Well folks, we’re back with another installment of More Than Pillow Talk. This time around Skye and I discuss, among other things, insuring sexual organs, multiple uteruses (and cervices. And vaginas), sharing passwords and partner in-betweeness.

More Than Pillow Talk Ep. 8

I am one lucky lady.

I say this even though the sex education program in my school was just as mysterious and incomplete as it most likely was in yours. Our “special educator” in grades 7 & 8 was the mother of one of the girls in the school. She was (and still is) a doctor at the local teen health clinic; a noble woman who wanted the opportunity to give her daughter’s peers a good grasp on sex so that we could avoid showing up later, pregnant and diseased, in her office. I’m pretty grateful to her because she was extremely frank about STI’s, pregnancy and abortion; she answered all of our anonymous questions with aplomb; and encouraged us to feel good about our bodies and protect them at all costs. We were given relatively good advice but what she didn’t tell us could fill several books (many of which I’ve, thankfully, now read!). There are lots of things I wish I’d learned but it would have saved me a world of trouble to know this: Sex should feel good but sometimes it doesn’t.

I was a pretty late bloomer. Oh sure, I had C-cups in grade 7 and masturbated like a fiend but I was the last person I knew to have intercourse.

The Last One.

I waited (narrowly escaping date rape several times) until the unheard of age of 18. This was when I confirmed something I had already begun to suspect: Penetrative sex hurt. There were definite clues leading up to this discovery. No one, including myself, had ever been able to put more than one finger inside my vagina without it feeling raw and uncomfortable. Moreover, the aforementioned date rape attempts were foiled only by the stubborn old girl’s steadfast refusal to open. It was not until later in life that I would be able to put a name to what was going on for me “down there”. I had the double-whammy sex-life killing conditions of vestibulitis and vaginismus, two words that my spell check doesn’t even believe are real. Seriously.

My vestibulitis means that I have too many nerve endings in and around my vaginal opening. Thankfully mine is not as severe a case as some but it’s certainly bad enough to have caused me serious issues. My body learned early that the way to avoid vaginal pain was to not allow anything in my vagina. My hoo-haw muscles, with no direction from me, decided to form the Vagina of Steel that no man or dildo could penetrate, a condition known as vaginismus. This was all well and good when fending off foreign invasions but it became horribly frustrating when I actually wanted to have intercourse.

No one, including a lot of family doctors, knows what vaginismus and vestibulitis are! Can you imagine being a teenage girl trying to explain that you can’t control whether or not your vagina will open up enough to get fucked and that if, miracle of miracles, it does then said fucking will most likely be excruciating? Especially when you DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY? Yeah, not the position you want to find yourself in.

Things didn’t get any better when I started acting on my bisexuality. Did you know that girls like to stick things in other girls’ vaginas? Sometimes really big things like supersize dildos or a whole hand? The butch women and transmen that I go for are very attached to their cocks and I found it more embarrassing to tell someone with a perfectly functioning vagina that mine wasn’t up to the usual standard. The dudes at least were already confused by vaginas – and the women attached to them – so after a few cursory questions and some pitiful whining they usually left it alone. Of course, they would eventually leave me alone altogether. No one will seriously date a girl with a broken pussy.

Enter, my first Real Boyfriend. A sensitive guy who liked me for me and was willing to be patient, give me tons of foreplay and eventually with much lube and difficulty insert his penis into my special place. Was it awesome after that? Did I want to do it all the time? Uh, no but the pain of my two conditions is worse sometimes than others. In fact, if I’m sufficiently turned on then that pain can, at times, become secondary to pleasure.

What can turn me on to that extent? BDSM. When I later found a dominant lover, someone who was able to stimulate me mentally and physically, it changed everything. In the blissful mental neverland known to practitioners as “sub-space” I was able to finally push past the pain of intercourse and focus on the pleasure. My temperamental vagina didn’t always cooperate but the difference was monumental and because we were kinky there were always a ton of other things to do besides penetrative sex. In fact, with a world of kinky options, intercourse is actually the least interesting thing you could be doing.  BDSM, kink and non-penetration based sexual stimulation saved my sex life.

