Porn - An update

Hi Vaginistas,

The sun is shining in London town, I am unemployed, and so I'm going to go and have a walk somewhere new soon, to a folly which isn't a folly - exciting. I love a walk I do. What? I'm unemployed, I've got to find my free kicks where I can. I'm going to put a long floaty dress on and pretend I'm a regency lady. Later I might pull the labels off some empty beer bottles and see if they have enough adhesive left to stick to my forehead. It's going to be a veritable jamboree of excitement.

But before I do that (steady Keeks, steady, the labels will still be there later), I thought I'd squander some valuable sun time by writing an update on the NHS porn, hooray! A friend asked me about it (I AM BRILLIANT AT ANONYMITY) and it seemed like a good idea to follow up on it.

Well. I'm afraid it was just too much for me. I'm sorry, I tried, I really tried! It's just too dated, I can't hear the filthy saxophone wailing and see the flouro pink eyeshadow and perms without it all simultaneously disgusting and tickling me. Whilst it is entertaining in it's way, it doesn't do what it's meant to do. I mean, for me that is, some of you might love it, I'm not judging.....(I am a little bit)

The point of it, as I said before, was for me to look at normal happy couples having sex, and realise that it doesn't hurt when they get to the main event. Fine. Except I know other people have sex and that it doesn't hurt. We all know that; after all women with Vaginismus are the dirty little secret, not the ones having lots of lovely, pain-free sex. But watching a fella humping away on an impeccably-permed lady in tasteful soft focus doesn't make me think "hang on, her face isn't scrunched up in agony!" it just makes me think "Look what he's doing with his PELVIS! Why is he doing it that hard?! That would definitely hurt, if it were me. She looks happy though."

The face of allure

I suppose it's about changing perceptions, in fact I know it is, but going back 30 years apparently isn't doing it for me. Who knew?! 


What I have discovered though, which I've found really useful, is that if you find porn that does do it for you*, using the dilators, sorry trainers - we have to call them trainers and not dilators! News bulletin vaginistas! My therapist told me this, because you're not making anything bigger, you're showing the muscles that they can expand. Which makes sense really - is a whole different kettle of fish. I wish that this had come up in therapy, but it actually makes complete sense - you're training your body to realise that penetration isn't painful, and you'll (hopefully) be attempting penetration only in a state of arousal. It's completely different, and so much easier. Since I discovered this, using the trainers has become so much easier. Really! In fact, so much easier that I am on the 2nd biggest one. 

This is a metaphorical rosette. But I really have one though.

I KNOW! 2ND BIGGEST! Look at me and my stretchy, stretchy vagina! Behold! The wonders of the stretchiness! What's that? You heard that my stretchy vagina is on the 2nd biggest trainer? Why yes, you are correct, here's my autograph, NO PHOTOS!!


The hubble can fuck off though.


So, if you're using the trainers and are struggling with them, this is my suggestion - don't do it, as I was originally instructed, in the manner of a Victorian lady, sitting back and thinking of England, breathing deeply and calmingly, and pretending the whole thing isn't happening. Finding a nice, sensible novel to read to take your mind off the process is fine, but actually you want your body to know that when things get steamy and you try penetration it won't hurt, and so getting into that zone is better - and honestly, so much easier. You don't want that disconnect, of letting it all go on down there and counting down the time til you can remove the thing, that's (hopefully) not what will be happening during sex after all. You want to be able to feel it, you just want it to feel good, and not painful. Try it ladies, it is better.


Now, I'm off to find a folly, and maybe have an ice lolly.


A parting rhyme. I know, I'm just all give, I really am.

 * Porn that women enjoy. I know. I KNOW. It's a big and contentious issue. Bloody the patriarchy.

The vaginista and the pea

Hello Vaginistas,

I'm sorry I haven't written anything for a while. Quickly, I just want to say thank you to those of you who sent me emails; I'm sorry I haven't replied, I am struggling in a fug of unemployed and new-spinster lethargy, but I promise I will drag myself out of it and reply soon. Needless to say, I am so happy and humbled (if I can say "humbled" without it coming across as the opposite) to receive emails from you all. I have received amazing, inspiring, heartbreaking stories from amazing men and women, and I'm really quite overwhelmed that you contacted me. Honestly, it's a surprising and beautiful side-effect to this blog. I'm hoping (with the authors' consent) to get some of the stories up here soon.

