BloggingDangerously

G-Spot: Let's Talk About Sex

I'm publishing the following post because part of my goal here is to help people become more comfortable with themselves as sexual beings.  Part of this is being comfortable to talk about vibrators and experimenting and having sex with your husband and part of it is being able to talk about it when something is wrong.  Because things go wrong but - most of the time - they can be fixed.  But you need to talk about it.

This post is by one of my Twitter besties @efloraross.  'Thank you' to her for sharing such a personal story.

***** 

I was honored when Kit asked me to do a g-spot post for her. And I had one all ready to go. I wrote this a while ago, but it didn’t feel right for my personal blog. I don’t ever talk about sex there.

I feel it’s best to tell you that up front, lest you rush over looking for something juicy. I’ll leave the juicy stuff to the master, my hostess. I normally write about my struggles and successes as a mom and as a writer.

But today, I’d like to talk about something different. Thank you, Kit, for the opportunity!

-

Female sexual dysfunction. Ever heard of it? Or even thought about it before? Me either. I have no idea how many women are affected by it. I've never cared. Until it happened to me.

It started about a year ago with a noticeable decline in my sex drive. I'm not talking about being too tired for sex or "not in the mood." I mean I had no interest in sex whatsoever. Which is completely out of the norm for me.

I have always had a healthy sexual appetite. And, with the exception of the normal decline couples experience immediately following the birth of a child, my husband and I have enjoyed an active, mutually satisfying physical relationship.

I made an appointment to see the nurse practitioner at my OBGYN's office. Based on my symptoms, she (and I) suspected I could be beginning early menopause. So she drew blood and ordered a hormone study.

When I went back to see her a week later to get the results, she had good news. Everything was normal, except for one thing. I had no testosterone in my system.

Testosterone is thought of as a male hormone, but women have it, too. And we need it. But because testosterone replacement for women can have some very unpleasant side effects, I opted not to do anything about it at that time.

A few months ago, things started to get worse. Up to that point, not being interested in sex had not meant not being able to enjoy it. We continued to have a satisfying sex life. Until one day I was unable to become aroused. My body simply did not respond.

My husband, knowing me as well as he does, definitely noticed. And I was completely freaked out. I called and begged for the next available appointment.

This time, a whole battery of tests was ordered. The results of which revealed I am a very healthy 42 year-old woman. Good news, but what could be done for me?

I was referred to the doctor in the practice who specializes in female sexual dysfunction, who concluded after interviewing me there is no psychological cause for my problem. He suspects the long-term use of birth control pills have suppressed my ovaries to the point they no longer produce testosterone.

So I’m going off the pill in the hopes within several months, my levels will be back to where they should be, and everything else will return to normal. If not, we will explore hormone replacement therapy.

There are additional reasons to be concerned about a loss or lack of testosterone in women. It can lead to a decrease in bone density, loss of muscle mass, an accumulation of body fat, fatigue, hot flashes and an increased risk of cardiovascular disease, to name a few.

Other conditions can cause female sexual dysfunction, too. Some serious, some not. And from what little I have read, it is fairly common. I hahadve never heard much about this topic before.

Though it has become commonplace to see ads marketing remedies for male sexual dysfunction, our society doesn’t seem to believe it is OK to talk about female problems. Awareness and acceptance of an issue can lead to more people seeking help when they need it.

We are all sexual beings. It is part of our make-up, and certainly an integral aspect of our relationships. I'm comfortable sharing my experience in the hope it might help someone else. I believe it is important we be able to discuss these types of issues. 

If nothing else, maybe what I have just told you will make you feel better about your own sex life. In which case, you're welcome.

G-Spot: The MiniVan and the Vibrator

As a "liberated woman" of some repute myself I could TOTALLY see one of you getting me to do this!  This story is from one of my favorite tweeps, Lori.  Lori seldom blogs about vibrators at In Pursuit of Martha Points. Her tweets are slightly less G-rated at @marthapoints.

-----

The following is a true story. This happened when I was still married to Husband 1.0 and my son was about 4 years old.

It is generally known that I live in California - Land of opportunity, sunshine, obscene property taxes and loose women.

Apparently.

Or perhaps, “liberated” women would be the better term, and it seemed that I was One Of Them.

