Planning

Chris is really making an effort right now. Last night he made me dinner (rack of lamb, couscous, ratatouille, salad) and was really non-combative and we didn't argue about anything. It's good, we have hardly fought at all.

We did talk on Thursday night and it was not exactly pleasant, but I don't think this kind of thing is supposed to be pleasant anyway. He said that if I leave, he'll never forgive me and it will forever change me in his mind. He (finally!) admitted that he "could be happier" with the marriage. It felt like such a relief to finally be able to talk honestly about what our problems are, and not just get the same brush off.

The thing I'm really struggling with is that I feel like I've emotionally checked out. I feel done. When I think about continuing to try, whatever "try" means, it just exhausts me. It's been so many years of trying, so many years of coming up with plans, and having an "up" time, and then crashing down down down, and it seems like every crash brings us lower. More hurtful comments, more rejection, more anger and resentment.

Right now I don't know what would help me stay in the relationship. I can't picture a positive future (which is really, really scary because I am the queen of picturing the future through rosy glasses) I just can't picture anything but more of the same.

I've given up.

I'm trying to have NOT given up. I'm trying to be civil and open and keep myself engaged, but it's a constant struggle. I really feel like I need some space and some distance. Maybe just temporarily, but definitely I need it.

Not sure if Chris will be okay with a temporary thing, though. He sounded like if I walk out the door, I'm never coming back.

Anyway, I'm looking for a place to rent, and I have a few leads on different jobs. I'm applying at a couple places, but haven't heard anything yet. I have bad days and medium days, and even some good days. The idea of moving out feels so liberating and exciting. No more eggshells, no more fighting. Obviously I know that this will not solve my problems (in fact, it will create all kinds of problems) but... it feels so right.

I got this book about deciding if you should stay or if you should go. I'm going to work through the exercises and see what comes up in that process. I don't want to make any stupid, rushed decisions.

You know what would be easy?

Having an affair, so I can get the connection and sexual part of myself fulfilled, and staying in my marriage for the stability and friendship and companionship.

That would be easy. It would have all kinds of problems attached, but it would be so much easier than this painful and confusing space I'm in now. Just - hot sex, and calm marriage. Perfect.

But I couldn't do it.

You know how you have a template of yourself? A view of yourself at your best, your ideal self. You think of yourself as "cool" or "smart" or "thrifty" or whatever. At the heart of my vision of myself is that I am honest. Ethical. Considerate. Principled.

Having an affair would betray all of that, and I think the cognitive dissonance would just do me in. I'd go nuts.

So, why can't I have the passionate sex with Chris?

He wants to, he says. And I do believe him. But it's just not there. The attraction is not there. I find Chris very attractive, and always have, but the sexual chemistry just feels totally dead. I'm reading all these books about sex and sexuality, and I can picture myself being sexual, but I can't put Chris in that picture.

It feels like all the comments have reached critical mass, and I've cut myself off from that part of our relationship. Comments like "we're not sexually compatible and we never will be" and "you don't really want to have sex" and "you'll never have a normal sex life." I know that everyone says unkind things in the heat of the moment, but there have been so many of those comments. So many. I don't want to keep trying, to keep opening myself up to that kind of criticism and comment.

I think if I stay in the marriage, I will have to have resigned myself to a mostly sexless life. There are lots of good things in my marriage, but I don't know if that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

distancing

I feel freakishly unemotional right now. Maybe I'm shut down? I don't know. I have an appointment with my old counselor at noon today.

This is the longest stretch of not-fighting we've had in a long, long time. Years. We haven't had a fight since Friday. It's been so nice, the not fighting.

Chris is trying really, really hard. He's being so nice. He texted me yesterday to say "I love you", and on Sunday he ended his video game day early.

But I asked him last night "If I stay, what will change?" and he said he didn't know.

I want to write out everything that was said last night. And the night before. It all seems so surreal, though.

"I want to kiss you. I have an intense need to be close to you. I'm losing you."

I said, "The trust is gone, it has been for a long time."

"We've hurt each other so much"

I think...

I don't know.

I don't know.

I think he's given up, too. We're not talking about how things could change so that we don't get to this point again. Every time I try to bring it up, he just says he doesn't know. I just want him to talk to me about it, to come up with a plan for us to let us stay together. I don't want to just stay because he's being nice, because we've been heading for this for a long time, and if nothing changes we'll just keep heading down this painful path. We're both so bitter and resentful and angry with each other. It builds and builds and builds. It's been just 5 days without a fight, and that's the longest we've gone in recent memory. Five days!

I guess I am emotional.

I'm smoking again.

I really badly need to talk with someone. I'm glad I was able to get in to see my counselor, even though it's almost a two hour drive away.

I hope I'm not making a huge mistake.

I asked Chris last night if he wanted to see someone, if a counselor would help him. He asked if I wanted him to go to a counselor and I said it was up to him. I need him to come up with a plan here. I want him to suggest marriage counseling, or talk about what we can do differently.

I will miss sleeping with him. No matter how bad things have gotten between us, we always snuggle, every night. (Well, most nights) We are perfectly matched for snuggling. Spooned together, like puzzle pieces.

"I know you're trying. I'm sorry I'm not responding the way you want me to." I said the other night.

"It's okay."

"I never meant to hurt you."

"I never meant to hurt you, either."

-

"You'll leave and you'll feel better because the pain will be gone, and I'll feel worse."

-

It's probably stupid, but I've been reading some of my "how to have an orgasm" books. I haven't been doing any of the exercises - sort of spectacularly not in the mood - but it's there in the back of my mind. Sex brought us to this point. I think at the core of our problems is the sex. The way we don't trust each other, the rejection, the sex. How many times have one or the other of us said "I wish sex just didn't exist" That's been a common refrain for years. If we were both asexual, I think we'd be great together.

But we're not.

Someday I really, really, really want to have an orgasm.

separating

I think that we just decided to separate.

At one point, I asked Chris "how do you feel?"

"Like my marriage is ending."

It's surreal.

I'm not really sure exactly what's happening, but I know that it feels like a relief. That may not last very long. But for now, it feels like relief.

There are a lot of things to think through. Rent here is really high, and I'll need another job. The pets are high-maintenance, and will be hard to find accommodation for.

Plus, I need to figure out if this is actually, really, truly, seriously, for REALZ what I want.

(I can tell you right now what I want - L. However.)

Also, and interestingly, we had sex twice today, and neither time was painful, and both times were after the Talk. So. There's that. That's got to be an indicator that this is the right choice.

I think I should feel guilty? Miserable?

I'm sure it will come.

Right now, I feel closer to Chris, and less resentful, than I have in years. Years.

The whole thing was so calm and non-combative. He was the one who first brought up the topic of divorce.

He doesn't want me to go, but wants me to be happy. I'm not sure if my happy is here, or out there. I have to work on that. I think I need to find a counselor, asap.

Idea

I am going to write my fictional life.

The hot, sexy one. The one that involves hours of sex in the afternoon, and seriously hot foreplay.

That life.

The one that I want.

Having all these fantasies over the last week has felt really good, and I want to keep it this way.

So. L. My fictional lover.

He's absolutely amazing in bed.

Gamble

I have been talking about sex a lot.

I've been thinking about sex a lot.

My fantasy life has been off-the-rails these last couple weeks, a non-stop lust-fest in my head.

When I talk about sex, when I talk about my marriage, it's always about how horrible everything is. The constant fighting. The rejection. The fact that I want to get laid but it never happens.

Obviously that's not the whole story - Chris and I have been together nearly a decade - 8 years! - and we do love each other and we are, in many ways, a good pair. But whenever I talk about it...