Anyway, all that aside, things are a little funny at the moment. Breaking up with someone rather makes you put sexual therapy on a back burner, but I think progress is still steady. My vagina and I are more or less at peace. I do however have one quite funny story to tell you.

I noticed a couple of weeks ago that I had a tiny, quite painful little lump on my labia. My heart did that one big THUMP followed by the rush of panic that floods up from feet to head that you get when you realise something bad. I calmly went through all of the most likely reasons for the appearance of the lump:

"SHIT! I HAVE GOT SOME HORRIFIC DISEASE!
SOME WEIRD CREATURE HAS CRAWLED INTO MY VAGINA AND IS CHEWING ON IT!
IT'S COLLAPSING FROM THE OUTISDE IN!!
NNGRARAAGAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!"
I conjectured.

When I had my first (failed) smear test, the well-meaning but nevertheless patronising nurse told me not to worry, as "Virgins" are at 99% less risk of any infections or diseases in their nether-regions than the sexually initiated. But there's always exceptions right? And there is still that 1% to consider, lurking balefully in the background.

Having accepted that conjecture and panic probably wasn't going to help, I decided I had to go to the drop in gum clinic, grit my teeth and put up with any sort of incredulity or - if I was really unlucky - dismissal that might be sent my way. A painful pea is not a normal thing to find on your foof, after all.

I sat in the waiting room reading, trying to push the thought of horrible, cold and cruel speculums out of my mind, and was shortly joined by two women. As they sat down on the other side of the room, one turned to the other and chuckled:

"Did you see? The receptionist recognised me. Haha, I'm in here all the time!" 

Her friend duly chuckled. I mentally punched myself in the brain to stop it from unfairly judging. What a cow my brain is. It did help me to relax slightly however. "Other women do this all the time! All the time!" I thought. It can't be so bad......

Eventually, my name was called and I went in to see a male Doctor. Now, I know that perhaps some women would prefer to see a female Doctor but honestly, it doesn't bother me either way - as long as they are professionals and not squeamish, then I'm happy. I'm really more worried about what the Doctor uses, than whether the Doctor is male or Female. I was mainly worried in case he turned out to be one of the Vaginismus un-initiated.

Happily, he turned out to be actually and properly amazing. I told him the problem, and he very calmy said it was probably nothing, but definitely a good idea to check it out. 

"I think we should try a speculum" he said, at which point my heart did that big BOOM! Thing again, and all the blood left my face "But we will take it very slowly - I promise. If it hurts, we can stop, if you don't feel comfortable, we can stop. There is absolutely no pressure at all". I loved him. I wanted to give him a hug, but I didn't. 

A Nurse took me through to a treatment room, where I was told to undress from the waist down, get on the bench and put my legs in the stirrups. 

But, I don't see any horses?

Oh, the stirrups. I'm sure you all agree that sitting like this, vulnerable and wide open to the world and it's wife (Yes, OK, so a Doctor and a Nurse, but STILL), with a light pointed directly inside you, is not a fun thing. I was already dreading the painful muscle spasming. Obviously, a smear test is not a fun thing for anyone. I doubt there are many women who look in their calendar and shout

"YESSSSSS! I TOTES FORGOT I AM GETTING A SMEAR DONE TODAY, DOUBLE HAND GRAB! POINT ME TO THE STIRRUPS!"

But vaginismus is an extra cherry on top of the whole affair.

I sat there until the Doctor came in, with my legs in the air, gazing whistfully at my disgarded pants. I duly made small talk with the Nurse about the weather, because I am British dammit, and making small talk about the weather is my duty in ALL SITUATIONS. Even situations where I am laying spreadeagled with a stranger snapping on some natty rubber gloves. That done, the Doctor commenced with the examination. It turned out the little pea had disappeared, and was in all likelihood a gland that had become blocked, which is apparently quite normal and can happen from time to time. I am adding this to the list of things that No One Has Told Me About My Vagina (thanks a LOT Catholic education).

He decided we should try a smear test anyway. I felt all the muscles in my body clam up tight. He told me to relax, and started. I squealed. He stopped. He tried again. I squealed and started to cry. He stopped.

"I'm so sorry" I said, feeling the full and mortifying failure of my body.

"What on earth are you apologising for?" He said mildly, putting away the horrible instrument of female torture. I considered asking him to marry me. 

"It's OK dear" Said the nurse cheerfully "We can try a smaller one".

