to miss:

• Silicone lube degrades silicone toys. It slowly makes the surface tacky and porous. Pair silicone toys with water-based lube.
• Oil-based lubricants degrade latex condoms, to the point of failure. If condoms are in play, stay with water-based or silicone-based.
• Materials matter. Non-porous silicone, glass and stainless steel can be properly cleaned. Cheap porous "jelly" novelties can't be fully disinfected, no matter how you scrub them.

The part that matters most: a toy is not a verdict on anyone

Here is the thing this post really exists to say.

Only a minority of women orgasm reliably from vaginal penetration alone. For most, direct clitoral stimulation is needed, or strongly preferred. This is not a rare condition, not a sign of a body that doesn't work, and not evidence that a partner is doing something wrong. It's ordinary anatomy.

Almost everything we absorb culturally says the opposite. In porn, penetration alone is enough, every time, on cue. The script that follows from that is brutal in both directions: if she doesn't come this way, either she is broken or he is failing. Neither is true, but both are believed quietly and often.

So when a partner says "I'd like to try a toy", it can land like a review. Like being told, in the gentlest possible words, that you aren't enough. If you're reading this and feeling some version of that — that reaction makes complete sense. It's what you were taught to feel. It just isn't what's happening.

Reaching for a toy is not a report card. It's a step toward your partner's pleasure, and she's letting you in on how her body actually works, which is information most people never volunteer. Paying attention to what genuinely works for someone is the opposite of being bad at sex. It's most of what being good at it consists of.

And a toy doesn't replace anyone. Nothing about it competes with hands, mouth, weight, warmth, or being wanted. It's one more thing on the table.

If saying any of this out loud feels like too much all at once, it often lands more easily as a shared prompt than a serious conversation — one of the things the ForePlay app's cards are there for.

Cleaning and aftercare: the bit everyone skips

Warm water and mild soap after every use, including the ones where you barely used it. Rinse well — leftover soap irritates — and dry it fully before it goes away, because moisture in a drawer is how things grow. Store toys separately rather than in a jumble; some materials react to each other over time. Retire anything nicked or torn, since a damaged surface can no longer be cleaned properly.

And never move a toy from anal to vaginal use without washing it thoroughly or changing the condom on it first. That one habit prevents most of what can go wrong here.

Then do the other kind of aftercare: put it away together, get some water, and talk for two minutes. What felt good? What was more interesting than exciting? Would you do it again, or differently? That's where the next good idea usually comes from — and if the answer is "actually, not for me", that's a completely fine place to land too.