The fact that I, a ridiculously horny person who had dreaded sex as much as I needed it, could have an active, healthy, fulfilled sex life was a revelation. It led me to become a sex educator, helping other people find their own fulfillment. I give people the information they need to avoid accidental pregnancy and prevent disease; in addition to helping them understand their own bodies and their capacity to give and receive pleasure.

Sex educators need to let kids (and adults) know that there are many different ways to be sexual. If one thing doesn’t work, try something else. Keep exploring even after you’ve found what works; there’s more out there than you think! Sex should feel good always. If it doesn’t there’s something wrong and kids need to understand what those things might be. Having the language to talk about sexual pain and dysfunction would have saved me a ton of confusion and heartbreak. Just knowing that vestibulitis and vaginismus existed would have made a world of difference.

I’m lucky because my pain opened up new avenues of exploration but it’s been a difficult journey. Please let your kids know that sex should be about pleasure but that it is normal for some of us to experience pain. Don’t keep it a secret. Talk about it, get help for it and learn to live well with it. Explore your many options and find your sexual bliss. Me and my cranky vagina wish you all the luck in the world.

When you don’t have sex until your wedding night (oh yeah, I waited! And like, WAITED waited. I literally did nothing beyond kissing a boy before that night) not long after your 21st birthday, you may find yourself five years later divorced and experiencing the whole wide world of sex in a way that seems anything but vanilla. I mean, when your experience is so incredibly limited, the very fact that some dude would want to take you home from the bar THAT NIGHT and bone you is titillating.

Wait…you want to have sex with me, just because?? OKAY.

Maybe that’s a tad vanilla…but I can tell you honestly that I am a woman who is still astounded and mystified by the beauty and carnality of sex, especially after growing up and being taught that sex was a dirty thing to be avoided at all costs…

…unless, of course, you were giving it up to your wedded husband, in which case, then it was supposed to be awesome.

So are my fantasies all that scandalous? No. They generally involve me in the kind of stuffy clothes I would have worn to church, doing all sorts of sinful things in a cramped coat closet and trying to finish before being caught.

And they say you get over some things from your childhood. Ahem.

One of my fantasies, however, DOES involve two things all women want. I don’t remember when I first had this particular fantasy, but when it popped into my mind, unbidden (as the best fantasies are wont to do…usually in a place and time where it’s completely inappropriate to be having said fantasies, like in line at the bank, or in a boring work meeting, or on a date with someone you loathe) I nearly caught my breath.

You see, not long before I had this fantasy, I had gotten a haircut. For once, having my hair washed didn’t involve my neck being wrenched painfully back. Instead, I rested comfortably, eyes closed, nearly being lulled to sleep…until the stylist really began working at the wash. The smell of shampoo, the feeling of her hands kneading into my scalp with surety and firmness, the warm water…all in all, a relaxing, lovely, nearly-moan-inducing experience.

So, that’s how my fantasy started…except, this time, my stylist was a tall, dark and handsome type. Muscled and shirtless, of course, with an ample amount of (trimmed) chest hair (c’mon, I like ‘em virile). It all starts innocently enough, with him pulling my long red hair gently from its bun, allowing it cascade down my shoulders and back. Then he leans me back gently in my chair, allows me to rest comfortably on the edge of the washbowl, and brushes my hair softly back from my face. I hear the spray of the faucet, then feel warm water coursing over my scalp.

What my very lucky fantasy man just might find under my decidely unsexy church lady skirt.

And here’s where my fantasy gets good. As he massages my scalp with fragrant shampoo, his strong fingers working in circles, my eyes open long enough to notice that we have been joined by yet another tall, dark and handsome type. But this one has a different agenda. He kneels in front of me, slips his hands up my thighs and pushes up my prim, church lady skirt (clearly, I cannot escape this outfit in my fantasies) then pulls down my panties and begins giving me the most unholy of kisses until I finish in a torrid, shuddering, full body orgasm.

And then they do my hair and make me look pretty. This is my FANTASY, okay? I get a makeover, too, dammit!