WHAT. WHAT IS THIS? A smaller speculum?! That is a thing?! WHY DID WE NOT TRY THIS FIRST?! At the time, I was too relieved to feel anything but glad that the Evil thing had gone.

The smaller speculum worked fine. I realise in hind-sight that a previous Nurse had told me about them before, and I wish I'd remembered on the way into the examination. Anyway, after that everything went fine. The actual smear samples were nothing; I could barely feel them.

"All done" The doctor said cheerfully, removing his gloves, and leaving me to get dressed. I was exultant, euphoric! I was a proper, real woman, a woman who has smear tests! A woman, with a vagina, that can have SMEAR TESTS!

As I sat there, beaming at my naked ankles high in the air and thinking to myself "I AM WOMAN. I AM PROPER WOMAN. ME VAGINA HAVE SMEAR" the nurse pulled the curtain across to let me dress and turned to me one last time,

"If this happens again" She said kindly "Just make sure you ask for the Virgin speculum."

With that, she left the room.

Bras, nipples and complicated feelings

Hi Vaginistas,

I thought I'd do a post about how vaginismus feels - not physically, but deep down, in your achey feeling-pit of a centre. I think in my opinion, this is one of the hardest things to overcome with the big ouchey, and also one of the most important. So here goes.


Every now and again, about once a year, I thrust my feet into my very old and stinky, but still delightfully comfortable carpet boots*, grit my teeth and march out my door, with steel in my eyes and determination vibrating through my very being. 

Bra shopping.

I've pretty much given up on this most feminine of consumerist activities. It's not that I'm afraid of them, or have rejected them as patriarchal strapping and shaping devices. I quite like bras. They're pretty, and they stop people going "OOH! NIPPLES!" at you, and at certain times of the month when your boobs are aching, they hold you up and stop them from jiggling around painfully. Amiright fellas? Yaknowwarramsaying.You see, the problem is they just don't make bras in my size.

you mean....they meet in the middle?!

One day when I realised it was that time of year, I wandered resignedly into a high street department store, telling myself I would leave the second the panic set in from seeing all those bras made for normal women, with normal sized boobs. To my delight and surprise I stumbled, ecstatically, incredulously, upon a whole range of bras which were all in my size!! I couldn't believe it - hail to thee, oh wondrous department store and this, thine glorious bounty of bras! I thought. Or something along those lines. I didn't notice right away the abundance of pink patterns, hearts and the like, which covered them.

I picked a couple up, and noticed they had copious amounts of tags attached to them. Curious as to how a bra needed such an awful lot of reading material - maybe they were a new invention? Maybe they were some fantastic eco thingamajiggy, and as I walked they would turn my body heat into oxygen? - I opened one of the pink tags to have a look. 


"If my breasts are still growing, is it OK to wear an underwired bra?" The tag questioned. It went on to answer itself, but I had already stopped reading, and replaced the bras in a hurry.


Training bras. 


My boobs are SO SMALL, they are considered by this highly respected department store to be NOT QUITE FINISHED GROWING YET. I am 28. 


I practically ran out of the store, feeling appalled and humiliated, a little bit giggly at the ridiculousness of it, and resolved never to try this again.


Now, honestly, I am really a normal sized person. I'm quite small, sure, but not unusually so, if you saw me walking down the road I'm almost 75% sure that you wouldn't think "How strange! That woman is fully grown, and yet her breasts are still the same size as an adolescent girl! I shall put her in a cage and parade her about town with my mermaid and hairy woman, and charge tuppance a stare!"


I know it is not done for one to talk about being "too small" and please believe me when I say I am not trying to show off! Really and honestly. I know that women have - and have at various points in my own life also felt - negatively about thighs which seem to be just too big, for stomachs that seem to be far too round, and of course I know that this is a whole, enormous issue. What about women whose breasts are so large to the point of being painful, of being a health issue? For women who have had masectomies and are left only with scars, or prosthetics? 

The reason I compare this particular sentiment to vaginismus is that there is something so particular about a woman's breasts, and their importance to a woman's femininity that at ridiculous moments times like these, when I can't find a stupid bra my size because they actually don't come small enough, that I feel like a failure, like I'm not quite a proper woman at all. I feel de-feminised.

Burn the flipping things, and then lets go and get nachos!

If this sounds frivolous, overblown, conceited and lacking in any sense of wider perspective, then I would say you could well be right, though I've tried to show that that isn't the case. But when it comes to one's own appearance, and certainly one's appearance put in the context of what it means to your inherent womanhood and sexuality then perhaps you might start to see why it is to a degree, important. You see how this applies to vaginismus? It's all one and the same thing - my body isn't how a woman's body should be and so I am a failure as a woman. I feel awful, and sad, and ashamed of myself.