The problem, one of the problems, is that it feels so hopeless. We aren't really sexually compatible, or at least that's how it feels and that's what he's said many times. The question was posed earlier - does he know that I don't like sex when I first wake up or when I'm falling asleep? Yes! I don't even know how many times I've said it, but yes. He knows. It just doesn't factor in.

For a while I thought that foreplay would solve the problem (I still think that foreplay is a critical missing element) so I said things like "let's make out for half an hour before we have sex", because just saying "let's make out" wasn't clear enough and we ended up in the same position of kiss, grope, fuck within ten minutes and damn it, that just doesn't work for me. So I said "half an hour" Rather than it helping, it caused all kinds of problems. I was "setting too many rules" etc, etc.

Thinking about it makes me angry.

There are all these exercises we're supposed to do, things that have been given to me by counselors, or to us by the person we were seeing together. Have we done them? No.

Thinking about that makes me angry, too.

Lately I have been turned on a lot. I keep thinking about sex, and wanting it. It keeps me up at night, wakes me up in the morning.

Chris can tell something is different and he's been responding to me. I don't know how I feel about that. I feel like maybe this could be a good thing for our marriage, but then I also feel like maybe the fact that I can respond like this to someone else indicates that there's something wrong between us. And, ugh, I can't believe I wrote that and am thinking it.

I've been thinking so much about starting over. I'm not the same person I was eight years ago, and I feel trapped and helpless in my life. We've had a really bad few months, the fighting has been almost non-stop.

The day after I saw L., Sunday, I had the whole day off. This doesn't happen, ever. The last time was months ago, and the next time is May 10. Chris had plans to get together with a friend for video games - the same friend he sees almost weekly to play a whole day of games with. I asked if he would cancel and spend the day with me, and he said no.

It's not the first time, it won't be the last time, and I just can't get over it. He apologized when he realized how upset I was (but still spent the day with his friend) but I can't get over it. I can't get past the fact that he set his priorities out for me right there, like he has many times in the past. Do I want that marriage? The one where it's comfortable and predictable and passionless? The one where I'm not the priority? The one that's so good in some ways and so horribly soul-crushing in others? Is there any other kind? Can I gamble on finding something better, or do I instead gamble on making this better?

Fuck.

I have a new theme song.

Stop Thinking About It
Joey Ramone

Stop thinking about it
Stop thinking about it
Stop thinking about it
Stop thinking about it
Dwelling is driving me crazy
Obsessing don't you know where that's at
Yeh, you don't know what you want but you want it

Stop thinking about it (4x)

This world is driving you crazy
Baby don't you know where that's at
Yeh, you don't know what you want but you want it

Oh oh oh oh oh you don't know what you want but you want it

Stop thinking about it (4x)

Ahh nothing lasts forever
And nothing stays the same
Feeling numb all over
And totally deranged
When you finally make your mind up
I'll be buried in my grave

O yeah o yeah o yeah
Allright

You don't know what you want
You don't know what you need
You don't know what you want but you want it

E-mail

Every time she sent a message, it was awkward. Was he flirting with her? Did she want him to be flirting? She was certain that he found her weird at best, irritating and stalker-like at worst. She kept meaning to just drop it, leave it alone, but every time she was on her computer she checked if he was online, sent him a message. She couldn’t seem to help herself. Every message had the same subtext - “I want you. I want you. I want you.”

It shocked her, but on the off chance he felt even remotely the same, she kept sending silly messages. I want you, I want you, I want you. She couldn’t go more than an hour without imagining him. Imagining him kissing her, touching her, pushing her against a wall and having his way with her…

She was married. She loved her husband, and her husband was a good man. Their marriage was mostly comfortable - they didn’t have sex often or well, they fought a lot, but it was the way it was. Normal. Routine. She thought she was okay with that, okay with her sexless life and the predictability of it. She hadn’t been looking for anything, but she had definitely found it.

Since meeting L. her dreams had become vivid and erotic. Her stomach flipped just thinking about him. She came up with plan after plan for how it would work out.

They would go for coffee. His foot would find hers under the table and she’d catch her breath, look down at her cup, slowly feel inch after inch of leg sliding between hers. In her fantasy all it took was one brief touch and she was melting into her chair. Then his hand would brush across hers. Their eyes would lock. They would both breath deeply, continue talking, his thumb stroking her hand, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, both thinking the same thing… and then they would be in the parking lot and his hands would be on her waist, her arms around his shoulders, her hands in his hair, his tongue in her mouth, probing, pressing, his body pushing her back against the car…

They would go to a movie. Their knees would touch in the crowded theater, and then their hands just barely brushing past each other… an accident, and then not an accident, and then his hand on her leg, his arm around her pulling her close, brushing the top of her head with his mouth, taking a breath, nibbling at her ear as she tried to stay quiet as a mouse, her hand sliding up his leg…

They would meet in the park. Walk for a while. Stop to observe the scenery or tie a shoelace or just… stop. He would be behind her, she would feel him there before he even touched her, his hand resting gently, hesitatingly on her waist. She would lean back, inviting, and his arms would slide around her. Quiet and slow and delicate, testing the waters. They would keep walking, holding hands, talking. When they finally kissed, it would be electric and unstoppable…

She ran over each scenario time and time again. Sitting at the table for lunch or dinner she would suddenly have a flash of desire and suck in a deep breath. In the shower she imagined him walking into the room, seeing her, wanting her.

It was all fantasy, though. She sent him e-mails and hoped for flirtation but just got blunt and impersonal responses. Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Sometimes his responses seemed to have some subtext… he called her “hun” and “babe” and every so often a message would catch her sideways and she’d feel the now-familiar flip and be pulled into a fantasy of sex and passion.

She thought maybe she was addicted to the fantasies. Her fantasy life had been so barren for so long - the arousal lasting only as long as the story or movie, seemingly incapable of inserting herself into even the most simple daydream. But this… this was heady and overpowering. She couldn’t pull herself out of the fantasy, and she loved it.

Old Friends

Ann’s life was good. She had friends, a great career, and was generally pretty happy. The only thing missing was romance, but she didn’t have time for that anyway. It’d been years since she’d even noticed guys on the street, let alone pursued anything. Sometimes she missed the passion and the thrill, but most of the time she was too busy to notice.

She’d gotten an e-mail earlier in the week from an old friend, wondering about getting a bunch of the old high school group together. She had a free afternoon after teaching her outdoor classes and was going to be in that part of the city anyway. She had no idea what she was in for.

She felt a tingle as soon as he walked in the door.

Their eyes locked for a split second and she caught her breath. He looked nothing like the gangly teenager he’d been ten years earlier. In a leather bomber, black t-shirt and jeans, he was tall, muscular, and gorgeous. Before she knew what was happening she was imagining running her fingers through his hair. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and bent to examine her boots.

He sat beside her on the couch and she was acutely aware of his leg just inches from hers. She was confused by the intensity of her reaction - usually she was so cool and collected!

The mini-reunion of their high school group was in honour of his few days in town. They chatted briefly, but she couldn’t stay long. As she got up to leave, he grabbed his lighter and came out with her.

Standing outside, she looked everywhere but at him. Every time she caught his eye, her breath caught in her throat. His lips were so luscious, so kissable. His hands were so masculine, she imaged them on her hips, her stomach. She was trying hard to stay cool, but she was desperately wishing she’d tidied up a bit more before coming. She hadn’t expected to be knocked over like this.

They made noises about getting together before he left town, but his girlfriend was flying in, her schedule was tight… When they hugged goodbye she broke away quickly, afraid that one more second of contact would make her do something stupid.

