Sex, I Think

A few days ago, my boyfriend and I had sex for the first time in... let's just say that it's been far too long. It was beautiful. It was wonderful. It made us feel closer, and it smoothed the tensions, and it helped us forgive the small stuff.

And yet, while I unreservedly call it sex, there was no penis-in-vagina. There wasn't even any strapon-in-ass. Just two people, partially nekkid, making out and groping and sharing a vibrator and orgasming our fool heads off.

Most people would look at what we were doing and call it mutual masturbation. After all, there was no oral sex, no anal sex, no vaginal sex. Therefore, it couldn't have been sex, right? But it wasn't until today that I even questioned calling what we did sex. We went into it knowing that my vagina was not going to be open for business, but wanting to have the pleasure, the emotional connection, the intimacy of sex. We went in treating this as fucking, as making love, as everything we usually call sex. Even though his penis never gained entry to my poor, forgotten vagina, on some deeper level it FELT like sex.

I'm not sure if I can explain it any better than that. By most people's definition, what we had the other night wasn't sex. By this culture's standard definitions, it was mutual masturbation, it was grinding, it was frottage, it was heavy petting with weapons-grade vibrators. As far as we're concerned, it was sex.

This whole thing has forced me to really look at my definition of sex. I'm realizing that when I really dig, I don't have such a hard and fast answer to "what is sex, and what isn't?" Yes, it's fucking (with or without any emotional component). Yes, it's oral or anal or vaginal or any combination of genital-to-genital(s)/orifice(s). It's also the nebulus region of stuff like this, that doesn't have a cut-and-dry category. In this case, it's the emotions and intent that make it sex, not what was actually done.

(As I'm writing this, I'm struck by how truly absurd the modern concept of Virginity is. That, however, is a subject for another time.)

I am just so, so glad that we had sex again. I missed the closeness. I missed the intimacy. I missed being able to appreciate his body and mine. When we're not having sex, the diseased corners of my brain decide that if we're not having sex, I must not be attracted to him anymore, and that I'm not attractive. Great self-fulfilling prophecy right there. One of the many ways that an anxiety disorder can completely fuck up lives and relationships.

Besides, until this happened, we'd never realized how awesomely sexy it can be to share a super-powerful massager-style vibrator. Share as in making a boy glans-vibrator-girl glans sandwich. Actually, he'd never realized just why vibrators are so fucking awesome until he got off on just my Fairy wand against his glans.

He's insanely quiet during sex... I'd never HEARD most of the noises he made that night. With porn, I get off most on the sounds people make when they're having a damn good time. I can, and have, masturbated to just the moaning and panting and other lovely noises in good porn. For me, suddenly getting all of these noises out of the man I love was quite possibly the hottest thing he's ever done.

Even though this is an insanely stressful and busy time for me, I'm also in a wonderful place because of this. I'm still not quite sure what happened, but it made me happy. And right now, that means a lot.

Maybes

Sometimes I wonder if my relationship with my boyfriend started too quickly - or at least the sexual aspects of it. I went from completely untouched, never-been-kissed virgin to fuck-like-bunnies nympho in under a year. I had never even dated before he came into my life. He was... quite experienced for his age, all of 16 at the time. He's admitted that he pushed me, because he thought loosening up and bringing some sexuality into our relationship would make me happy. And for a long time, it did make me happy, wonderfully happy.

On Dealing with Doubts

I know my horribly diminished sex drive is mostly due to medications and my newly-diagnosed GAD (generalized anxiety disorder). I know that it is not my fault. Through working with my therapist, I've started learning to not blame myself for things I cannot control. But still, in those dark hours while you wait to fall asleep, when doubts come creeping, I wonder.