(PS–Did I mention that neither one of them speak this whole time? Yeah. AMAZING.)

So maybe it’s a fantasy that’s not too far off vanilla. There are no whips and chains here, or hidden sapphic desires, or thoughts of school girl skirts and knee socks and paddles. But it’s a fantasy for the senses, and as a woman who only recently–relatively speaking–thought “missionary” was a spiritual calling, well…it gets me goin’, at least.

Though ladies, if you ever have the chance to have your hair washed and be gone down on at the same time…take it. And then please, please tell me about it, in detail.

Did you miss me?

I’ve been somewhat absent recently, as I’ve been enjoying my vacation (and the associated ‘perks’). This left me little time to write about vacation sex; a girl only has so many hands. However, now I am back and I want to share a cautionary tale from my not so recent travels…

A girlfriend, let’s call her Daisy, and I were travelling in Europe.  Which is to say, we were jumping from hostel to hostel looking for hot guys. (To be clear dear readers, although I wouldn’t stay in a hostel these days, I once found them to be excellent prowling grounds. Should you choose to try your travel buddy finding luck in hostels while abroad, just make sure you aren’t sharing a bathroom with more than your immediate travel companions!) Our stop in Barcelona was proving very successful for us both, and one morning when I returned to our twin room to find her still absent, I took the opportunity to jump in our shower to wash the “stank” off.

I finished my ablutions and began primping for a day on the beach, as I waited for Daisy to arrive for breakfast. It had become our ritual to dine together each morning so we could compare notes of our night’s conquests. When she finally sidled in she looked much more sheepish than usual.

Since Daisy showed no shame in normal circumstances I immediately asked, ”What’s up?”

She just stared at me with wide eyes.

It was then that I started to feel very nervous, as it was clear that she was about to cry.”Seriously, are you ok?”

“No,” came the shaky reply, the first tear drops rolling down her cheeks.

I could only assume the worst, and in an instant I was awash with white rage against whomever hurt my friend.

“What happened? What did he do? Are you hurt? Where is he? I’m going to kill him!” I shouted, as if peppering with questions would take away her hurt.

Then without stopping to take a breath I launched into a rant about the many horrible ways I would remove his genitalia. I was so keyed up it took Daisy quite some time to get a word in edgewise…

“I’m ok. Don’t freak out.” (Little late for that!) “He didn’t hurt me, it’s just…”

And there it hung… I stood there waiting and she remained silent… Just what? What has you so flummoxed?

“Did you use protection?!” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“Yes!” (Thank God!) “But it came off.”

Oh dear Lord. A terrifying moment for any slut, but surely you know there are many solutions. The morning after pill, enforced celibacy, and a visit to a clinic for a series of embarrassing and invasive questions & tests. Hmmm…there has to be something more here.

“Ok, we’ll deal with it. Do you think you’re at risk?”

In response to my query, she wailed like a banshee and threw herself down onto the bed – even for Dramatic Daisy, this was a bit much.

“No, it’s not that. We stopped and he couldn’t find it so he put a new one on and we finished. But then this morning we STILL couldn’t find the first one.”

(Have you all guessed where this story is headed?)

Perhaps if I'd stopped laughing long enough to help Daisy to find one of these we'd still be friends?

“I think it’s still inside me!“

.

That was the moment that my friendship with Daisy took a permanent downturn.

I laughed. I cackled with relief, and with the true glee of schadenfreude. Daisy was not impressed. However, there was a happy ending…

A good fifteen minutes of “self-furtling” and birthing-style pushing by Daisy, was all it took for the offending item to be retrieved. Unfortunately, our friendship never recovered from my “lack of support”; since the soundtrack that accompanied all her internal searching was my incessant giggling.

Here we are folks!

The inaugural edition of Love CoCo, our new sex advice column featuring CoCo La Crème, that will be featured the third Wednesday of every month. So if you’ve got a question or concern about anything to do with sex, feel free to shoot CoCo an email at info at cocolacreme dot com.

Alright. Enough with the preamble.

