Sexual Health

Oct 282015
 

bark dryAt first I thought I had a yeast infection, a common enough occurrence for me. I treated with more probiotics and some boric acid capsules. When that didn’t work I begged my provider for Fluconazole. I was getting ready to go away for the weekend and the burning discomfort was getting worse. I decided that maybe I had a urinary tract infection. We debated seeking emergency medical care, but in the end, I just drank about a gallon of straight cranberry juice with some herbal remedy type stuff added to it all weekend and tried to get through it.

When we got home it was so bad I couldn’t sleep. We went to the emergency room at 2:00 a.m. because I needed to do something as soon as possible. I decided that as unlikely as it seemed, I must have a sexually transmitted infection, perhaps chlamydia or gonorrhea. For the first time in my life, I hoped and prayed that I had an STI, so I could take antibiotics and feel better in a couple of days.

They did indeed give me antibiotics, although it takes two days for the test results to come back. I was negative for yeast, UTI, or anything else they could get a rapid response on, but they want to make sure to cover their bases on those STI’s. I was given very strong antibiotics, which my chart clearly stated I was allergic to. Also, these gave me a yeast infection. Two days later my test results came back: all negative.

My awesome nurse practitioner talked to me about menopause and vaginal dryness. She prescribed an estrogen cream and told me to use tiny amounts. It burned like fire on my vulva for hours. I investigated and discovered that the cream contains propylene glycol, something my body hates vigorously. I had the cream reformulated at a compounding pharmacy, without the offending ingredient, but it was still irritating. We did blood work and found out that I’m not yet going through menopause.

I am not always good at describing or localizing a sensation. What I’ve been feeling continuously for the past two months (and intermittently before then) is usually a kind of burning feeling, just below my urethra, kind of partly on my vulva and partly inside. Sometimes there is more of a stabby sensation or needles, occasionally something like an itch or irritation. The awareness of discomfort never really goes away.

I wish it was some other part of my body, even a frequently used finger. A different body part wouldn’t carry all this difficult emotional baggage. A finger that hurt all the time wouldn’t be an uncomfortable and hateful reminder of childhood secrets. This pain is not severe, but I feel sick with it, immobilized, powerless. I am desperate to make it stop. I’ve spent too many years reclaiming my sexuality to lose it all so easily. I feel furious and then helpless all over again.

bits of fluffI went to see my therapist. We spiraled in and out many times, tying together the pieces of me then and now, making it easier for me to bear the current pain without the echoes of childhood trauma. In the moments when I felt like I might go mad she smiled and patted the back of my hand. In a stroke of brilliance, she referred me to a naturopathic doctor who is also a sex therapist.

The naturopath has been a great help. She’s given me hope, which is what I really need. And a name for my affliction, vulvodynia, which I suppose makes me feel less alone. Our first appointment consisted largely of her laying out all of the possible treatment options. She promises that I won’t be in pain forever. So far, we haven’t found the right solution. The only thing that seems to give any relief is ice. I suspect that the answer may lie in treating some GI issues I have and/or some pelvic floor physical therapy.

The doctor mentioned a need for spiritual healing in addition to everything else, a soul retrieval. No, it’s not science, but there is so much more to healing than science. So I’ve just come back from three nights at the hot springs. In the best Victorian way, I’ve been to take the waters and find healing. It hasn’t been what I hoped. In fact, I feel more dismantled than miraculously cured, but I have learned something very important: it’s okay for me to be exactly where I am.

flowIt’s okay to read aloud about King Arthur instead of having kinky sex. It’s okay to cry most of the way home. It’s okay for me to hurt and feel sad and be angry and even to want to quit. The important thing for me to know right now is that I am loved for me, not the role I play. Unlike my childhood experience, I now have amazing resources that can use to fight my problems. I am rich in love. It’s seems strange to say when I feel like I am going crazy, but I am full of gratitude for the people in my life.

Jun 272015
 

I have new breasts.

Evoe in a bikiniI’m coming out of a two month haze of post-surgery recovery to discover a new me. I didn’t hate my breasts before. I liked my body, but I just never felt RIGHT. It’s difficult to articulate the unhappiness I felt living with the vague dis-ease of shame/discomfort/awkwardness while embodied. I didn’t fully recognize the weight of living with those feelings until I changed my body to fit my inner self-image. All of the wrong stories I’ve told myself about my body are simply falling away, leaving…me.