On the way home she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He looked so fucking gorgeous, and she couldn’t get him out of her head. She was imagining things she hadn’t thought about in months, years! It had been ten years since high school, and she’d spent a total of an hour with him, but somehow that had been enough to imprint the deep brown of his eyes in her mind, and she knew intimately the broadness of his shoulders, his height. She could imagine his kiss - smokey and deep. She could imagine a whole lot more than his kiss, if she tried.

The minute she got home, she sat down at her computer and opened her e-mail program.

“L -
It was great to see you this afternoon, sorry I had to rush off.
I’m working on my portfolio and I’d love to take your portrait. I’m willing to bribe you - dinner, drinks, you name it, I’m easy. What’s your price?
A”

Her stomach flipped. He had a girlfriend. He probably wasn’t interested. Still, it was just a photo shoot. He’d probably say no, anyway. No harm. She hit send.

Later that night, her program pinged.

“One kiss.”

A sudden rush flooded her.

“Done.”

When she finally got to sleep, she slept well. Her dreams were delicious.

-

Two days later they met in a picturesque park on a perfect day. The sky was dotted with white clouds, the air was warm, the light was perfect. She didn’t ask how he’d found time in his schedule, away from his girlfriend. She didn’t mention the meetings she’d cancelled.

As he got out of his truck she took a deep breath.

“So,” she said, nervous, “do you want payment now or later?”

She looked up and saw him gazing at her. His eyes were dark and deep and he leaned slightly forward before cupping her head in his big, calloused hands.

“Now.”

His lips covered hers and she melted against him. His black hair felt as soft under her fingers as she’d imagined, and her knees weakened as his tongue pressed gently but insistently against her lips. He tasted like cigarettes and coffee. His hands slid down her back and pressed her body against his. She could feel him harden against her stomach, and the kiss seemed to go on for hours. She hadn’t been so thoroughly kissed in years.

She finally broke away from him with a gasp, but her hands lingered on his chest for a moment.

“I guess we better take some pictures” she managed to choke out past the tightness in her throat.

“I guess so” he replied. He still tilted his head the way he had in high school, still smiled a little crooked. But he definitely wasn’t a teenager anymore, and neither was she. She bit her lip and smiled before turning away.

Looking at him through her lens he was even more handsome than she’d realized. Every so often they would touch, shoulders brushing as they walked to the next location, his hand on the small of her back as she hoisted herself over a log or boulder. Every touch sent an electric shock through her body, and she thanked the bright sun for allowing fast shutter speeds to hide the shake in her hands.

An hour later, he was sitting on a rock and she was trying to frame the shot. It just wasn’t working. He didn’t turn his head right, his hands were wrong… She came over to manually pose him like some kind of mannequin, laughing.

She touched his chin to move his head slightly and suddenly his hands were on her hips, pulling her onto his lap and his mouth was on hers, his tongue probing deeply. She moaned into his mouth and molded herself against him. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders and his hands slid effortlessly up her shirt.

He lifted her up, her legs wrapped around his waist as he moved to the grassy meadow. They lay down in the grass and he began to unbutton her shirt.

“This is more than one kiss” she murmured, gasping as his thumb grazed her nipple.

“I’ll let you take as many pictures as you want” he replied “but I’m going to have you right now.”

She pulled his shirt over his head and marveled at his perfect torso.

She grinned up at him, mischievous. “If I’d known you were going to turn out so well, I never would have passed up the opportunity all those years ago.”

He didn’t reply except to lower his head to her neck and drop kisses from her ear to her collarbone. His tongue flicked across her sensitive skin, leaving lines of fire. His jacket was soft under her back, and she arched up against his mouth. His hands were working at her belt, unzipping her jeans, pushing them past her hips.

She hadn’t felt like this in years.

Aftermath

"Are you having doubts about our marriage?"
"... I don't know..."
"That's a yes."

"Maybe we don't want to have sex. Maybe we reject each other subconsciously because we want to hurt each other."

"We're not sexually attracted to each other anymore."

"You may be comfortable with yourself and your sexuality, but you're not comfortable with me."

It was a long day. It went something like this -

We woke up, no alarm clock, happy and rested. We snuggled, he had "morning wood", we joked around, kissed, got up.

In the kitchen we made out. Danced around the topic. I didn't want to have sex yet, sleep shuts my libido down, but I was open to the idea later. It was unspoken, but it felt okay. We spent the morning hugging, touching, kissing.

We went our separate ways for a couple hours. I came back downstairs, feeling ready. Awkward - I don't do this often -

"I think we should..."
"What?"
"You know..."
"Get groceries?"
"No!" laughing
"Go out for dinner?"
"No... you know..."
"What?"
"Have sex!" catch in my throat, nervous
"Oh."
"It's okay if you don't want to. I won't take it personally."
"Okay."

Fizzle. He was tired, hungry, didn't want to. But it was okay, we were still having a good day. Things were tense, but not terrible.

We had a nap. I didn't want to nap, naps make me cranky and sluggish, but I did want to snuggle. We napped. The alarm went off. He wanted to have sex. I didn't. Before sleep or after sleep I have a really hard time getting turned on.

I said "I'm sleepy, I have a headache, not right now."

He said "Are you sure you don't want to have sex today?"

I said "I already asked you to have sex! I do want to have sex. Just not right now."

He kissed me. And kept kissing me. I turned my head away, tried to snuggle into his neck. It made me angry, I felt like I was just a body. Eventually we got up.

Did our own thing for a while. He was seething, I was confused. He made dinner. I half-heartedly tried to initiate sex. I did feel better, and I did want to have sex, but it wasn't sincere like it had been earlier. He was angry, upset that I had rejected him twice, didn't want anything to do with me.

We spent the evening in opposite corners.

When we spoke, it was ugly.

"Are you having doubts about our marriage?"
".... I don't know..."
"That's a yes."

Lab work

“So we’re just going to do the pap and then we’ll discuss your lab results.”

I was a tangle of nerves all the way in. I somehow convinced myself that I wouldn’t actually have to do the pap because the blood work would be so conclusive and we wouldn’t need anything else. Ha. Hahahaha. No.

The nurse was great, let me babble on about my job (I love my job, and am an entrepreneur and maybe a little bit of an expert in my area of specialty.) She kept me distracted from the goings on in my nether regions. It was actually less painful than most of my past experiences. I would even call it “uncomfortable” rather than “excruciating”, and I didn’t even cry.

I got dressed and sat back down. Lab results. I was excited.

Do I have a thyroid problem? It’s very possible! All signs point to possible thyroid problem!

Do I have a hormonal imbalance? It could be hormonal. Maybe I have low iron and a chronic, underlying infection! There are so many potential causes for my low sex drive. At the end of this appointment, I thought, I’ll have a prescription and a little pill to take and all will be well. I was giddy at the thought of a thyroid condition.

The doctor came back in, with my chart.

“Your blood work came back normal. All normal. Thyroid is normal, hormone levels are normal, iron is normal, blood sugar - all normal."

He looked apologetic.

“So I think it’s the depression.”

And wrote me a prescription for Effexor.

Body as metaphor

To say that I am uncomfortable with the inner workings of my body would be a gross understatement. My phobia extends far beyond needles and blood, and as I said to my counselor at one point - “I wish I stopped at the skin.”

“What would be inside you?” she asked.

“Blue goo.” I replied.

I was only barely joking.

I’ve never been able to take my pulse. I skipped multiple mandatory vaccinations in school and I can’t even think about things like a heartbeat or an injection without shuddering. I’ve been this way as long as I can remember. It was a running joke in my family that all you had to do was say “blood” and I’d turn white as a sheet and cringe. It’s ironic because my mom is a nurse and I’m the only one in my family with this issue. I don’t think it’s a learned behaviour, although you could look at unintentional reinforcers such as attention or reassurance for phobic behaviour. More often I’ve been ridiculed for it, though, so I doubt that’s the case.

