Read This If You Want to Become a Sexpert
BY ANONYMOUS
Right now, I want you to imagine two people having sex. Don’t just read on. I want you to actually think about this, just for a few seconds. Did you do it? Okay, great. Now you should read on.
When you imagined sex, did you picture intercourse? I’m no crazy mind reader, but if I had to guess, I’d say that you probably did. If you didn’t, that’s normal. If you did, that’s also normal. In other words, sex can be lots of different things, and while it may be intercourse, it doesn’t have to be. Until recently, I had always believed that nothing qualified as having sex unless a penis was actually inside of me. Although blow jobs were oral sex, they were not real sex. Similarly, mutual masturbation was not sex, making out was not sex, and foreplay was not sex. Only sex was sex. What else was I supposed to think? I, like most of my peers, spent my adolescence being taught through a series of health classes and films that sex equals intercourse. Remember that scene where Coach Carr famously says, “don’t have sex, ‘cause you will get pregnant, and die.” Well, as funny as it is to watch, the sad reality is that “Mean Girls” accurately represents the extent of my sexual education. I had always believed that nothing qualified as having sex unless a penis was actually inside of me. I grew up with only a vague overview of anatomy and sexuality and had to learn the rest on my own. By the time I was sixteen and my friends became sexually active, I thought I had mastered the concept of sex in its entirety. I thought I was a sexpert. Then, I developed a health issue that affected my ability to have sex and my entire understanding of the system collapsed. I had to relearn sex and all that it embodies, and though it’s been a long and difficult journey for me, I’m finally ready to talk about it. Once upon a time, I was a junior in high school. That was the year that I lost my virginity. There were no rose petals or scented candles, and it definitely did not feel amazing, but overall, I’d say it was a good experience. It was “normal.” That fall, I experienced vaginal pain during intercourse. Instead of familiar sensations of pleasure, I suddenly experienced a sharp pain upon penetration. It felt like a piece of shattered glass was being shoved into me. I told my partner and we immediately stopped. I assumed it was a burn or an irritation maybe, or, at the very most, a vaginal infection. I suspected nothing serious, so I decided it would be best to avoid irritating it further and just let it heal with time. After waiting a few weeks, I thought the root of my pain would probably be gone and I tried having intercourse again, only to experience pain that was worse. Like, way worse. It was at this point that I knew I needed to see a doctor. Within the span of four months, I saw eight different doctors. Three gynecologists, two dermatologists, a psychologist, a neurologist, and an internist. None of them knew where the pain was coming from. One physician said, "Some people have unexplainable back pain, and some have unexplainable hip pain. You just have vagina pain." I was told by my other doctors that the best treatment approach for me would be trial and error. The list of prescriptions included several ointments, pills, biofeedback and therapy sessions, but they were all to no avail. I felt desperate and hopeless. Beyond that, I feared that I would never be able to have intercourse again and that no one would ever want to be with me romantically if they found out. These are fears and insecurities that I still deal with, but the difference between my eleventh grade self and my current self is that I have have developed a positive perspective on what these challenges actually mean. “Some people have unexplainable back pain, and some have unexplainable hip pain. You just have vagina pain.” Today, I am a sophomore at Wash. U. and still have the same condition. I haven’t had painless intercourse in over two years and I get nervous every single time I insert a tampon. Though I’m not yet living a sexual paradise, I have come to understand that the end goal of every intimate encounter does not have to be one specific sex act. I have a much broader view of pleasure, and though I may not be able to have intercourse, I can certainly have sex, in lots and lots of ways. Though I may not be able to have intercourse, I can certainly have sex, in lots and lots of ways. My condition has taught me that there is no cookie cutter formula for giving or receiving pleasure. If you’re like me, you may be restricted, but that’s nothing a little creativity can’t fix. One small section of my body is off-limits, but I have so many other parts to work with. There is a universe of sex toys out there and endless variations of oral sex, anal sex, and foreplay. Beyond that, I know I can always count on the Internet to provide me with an endless supply of new and exciting suggestions. Of course I feel extremely frustrated with my body at times, but the adversity I’ve faced has forced me to be more open minded in my approach to sex, and for that I am eternally grateful. So, if you think of intercourse when you think of sex, again, that’s totally fine. When I consider sex, however, I can promise you I’m not thinking of intercourse. Being limited in what I can physically derive pleasure from, I have been forced to venture out, far from the lands of penetration, in order to figure out what works for me and for my body. My pain has forced me to try new things that I honestly don’t know that I would have ever tried if I had the ability to engage in more “standard” sexual acts. It’s easy to feel pressure to enjoy a certain type of sex, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from countless hours of doctors, research, and treatments, it’s that everyone’s body is different and that’s worth embracing. We all have our personal preferences and I challenge you to flaunt them. If you’re turned on by massages, then ask for massages. If you’re turned on by Scottish folk dancing, then do something with that. The point is, as long as it is consensual and you enjoy it, there’s no wrong way to do sex. If you’ve made it this far in the article, I have two last things to say to you:
P.S. I’ve decided to post this anonymously to maintain privacy from the internet, but if you are dealing with similar issues and want to talk about your experience, I would be more than happy to chat. If you reach out to XMag editors, they can redirect your information to me, and I will reach out to you. I know how scary it can be to feel alone with this, so please, don’t hesitate to contact me, or anyone with whom you feel comfortable speaking. |