I carry myself differently after breast reduction surgery. I feel lighter, more confident. I am totally distracted by my new shape, running my fingers over my curves and scars, marveling at the wide gap between my compact breasts, loving my smaller areolas. I am absorbed in relearning myself, discovering that one of my nipples is so sensitive I almost orgasm with a light touch and the other hardly feels anything at all. It’s all new.

My self image has totally shifted. I am seeing myself as more athletic. I’m working on getting the rest of my body in line with this vision. Contrary to what I expected, having smaller breasts is making me feel more feminine. I am filled with a new reverence for my body. This experience is liberating. Anything is possible.

It’s been a challenge to get to this place of joy. Reduction surgery has been a bit of an ordeal for me. I wasn’t 100% signed up for it, but I did it anyway. It’s very weird to wake up knowing that a visible part of your body has been removed or reduced. It’s been uncomfortable dealing with pain and physical limitations. I have found this process to be as much emotional and spiritual as physical. The journey has been unexpected, perhaps a sort of coming-of-age, like puberty.

Making love in this place is sweet, all urgency and explorations. I was relieved to still feel desire. At first we were scared to fuck, imagining my breasts like a molded Jell-O desert that’s been shaken too much. Mutual masturbation helped us to find our connection. I received reassurance that my body was still beautiful even with 40 inches of stitches. My longing for intimate touch took us deep. We remembered how to make out, gazing into each others eyes while sharing breath. Finding myself anew means that our love is also transformed.

newer smaller breastsIt’s not all that woo-woo though. Sometimes I am totally shallow. I spend more time in front of the mirror. I change my clothes ten times every morning. I dream about the clothes I will be able to wear now. I bought a bikini off the rack for the first time since high school and I plan to wear it!

I cannot describe my joy at starting to feel right in my body. Yes, this has cost me money and time and pain for an outcome I was unsure of. For a long time I was afraid to take the risk or put the energy into it. But if you’ve ever wished that you could change something about your body because it’s keeping you from being who you see yourself to be, then you will understand when I say that it’s worth it. I am not yet where I want to be, but this ability to reimagine myself is one of the most powerful forces in my life. And I have new breasts!

Apr 242015
 

Bra marksI’m getting nervous about breast reduction surgery. It’s coming up soon. This feels major – a decision bigger than getting married but less momentous than having a child. I had my tonsils removed when I was a kid, but this is my breasts. I am excited and a bit uncertain.

I’ve wanted breast reduction since I was 16. For years I’ve struggled with back and shoulder pain, seeking out a wide variety of healing modalities. I can’t sleep on my stomach or stretch fully without putting my back out. It hurts to run, even with great support. The worst thing is that I just keep getting bigger, even without gaining weight.

Breasts are awesome – all kinds of breasts. I think my breasts are beautiful, and yet when I imagine them smaller I feel incredibly happy. I could go braless. The permanent divots on my shoulders could smooth out. No more rashes under my boobs every summer, no getting stabbed in the armpit by out of control underwires. I could buy sexy little lace bras at Victoria Secret instead of them looking me up and down and sniffing, “We don’t carry anything your size.” (Which is currently 34I, in case you were wondering.)

FlattenedMy reasons for surgery are emotional as well. There is something about being fuller figured that makes some men feel like they can treat you like an object. I would like to choose the times that I present as sexy rather than being objectified over anatomy I can’t control. Imagine if penises were hard and protruding all the time and people you didn’t like saw that as in invitation.

I haven’t been feeling comfortable in my body for a long time. My clothes don’t fit right. As a genderqueer individual I don’t feel a strong pull toward either gender pole, except for the times when I want to play around with stereotypes. I often feel incredibly dysphoric over my breasts. Even when I bind myself severely, they show. I long to feel more neutral in my body.

FloatingThis is a step in my transition to being more fully myself. Everyone has the right to have their appearance reflect how they see themselves, but the road can be rough. Although my process is not as dramatic as full gender transitioning, I am still discovering that the emotional journey of reshaping my body and identity is just as intense. Who will I be after this? How will I be perceived?

I have no idea what size I will end up after surgery. I’ll be happy with anything smaller. I hope a B or C-cup. I’ve been fantasizing about my new shape, breasts that will disappear under a button-down shirt or look great in a push-up bra.