In terms of costs and benefits, this fear has been extremely expensive. It doesn’t make any kind of sense, especially the more extreme elements of it such as not being able to take my own pulse and anxiety over things like getting my blood pressure checked. Those fears are just ridiculous. Needles, surgery, blood coming out of my body - those fears make some sort of sense, but the rest of it is just wacky. I know that a grown woman should not have this issue, and trust me - if you’re thinking “Damn, Ann. Get over it.” - I’m thinking the same thing and more. I don’t understand the fear, and if I could make it go away by taking a deep breath and smiling, I would.

My plan was to go in and be fearless. I pictured myself laughing and joking, the nurse never realizing there was a problem. This blood work represents an important part of the process for me. If there is something happening with hormones or thyroid or whatever, it needs to be addressed. Making the effort to rule out any medical causes for the low libido and pain during sex is a sign of my commitment to this thing. When I started the process I said “whatever it takes” and I meant it. I want to figure this out. I want to fix it. I want to enjoy sex, and feel sexy, and just feel comfortable in my own body. (Obviously I have my work cut out for me.)

The plan worked until they signed me in, and then I sat in the waiting room and got progressively more upset. Foot twitching, hands clenching and unclenching, jaw so tight I couldn’t pry it open to save my life. I was trying to smile and breathe deeply, but I suspect it was more like grimacing and hyperventilating. The shoulder of the arm that the blood was drawn from (six vials) still hurts from tensing up so much before and during the process. I nearly gagged when I looked over and saw someone gesturing to their veins while talking to a nurse. There are situations more embarrassing than realizing that the five year old next to you is doing about 300 times better than you are, but not many.

I started to cry as the nurse put her gloves on, and when I said “I’m sorry, I don’t do very well with needles” she told me she had sort of gotten that vibe already. Ha. She was fantastic, though. Chatty, encouraging, understanding. I appreciated it.

I suspect that my issues with sex are somehow, at least partially, tied to this fear. Certainly my inability to be “comfortable in my own skin” is connected by my complete inability to deal with my body.

In high school I had an issue with my whole body, inside and out. I wore long sleeved shirts and ankle-length skirts for years. I remember going outside in a short sleeved shirt while on vacation. I had to wait until my family had already left the room, then I got changed, walked out the door, imagined anyone who looked at me laughing, and walked right back in to put on something less revealing. I have thankfully gotten over that particular issue (there were days when I thought I was going to die of heat exhaustion!) but I’ve only ever gotten as far as accepting the outside. The rest of it… well, sometimes I really would prefer blue goo. No systems, just filler. I imagine life as being so much easier without all the inner workings. No pain, no pulse, no bizarre and upsetting things going on beneath the surface.

“Bizarre and upsetting things going on beneath the surface” pretty much sums up my issue, really.

Body as metaphor.

The more I write, the more I realize how small my sexual dysfunction is in the ocean of my general dysfunction. Yikes.

I wonder if that’s true for other people who suffer from some form of dysfunction or disorder. Does it feel like when you start to examine one problem, you just keep finding others?

Sometimes I feel like I’m going down the rabbit hole with this whole exploration of my sexuality, like I’ve opened a door that really should have stayed shut. Despite appearances in this blog, I am a successful, functional person. I have friends, a stable, committed marriage, and I’ve reached many of my personal goals. But there are bizarre and upsetting things going on beneath the surface.

I can only hope that this is one step on the path, and not the whole journey. It always seems like you have to make a mess before you can really clean up. The knots always seem to get tighter before they untangle. Surely that’s what this is.

Blood work and depression

I had a meet and greet with my new doctor. I have a follow-up on the 12th. He’s friendly, and seems very open to discussing what might be going on. As soon as he looked at my history he suggested medication, specifically Wellbutrin. Although it can increase anxiety, which could be a very bad thing for me, it can increase libido and is an antidepressant.

It’s been years since the term “depressed” was one that I would label myself with. But. My mom is much happier now that she’s on Celexa. I have a history of depression. He might be right.

I feel very uncomfortable saying I have a “history of depression.” I think of people like Dooce when I think of mental illness. It seems to me that I’m just poorly equipped to deal with life in general, and that doesn’t count as a mental illness. My episodes in high school, and maybe even since, seem like whiny patheticness rather than a true illness. I haven’t earned the label of “depressed” - I’m just faking it or making excuses or something. It’s distressing to feel like you can’t even be depressed properly, but I guess that’s part of the problem.

I’m still looking for a counselor. I’m not looking very hard, but I am looking. I know I need to be seeing someone, but it feels like it’s too much.

I’m in a pretty bad space right now. I’ve had a migraine (damn weather) and I have to get blood work done tomorrow. The thought of needles makes me extremely uncomfortable. My stomach clenches, all my muscles tense, and my arms hurt in anticipation. Needles are nothing, though, compared to the thought of blood coming out of me. It gives me the shivers just thinking about it. And of course, I can’t stop thinking about it.

I’m being tested for all kinds of things - thyroid, glucose levels, endocrine stuff…

On the one hand, I’m happy that we’re looking into this stuff. I’m really happy that I finally seem to have found a doctor who believes me, who takes me seriously and who immediately came up with possible solutions. He didn’t even suggest that maybe I just need some marriage counseling, and I appreciated that more than I can even express.

On the other hand… needles! Blood! I think I’m going to throw up.

Dinner party

It would be a good idea, if you're having a dinner party, to tidy up a bit.  

Leaving "Heidi's Bedtime Stories, Erotic Quickies for Men and Women" on the counter, bookmarked to a couple favorites, is probably not wise.

Leaving "Reclaiming Your Sexual Self" in the downstairs bathroom; bookmarked, highlighted, dog-eared and underlined, is just downright awkward.

But using the results of the "Determine the Source of Your Sexual Dysfunction" quiz as the bookmark?

All I can say is, it's a good thing that I didn't realize what I'd done until after everybody left.

Relax already

Just over a week ago I realized that I couldn't do it anymore.  I couldn't think about sex, I couldn't masturbate, I couldn't watch porn, I couldn't write about sex, I couldn't read about sex, I couldn't do anything related to sex.  Nothing.  There was a big wall, and I slammed into it a few times before I gave up.

Giving up was awesome.  I went back to myself.  Sex didn't even cross my mind for days at a time and I loved it.  I know myself when I feel like that, it's comfortable and welcoming.  I thought about the blog, but I didn't feel right about posting the daily grind.  That's not the point, and it would be easy to just do that and pretend that I never had a lofty, important goal when I started this thing (oh these many... err... weeks, ago.)

It turns out my wall may have been partially hormonal, but I suspect it was also a lot of change all at once.  I was attempting to go from zero to sixty in not a lot of time.

However, even though my time over the last little bit hasn't been sex-focused at all, it was not wasted.  I've made a doctor's appointment, and on Wednesday I'll be going in for the meet-and-greet.  My plan is to lay my cards on the table right up front, no dithering and pretending nothing's wrong.  

I'm going to say something along the lines of - "I haven't had a physical in almost three years, because the last time I did it hurt so much I cried.  Every time I've had a physical since I was about 19, it's been incredibly painful.  I also suffer from sexual dysfunction, which is at least partially related to the pain.  I want to find out what's wrong, so I would like to get my hormone levels checked, my thyroid, all the standard blood work.  I am phobic of needles, so if we can do everything in one session that would be awesome.  My last doctor thought I was a hypochondriac and told me everything was in my head.  She may be right, but I want to rule out physical causes as well."