I wonder, why am I broken? Why, no matter what I do, can't I keep my libido from flatlining? Every time I change my birth control method, I get a few months of having a half-decent sex drive, but eventually it always nose-dives again. For medical reasons, I have to hormonally regulate and shrink my periods (unchecked, they cause anemia), but I've reached what my gynecologist has said is the "last" option as far as shrinking side effects go. Sterilization would do nothing for my periods. IUD can cause heavier periods; anything more, and I'd be bleeding for half the darn cycle. Besides, the anemia my periods caused makes me illegible for an IUD. Currently, I'm on the Ring. It's the lowest concentration of hormones you can get floating around in your system while still being useful; if this doesn't eliminate the side effects, no hormonal method will. And most of my side effects did go away - just not the libido issues.

I wonder, are my libido issues even directly caused by my medication any more? Sure, the hormones were the original cause. (Yaz sucked, big time) But... I've changed pills. I've changed dosing methods. Most gals don't get these issues with every single drug they try. By Occam's Razor, it's still being caused by the hormones I can't safely quit. But, because of my ugly GAD, I doubt, I question, I wonder if it really is my fault.

I wonder, is my lack of desire for sex slowly killing my relationship with my boyfriend? We went from two years of jump-each-other-at-the-slightest-excuse to once every month or two in the space of a few months. I know he's been fighting the "does she not love me any more?" demons, because he knows that for me, sex is always about love. I don't do no-strings-attached sex. Even when I had a raging sex drive, the desire didn't get pumping unless I was really feelin' the love. I still love him. I still really, really enjoy the sex we have, but I usually don't want to have sex until my first orgasm hits (or he spends twenty minutes worshipping my labia with his mouth. That feels good even if I have no desire for sex). We both feel so much more connected after sex, but most of the time, until we're actually doing it, I have no desire, no "need" for sex. And he has needs, too. A little voice in the back of my head reminds me that if he were like many guys, he'd have left by now, or would be cheating on me. I know he isn't, and wouldn't... but I have no way of knowing if he's regretting his decision to commit to me.

I wonder, is there more I could be, should be doing to "fix" my languishing libido? I haven't tried supplements, or sprays. I have a balm that causes lovely sensations and helps me get going, but I never have the desire to put it on... because I don't desire sex. Why use something to stimulate desire if I'm apathetic toward the whole thing. I haven't tried couple's therapy; I know that some of my lack of sex drive has to do with problems in our relationship, but I keep rationalizing the way I shy from this option by thinking that we both need to get our mental health issues (my GAD, his ADD) under control first. Also, we're poor college students. We can't afford couple's therapy, and there's no way in hell my insurance will cover it.

I wonder, is there some deep, dark corner of my mind that doesn't want sex? A part of me, outside my conscious awareness, that isn't just apathetic towards sex, but is actively against it? Have I so deeply internalized my family, religion, and culture's demands that I not have sex until marriage, and then definitely not with kink? Or worse yet, the question that arises on the latest of insomniac nights - has some part of me given up on this relationship with the guy who is my rock, my partner, my comfort, my jester, my reality check, my exasperation, my beloved? I want to make us work, I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but... what if some demented corner of my mind has just said "fuck it"?



I wonder, I worry, I fear. But now, I've started learning to fight back. I'm a scientist, damn it! I'm an intellectual. The bodypart I prize most is my cerebral cortex, my dear brain. I'm going to reason my way out of this deep, dark funk, because I deserve better than this!

Am I broken?
Maybe. There's always a chance that some hormonal process got all bzonked to pieces, but you know what? Medication side effects are FAR more likely. I'm on hormonal birth control. I've been on and off methylprednisolone, which plays hell with the hormones. I've got low vitamin B12, which among other things can tank the libido. Over the years, we've found that my body is incredibly sensitive to most medications, so I'm very likely to be having side effects to something.

All of which means, I'm not broken. If I take a step back and pretend I'm looking at someone else's life, I've got it pretty damn good - at least I enjoy the sex I do have. Hell, I'm still wildly multi-orgasmic. Boo-freakin-hoo, I have trouble getting started. At least I enjoy it when I can make it that far.

