What Women Secretly Store in Their ‘Wank Bank’ — You’ll Be Shocked What Gets Us Off

Nobody ever warns you that by the time you’re 30 you may have an entire underground archive of things that turn you on—none of which ever appeared in a mainstream porn hub. As women, our minds are weird, clever, furtive little beasts. We don’t always get turned on by what’s flashing on a screen. Sometimes it’s the glint of a voice, the rustle of silk, the sound of a stranger’s heavy breath in traffic, the memory of a half-heard lyric in a club. And we tuck all of those into a secret vault: our “wank bank.”

Let me introduce you to that bank, and let’s peek inside.

I swear, if I ever got to podcast confession time, my deposit slip would read: “Chapter 4, male narrator, British accent, very soft breathing.” Why? Because voice porn is the quiet heroine of female arousal. And yes, I’m talking about that phenomenon where more and more women are choosing to read or listen to erotic content rather than watch it.

This shift isn’t just about preference; it’s about control. A voice gives you room to fantasize, to fill in the blanks, to become co-creator in the sexual moment. No hand forced to the click button, no flashing visuals dictating your fantasy. You get to imagine. And that’s potent.

The erotica you read in your head

Let’s remember Nancy Friday, and her explorations of women’s fantasies in My Secret Garden and Forbidden Flowers. Her work laid bare what many women already knew: some of the stuff we get off to never makes it into images, but thrives in narrative fragments, whispered ideas, cinematic mental montages.

We don’t store a clip of penetration; we store the moan, the tension before release, the internal gasp. The space between the words, that crack in a sentence where you imagine a tongue. Visuals can extinguish that subtle magic; words can enhance it.

And when you’re reading erotica — good erotica — your brain is lapping up suggestion. You’re coaxing the arousal from yourself, layer by layer, rather than swallowing it passively. That self-agency is sexy as hell, and deeply feminist.

The rise of audio erotica for women

Enter the era of moan audios, erotic podcasts, guided masturbation audio tracks, spicy audiobooks. Sites and apps like Quinn, Dipsea, and Cum With Us exist precisely because there is a hunger for erotic audio crafted for women.

The Wired article on Quinn frames it as “YouTube for audio porn,” an immersive alternative to the visual porn market. What Quinn and platforms like it recognize is that when the visual element is removed, your own skin, your own imagination, becomes part of the performance.

Spectrumsouth’s essay also talks about the radical potential of audio erotica: voices, sounds, storytelling knit into sexual art that refuses the male gaze. And the fact that more women are consuming erotica this way shows how much space there is for pleasure modes that respect nuance over spectacle.

I love it. I love that I can sneak into the headphones on the bus, press play on something sultry, and pretend I’m immune to the curious eyes around me. Do I blush? Sometimes. But I like remembering that there’s a version of me buried in those whispers, waiting.

“At the gym?” Yes. At the bus stop? Guilty.

Here’s where things get deliciously inappropriate. You know that little cheat inside you that wants to press play on a spicy audiobook while on the treadmill, while trying not to wobble? The very thought of hearing a voice whisper “hold onto me” while you’re doing lunges — that resonates.

We do this in cafés, in traffic jams, in dressing rooms. Because these audio erotica fragments get under our skin. Unlike porn, which demands privacy (or shame), an erotic audio can sneak in under a disguise: “I’m listening to an audiobook.” And maybe you are. Except the book is telling you to imagine her fingers on your back. That boundary between the erotic and the mundane gets deliciously blurred.

I remember one time on a train I’d queued up a soft narrated scene. I think I’d muted it because I got self-aware. But I swear, for those minutes I was walking through someone else’s fantasy while sitting in a carriage full of commuters. And it was hot.

Why the unseen turns us on more than the seen

Here’s the core feminist insight: the unseen gives you authorship of your desire.

When what you see is laid bare, explicit, prepackaged — someone else’s fantasy — you become a spectator. But when what you hear is suggestion, presence, hidden tension, you become complicit. You supply the rest. The shadows between the moans, the room you build in your mind — that’s where the heavy lifting of your arousal lives. And we are powerful when we do that work.

In fact, many feminist critiques of porn insist that visuals flatten desire, erase consent struggles, simplify bodies. When women turn to audio erotica or their own mental scripts, we reintroduce complexity: ambiguity, consent, context, emotional weight. We reclaim our erotic subjectivity.

And frankly, visual porn is too blunt sometimes. It doesn’t always respect the slow build, the shift of rhythm, the play of voice over flesh. For many women, it’s the point before the climax, the friction, the moment you lean in, that carries the weight.

Conversations nobody wants to have (but we should)

It’s weird: we’ll whisper about “I watched this video” but balk at admitting “I was listening to something filthy while doing squats.” Yet, those audio moments are as much part of our sexual lives as pictures. We treat them as dirty little secrets, even though they deserve legitimacy.

I want to provoke here: what if we started talking about our audio porn habits as openly as we talk about reading steamy romance novels? What if feminist sex-positive communities began recommending narrated erotica the way they recommend vibrators — not as shameful alternatives, but as valid pleasure tools?

I want to hear your weird deposit slips: male voice reading instructions, soundscapes of breathing, replayed moans, clever erotic passages you read to yourself. What’s in your wank bank? What lines, voices or whispers do you revisit?

Final thoughts (but not the end)

Women have always had hidden atmospheres of desire humming just beneath consciousness. The things that get us off are not always visual, not always loud, and rarely acknowledged. Our secret deposits — whispers, novels, audio erotica — defy the simplicity of visual porn and give us something richer.

I invite you, readers, to confess a fragment. What voice, what whisper, what moment live in your secret vault? Let’s unbury that together, without shame, with wit, with feminist reclamation.

Let the comments roll.