I am not going to be brushed off this time.  I allowed my previous doctor to make me feel really stupid, and I wasn't able to take myself seriously for a long time.  This time, I'm going to wear my Wonder Woman shirt, my Wonder Woman belt buckle and my Wonder Woman purse.  Inside my purse I am going to put my Buffy gum-tin, and surely some of the awesome will rub off on me.

I also made a call to find a counsellor in my area.  I've been having anxiety attacks again, and I suspect they're related to the sex stuff.  Since the anxiety spiked at the same time my ability to deal with sex plummeted, I don't think it's such a stretch to see a link.  (Although I do think the cause and effect may be a bit murky.)

I also decided that the giving up was temporary.  It was a breather, not a surrender.  This is an important process, and although I am not totally defined by my sexuality, I want to be comfortable with it.  

How to Avoid Having Sex

There's food on my vibrator.  BBQ sauce, splatters of hot chocolate... Sounds kinky, right?  You might question my gastronomical discernment (BBQ + chocolate?) but sex and food just go together.

You might think so, but you would be wrong in this case.

There is a certain skill that I have acquired over the years.  The act of sex, the lead-up to sex, even the thought of sex is so mixed and often so unpleasant, that one of the most critical coping skills I've learned is how to make things that are sexy, not be sexy anymore.  

It's not an option to just say "no" when Chris makes a sexual advance.  For one thing, saying no too often leads to all kinds of corollary damage.  It's not just the sex that's being rejected, it's Chris.  Whether I mean to or not, that's the way it comes across.  For another, saying "no" forces me to confront the issue.  Sexual dysfunction can arrive suddenly or it can creep up slowly, and either way it is not something easy to face or pleasant to deal with.  So there needs to be an alternative.

Thankfully, it's not that hard to makes things not be sexy.

First, you take something that is naturally paired with sex, such as food, lingerie, stripping, or kissing.  Even something as seemingly unambiguous as copping a feel.  

Then you slowly, methodically, consistently pair that thing with something that is the opposite of sexy.  You wear your lingerie when your partner has made it clear that sex is not on the table.  You turn away from a kiss to burp, or giggle, or make an inappropriate joke.  You flash your partner at odd times.  

If there's the threat of sex, it is not uncommon to hear "Do you wanna see my boobs?" and see me hoist my shirt over my head for a second.  It serves two purposes.  One, it is not sexual at all and two, more importantly, when I put my shirt back down I can do it with finality and then I can turn away.  Rather than acknowledging the sparkle in my love's eye, I can defuse the situation before it goes too far.

Which brings us back to the food on my vibrator.

I didn't actually realize what I was doing when I plugged my vibrator into the kitchen outlet.  I guess I just... well, I don't know what I was thinking, but I wasn't thinking about any kind of systematic de-sexualization of my vibrator.

I'm in a dangerous position right now.  I'm thinking about sex more, I'm writing about it, even watching it.  I'm reading about it both in the "heal yourself" books and the "get off quick" books, neither of which have delivered on their promises as yet.  Still, I remain committed to the process.  My arousal level is higher than it's been in years.  

But things are still not okay.  Chris and I had sex the day I watched the porn.  It didn't hurt much, and it was actually pretty awesome.  It felt good, I felt good, I know Chris felt good.

Half an hour later, I crashed.  I didn't want to touch Chris, didn't want him to touch me.  I felt sad and lonely and worthless and overwhelmed.  When we have bad sex I just feel bad, and in some ways I would have preferred that.  This feeling of dread and impending humiliation was more than I could handle.

I know that it's part of the process.  That the problem is not that I don't know how to be sexual, the problem is that I know exactly how to be sexual - inside out and backwards.  I'm not a blank slate, beginning my sexual education.  There are deep patterns engraved in my behaviour and my emotions, and they won't change overnight.

So plugging the vibrator in the kitchen outlet, and asking Chris how I look right before telling him I have to pee... those things, dysfunctional as they are, serve a purpose.  They help me avoid the situations I can't handle yet.  I just hope I'll be able to recognize when those behaviours are no longer needed.

I'm moving the vibrator up to the bedroom.  It's not much, but it's a step.

Hello, penis (and goodbye porn virginity)

There I was, holding a tall stack of books with titles like "How To Have an Orgasm" and "Hot Monogamy." Across the aisle, the older gentleman I'd recently met at a seminar saw me. He had been in the children's section, which was mysteriously placed adjacent to the sexuality and self-help books. As he and his son came over to say hello, I quickly hugged the books to my chest, hoping that my skinny arms would hide the embarrassing titles. We chatted briefly, and neither of us acknowledged the books slowly sliding out of my clutches. I hiked them up a few inches as inconspicuously as possible.

As he walked away, I breathed a sigh of relief and glanced down - there, in bright pink letters, unmistakable and easily read at half a block's distance - Porn-o-pho-bic. Awesome. He totally didn't notice that at all.  

I have quite the collection of women's sexuality titles. I've bought everything from self-help to erotica, but I didn't have any porn, and to be honest I was a little afraid of it. Every experience with sexual dysfunction is different, and ranges from the medical to the emotional. For me there's a whole lot of shame and embarrassment bundled up in my dysfunction, and the idea of porn just seemed a little too intense. I'm trying to get over that shame so when I saw Ayn Carrillo-Gailey's book "Pornology" I had to buy it.  

It was my first foray into the world of porn. (Okay, it was actually someone else's foray into the world of porn, but that's a minor detail.) While my sister had been getting grounded for reading Playboy behind the house with the neighbour kids, I'd been cooped up inside dealing with depression and a serious case of outcast-itis. My sexuality developed in a bubble of isolation, misinformation, and some serious self-image problems. Although I couldn't relate to Carrillo-Gailey's light and breezy approach to sexuality, I loved reading about it. It was the first time I seriously thought about watching a porno.  

Months later, I was engaging in a little retail therapy at Babeland, and noticed the Porn Starter Kit in their gift section. A book, two DVDs... how could I go wrong? Hadn't I been waiting for just this opportunity?  

I clicked "Add to Cart" and waited for my package to arrive.  

When it did arrive, I almost threw a DVD in the player right away. I was nervous, excited, a little scared. What if I hated it? What if I loved it? What if it turned me on? What if it didn't? It could prove that I am totally normal, or it could prove that I'm some kind of frigid freak, totally incapable of arousal. The pressure was too much. I put the DVD under my nightstand and decided to read the book instead.  

I skipped ahead to the chapter "I was a porn virgin." I am a porn virgin, I thought. This is the chapter for me. One of the mandates was that prior to watching my first porn, I should get to know myself a bit. Grab a mirror, explore my girly bits, feel around for what feels good and what doesn't.  

Here's where I have to make a confession.  

I don't know how to masturbate.  

I know where my clit is. I think masturbation is awesome (for other people) and I definitely don't think it's dirty. I just don't like to touch myself. Touching myself feels weird. Touching myself sexually feels... vulnerable. It's silly because, what am I going to do? Dump myself if I go to third base? But I'm way more comfortable with a vibrator rather than my hands, and I'd prefer to leave the mirrors on the wall where they belong. Nobody needs to know what's going on down there. It's best left under the covers.  

So I skipped that bit of advice.  

I decided I'd watch my first porn on my next day off. I could handle it. How bad could it be? Lots of people don't like porn. If it didn't turn me on, all that would mean is that I don't like porn. And if I did like it, well, that would be great. Another tool in the toolbox, as it were.  

The big day arrived. A whole day off, booked especially for watching porn. Porn. Porn that was made for "women who love and enjoy men." Porn that was sure to arouse. Porn that would feature actual people having actual sex and actually getting off.  