SacrificeI will have scars. That part bothers me. I like scars on other people because they tell a story of where they have been. I like my stretch marks for the same reason, but I am scared of what these scars will look like on me. Will I look in the mirror and feel mutilated? Will I still be comfortable being naked? I am losing part of my body. That feels strange. The idea of a doctor under my skin feels strange, but I will do it anyway.

I’m a bit sad to say goodbye to who I am right now. I took out my nipple piercings. I gave away all of my bras except the one I’m wearing right now. It gave me pause and I shed a couple of tears, but I am embracing this change. It made me think of a line from Hedwig and the Angry Inch, which we just saw in New York, “…to be free, one must give up a little part of oneself.”

Mar 222015
 

girlIMG_1846

An older man in high heels and jeans stood before me in line at the grocery store. His dangly earrings flashed against his greying beard in the harsh light as he fished around in his purse for his wallet. He wasn’t trying to be a woman, but he very obviously was comfortable blurring gender presentation in this small rural town. Attitudes are changing. People are starting to accept that gender is a spectrum, not a binary.

I grew up among lesbians when there were only two ways to be: femme or butch. I embraced femme presentation for a long time because I hated the way that butch lesbians just didn’t seem to care about themselves at all. It would be years before I saw the “dapper” style. I wanted to accessorize, wear clothes I felt sexy in, but then I started feeling uncomfortable in my femme gender role. I looked at being butch, but I wasn’t a lesbian and I just wasn’t a masculine woman. I have come to realize that I am both masculine and feminine and I don’t have to choose between them.

When my grandmother and her sisters were growing up people had fewer choices about who they could be and it was hard to change. They were mothers and wives, a secretary, a model, a sex worker. All of them were trapped in lives dictated by those choices and the society they lived in.

My grandma was always some of my best support, but also kind of judgmental too. she wanted me to do the right things, look the right way, know the things I needed to know to be a good woman. I feel that my grandmother found safety by following convention. I believe that I can only feel secure if I follow my own heart and let myself be as big as I can be. I refuse to be trapped in my life in any way. I am choosing my own happiness.

I do not feel like a boy OR a girl most of the time. I consider myself gender queer or gender fluid. Androgynous may be the word that makes the most sense to some people, but that implies a lack of gender. I am encompassing all genders! My gender is wherever I happen to be at the time. My gender is Evoë. My gender is pirate.

I know many people who have transitioned – gone from one gender polarity to another. Right now I do not feel a strong pull toward male or female, but if I do in the future I would consider making that transition. Right now I am becoming more me. Making choices based on what will truly bring happiness and satisfaction to my life strips away the irrelevant, leaving me living my truth. I am becoming more me every day.

I am not rejecting my body (because I love it!), but I am doing what I need to do to feel right in my body. I am exercising and lifting weights. I will have breast reduction surgery in a few weeks. This feels like a big step. I’ve always hated having huge breasts. It hasn’t ever felt right. My cup size is the only thing that makes me feel dysphoric on a regular basis. I feel burdened by my breasts. I don’t want to give up having breasts altogether, but I want small breasts that I can hide or put in sexy little bras depending on my mood. I need my body to reflect how I see myself.

Mostly, I don’t present as any particular gender. I pick clothes that make me happy, a huge mix of things. I hardly wear jewelry at all any more. My hair is buzzed except for a long curly bit in front. I always wanted to be bleached blonde, and I love it! I paint my toenails because I think my toes are ugly. When I feel a lot like a guy, I wear eyeliner and a jock strap. I adore bow ties. Big stompy boots go with everything. I have a lot of fun with presentation because the only person I’m trying to please is me.

Slowly, I am becoming. I am shaping my life to reflect my inner world.

That thought makes me cry because it feels so powerful. And then I laugh because it is simply marvelous. It is freeing to live according to my own compass. I do not care what anyone thinks of me, although judging by the fabulous gentleman in heels at the grocery store, people don’t really care the way my grandmother would have. I like to think that she would still support me. Her love meant the world to me, but ultimately, loving myself means more.

