The question I’m embarrassed to ask

I can’t help it; I think I love Sex Blog (of Sorts). She writes brilliant, vulnerable, powerful, thought-provoking posts – and she loves chocolate and wine and baking and… I’m going to stop now before I sound like a 15-year-old.

There have been a lot of Charlie-inspired writings here lately, and yes, this is another.

Sorry, hon.

Her post about the questions we’re embarrassed to ask was inspired by Marie Claire; there must be something in the air because the cover of the April issue of Glamour proudly proclaimed “we asked a gynaecologist everything!” They must have edited heavily, because none of the questions I’d have asked were in there. But in her piece, she brought up something that touched an unexpected nerve for me:

The muscles down my left side don’t work properly: does that mean if I squeeze my cunt around his cock when we’re fucking he feels it more on one side than the other?

A couple of weeks ago The Chap asked me if I came the last time we’d fucked. If I had there’d have been party poppers and champagne. He knows what my solo orgasms look and sound like, but something prompted him to ask if it had happened with him.

My orgasms are lovely, glorious, gratefully received things, but I wonder – especially given the frame of mind I’ve been in the past few weeks – if I’m still missing out, if there’s something I’ve yet to tap into.

Over the past 18 months or so I’ve tracked how easy and difficult it is for me to orgasm, keeping an eye out for patterns in relation to my physical and mental health, and the effect of medication and other animals. The lower the amount of medication I’m on, the easier they are – although after the reminder of life with the Black Dog, I can definitely say I’d rather have questionable orgasms than feel this unbalanced and sad and trapped in my head.

My science brain has also been confounded lately by the discovery that my thyroid is underactive, and the totally unsettling effect that’s had on my periods and the rest of my monthly hormone levels. I don’t think my G-spot is particularly happy about the thyroid development; it’s been somewhat touchy for a few months, to the extent that a couple of my previous favourite toys have become rather neglected because they now rub me up the wrong way.

Anyway. Yes, I keep an eye on my orgasms.

They’re incredibly focused and concentrated around my genitals and clit. My legs stop working for a little while afterwards, but short of managing to pull my hamstring every now and then I don’t feel anything beyond a very small radius of the area being stimulated.

The constant is the vaginal contractions. They’re strong – enough, ironically, to make me pee, as well as to stop the flow – and do more to make me shudder than any other part of the orgasm. Imagine having a goose walk over your grave.

Bearing in mind the sensitivity issues I know I have, is it possible that with all the other stimulation going on I came physically, but the message didn’t reach my brain?


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