I woke up with a massive headache and a seriously cranky mood. I did not want to watch porn. I did not want to think about sex. I wanted to just watch regular, safe, graphically violent TV and leave the sex in other people's bedrooms.  

Around noon I decided that I needed to watch the movie. I had a shower, put on my ugly blue bathrobe, took off my ugly blue bathrobe and put on my slinky black one, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, sat on my bed, went into the living room, went back upstairs to get the DVD, came downstairs, went back upstairs to get the book, came back downstairs, sat on the couch, got a glass of water, opened the DVD case, surfed the web, drank some water, got my vibrator and some lube, surfed the web some more, put the DVD in the player and sat on the couch. Took a deep breath. Pressed play. 

.  

It wasn't that bad. In fact, there were moments when it was hilarious and moments when it was truly arousing. That was a new and delightful combination for me. Laughing at sex, rather than laughing at myself! Feeling aroused. It was exciting.  

It was also graphic. Lots of penises, lots of vaginas! Not a lot of body hair. Although I am not nearly as toned (and definitely not as well-endowed) as the actresses, it was sort of liberating to see the variations in their appearance. I'm a little less frightened to look at myself, and I'm a little less worried about touching myself.  

Obviously I've got a long way to go. One porn movie can't fix years of dysfunction. But I do think it's a step on the path, one more experience that will help shake loose the confident, sexy, sensual woman that I have to believe is lurking inside this timid, repressed shell.  

Hello, gigantic penises! Bring on the facials!

.

This was my first post over at BlogHer.

Velvet Thrust - first impressions

Holy fuck (ha!) those people are flexible.

Some of the oral sex looked both awkward and uncomfortable.  I did not understand the whole "shake head back and forth on clit" thing, although that may be lack of experience.  Also, sucking on the clit?  How is that not painful?  I am tragically inexperienced when it comes to cunnilingus, though, so I'm obviously not the best judge.

Most of the fellatio just looked awkward, but there was one scene where the girl seemed to really enjoy doing it, and that was hot.

There was more foreplay in any given scene than there has been in almost any of my sexual encounters.  That's sad.

I was very uncomfortable with the ejaculation scenes.  I do not understand the appeal.

The toy scenes were hot.  Except where the sleeve kept wanting to come off and he had to wrestle it back on.  That was just funny.

The scene where the guy kept pulling back too much and popping out, and the girl made surprised (but not in a sexy way) noises, was hilarious.  "Oooo, Ooooooh, Ooooo, huh?  Ooooo, oooooooo, huh?"  

I can see why Julian is one of the "hottest men in adult entertainment."  He's attractive, and he looks like he enjoys himself for the most part.

The music really is as bad as they say.

I can't remember ever seeing a vagina up close like that.  It was interesting.  I'm a little less afraid to look at my own after that, not as worried that I'm freakishly deformed.

I did not get off, but I did get turned on.  Actually, I was surprised how arousing it was.  The first scene was so bad, and the oral sex was just never-ending and didn't do anything for me, but I was pleasantly surprised by my reaction to some of the other scenes.

It would be a lot hotter if everyone looked like they were enjoying themselves.  The scenes that were most arousing were the ones where the actors got noisy and looked authentic.  

The scene where the girl hid her yawn behind her hair was not hot.  But it was funny.

All in all, not a wasted hour.

Retail Therapy

A few months ago Chris and I had a bad night.  He wanted to have sex, and we hadn't in months.  I felt guilty.  Didn't want to, but didn't want to say no.  

Sex often hurts even when I'm very turned on.  When I'm not, it can be excruciating.  Most of the time it takes about 24 hours from the first sexual advance for me to feel ready, and even then there's no guarantee that my body will cooperate.  When I'm aroused but my body doesn't want to play along, lube helps.  When I'm not, there's not enough Sliquid in the world.  

I wasn't, and I should have said no.  

Why didn't I?  There are many reasons.

• Chris was vulnerable.  After years of his sexual advances being rejected, he doesn't make them very often anymore.  I appreciate when he does take the risk, and I want him to know that.  I didn't want to reject him again.
• Conflict avoidance is also a big part of why I didn't say no.  Chris always respects my decision, but it's not easy feeling rejected over and over, and he has not always been nice about it.  There have been some ugly things said in the past.
• Guilt.
• Shame.
• Defiance.  "Normal" women can have sex whether they feel like it or not and it works out just fine.  It's estimated that one third of North American women have low sex drive, and yet the majority of those women continue to have sex with their partner.  Obviously I can do it if I just make my mind up.  (Except, I can't.)

We talked about it, and it is a sign of how far we've come that it didn't turn into a fight.  We didn't blame each other - him blaming me for being this way, me blaming him for not knowing to stop/not start.  We are in this together, working through it.  In some ways I felt it was a good thing.

A month or two later, I tried to initiate sex.  I'd been really making an effort to increase my sex drive by trying to think about sex a lot, reading erotica, trying to masturbate.  It was working, I wanted to have sex.

Chris said no.  

It sent me into a tailspin.  I felt ashamed and extremely vulnerable.  My attempt had not been subtle at all - I was wearing lingerie and waiting at the door.  When he said no, I felt exposed in every sense of the word.  I had spent the whole afternoon making sure I would be ready, I'd been planning the attempt for days.  I looked hot, I felt hot, I was hot.  And then I was very, very cold.

When we talked about it, Chris said that he just didn't want to have sex.  The last time had been too much, he didn't want to hurt me like that, didn't want to risk it going wrong again.  It's not like we've only had that one painful experience.  When we were in marriage counseling he said that he could always tell when it was painful, even when I didn't say anything, and that he hated that sex with him was so unpleasant for me.  He'd made the decision that taking sex out of the equation would be the best thing for our marriage.  There was no blame, no anger, just a decision he'd come to.  

I respected his choice, and appreciated the kind and respectful way he presented it to me.  But I wasn't happy about it.  I felt like it was further evidence of my "permanently damaged" status.  

The next day I visited Babeland.  $300 later I put my credit card back in my wallet and sat back.  There's something to say for retail therapy, and I needed a replacement for my Mini Gallant anyway.

• Lap of Luxury kit, with the Form 6 vibrator, a bottle of Entice lube, three condoms, and a small bottle of toy cleaner
• Porn Starter kit, with The Smart Girl's Guide to Porn and two DVDs - Stuntgirl and Velvet Thrust
• Heidi's Bedtime Stories
• Best Women's Erotica '07
• Best of the Best Women's Erotica

I've never watched porn before.  I've seen some pretty hot sex scenes in movies, but I've never seen an actual pornographic movie.  One of the chapters in the Smart Girl's Guide has to do with what to do for your first porn experience.  She recommends setting the scene by taking a bath or shower, making sure there are no distractions, and having lube, a toy, a towel and the remote handy.  I have tomorrow off, so I think I'll make my first foray into the world of porn.  Velvet Thrust looks a little less intimidating than Stuntgirl, based on the box.

Obviously, retail therapy is not going to solve the problem.  And it would be easy to get into a pattern of using erotica/porn (assuming the porn turns me on) without ever addressing the underlying issues.  Still, sex is supposed to be fun!  It can't be all serious, all the time.

I will report back on the porn.

Not built like a yogini

This morning I went to yoga.  

I was late (I am always running late, it seems) and I almost didn't go in.  Couldn't find parking, and when I got there they had already started.  A room full of mostly elderly women, sitting on chairs doing breathing exercises.  I poked my head in the door, then backed out.  Put my boots back on, zipped my jacket up and started to head for the door.  

The instructor had seen me, though, and came out to say hello and tell me to come in.  She's really nice, the same instructor who was here the first time I came, a few months ago.  People scooted over to make room for me and I finally settled in.