Mar 152015
 

I should finishing up my final work for my college course, but in the time honored tradition of students everywhere, I am distracting myself. Have you ever seen the way that testicles move around while at rest? No really, it’s mesmerizing. I made you a little video…

 

Testicles move constantly to regulate temperature or react to arousal. I think it’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen! Is this not totally awesome?!? Okay, fine…I’ll go write my paper now.

Feb 082015
 

CuppingJust when I think that the new relationship energy must be over – that maybe we’ve exhausted our passion, or built up too much resentment for intimacy to feel good – sex is suddenly better than ever. The past month has brought a sea change in my relationship with Harold, perhaps born of many hours working through old pain in our relationship, but more likely simply paying more attention to some health issues.

It’s amazing how different our relationship is when my thyroid levels are back in balance and Harold gets enough sleep and takes vitamins. He says that vitamins give him the ability to act on the fact that he wants me all the time. Amazing! I can’t wait to see what happens when we both start exercising on a regular basis.

Our connection has always been sexual, but now we can’t get enough of each other – it’s been five times a week, sometimes twice a day. We are suddenly able to experience each other in ways that we’ve wanted but been unable to quite achieve. Harold topped me for a whole session, sending me into spasms of delight. I put needles through his balls, deeply satisfying his adventurous spirit. We played around with cupping while listening to old vinyl on the record player, bonding through a shared love of the blues. We’ve been seriously kinky and had so much fun!

My new favorite thing is being tied up and spanked while I’m on top of the Magic Wand. I don’t come quickly, but the ride is intense. Also, I’m enjoying being fucked from behind with a butt plug in, so it feels like I’m being fucked in both holes. Coming like that is beyond description. I’ve never felt so close to Harold as in those moments of pure pulsing pleasure.

NeedleWe are more romantic right now too. All of that oxytocin surging through us is making us all mushy. We’ve been doing sweet little things to help each other, getting small presents that would bring joy, and leaving love notes. I feel like he is understanding me in ways that were out of reach before. We are both stretching, trying hard to be big enough for this fire that is our passion.

Not everything is roses. I can see how important it is for us to take care of our bodies and our psyches so we can keep having unbelievable sex. We still have moments nearly every day where we feel some twinge of pain or frustration, but now we have the golden nectar of love and sexual connection buoying our souls. For that balm, I will brave a few thorns.

Oct 012014
 

High stressLast week was super stressful for me. I started college, I lost my dog, my child had surgery, and I did it all while dealing with my normal stressful things, a broken toe that’s still healing, and being sick with a cold that turned into a sinus infection and bronchitis. Needless to say, I did not go on any dates last week. I did manage a few brief erotic encounters and intimacy of the snuggly kind. That totally counts.

But by the start of this week I was feeling totally depleted. Joel held the fort at home and Harold took me down to the cabin. For five hours he held me while I grieved and ranted and searched my soul. It gave me time to release all of the tension that had been building and threatened to explode. Usually, we would spend at least half of the time making love, but this emotional sharing seemed more important. It’s not that we didn’t make out. We are always sexual together on some level, but he just held the space for me process. That’s more intimate than anything else I know.

We went to run errands. More difficult emotions came up. We were in Costco when my anger finally hit surface. We probably made a spectacle, me raging, then us passionately kissing, then more arm waving. It felt good to express anger and still feel loved and supported.

By the time we got off the freeway on our way home, I had broken down into heaving sobs – the deep cathartic kind of crying, releasing more grief than the tears that sometimes escape and run silently down my cheeks. That moment suddenly made everything real. Harold kissed me and I felt him all the way down to my toes.

It funny that we can spend the day together, naked, sharing our thoughts and still not be in sync sexually. But that one moment in the car, when I found my emotional center, we suddenly melted into each other and all we knew was pure desire. My need to fuck him was intense. Harold starting driving again. We weren’t far from home, but when you need someone like that…

I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. I gripped his erection through his jeans, my hands restlessly moving from cock to back of the head to nipples. He captured my hand and kissed the back, sucked at my fingers. Our pull to each other was threatening Harold’s ability to drive. We had to pull over.

Even before the car came to a full stop in the small dark deserted public parking lot, we were passionately making out. His hand was down my shirt, trying to liberate my breasts, or at least my nipples. We scrambled to find a way to make sex work in the car.