Am I hypochondriaching my lack-of-libido side effects?
Seriously? I've never, ever had issues with hypochondria. Yeah, I get side effects to many prescription meds, but they usually show up before I go read the side effects list to begin with. If I was "faking" it, that would mean that I would have to be a psychic to pull that list out of the aether. Right. Sounds real plausible, doesn't it?

Am I ruining my relationship?
Yeah, we're going through a rough patch. Ok, call it a rough year. We're having communication issues, but the root of those issues is benign, not sinister - we both hide the things we think would just make our partner worry about us. (So we're a bit over-protective of each other, hahah) We're working on it. We've gotten the dialogue going, and after some long talks we've re-committed to doing everything we can to make this work.

On top of all that, is the lack of sack time hurting us? Probably, but it's not the main element of the problems. He understands that I have no sex drive. He has told me over and over that he intellectually knows that it's not his fault, and he never blames me for it. He knows I still love him, sex or no sex. Once he even told me that if something happened and I could never have sex again, he'd still love me and cherish me and want to marry me. Sex, while a wonderful way to express our love (and have a hell of a lot of fun doing so), is not the foundation of our relationship.

And I totally need to shut my inner voice up about the whole "does he regret it" shpeil. He's told me that he never, ever regretted committing to me. Yeah, he wishes that we didn't have to deal with my health issues, but he wishes that because he hates seeing me in pain, not because he wishes he was gettin' some. I need to learn to just accept his love and trust, without wondering if I deserve it.

Am I not doing enough to try?
Alright, stop it right there. No more of this toxic "coulda, shoulda" talk. I'm doing what I feel comfortable doing right now. There is no "should be" doing anything. There are options I am not pursuing, but you know what? That's ok. I'm not Wonder Woman, for crying out loud. These options are open to me, if and when I feel that I need them and am ready to pursue them. Until then? If I'm not ready, they're not going to do a damn bit of good, because I'll take them to mean I'm broken.

Am I anti-sex?
If I'm going to worry about this, it's time to stop just fretting and drag it out into the light, analytic style, the way my professors trained me. Yes, I have to some degree internalized the anti-premarital-sex ideas that float around me. It was bound to happen, the personality traits that made me susceptible to GAD make it all too easy for me to internalize what other people think. The first step to fighting it off, though, is self-knowledge. I know it's there. Now, I can argue with it, pick it apart until it falls into the insubstantial fluff it really is.

Am I giving up on my boyfriend?
Ok, let's look at this seriously. I have a feeling it's going to look really, really stupid once it's fully articulated. I believe that I love him. I care deeply for him, on a thousand different levels. And it torments me that something in me is sabotaging my relationship? Reality check... if I'd given up on us, this wouldn't bug me. I'd be relieved. It's like the old saying - if you're worried that you might be going insane, then you must be sane. If the thought of damaging our relationship hurts me so much, then obviously it still means a great deal to me.

I'm not broken. I'm not defective. I'm not trying to sabotage my relationship. It's hard to fight the doubts, when they come creeping in late at night, but I can beat them back. You can, too. That first step back from the fears is the hardest, but it gets easier. That little bit of perspective makes it all a hell of a lot easier to deal with.

Why We Gift

"Why do you still give each other anniversary gifts?" My friends as me. "I mean, seriously. You've passed the stage where you need to impress each other, and it's not like you're married!"

It may seem a little strange to some of you. Why force yourself to buy each other gifts? Wouldn't it be more financially responsible to just enjoy each others company? What is this commercialized world coming to?!

Back up a bit. My boyfriend and I are both the kind of people that love giving gifts. We love seeing a person's face light up with joy when they open a gift that really makes them happy. We love how even little gifts can make someone so happy. It's no surprise then that we love to give each other gifts. Heck, we'd be randomly springing little gifts on each other all the time if we could.

