After five years of marriage, we broke it off. We had tried couples counseling and everything else— lingerie, candles, massage oil, and nothing worked. I would have thought I was hopelessly frigid, except right around the time we started counseling, I started spending time with an old friend, Sam. Mike and I had recently moved to a new town, and Sam happened to live a few blocks away. Ever since college, I had been attracted to Sam, but one of us was always attached when the other was single. Sam was flirtatious, sensual and confident. He was extremely open about sex and obviously experienced. My feelings for him became overwhelming and I worried I'd have an affair with him—or at least try to. I stopped seeing him, but because of him, I knew that I was capable of feeling that way. And after so many tries with Michael, I knew we just weren't meant to be. He cried horribly when I told him it had to be over, but he also seemed to know. Six months later, we sold our home, and a month after that, our divorce was finalized. I was 28, divorced and, worst of all, still a virgin.
Are there support groups for divorced virgins? I googled "divorced virgin" and all that came up were links to Christian sites advising men not to marry the former type and to wait for the latter. "Hello!" I wanted to shout. "I'm right here! I'm both!" The last dodo bird.
After the divorce, I couldn't wait to meet someone who would have sex with me. But I was still worried about my dysfunctional, overly small vagina. I was absolutely certain that there was something wrong with me. I mean, how could it have never gotten in there? I had to be sure that when I found someone that it would work immediately and that I wouldn't find another premature ejaculator with an abnormally large penis.
I'm a teacher, so I made myself a syllabus. I might not be able to fix the vagina problem, but I could at least know what I was doing. I read the Kama Sutra and I bought several instructional DVDs and several vibrators. I figured I could start out with the non-threatening Pink one and work up to the more intimidating white one, and then I'd be ready for the real thing, no matter how huge it might turn out to be. When I finished my self-imposed syllabus, I began looking for a man, preferably a small man.
I went online and met Joshua. He seemed perfect on paper: part Native American, spiritual but not religious, newly divorced and with long hair and several tattoos that seemed to mean something to him. I knew I would never fall in love with him—perfect. I wasn't ready to start loving again; I just wanted to have sex.