We’ve done this a few times before, but always in larger vehicles, not a sedan. And I’d always been wearing a skirt without panties, with shoes that slip off, so it was easy to straddle him. This night I was wearing tights and an orthopedic walking boot. Not exactly streamlined. No matter, we’ve always been resourceful. I quickly calculated positions. The backseat was out because it was loaded with our Costco purchases. There was no room on the driver’s side. I ask Harold if he could moved over to my side.

You have to understand that this was urgent. We were desperate. When I managed to pull down my skirt and tights and not get my boot hung up in Harold’s feet, it was a minor miracle. When I sat down and guided his cock into my cunt, it was a palpable relief. The car creaked and groaned as we rocked back and forth, but after a minute, we both knew it wasn’t quite right. We needed a different angle and our options were limited.

Looking around, I devised a brilliant plan. I crawled over to the driver’s side, clothing and boots still hampering me. That didn’t give me enough room, so I opened up the door. Harold pushed to his knees, trying to get into position behind me. There I was, with my ass in the air and my head out the open door, Harold crouched over and behind me trying to find an angle where he could insert his cock, when I noticed that the car was moving.

It was fairly dark and it was raining. The car moved so slowly at first that I wasn’t sure if I was moving or the car – just that slight disorientation of movement. When I realized that we were indeed moving, we had a mad scramble, a tangle of limbs and clothing and car. Harold found the parking brake and pulled it on. We must have released it in our rush to fuck. Or perhaps never set it in the first place. We only rolled about a foot, and the curb would have caught us, but the absurdity of the situation was immense. We laughed and kissed, the urgency of our ardor broken.

Releasing tensionWe sighed and straighten our clothes, drove back home to the people waiting for us. I thought to myself that there seems to be more than one way to release tension. Maybe an occasional bout of free fall isn’t so bad. I have a lover who will stand by me through my worst stuff. We have so much fun together. Most of all, Harold and I, after seven years together, still have moments where we want each other so bad, SO BAD, that we can’t drive two more miles to be home and fuck. Really, what else do I need?

May 232014
 

In the mirrorI’m such a hypocrite. I spend so much time talking to people about advocating for their own pleasure, and yet when it comes to my own relationship, I take the easy way out. You know, the path that leads to resentment and separation. I know it can be better than this; I even know how to get there, but it feels too hard. Despite my best resolve, in the moment Joel asks for sex, I either avoid it or I follow the path of least resistance.

The other day when I got out of the shower, Joel was getting ready to get in. I had just spent some time bring myself to orgasm, so I was feeling pretty sexy. Joel stood there watching me do my morning routine, slowly stroking his cock. It immediately put me off my high. It felt like he was being voyeuristic in a creepy way. I didn’t say anything because I figured it was my trigger, my problem. He’s entitled to get himself off.

But then he said, “Are you just going to watch?” and I was confused. I couldn’t think of anything to say. At all. He suggested that he would come a whole lot faster if he beat off while going down on me. (Is faster better?) Oral sex seemed like it might at least feel good (and provide lubrication if he decided to fuck me).

His tongue on my clit was indeed pleasant, but I was still in a place where I hadn’t really consented. I hadn’t come to this place willingly and joyfully. I hadn’t said no either. I kind of wanted to be making love, just not like this. Despite all my knowledge and skills and advice to others, I still can’t figure out how to create the sexual relationship I want with Joel. I have tried to explain what I want, but I hold back in the places where it really counts.

I don’t like this about myself. I hardly ever give in to fear, but I am really scared of rejection in my marriage. It doesn’t seem to matter that these quick bouts of maintenance sex also feel like a rejection. I don’t want to fight. I think that if he doesn’t want the whole of me now, he will never be interested. Yet, if I can’t open the door to sexual awakening for my own partner, how can I pretend to know anything?

I don’t know anything, except my own experience. I feel so blessed to know myself fully as a sexual being. Maybe I don’t need to have that mind-blowing kind of sex with Joel. Maybe what we have is just fine for us. Okay, maybe it’s ok for him, because it really isn’t okay for me. I want more in this relationship or not to have sex at all. I love him so much that I want to share wonderful sex with him.

We had a very intense hot connection when we first got together. Joel chalks that up to new relationship energy, but it gives me hope. At some point, we had the energy I’m wanting. It’s still there. It’s still ours. We just have to figure out what we want our relationship to look like now.

