How one woman refuses to let a painful sexual disorder ruin her sex life.
There's been a lot of talk lately about women's sexual health. Either we're not doing it, or we don't feel like doing it, or don't like the feel of doing it. I fall squarely into that third category, because when it comes to matters of the old in-and-out, my girl parts are afraid of boy parts. Sounds ridiculous, I know. But I have a doctor's note. Lemondrop: The Real Reason Women Under 30 Aren't Having Sex
My condition is called vaginismus. It's basically a gag reflex for your downstairs, or like the mythical vagina dentata, but without the badass peen-chomping teeth. It's goes a little something like this: Say I'm about to get down to business with my best guy. We're hot, we're heavy, we're headed to the bedroom. All casual-like he sidles his yang on up to my yin, and at the first whiff of that quivering member, we have a lockdown situation. My cooter shuts up tighter than a Chinese finger trap. Nothing's getting in. Not nobody, not no how.
Bring on the panic attack. You see, as my vagina has become conditioned to fear the peeper, so have I. My heart races and my body tenses, because I know what's to come. (Hint: Not me.) "Get the lube, get the lube!" I'll plead as I focus my breathing, concentrating on relaxing my muscles, relaxing my mind, tricking myself into believing that this time I will somehow magically be fixed. Lemondrop: Sex Advice—Why Women Aren't Interested, And How They Can Be
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Written by "Beth Brennan" for Lemondrop.