And therein lies the rub. Endless random gifts, much as we would love to give them, equal an endless hemorrhage of money from the bank account. Simply put, neither of us can afford the constant gift-giving we want to engage in. We came to a bit of an unspoken agreement that we would try to keep the majority of our gifting tendencies tethered to "excuse days" like Giftmas, birthdays, Valentine's Day, and anniversaries. It lets us save up for one or two really nice gifts each year (the Kindle he got me; the PSP I got him), without also blowing a hole in our wallets with all sorts of "just because" presents.

That doesn't mean they don't happen - they do. The "just because" presents are usually fewer and farther between now; they're usually less expensive. (say, a box of silly Pac Man candies instead of a hardback book or a pretty shirt; doesn't seem like much, but trust me, they add up...) Neither of us feels guilty now when the other brings a little gift. There's no more worrying about "matching" or "topping" the other's gift, either. It takes a lot of the stress back out of gifting, and lets us just enjoy it.

And isn't that what gifting is supposed to be about?

Sluthood

There's been a heck of a lot bouncing around certain corners of the blog-o-sphere recently about sluthood. Some are talking about how wonderful it's been for them, while others are spouting fire and brimstone about how terrible it is, and how it's damaging a girl and ruining her for life. It's made me take a closer look at the way I look at the matter.

My views and feelings on sluthood are actually quite similar to my views and feelings about transgender. I understand them both at an intellectual level; I empathize with the struggles, and cheer on the successes and joys; I support those for whom this is their path (in the case of sluthood) or their identity (in the case of transgender); however, I know that I will never truly "get it" for either one on a deep level, because they are not experiences I have had. I may never know what it is like to be a person for whom sluthood is a joyful, healing, liberating state of mind, and I will never know what it is like to not be cis-gendered, just as "healthy" people don't really know what it is like to live with pain, every moment of every day.

I may not "get" on a visceral level what is appealing about sluthood, because it doesn't appeal to me outside of the realm of fantasy. But you know what? That doesn't matter. What matters is that I respect these people for knowing themselves and finding the path that's right for them right now. What matters is the acceptance, the support that we give each other.

Thank you sex bloggers

I have a confession to make.

Almost a year ago, I created a twitter account for my reviewer persona because I'd heard that that's where the "in crowd" hung out. That's where the "cool reviewers" chatted and such. I was desperate for a community where I could be honest about loving sex and sex toys, so I timidly dipped my toes into the vast ocean that is twitter.

I expected to see a large group of cliques I'd never break into, groups I could watch from the outside and learn from. There were a handful of bloggers I'd idolized since I entered the reviewing world; I've told some of you who you are, so I won't embarrass you by saying it here.

What I found was very different. Yes, there are groups of friends and acquaintances, but it was a very welcoming atmosphere. All sorts of people welcomed me, chatted with me, offered suggestions and advice and laughed at the craziness of life with me. Suddenly, I was able to call some of those idols... friends. They weren't just brilliant reviewers whose blogs I followed, they were people, with lives and personalities and crazy experiences to share. They were people who comforted me when shit went wrong in my life. They were people who laughed at my stupid jokes. They were people who cheered me on when I started to break into the bigger world of blogging and reviewing.

My idols became my friends. That's one of the most amazing feelings in the world, realizing that you have become someone good enough for your idols to respect. These people, and you, my readers, have done wonderful things for my self-image. For once, I'm good enough. I'm worth following, worth hanging out with, worth being called a friend and equal. And for that, I am grateful. Thank you, to the sex blogging community, for welcoming me and making me feel at home.

Family Wedding and such

You'd think that now that the semester's over, I'd have a little free time. You'd think that in the summer I decided to take time off for my health, I'd have a little time to rest. Seriously! I'm starting to wonder if I just don't know how to not be busy. Frankly, having absolutely nothing I had to do would probably drive me completely insane within a few weeks.