We had a conversation recently where I realized that we define sex differently. I’m pretty sure that he means penis-in-vagina, pounding away sex, whereas I mean all of the things that might increase intimacy between people – sharing a meal, talking about intense things, lots of touch or massage, looking into each other’s eyes, kissing, oral sex, anal play, sensation play, bondage – anything that deepens and broadens the connection and sensations between you. By Joel’s definition it’s highly unlikely that I could have sex for 4 hours. By my definition, some days I never stop having sex. I am a very passionate person, but if I didn’t have other sexual relationships, I would think that I just wasn’t that into sex.

The other day in the bathroom, he did ask to fuck me, and I agreed. It was physically fine, but emotionally kind of like any chore that I might sign up for, knowing it would help him and make him feel better. He came, then got in the shower. My orgasm, or lack thereof, never got mentioned.

I’m tired of feeling like a blow-up doll, but I have to accept responsibility for my part in being stuck in this dynamic. I need to be an active participant. I’m sick of giving in to sex once a month when I want to feel passionate all the time. I feel trapped by all of the things we share – our family, our home, our history. I love him like crazy. I care about him deeply.

I tried to explain that I want to have sex WITH him, rather than him having sex AT me. I think he gets it. Now it falls to me to follow through and show him what I want. Can we sync up our sexualities? Can our relationship still grow and change after all these years?

We’re going to figure it out.

(Edit: the conversation continues with No flinching and Keep talking.)

Apr 072014
 

On the beachI suspect that, at some point, everyone has to look at how sex defines their life. How do I identify as a sexual (or non-sexual) person? Where does sex stand in my hierarchy of values? What is sex anyway?

Harold and I went away for the weekend and we discussed many of these concepts because I’ve been struggling with thyroid problems again. My sexuality as I have known it is on hiatus. I wrote a post about thyroid function and sexuality a while ago. When I reread that list of possible symptoms for hypothyroidism, I realize that I have been experiencing every single one. If I look back I can recognize a very gradual decline of my thyroid function over the past 3-6 months, with the last month being extremely difficult.

We needed some time away by ourselves. My extreme fatigue and lack of desire make it hard for us to just flow together sexually the way that we are used to doing. I’m missing that sensation of immediate lust that feels like sap rising in tree or riding a carnival ride – a thrill of warmth that starts in my cunt and moves up to my heart. Intellectually, I am still very interested in making love, I just don’t feel it. It takes more time for me to get my mind, body, and emotions aligned so sex flows. 

When sex stops being easy for me, I am forced to examine all of my assumptions about who I am as a person and in a relationship. Harold and I spent a lot of time talking, as I tearfully wondered if I would ever really want to have sex again (which is kind of silly because we then went on to have lots of sex, but I needed to examine my fears). We sat on the beach and I poured out my heart, asking him if he would still love me and want me if we never had sex again. How would we connect? And slowly, I remembered all of the ways that we love each other. We make love in many ways that I would not consider “sex” and while I adore our sexual connection, it was a relief to realize that I will not lose him if I cannot recover my lust.

Leave your hat onTo be clear, the only person pressuring me to be sexual is me. I get really frustrated that this isn’t something I can think my way through. I get scared that I might never feel that thrill and transcendence through sex again. Much of this weekend was spent processing a loss I don’t even believe is permanent. But sex is strong like that.

Sometimes just knowing that a “no” is okay, lets me say yes. Knowing that I didn’t have to perform sexually in any particular way freed me to simply be present in the moment. I knew that Harold would meet me no matter what I brought to our lovemaking. This is an amazing gift and it’s what keeps us together.

For any couple that’s having troubles connecting sexually, I have this advice: get naked, get in bed together, and talk. It’s okay to touch and snuggle. Look into each other’s eyes. It works for me every time. Being naked is vulnerable, and skin to skin contact makes me feel closer as oxytocin is released through this basic intimacy. As our bodies, minds, and emotions sync up internally and with each other, we naturally flow into lovemaking.