Here’s CoCo…

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Hey CoCo,

I’ve recently started dating a guy who’s funny, good looking and nice enough to (eventually) introduce to friends. Life couldn’t be sweeter right?  Wrong!  My new man is really into oral sex. Like really, really, really into it and lately he’s started talking about how he can’t wait to do it to me when we finally have sex!!! I know that a lot of ladies go for this but I have NEVER let someone do this before, and I’m not sure that I want to start now. The whole idea makes me uncomfortable and is, frankly, a little bit gross. No one else I’ve dated has ever pushed the issue, but it seems like he needs this to be satisfied. I don’t want to lose this guy. Any suggestions?

Never Been Kissed

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Hey NBK,

I’ve got a couple of questions for you: Are YOU satisfied? How much pleasure do YOU get out of your intimate encounters? Do you know that YOUR body is an amazing creation and that its erotic potential is almost limitless? You need to think about why you are creating barriers to deeper intimacy with this guy, especially since you seem to really like him. Trust me, if Mr. Dreamboat gets off on licking the kitty and making it purr then he is not going to be satisfied with anything less.

Take some time to get to know yourself and start thinking about your body from a new, more positive perspective, NBK. I don’t know what might have occurred to make you feel like cunnilingus is “gross” but whatever it is it needs to be put to rest. Doesn’t matter whether this attitude comes from your family, your school, your church or your former lovers it is wrong-headed and destructive and it is preventing you from enjoying your sex life to the fullest extent. Oral sex is a pleasurable intimate experience between lovers. Open yourself up to new experiences and let someone show you how much they desire every part of you. Your man thinks you’re beautiful everywhere and he wants the opportunity to prove it.

Lay back, relax and make your man - and your girl parts - happy.

Your vulva is with you all of your life and you should love it. Spend some solo time pleasuring it. Look at it in the mirror. Get a book or DVD so that you can be better informed about it (Women’s Anatomy of Arousal by Sheri Winston and Selfloving by Betty Dodson come to mind). Learn to be one with it so that you can own it and share it with confidence. Your vagina is a temple that gives forth life and your clitoris is the source of your most intensely pleasurable sensations. Any guy is damn lucky to be given the opportunity to ‘worship’ in such a beautiful place and you are blessed to have a guy who knows it.

NBK, I would also advise you to become a more adventurous lover for your own sake. Be a little selfish in bed and realize that it is perfectly ok for him to spend time on you while you do NOTHING but enjoy it. Getting eaten out is a luxurious experience that every woman should indulge in as frequently as possible. To make your first time absolutely fabulous start by taking some time alone, as I mentioned above, to get more comfortable with your kitty. Also, talk to your lover about your insecurities so that he knows to take it slow. Take care of basic maintenance so that you feel pretty and clean. Then just lie back and relax. Don’t worry about how you smell, taste or look and especially don’t fret about how long he’s taking, because girl, it’s all good to him. Yes, it may feel a little funny at first, but trust me, you’ll soon learn to love it… as long as you can learn to love yourself first!

Love,

CoCo

P.S.  To any men out there who are still unwilling to go downtown all I have to say is that you’re missing out! Your friends are doing it, your girlfriend wants it and your mom is ashamed of you. Now go wash up cause dinner’s on the table and it’s freaking delicious.

ME, Sex Educator

As those of you who read Delayed Gratification: A (Un)Dating Story already know, this month the Insomnia Club covered the issue of creating and sustaining sexual tension in the age of instant gratification and sexual bombardment. In that post my focus was more on the sustaining sexual tension and delaying (sexual) gratification. FML.

Well folks, today Elizabeth Rose is going to pick up where I left off and give us her take on one of the effects ‘sexual bombardment’ – via porn – is having on some women.

Happy Reading,

SB

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Did you know that the numbers of women opting to have labiaplasty is on the rise – chronically so? For those of you who aren’t familiar with thet term labiaplasty, is a surgical procedure to reshape labia: often to reduce the size of inner labia, though recolouring or reductions to the outer labia may also occur.

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And based all of the above, the only question is…

Why in heaven’s name would such a thing even exist?!?!?!

