Real Life: I secretly have sex with myself because my boyfriend doesn't want to

Sanne has the nicest man on earth in Jeroen. He has a small downside... Sex is not really his thing. With all the dramatic consequences that entails.

‘We never really had a very steamy sex life. In the beginning, I found that especially very sweet. His hand in mine was enough to give me goosebumps all the way down my spine, and besides, I was sure that he was my boyfriend for me and not because of sex. You couldn't really say that about all those types before him.

We sat for hours on the floor of my living room, he strummed a bit on his guitar, we talked and talked. I showed him my baby book (I had really never done that with another boyfriend), told him about that friend who once hurt me so much, and he listened and nodded. And when he said something, it was always exactly the right thing. I was so happy.

When we had been dating for about three months, we went on vacation together. Tent in the back of his little car, the map of France, and we would see. We found a nice campsite in Brittany. I wasn't really the camping type, but everything was different with Jeroen. He brought a bottle of red wine, a baguette, and a piece of Brie de Meaux, and there we were, simply happy to be in front of our tent. I understood his excuse for not having sex at the campsite (everyone could hear us), although I found it a bit strange. Normally, being together abroad was the cue for endless romance and eroticism. But it didn't matter, because I got enough attention and didn't doubt his love.

Thus, our – boring – sex life continued. He was tired, he didn't want me to think that it was about that for him, he didn't like quickies (which I actually found very nice), and there wasn't always time for extensive foreplay, and so on.

On some evenings with friends, I started to find it uncomfortable. Somehow, there was always someone who brought up the topic ‘how often do you do it’. Friend K had a rather virile boyfriend and was averaging twice a week, friend H was at the respectable country quota of three times a week, and when it was my turn, I rattled off my rehearsed ‘Jeroen likes to do everything well, so in our case, it's not about quantity, but about quality because that's five stars.’ And then they were satisfied. And a bit jealous, I believe.

After about eight months, I brought it up. That we were really underperforming given the national average. Jeroen reacted irritated. That it wasn't a competition and that we determined for ourselves what we felt comfortable with. But saying that I might want a bit more, I didn't dare.

And then it started. I told no one. If I knew Jeroen would be working late, I took my moment. Self-pleasure. Many women praise it because it stands for self-love and strength, but now it felt like something sneaky. Something I withheld from my boyfriend to not hurt him. A band-aid on a wound that officially didn't exist. First, I started reading erotic literature. The different fantasies of Jeanette Winterson, then I ordered DVDs. I didn't want to watch anything on my laptop because it shouldn't appear in the timeline. How embarrassing and painful for Jeroen. I thought of previous boyfriends who always found it super exciting when they knew I had ‘done it’ myself. For Jeroen, this had to remain a secret. I washed my hands and kept all my secret stash in a box that I hid far back in the junk closet of my apartment.

I felt like a traitor to my own boyfriend, to my girlfriends to whom I wasn't honest, but especially to myself. Because on the outside, I played nice, I had the sweetest boyfriend in the world who cooked for me, talked to me, picked me up everywhere, but I had underestimated the importance of loving.

And now, now our life simmers on. I masturbate (terrible word) every day, sometimes quickly in the shower, other times extensively when Jeroen is not around. And afterwards, I feel empty and dirty. Not because of the sex, but because of the secrecy. And now I don't know what to do. A life without Jeroen is unthinkable. But continuing like this for the rest of my life, that can't be right?’

In this unusual time, we asked people for their honest story. To avoid hurting others, the names of Sanne and Jeroen have been changed.