Two and a half weeks ago, I shlepped out to a gorgeous piece of the middle of nowhere to help prepare for my cousin's wedding. I designed and organized the decorating of the church and reception hall, and helped them get stuff finished. (by this point, the bride and her mother were going nuts, as is the usual state of affairs right before a wedding) My wonderful boyfriend had volunteered to come along and help, so I had an extra strong back to carry things and set things up and move things around. Aren't guys wonderful to have around?

The wedding was wonderful. Everything went off perfectly, the weather was great, and the groom and father of the bride were crying as my cousin came down the aisle. I'll admit, I was crying, too. She and I had always been close. She was born only a few months before me, and until my sister was born almost a decade later, we were each other's only girl cousin. The wedding also drove home that we really were growing up, and that my wedding would probably be the next one in our part of the family.

You can learn a lot about a boyfriend by bringing him to a family wedding. Mine never looked uncomfortable, never tried to escape to run off and get drunk, never changed the subject when people nudged the wedding conversations our way, or did any of the things you'd expect a commitment-shy guy to do. He even sometimes started talking about specifics for our wedding someday, without any prompting. (We'll probably be having the no ice cream cakes argument right up until the moment I order our non-frozen wedding cake!) This is a long, long way from the guy who was so terribly commitment-shy in the beginning that he was afraid to even say "I love you."

I also learned a bit about myself. The week before the wedding, we were staying at my grandparents' house. There weren't enough rooms for my parents, my sister, my boyfriend, and me, so my boyfriend slept on the couch. He got to keep his suitcase in the room my sister and I shared, and he shared my closet. While I always have gotten a strong OCD twitch when I see his stuff strewn across my floor, making a mess and making it impossible for me to find my stuff easily, the closet was different. It was orderly, for one thing, but that wasn't what really got me. Clothes scattered around a suitcase taking up half my floor has a vibe of "I'm just here visiting." Seeing his clothes and mine lined up together in the same closet? I got this big, warm fuzzy feeling of permanence. I liked it. A lot.

There is one thing I need to figure out, though. Every time my boyfriend come with us to visit my family in the lovely mountains in the middle of nowhere, he acts differently. A good kind of differently. He's sweeter, gentler, more forgiving, less touchy, more understanding, more romantic... he's different. I'm not sure if it's because he's less stressed out because we're away from his family/friends/work stress, or if he's less stressed because we're out in the country or something. I'm not sure if he's just on his best behavior because so many of my family are around. I'm not sure if he's trying to butter me up into one of our rare, late-night sneak-some-nookie-without-the-grandparents-hearing escapades.

So that's what's been percolating in the back of my head for the past two weeks while I ran around shadowing doctors at a hospital here in the mountains of the middle of nowhere. That, and the MCATs I'm preparing for. Jeepers, those study books are huge.

Ramblings about Headspace

(Note - This post is a rather rambling, meandering babble about my headspaces and relationship and the inner workings of my head, written mostly to talk things out for myself. I make no guarantees as to the coherence or usefulness of anything you may read. I can't even guarantee it will be interesting.)

We like to dabble in our play. A little bit of this today, a little of that tomorrow, a dash of this in both... it keeps things interesting, and no two romps between the sheets are quite alike. That's the way we usually approach bondage and impact play. It's generally just another tool in the arsenal, another toy, another fun thing to do when the mood strikes us. We're both switches, so role is another thing that changes on a whim. He'll cuff me for sex one day, and sex will otherwise be business as usual... I just can't, you know, move much. A few days later, I'll give him a good paddling with his blowjob, but the cuffs will stay in their drawer. The same goes for any toy we love.

Worshiped Like a Goddess

This weekend, I was worshiped like a goddess.

As those of you who babble on twitter with me know, I've been very sick for the past few weeks. I've started into the fourth week of severe bronchitis, actually. It's very unpleasant, makes me feel like crap, leaves me with cabin fever from being cooped up, and getting mopey over the prednisone-weight. Regardless of how hard I'm coughing, this leaves me feeling completely, totally unsexy.

Which is where my boyfriend proves yet again how incredibly lucky I am to have him.