A friend in Texas was going through what we call a “dry spell.” And by dry spell I mean she was considering re-enrolling in a 10^th grade health class because the illustrations would get her closer to male anatomy than she’d been in some time.

She needed some help. Specifically, the battery powered kind.

Living in a small town in Texas, there was nowhere to buy such a thing. And she couldn’t risk ordering something and having it delivered as she was staying with her parents to save money while she finished up a degree.

She loved her parents and did not want either of them to have a stroke upon the arrival of a delivery from “Judy’s Juicies” or “Harry’s House O’ Hymens.”

So who did she turn to in her 4 minutes of need?

Right. Yours Truly, the Liberally Loose California Floozy. Because everyone knows that in California you can buy a dildo on the produce aisle next to the cucumbers.

We are just that damned progressive.

The friend asked for me to do her this one small favor as a birthday gift and really, how can you deny a friend her god-given right to adult toys? No. I would make it happen.

So to speak.

In the town next to mine is a lovely “women’s intimacy” shop. It sells delicately sweeping lingerie, texts on spiritual physicality (complete with naughty illustrations), feathers, racy board games and yes, the nitty and the gritty for reaching the high notes à cappella.

We went as a family.

We were headed out to the little town anyway for some outing, and I requested that we stop at the shop. The husband and the four-year-old stayed in the minivan.  Yes, a minivan. Because when you’re shopping for things in the cuffing and buffing industry, you really must show up in an Island Blue swagger wagon with seven cup-holders.

I walked in to the shop and scanned. Lingerie, books, feathers…where was the section for things that needed electricity?

Then I noticed a heavy wooden bureau. I crossed the room and opened the top drawer. Flavored condoms, silk cords and satin blindfolds. I opened the middle drawer. Vibrators, anatomically exaggerated dildos and fuzzy handcuffs. Ah ha! Clearly this was the drawer I wanted. But curiosity got the best of me and I opened the bottom drawer.

I did not recognize a single piece of equipment in the array before me.

Ok, back one drawer up.

There were many colors and styles to choose from. What would she like? Leopard print? Pink glitter? Probably not the glow-in-the-dark green. It’s not like she’s directing aircraft.

I selected a tasteful tiger-stripe and walked to the counter. The young lady salesclerk asked if I wanted batteries. I said, “Well, it wouldn’t be a very nice gift without them, would it?”

She gave me the “Oh, we’re pretending it’s for someone else” look.

Whatever, honey. Just take my damned credit card.

She put the tiger-striped Ode to Joy in the bag with the batteries and a brochure about the shop. I got back in the driver’s seat and handed the paper bag to the husband who was seated in the middle next to the boy. We drove without incident back to the town where we lived. A couple miles from home, the husband looked in the bag to see what I’d selected and noticed the brochure. He pulled it out and started to read. A minute or so later he cried out, “Oh my god!”

“What??” I cried, turning behind me to see what was so fascinating.

And then…CRASH!

I rear-ended a delivery truck.

No one was hurt. Our minivan was damaged far worse than the truck. The driver of the truck felt badly for stopping so quickly. I felt bad for letting myself get distracted by badly illustrated brochure porn.

And the thought that repeated over and over in my mind was, “I just got into a car accident because of a vibrator.”

As it was the weekend, we left a message with our insurance agent to report the accident. When the claims adjuster called me back on Monday he asked, “Are there circumstances that you’d like us to consider regarding the accident, or would you like to admit fault?”

I considered documenting in a claim form that the reason for the accident was because I’d been distracted by an erotically themed brochure I got from the adult store when I was buying a tiger-striped vibrator for a sexually frustrated friend who lived in Texas.

“My fault,” I said. “Totally, completely and absolutely my fault. Nothing to explain here. Not a damned thing.”

So my friend got her needs discreetly met and I got to pay more for my car insurance.

Let’s see you turn that into a slogan, Mr. Ad Exec.

G-Spot: The Bucket List

This post is from one of my favorite readers.  You can check her out at www.mrsmidatlantic.com

-----

There has been a craze in the last year or so over bucket Lists. A list where one writes out all the crazy adventures they would like to have before kicking the bucket. You may have seen the 2007 movie “The Bucket List,” starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman; it was an ok movie where one old man befriends a crankier one, and they lay out plans for their remaining months. I was watching the Today Show the other day and saw one of the crazy fans – a pre-teen girl – displaying a sign that checked Visit Today Show Studio as a must-do on her bucket list. I am not quite sure why a pre-teen girl needs to create a bucket list, but that just goes to show the current craze.