"Gentle yoga" is for people who have an injury, arthritis, or pain.  The poses are mostly modified, really easy, designed to be as gentle on the body as possible.  Still, I had to modify the already modified exercises.  My hips are so tight I can't sit cross-legged, so hip opening exercises are agony.  Weak wrists mean I can't do downward dog or tabletop except on my forearms.  I couldn't touch my toes if my life depended on it.  It was embarrassing.

Still, I did it.

My guess is that I'll need to go multiple times a week to really see a benefit.  I can do gentle yoga on Monday mornings and a beginner hatha class on Wednesdays, and hopefully that will help me get in touch with my body.  They've got an unlimited pass for $50 for January, and I think I'll pick that up when I go Wednesday.  (Today was free because it was my second class.)

It would be pretty awesome if I became flexible and strong (two words never used to describe my physical state) in the pursuit of my sexuality.  I could be "hot" in so many ways.  

Reclaiming Your Sexual Self

Reclaiming Your Sexual Self has been sitting on my bookshelf for years now.  Like so many of the books I've purchased, I never read it.  I was collecting the tools necessary to deal with the problem, but never using them.  Reading about "how you can bring desire back into your life" is an admission that desire is lacking.  Although it's obvious that it is lacking, it's so hard to say it out loud.  Taking action is a scary thing.  Looking yourself in the mirror and saying "I have a problem, I want to fix it" is so very, very difficult.  This is true regardless of the problem.

I picked it up last night.  I couldn't deal with For Yourself - I don't have a handheld mirror, for one thing, and anyway I'm supposed to be answering some questions at this point.  The questions are difficult, and it had been a long day.  I'm committed to this thing, though, so I wanted to do something.  

I'm glad I picked it up, because it is fantastic.  I'm into chapter four now, and have even had the highlighter out.  Her description of what this is like really struck a chord for me.  

"Feeling asexual in a sexual world is a difficult and alienating experience.  It's like living in a foreign country and not speaking the language or being the only one not getting the joke.  Most people don't understand how upsetting it is to lack sexual passion for someone you love."  

It is alienating.  It is upsetting and difficult.  

The thing I like most about the book, though, is that it's not a pity party.  The tone is brisk and upbeat, encouraging.  She seems to say, "We've established that this is difficult, now let's move on."

There is a strong emphasis on finding balance.  Sexual desire does not exist in a vacuum - there is no bubble around a person's sexuality that separates it from the rest of their life.  My therapist also emphasized finding balance, especially in the mind-body connection.  The focus was on learning to listen to my body and accurately interpret what it was saying.

I am a very tense person, so much so that I once pulled a muscle in my jaw because I tensed up in anticipation of a needle.  Since adolescence I've had a tendency towards depression and self-destructive behaviour.  

I am also not very balanced, literally or figuratively.  Poor hand-eye coordination, lack of proprioception, weak immune system, almost constant pain (migraines, back/neck/shoulder pain, hip pain), lack of flexibility... These are all things I've lived with throughout my life, and are probably contributors to my lack of a healthy sexuality.

In chapter three of the book there is a quiz to help determine the possible source of the problem.  25 true or false questions.  My results:

- Control and Power, 3/7

- Intimacy, 3/8

- Sexual Self-Esteem, 3/7

- Stress, 2/6

- Unresolved Anger, 5/8

- Sexual Dysfunction, 6/6

- Trauma, 2/3

- Abuse, 0/1

As I was scoring myself, I had an interesting response.  At Stress, when I again scored less than half, my stomach knotted up and I almost stopped.  I had the intense and overwhelming feeling that I was just being ridiculous.  Obviously there is nothing wrong with me.  It's all in my head, as so many people have told me.  The numbers don't lie, and there's nothing there to indicate that there's a real problem.  I clearly do not really want to "fix" this, because there's nothing wrong.  I'm just frigid and I'll always be that way.

I'm glad I didn't stop, and I thought it was worth noting the response.  Negative self-talk is an extremely powerful force, the constant barrage of "you're so stupid, you're so ugly, you're so worthless" will undermine any attempt to heal.  I don't know what I would have done if all the results had come back indicating mild problems in a variety of areas but nothing definite.  I would like to think that I've become strong enough to look at it and say "there is a problem, and I am going to fix it."  But I'm not sure.  

It's hard to trust yourself when you feel constantly betrayed.  I feel like my body is a traitor, always working against me.  

The oppositional reflex is what keeps you upright when someone bumps against you.  It's what happens in tug-of-war.  It keeps you in balance, but it's a very tense, fragile balance.  There's no stability, and it is by nature reactive.  There is a very combative, oppositional relationship between my body and mind.  My mind says "I will beat you into submission" and my body says "fuck off."  Nobody wins.

UPS

I loved the Mini Gallant.  So small, so purple, so non-threateningly cute.

It was the first vibrator I owned that I really enjoyed.  I think I've mentioned my fear of the Rabbit Habit (that thing's huge!) and my Silver Bullet is a little too intense.

The Mini Gallant, though, was perfect.  

It takes weeks of preparation, several rituals and the correct alignment of the moon and planets for me to have the drive to even begin to masturbate, and to have a really pleasant session, well... it probably happens a few times a year.  I had one such session with my Mini Gallant.  

Mid-morning, it was probably on a Wednesday (my day off), and I was feeling good.  I read some erotica, played a fantasy-reel in my head, and had a very pleasant time.  It was one of those times when I could almost push myself over the edge - body tense, pushing up against the vibrator.  

Afterwards, I had a fabulous shower, washed my hair, toweled off and came back into the room, a spring in my step.  I had no idea the horror that awaited me.  

There, on the floor, was my beloved Mini Gallant, repurposed as a dog toy.  My dog looked up at me, wagged his tail, and went back to gnawing on the toy.  

I rescued Mini before it was chewed to bits, but the damage was done.  It was covered in puncture marks and the motor wheezed.  Not that I could have used it after that, anyway.  No amount of cleaner would be enough to wash my brain of the sight of my purple vibrator between my dogs paws.

It's been quite a while.  But there's a UPS package waiting for me, and I'm going to get started on those rituals right away.

Things to read

I consider myself a feminist.  It bothers me that our culture has such a twisted view of sex and of women, and that the sexism seems to have just gone underground rather than disappearing.    

Chris and I were discussing video games the other day.  He was playing Call of Duty 4, which if I understand it correctly has two groups of Bad Guys - the Arabs and the Russians.  I almost choked, and we got to talking about that.  About how if you live in a predominantly white area and the only time you see people in ethnic dress you're supposed to shoot them, how does that affect you in your everyday life?  You might know that it's just a game, but it's still training your brain to see the world a certain way.

He pointed out the portrayal of gender relations in games is even more fucked up than the racial stuff.  

I don't know a whole lot about video games.  I don't play them (although I did try Super Mario Galaxy over the holidays) and I don't enjoy them.  The idea of practicing violent behaviour really bothers me, and so many video games are all about the violence.  Chris mentioned that in Grand Theft Auto, you can actually win points by beating up prostitutes.  Double awesome.

The things you expose yourself to have to affect your world view.  TV, movies, games, comic books, books, peer groups - it all goes into the mix and you come out the other end.  You can consume media critically, think about what your seeing and how it might affect you, but that takes a lot of effort and most of the time it's easier to just submerge yourself in it.  It's easy not to notice a whole hour of TV where the only females on screen are flirtatious secretaries.  Or if you do notice it, it's easy to just shrug it off.  