We made love in a tiny little loft, warming our bodies after sitting on the cold beach. We kissed slowly, then more urgently, opening to each other. Hands explored flesh, squeezing and caressing. I lay on top of him, feeling him harden against me. We took turns going down on each other, then switched to 69 because we had to have everything all at once. I wanted to take him with my strap-on, but we got caught up in the moment. I had to feel him inside me, just for a minute…

Sex still isn’t easy for me right now. I normally orgasm in about a minute and am capable of multiple orgasms, but we have to really work for me to cum right now. It feels great to be riding that edge for so long, but sometimes I just want to get there already! The fact that the batteries were failing on my vibrator didn’t help. I worried that Harold would get bored or tired, but he was perfectly willing to do whatever for as long as I was enjoying it.

Fields of springThe next morning, I took a shower while Harold worked on his laptop. I ended up masturbating, wanting to see how my body responded to my own touch. It took a lot of fantasizing, but I was eventually able to get myself off. Immediately, I started wishing that Harold was there (never mind that we were in a tiny cabin and he could hear everything), and feeling resentful that he didn’t care to be sexual with me (never mind that I had told him to go ahead and work and I hadn’t invited him to shower).  I had to laugh at myself for being so passive-agressive, then went and seduced him into fucking me right there in the kitchen. He didn’t mind at all.

I’m glad that we had time for me to examine the recent changes in my sexuality. We had awesome sex, but I am most grateful to spend time together doing relaxed things – talking, shopping, walking on the beach, drinking lambic out of the bottle like teenagers, looking at flowers, watching a movie, napping, and sharing meals. It’s the first time we’ve gone away and I brought my crocheting rather than, say, a trample table.

I don’t feel kinky. I don’t feel like much of a Top. I don’t feel particularly sexy. In fact, I feel sick a lot of the time. I am not up for wild rodeo sex, but that doesn’t mean that I am not sexual. I still want to kiss, to be close, to share dreams. If I think about it, I still want to orgasm. I want to connect with my partners. Everything is an effort right now, but sex is worth the effort.

Flip offIf I never feel that hot lust again, it will be like losing a limb. For now, I am content redefining my sexuality to make wherever I am the perfect place to be. It’s a relief to know that I don’t have to be crazy kinky to be loved. I happen to like pushing my sexual limits most of the time, but that isn’t the whole of my identity. I can define sex any way I like.

Mar 012014
 
Vixen Creations Ride On and Colossus

Colossus (top) and Ride On (bottom)

I’m going to start this review of penis prostheses by saying that I think that once a guy stops worrying about his erection and when he is going to come, sex is a much more enjoyable experience for both of us.

Don’t get me wrong, I really like fucking. A hard man is good to find and all that, but I prefer to focus on pleasure rather than penetration. I didn’t even realize how much more pleasure there is to explore until I started having sex with Harold. He was 58 at the time. As is normal for men his age, his cock doesn’t always work the way he wants it to, yet we have so much fun together.

Harold and I are very adventurous sexually. I suspect that Harold has always been a considerate and playful lover, but I appreciate that he is interested in taking his time and exploring every possibility with me. Ironically, we started wondering what it would be like if he could have more erections. What if he could stay harder longer? What if he could fuck again right after coming? These questions led us to investigate some fascinating products…

Vixen Creations makes two PPA (Prosthetic Penis Attachment)/Extenders – Ride On and Colossus – that seem to be miles ahead of the competition. I contacted them and they happily sent us one of each to review. I asked for two different colors so we could compare. We have Ride On in Vanilla and Colossus in Caramel (the third option is chocolate), but neither shade is close to Harold’s skin color.

Trying to get into Ride On

Scrotum should go through first

These are made of soft silicone. Vixen is famous for their VixSkin, a proprietary realistic feeling skin-like material. These PPAs are supposedly a bit softer than their standard formula. They feel and look more realistic than any dildoes I’ve ever owned. Sadly, my cunt did not react well to this silicone. I am pretty delicate and fucking with these the first time made my vagina burn. After that we used condoms and that worked fine. This material does pick up lint and things fairly easily, but washes up with warm water and mild soap.

I think a sense of humor is mandatory for PPAs. Even when it works well, there is still something kind of ridiculous about a prosthetic penis. For us, the laughter started when we eagerly attempted to put the device on. Of course we hadn’t bothered to read the instructions. How hard can it be? You stick the penis in the tube part and pull the balls through the hole. Right.

