Autumn has arrived. A season of nostalgia for me. The scent of freshly heated fire places, the gentle echo of smoke as it whispers through each chimney reminding me cooler weather will soon blanket my earth. The quiet haunting of premature death, life forced to rest before it can bloom come Spring.
In many ways I feel as though I myself am the Fall, my body shutting down, requiring time to heal before I can embrace myself entirely. Unlike Mother Nature though, my flesh has been experiencing this state for nearly three months and I see no early onset of a Spring. It is no secret that I am vaginally challenged. I have disclosed the difficulties numerous times in this journal; however, throughout my personal journey I have remained relatively positive, believing there would be some cure for my inability to perform sexually. When I look back over the past two decades I confess I shake my head at all the things I have done in order to improve my situation. Since I was 18 I have seen 11 gynaecologists, 5 naturopaths, 8 holistic healers, 3 general practitioners, 4 massage therapists, 1 osteopath, 2 vaginal physiotherapists and I even tried a tantric sexual therapist and yet no treatment (or lack thereof) worked.
I have used vaginal dilators, fingers, breathing techniques, forced insertion, tens units, lidocaine (and other numbing solutions), yoga and even the ever so unpleasant pillow over my head so Master does not hear my cries nor see’s my tears as he penetrates me. No method has helped with the pain, nothing has alleviated the restrictive tightness which would allow for pleasurable insertion. Over the summer I felt the humiliation of seeing two physiotherapists. The mere act of undressing and having people push and pull at my vaginal walls and along my labia was horrific; however, I pushed through thinking it would be worth it in the end. How wrong I was. At the end of those sessions I heard the same “I am so sorry, there is nothing else I can do” sentiments and even though it was difficult knowing the results were not what I wanted I still had hope and so on September 12, 2013 at 9:15am I walked into my gynaecologists office, excited to move onto the next phase: reconstructive surgery. It was only after the consult and examination that I felt the floor collapse under me, leaving me in a fit of nearly uncontrollable tears and feeling of hopelessness.
Originally the plan was that if after all other treatments I still was unable to have sexual intercourse I would have surgery to reconstruct my vaginal entrance so that the tissue was not as thick or narrow therefore permitting me to have pain free penetration. Apparently after examining me my doctor, along with two other colleagues and a surgeon felt the scar tissue that would be produced after surgery would most likely cause even more difficulties and after nearly 2 hours of discussion (and begging on my behalf) the decision to return to a form of physiotherapy was made. With my feet still in stirrups and numerous eyes and fingers exploring my vulnerable flesh I was told I would have to return to a treatment that I had already failed and as the doctors excused themselves so I could dress I felt my relationship begin to crumble.
This June marked 2 years since Master and I had last had vaginal intercourse. 730 days have passed since we have been able to share intimacy on that level and when I heard surgery was no longer an option I genuinely felt hopelessness. As I stood in the lobby receiving new information and setting up future appointments I wondered how was I going to tell Master there was no goal in sight. I cried the entire 25 minute drive home. The tears were soft but continual as I asked myself if it was fair for Master to have a slave he can not have sex with. No matter how many times I asked or how many ways I phrased the question I received the same answer: It was not fair. Master deserves to be with someone who can pleasure him in all ways. He deserves to have someone who he can enjoy and unfortunately I am not that person. Yes, I have two other holes to use and we both enjoy the alternative pleasures but oral and anal sex are not the same as vaginal, they simply are not. And even though sex can be explored in other ways, not being able perform in that manner does influence my sexual drive.
When I arrived home and walked passed the toy closest I was overcome with a growling anger, near rage really. As I opened the doors my eyes frantically scanned every toy I can not use, every instrument that has brought me pain and it took all strength and discipline not to break each and everyone of them. Even now as I recall that moment I can still feel the anger, it lingers and most likely will until I experience some change, until my body adapts and finally allows me to feel some pleasure. And I am hell bent on making that happen, which is why, even in my moment of defeat I rang my new pelvic floor therapist as soon as I returned home and was, fortunately, able to get in to see my therapist that afternoon.
I have had one session and to say it was embarrassing is an understatement. My therapist, who granted is a lovely soft spoken woman with very delicate fingers is still a stranger and there I am, stretching out on a bed in a brightly lit room, a small blanket resting across my lap, knees bent, legs parted all while she sits there, one arm wrapped around my leg supporting me while the other arm rests between my calves, her fingers pushing between my labia majora and labia minora, inching up just under my clitoris and back down again all while looking at me, speaking with me as though we were having tea. Oh and then the fearful moment of insertion, when her eyes watch me carefully as she inches just the tip of her finger into my vagina, hearing me gasp, feeling me tighten, exposing the few fallen tears. One hour of being exposed, of being spread, of having a foreigner exploring my vulnerabilities and me knowing this is just the first of numerous appointments; sessions that may not bring any relief, that could quite possibly leave me no better than where I started.
I admit I feel tired as though my fight for this particular hurdle is nearly not worth it. Should this therapy not work I will be left with only two remaining choices: Botox or vaginal celibacy. I have spoken with Master about botox before and he is against the use of poison therefore it feels nearly not an option as well. In regards to vaginal celibacy, I feel if that is the route I will have to take than my relationship is in jeopardy. Not because Master has ever stated that but rather because I just feel it is not fair for Master to be in a relationship where he can not receive pleasure in all ways. What many people do not understand is that it is not just the inability to have sex but rather I do not even want that part of my body touched. The tension in my labia and sometimes the pain right before an orgasm due to the muscles constricting leaves me not wanting to be touched at all, not in or near my vagina. Now I am an advocate that the mind is the biggest sexual organ; however, it is not the only sexual organ and much arousal does come from touch, from touching, caressing, exploring the vagina and external tissue and right now I am just barely able to endure that. Every time I flinch when I feel the light whisper of Master’s fingers brushing over my mound I feel my heart break. And if my heart is slowly ripping apart I can only imagine what it must do to Master. It can not feel good when I pull away, when I gasp, when I become fearful just from his touch; what a horrible sensation that must be and although I want to think it will get better, right now I just do not know how that is ever going to happen.
Master deserves happiness. He deserves to live a life of pleasure and play and not have to tip toe around his slave when it comes to sex, when it comes to intimacy. For most of my grown up life I have felt like I was stumbling, now though I feel as though I am falling. Falling hard and fast and I just do not know where I will land. I am in love with Master, that love grows more every day but is it fair that he is stuck with someone who can offer him so little? He is a good man. A patient man. He deserves more though.
What I would not do to be normal.