My husband and I, in the early years of our relationship, came up with something similar to a bucket list, except that it was much more risqué. We came up with a list of all the places all over the world where we would like to have sex. This was our “f*ck-it list.”

We came up with the usuals: romantic moonlit sex, fancy hotel sex, beach sex (except no, because there are certain places that sand should just not go), heart-shaped bed in a cheesy hotel sex. But I had something a little different on my list as well: museum sex. I love museums. I love art. I love experiencing the colors, the exhibitions, the paintings, the sculptures. I love how museums smell. I love how museum hallways echo as my shoes click on the marble floors. I love museums. So for me, having sex in a museum had to go on our list.

Hubby and I were strolling through the Philadelphia Museum of Art a few years ago, when we came upon the Cloisters in an upstairs gallery. The PMA has a gorgeous courtyard sanctuary from a medieval monastery installed in the museum. There was no one around.  There was a quiet little niche. The security guards were nowhere to be found. I was wearing a mini-skirt. We had all the ingredients for some amazing museum sex. Hubby slid my panties to the side for a brief but amazing interlude on our gallery tour. So maybe it wasn’t the best sex I’ve ever had, but it was definitely the hottest!

Hubby and I have crossed quite a few line-items off our f*ck-it list over the decade we have been together. It’s way more fun than a bucket list:

The wine section of the grocery store – check!

The dorm laundry room – check!

A shared hotel room – check!

The backseat of the car in a full parking lot in broad daylight – check!

The back alley behind the bar – check!

The front deck of the house my girlfriends and I rented for Spring Break – check!

On the hood of a random antique convertible with fireworks exploding in the sky over the harbor – check!

The blue ocean at sunset in front of our over-the-water hut in Tahiti (and the other 51 times during our honeymoon.  Yes, we counted.) – check!

I can’t wait to see where our f*ck-it list takes us next!

G-Spot: Invitation

Today I was hoping to post a guest post but I don't have any in the queue.  (If you sent me one and I lost it - please resend!)

If you have an idea for a spicy post (published anonymously or not) write it up and send it over!

In the mean time, I'll tell you a story that I *ahem* heard in my youth.

Once apon a time there was this cute 16 year old girl, naive in the ways of love.  But she had a crazy crush on a LOSER who lived in the town where she spent her summers.

She SHOULD NOT have had a crush on this boy.  He was greasy, with long hair and absolutely no regard for anyone or anything.  I suppose that's what she liked about him - his bad boy ways.

Anyway, she flirted and fawned over him until it was overly apparent to everyone that she had a crazy crush and everyone was appropriately nauseated.

One day everyone was hanging out and the girl's brother walked up to her and said, "Hey I'm going swimming, will you hold this for me?" - and handed her 35 cents that he had gotten by collecting redeemable bottles and cans out of the trash cans on the beach.  It wasn't much but it was enough for a candy bar and the boy was only 12.

The girl took the money and put it on the picnic table.  A couple of minutes later she noticed her crush walking away from the table - and that the money was gone.

"Give it back." she told him.

"What?" he sneered.

"The money." she told him.  "Put it back."

"I don't have any money." he told her looking straight into her eyes.

"It's THIR-TY-FIVE cents." she said slowly making sure he understood that he was selling her love for $0.35.  He was a 15 year old scumbag so of course he didn't understand.

"I didn't take it." he said.

"Fine." she said watching him walk away and wondering for the first time - but not the last - how a boy could be so dumb.   

Later that day a guy friend of hers said to her, "Eric bet me a dollar that he could get you to give him a blow job."  She laughed.

That night they sat around the fire on the beach, ten or fifteen of them, like they always did.  Eric walked up to her.  "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked.

"Sure." she said.  The friend who had told her about the wager looked at her questioningly but she looked away.

They walked down the beach a bit.  She could tell that they were being followed by his friends who were probably hoping to figure out what a blow job even was.