Here’s the quick guide from Vixen’s website:

  • Roll the sleeve one third of the way down.
  • Apply lubricant to the inside of the Ride On and your penis.
  • Squeeze out the air.
  • Place your penis into the opening and gradually release the pressure.
  • Unroll the Ride On to the base.
  • Pull the scrotum through the hole.
  • Pull to one side and push through one testicle.
  • Repeat with the other.
  • Have fun!
Vixen Creations Ride On

What an impressive hard on!

Even following these instructions, it was not easy to secure the extenders. You are supposed to be able to use Ride On with or without an erection, simply create a vacuum around your penis and push your balls through the hole at the base. Harold and I are used to handling his balls, but this was a chore – not exactly spontaneous, but funny as hell trying to capture each testicle and send it through the hole. We had better luck tying off the base of his scrotum, but I don’t really recommend this method. I think there is a learning curve and it gets easier each time, so definitely practice a bunch before you find yourself in a “fuck me now” moment.

Ride On was a great fit for Harold (when not fully hard) at 4″ x 1″. It added some interesting length for me with outer dimensions of 6.25″ x 1.75″. I think it makes Harold look like a porn star. Colossus, however, never really fit well. The first time we tried it was right after he had orgasmed, so he wasn’t at all hard and couldn’t create any vacuum to keep his penis inside. It kept buckling when he tried to fuck me. We were almost hysterical with laughter. I finally asked for one of his socks, stuffed it inside, and we were able to proceed.

When I asked Joel to try out these PPAs, his experience was opposite Harold’s. With an erection, Joel was unable to fit in Ride On, no matter what he tried. Joel’s scrotum is not dangly or very stretchy, so he found the application of the device painful, however, Colossus fit his cock well with inner dimensions of 5.5″ x 1.375″. The outside is 6.75″ x 2.25″, which doesn’t seem that large, but looks and feels impressive.

Vixen Creations Colossus

Stuffing a sock inside Colossus

Lube is a necessity with these extenders. Lots of lube inside seems to improve fit as well as pleasure. Our experience was that the PPA served kind of as a masturbation sleeve. More lube outside made fucking more comfortable for me as well, but nothing replaces fabulous foreplay. (I like to be begging to be fucked before anything goes inside my cunt.) One note: I would recommend warming the PPA before use if at all possible. Otherwise it feels very cold and weird!

I prefer Ride On to Colossus in terms of my comfort, but both are amazing in concept. I love that these PPAs allow sex to happen in all of the ways I might want it to. For example, getting fucked in the ass is not possible without a firm hard-on. I’m a person who likes options. At first the $124 – $130 price tag seemed a little steep, but then I realized that we are currently paying $30 a pill for Viagra, so it seems like a good investment, as well as being more flexible and reliable.

I make love to feel connected to my partner. Vixen Creation’s PPAs do not feel like the real thing, but they can help me to feel more connected. If nothing else, we have the shared experience of laughing over introducing something called Colossus to my privates.

These are my thoughts, but it seems wrong to review what is a product designed to fit over penises without getting some opinions from people who have penises…

Harold says, “I’ve always thought this kind of product would be cool, because it would give me the option to keep fucking right after coming if that was what my partner wanted. Also, now that I’ve gotten older and don’t always get a good erection (or sometimes even any erection at all), it could make penetrative sex possible if that was something we wanted.

“The funny thing is, although Ride-on works pretty well just as I thought it might, it seems much less interesting than I’d anticipated. We love to fuck, but having a prosthesis involved clarified for me again something I’ve known for a long time, namely that what you do is really not nearly as important as what you feel emotionally. It was fun to try out the Ride-on and Collossus, but using them had little relationship to what we experience when we’re normally fucking.”

Vixen Ride On in action

Ride On in action

Joel says, “I don’t suffer from a small cock and generally don’t have a problem with erectile dysfunction so the stunt cock is not normally something that I would be interested in.  That said, when my sexy wife showed me a giant hollow cock and asked for my help with an experiment how could I possibly say no.

“There is something amazing about wielding a giant cock that never gets soft.  Seeing and feeling that massive appendage swinging between my legs was certainly a rush.

“I needed lots of lubrication to slide my cock into the hollow inside, even partially flaccid, and the strap that went around my testicles was a bit snug for my tastes, but the overall experience was certainly worth it.”

Bottom line: Make love with everything you’ve got, and then if you still want to improve your ability to penetrate, buy a Ride On or a Colossus.

Grade: B+