For the record dear readers, vaginas come in all shapes and sizes. Literally, ALL shapes and sizes. However, in our ultra liberated society where we are constantly bombarded by sexual imagery a new “norm” for vaginal beauty has been created – by the adult film industry. But as porn is about fantasy this isn’t a true “norm” – meaning one based on the most common shape or size of labia. No, courtesy of the porn industry, which has singlehandedly brought about a new and completely unrealistic vaginal standard of beauty, far too many women are going under the knife or laser to “upgrade” their girly bits. Why you ask?

Because, they want to be seen as ‘beautiful’ by men and boys who see the labia of their favourite porn stars and come to desire (and in very sad cases expect) the pornographic vagina aesthetic – their uniform colour,  shape and size – in the knickers of the “normal” girls’ they are shagging. As a result, the wondrous variety in vags that is actually on offer, is now seen by some ladies (especially those who don’t meet the porno-standard – and who does?) to consider themselves out-of-the-ordinary and even wrong. Since most women aren’t watching sizeable quantities of hard core porn (some do, but as a generalisation – men will watch much more in their sexually formative years than women) the source of this new insecurity must be the men in their lives…

A friend of mine once described his lover’s lady parts by telling me they resembled a “badly packed kebab”. Other than not really wanting to be told about her bits over dinner, every feminist molecule in my body (and there are a fair few) was horrified. Needless to say, he left with a flea in his ear and a better understanding of the difference in shapes and appearance he might come across.

I accept that we women are known to catalogue our men’s bits according to length, girth, sagginess of scrotum, veins, shape of head, hairiness, ‘bendy-ness’, it’s resemblance to a particular root vegetable, and on and on and on. So for equality, I can accept men’s right to comment on ours. However, I draw the line and say enough is enough upon learning that labiaplasty is the THIRD most requested cosmetic surgery in some parts of the world and only 12% of all those carried out in the US are for medical reasons.

A gentleman who seems to agree with this sentiment is Nick Karras who as a surgeon in this field created a piece of art (currently hanging in the Erotic Heritage Museum in Las Vegas) called Petals which catalogues in exquisite black and white photographs the variety, beauty and uniqueness of women’s vaginas. This piece of art has been made into a teaching poster for women’s sexual health as well as a documentary and I only hope it enters national curriculum schooling soon so boys and girls alike, are bought up to appreciate the beauty in individuality in all parts of a woman.

It’s April Fool’s Day and I was considering the amusement value of including some truly made-up scientific facts, but real science is better than anything I could ever make up.

You see dear readers, people will go to unusual lengths in the name of sex, especially when they’ve got a bit of science to support them. With that in mind I thought it would be a good idea to close out MetAnotherFrog.com’s month long look at “First Times” by covering off virgin restoration surgery in this article.

What?

That’s right – surgery can have you certified pure. The official name of the procedure is hymenoplasty. In an operation commonly performed under local anaesthetic the torn edges of the hymen are joined back together, in less than an hour.

What’s more, a new non-surgical option is now available through some Chinese manufacturing inventiveness. A replacement hymen can be purchased and inserted into the vagina. It even includes fake blood to stain those wedding night sheets.

Why?

For cultural reasons, particularly in parts of the world where people believe a woman must be virginal on her wedding night. In some places, even today, a bride’s virginity is a matter of life or death.

It could be personal. Some women want to put their past behind them, for whatever reason.

And maybe it’s about being kinky. Just wanting to have a “first time” do over with her current lover.

How?

Both hymenoplasty and the less invasive non-surgical option are now available in most western countries. When going the surgical route, just choose a good clinic where a registered plastic surgeons is available.

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So there you have it! A strangely popular surgery in this day and age, and all under a local anaesthetic: which I’ll be honest is the most astounding of this whole fandango. The fact that a lady, of whatever age, so desperately wants others to believe her virginity is still intact that she would be willing to remain conscious while a surgeon sutures up in there amazes me. I shudder at the thought. But I shudder at the thought of pap smear tests too, so possibly this is just my issue!