He stopped and faced her.  She looked up at him.  "Eric?" she asked.

"Yeah." he said.

She raised her voice and practically sang  "There is NO FUCKING WAY I am giving you a blow  job."  She walked back to the fire while his friends rolled in the sand laughing.

In the end he traded $.035 for the $1 he possibly would have won.  Although he may have had to spend it on salve.  So maybe he came out ahead.

G-Spot: Geometry

This Guest post comes to you from one of my favorite readers (and commenters!) SMJ.  Her story is funny - with a great moral.  Sometimes even guys need a map.

-----

 

Didn't Know I'd Need a Math Degree

 

When my husband and I got married, we were both virgins.  Technically.  We'd done "everything but," so we figured we wouldn't have any trouble on the wedding night itself.  I was a little nervous, though, so I asked a friend for advice.  "Have a glass of wine at your reception and keep the lube handy, and you won't have any problem."

Well, I forgot to drink any wine at the reception, and I also had no idea exactly how to apply lube, so I didn't have it with me.  But I still figured we would have no trouble, because after all, how hard could it be?  We'd been spending our whole engagement trying very hard not to do it.  All we had to do was relax, right?

When we got to our hotel room after the wedding, I suddenly felt very shy.  My new husband seemed like practically a stranger, and his tux made him look very 1950's.  I inexplicably wanted to get him a newspaper and a cold drink and withdraw to the kitchen.  He sensed my reluctance and said, "Why don't we put this off till tomorrow?"  But I'd been waiting all this time, and I just didn't want to show up in the hotel lobby with my friends the next morning still a virgin.  So we plowed on ahead (no pun intended).

After some time in the Jacuzzi and a lot of making out, we figured we were ready.  The big moment had arrived.  He started on in -- and I burst into tears.  He wasn't even half in and I was in AGONY.  I had been told it could be slightly painful, so I'd been prepared for that, but this was way more than anyone had warned me about.  Of course my husband broke it off.  We tried a couple more times, but no dice.  Even when I urged him to just go ahead and get it over with, he couldn't do it.  Between the sight of me in pain and the incredible tightness I was developing (fear can do that to you) there was no way he could manage it.

I showed up the next morning feeling extremely ashamed.  There was some good-natured joshing about "Late night last night, hmmm?" and I seriously wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.  I felt like an impostor, pretending to be a real married woman, when I wasn't.

We had our honeymoon at a lake in the mountains, staying in a beautiful cabin, just the two of us.  And thank goodness, because we really needed the peace and quiet to figure this thing out.  I tried taking a warm bath with a glass of wine beforehand.  I brought out the lacy nightgown.  I dug the lube out of a suitcase.  We tried half a dozen different positions.  No luck.  My new husband was saying he just felt "protective and tender" and didn't feel like sex anyway.  I did feel like sex, but I was terrified.

Then the altitude sickness set in.  I was raised among mountains, so 4,000 ft. is nothing to me.  My midwestern husband was completely winded by it.  Did you know impotence is a symptom of altitude sickness?  It is.  So is premature ejaculation.  So that was fun too.

About halfway through the honeymoon, he was beginning to become acclimated.  And yet our efforts were still getting nowhere.  I couldn't figure out if the problem was me or him.  I assumed me, but I knew the situation wasn't helped by his unusual anatomy.  He's got a downward curve that's really weird, and it was always right where the curve started that our problem began.

Time for... physics!  And geometry!  Yes, I'm a nerd, so I ended up pulling out my "newlywed journal" and drawing some diagrams.  I figured out the vector that would work best, and worked out what positions would be best for achieving it.  I showed my diagrams to my husband, pointing out the place that was hurting me.  "What?!" he exclaimed.  "I've been aiming right for that spot because I thought it was the other side that was hurting you!"

Yes, we had a genius on our hands.  Even when I'd been on top, he'd been trying to "correct for" my "wrong angle."  The next time we tried, we had zero trouble.  It was awesome.  I walked on air the rest of the day.  There was nothing wrong with me; to this day it does a hurt a bit if he gets the angle wrong.  Luckily my husband has finally managed to figure out what the female vagina is shaped like, and usually plans accordingly.

The moral of the story is, never assume a guy knows what he's doing.  Communicate -- using diagrams, if necessary.