It's totally acceptable that in super hero movies, the damsels are in distress and the heroes rescue them.  And those damsels, they are damn sexy.  If you want to read more about super heroes (and I think you should) - head over to Girls Read Comics: And They're Pissed.  Actually, everything over at Girl Wonder is worth reading.  Super heroes aren't just for boys.

We need strong female role models.  I love Buffy more than almost anything else, and I love how she was strong and feminine and kicked ass.  It bothered me that Spike's attempted rape was glossed over so easily, and most of the outrage was handed to Xander, but for the most part I just love the show beyond all reason.  I love all the stereotype reversals in that show (Xander is the heart of the Scoobies, for example), and how Willow found her power in her sexuality.  I can't find a really good website to send you to, so I'll recommend the book Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Philosophy: Fear and Trembling in Sunnydale.

We also need more sex-positive role models.  People who are strong and confident in their sexuality, and who refuse to accept the standard definitions of beauty, attractiveness and acceptability.  Check out Girl With A One Track Mind and Clean Sheets.  Follow the links outward from there and you'll find lots of worthwhile stuff.

Why the link-fest today?

I don't want to contribute to unhealthy views of women's sexuality.  Sometimes I feel like a failed feminist because I am not sexually liberated and confident.  It bothers me that women who are unable to enjoy sex are labeled "frigid" and seen as less than women.  I don't think it's okay to just roll over about that (although I do roll over a lot, because it's fucking hard standing up about this issue!)

As I muddle through this thing, it's important to keep an eye on all the fantastic people out there who are getting it right.  People who see an injustice or an inequality and stand up to fight it.  Whether it's a girl reading comics (and getting pissed but still loving them) or a woman having lots of great sex and promoting a sexual health charity for young women, there are people out there being the positive role models that we need.  It would be nice to be among that group, and help other women who are struggling with their sexuality.

Feed your brain healthy food.  

Re-think

Twelve or thirteen, awkward, inexperienced.  Fumbling on an old couch in a dark living room.  Skirt, tights, panties - an inconvenient arrangement.  Nervous, desperate for affirmation.  

"Will you have sex with me?"

Pause... Conflicted...

"Can I be your girlfriend?"

"Sure."

"Okay..."

"Actually, no thanks."

.

All I've ever felt about that was the shame and humiliation of my tearful retreat.  

There's a lot going on there - a lot of things that clearly lead to nowhere good.  Why did I think sex was a bargaining chip at such a young age?  Why was I so willing to use myself like that?  

For now, it's enough that I just realized what I should have said after he said "No."

Thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I've hated him for years for making me feel so small and ugly and unwanted.  

As I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, critical of every imperfection, I realized he didn't make me feel anything.  He wasn't very nice, but he didn't force this on me.  It was there already, just waiting for a catalyst.

Rather than feeling upset about this, I feel relieved.  It was me, all along!  If it's me, then I can take responsibility for it.  I can own my own sexuality, rather than viewing it as a fractured whole, each piece held by some event or person in the past.

That seems like a pretty big re-think to me.

Jumping in

"We are all a paradoxical bundle of rich potential that consists of both neurosis and wisdom."

- Pema Chodron

Today was Chris' first day back at work after a long holiday.  For the first time since our honeymoon more than three years ago, we spent almost a full two weeks together.  I played Super Mario Galaxy, he played Stratego, we had a chili cook-off.

We even had sex once.  

As we were sitting in the living room tonight, watching something neither of us really cared about, I looked over and he looked so good.  So attractive and sweet.  Tired.  Kind of cranky.  I thought, this would be the perfect time to have sex.  It would make him feel better.  It would be great.

But that's as far as the thought got.

I didn't say anything to Chris.  If I had, one of two things would have happened.  Most likely he would have been upset, because he wouldn't believe that I was interested in being intimate.  Or he would have believed me and I would have backed out.  Sex is sort of like diving into a cold pool (something else I am not good at) - you either do it right away or you don't do it at all.

So it's better that I didn't say anything.  Better that the thought died that little death.  I think that is my definition of a bundle of neurosis and wisdom - wrapping around each other in a strangle hold.  It is neurotic that I would have backed out, and wise that I didn't say anything to Chris.  I'm hoping there's some "rich potential" wound up in there.

It's an improvement that I even thought it at all, because a year ago I wouldn't have.  My progress has been slow, but it isn't totally nonexistent.  

I'm reading For Yourself, which is actually really good.  It has an eight week program, based on work that the author did with groups of non-orgasmic women.  I've been "reading" the book for about six months now, so obviously haven't stuck with the eight week plan.  I got as far as the exercises and then the book sort of just sat on my night stand.  

It called for mirrors!  I chickened out.

I'm supposed to set aside an hour every day for eight weeks to explore my sexuality.  There are helpful exercises, stories of women "just like me", and a very non-threatening format.  Still, an hour a day.  An hour!  Every day!  That just seems masochistic.

I imagine myself laying there, as I have lain there so many times, trying so hard to think sexy thoughts and always coming back to something mundane, or beating myself up for not being able to stay on task, or just giving up and going to pet the dog.  Oh, if only that were a sexy euphemism.  Sadly, it is not.

Sometimes I imagine videotaping myself.  That's a common theme in my rather sparsely populated fantasy world.  I can picture it.  The camcorder set up beside the bed.  Me, doing whatever you do that's sexy.  And that's as far as I get because... damn.  What am I supposed to do?  Sometimes I imagine how ridiculous I must look.  Sometimes I imagine people watching and laughing.  Playboy's Funniest Home Videos.

That's just not appealing on any level.

The point of this blog is not to document my lack of progress though.  That cold pool isn't getting any warmer, but I'm not going to sit here forever.  The whole point is to do it.  Jump in.  Worst case scenario?  It doesn't work out.  If nothing else, I should have some amusing stories to tell.

Okay, deep breath.  Cold pool.  One hour a day. 

Sex and Bicycles

I'm 26 years old.  I'm happily married.  I'm attractive, and I don't hate my body.  (I don't necessarily love my body, but I don't hate it.)  I love my job.  I generally have a very good life.  We own our home, have two cars, two incomes, no kids.  Things are good.

But I have a problem.

From www.healthywomen.org - 

Female Sexual Dysfunction: 

Personal distress caused by one or more of the following symptoms associated with the sexual response cycle: 

lack of sexual desire (check) 

difficulty in becoming aroused (check) 

inability to achieve orgasm (check) 

anxiety about sexual performance (maybe if we ever had sex, check) 

reaching orgasm too rapidly (I wish!)

pain during intercourse or failure to derive pleasure from sex (check and check again)

So there you have it.  My problem.

It's been a problem for a long time.  My first sexual experience was humiliating and horrible, and we didn't even have sex!  And let's not even get started on the whole "losing of the virginity" thing.  That's a story for later.

I've been to the doctor, and various counsellors.  I have shelves and shelves of books on the topic.  I have a drawer full of vibrators, including the slightly scary Rabbit Habit of Sex and The City fame.  None of it has helped much, though.  I don't read the books, I don't masturbate, and since we moved I no longer have a doctor or counselor.  

There's something comforting about remaining broken.  My husband and I have a good relationship despite the shocking lack of sex, and I've been this way for so long.  What if I try to fix it and fail?  That's my biggest fear, and the thing that's been holding me back.  

If I never try to fix it, I'll never fail.

The thing is, I really want to enjoy sex.  I want to feel sexy and not anxious.  I want to have passionate, powerful, wonderful sex.  (And I suspect that if I can fix this thing, other things will also get better.)

My goal is to have an orgasm this year.  Whatever it takes.  Books, counseling, medical attention, whatever.  I'm going for broke this time.  And you're welcome to come along for the ride.

It's unfortunate that sex is like riding a bike.  Because I suck at that, too.