I don't really care about bras anymore. I've stock piled on the few that I've found that fit, and often I just jiggle about without a bra on, WILLING people to say anything to me. And vaginismus? Well, I've found peace with that too, in as much as I want to stamp the bastard out. Stamp that bastard RIGHT out, jiggling all the way.











*if you don't have a pair of carpet boots you are a) missing out on all the excitement of static shocks and b) not as comfortable as me)

** Side note - have you read The Beauty Myth? If not, you should!

How not to cure vaginismus

Hi Vaginistas,


Back before I had been diagnosed with lady-zip, I was going out with a young fella who I quite liked at the time, but who in hind sight was a bit of a knob-end. Sorry, is that a bit mean? OK so he wasn't a bit of a knob-end, but he wasn't right for me (*cough* total knob-end *cough*). We'd been together for a little while, and hadn't managed to have penetrative sex, or as he liked to call it - ACTUAL sex. (I don't know what he thought all the things we did do were, but apparently they didn't count as proper sex. Really, as he was that ungrateful I should've just saved my energy and watched re-runs of Dr Who instead. Much more fun. And less sticky. And easier on the knees) ANYWAY. Obviously, we didn't know then that I had vaginismus, but we knew there was something wrong, a matter compounded by another problem. 


He was a big boy.


When I say big, I mean it was enormous people, it would easily eclipse the hubble telescope; in fact it would quite possibly eclipse the moon thinking about it. It was a huge pillar of man flesh. A manaconda. It was the nelson's column of penises*. IT WAS BIG, is what I'm getting at here.


Now, believe me, I am not bragging. Bigness is not something that us lady with clamps are impressed by. We are scared of it. We see bigness and we run away covering our faces and screaming "DEAR GOD THE HUMANITY!!!!" 

"There is no WAY that you are getting THAT in THERE"

But on the plus size, his bigness meant that he was prepared for tricky sexual situations. It had been difficult with past girlfriends, he told me (not without a touch of pride), and that what I needed was practice with other, smaller phallicy things.


Now, he wasn't far wrong in some ways......but without any knowledge of vaginismus, the sort of practice he had in mind was really not what I should have been doing. Not what I should have been doing at all.


I bought myself a big, plastic, pink vibrator that had 20 different speeds and rotating ballbearings, a happy face on the tip (seriously) and rabbit ears (Side note - why the bunnies, why?! The bunnies are innocents, they don't need to be a part of this! Leave the poor bunnies alone!) The thing was bloody terrifying. It was like some sort of a hellish "barbies first torture chamber" set. I proceeded to torture myself with it. 


I thought, in true British stiff-upper-lip style that what I needed to do was stop being so ruddy silly, and of COURSE it was going to hurt, until I just pushed through the first bit of excruciating pain and then things would be fine. But of course I was wrong! You see, as I've explained in other sections of this blog, the muscles need to be taught that penetration shouldn't be painful, and this takes time and various sized implements, a lovely therapist and patience and no qualms about dignity whatsoever. I set about proving to myself quite the opposite.


I forced that stupid thing against the shrieking and protesting of my muscles, and let me tell you it really, really hurt. Really. It also in no way helped to cure me. Please, please don't try this if you have or think you have vaginismus, it will really only reinforce the psychological conviction that penetration is painful, and won't help in the long or short run. It'll just convince your muscles that they are right and should continue to do everything they can to keep that thing out, out, out. It hurt, and I felt more ashamed and freakish, and overwhelmed with panic.


Having carried out this self-torture a few times, Mr (Not a) Knob-end and I decided, unsuccessfully, to attempt sex. As I lay teary, hyperventilating, shaking and humiliated, he did his best to comfort me, but couldn't resist saying "You're just not practicing enough!"


It wasn't his fault of COURSE, because he had never heard of vaginismus, and didn't know how it should be treated and thought that what I was doing was the best thing. That's why we're here today, dear vaginistas, because people DO need to know these things. But if I had never been diagnosed I wonder if I would still be trying the same thing now, hurting myself because I thought it was the only way to be cured. 


We split up eventually, without too much fuss on either side, and unsurprisingly we never did manage penetration through these methods. In fact, as I stood on his porch and we said our final goodbyes, he smiled ruefully, without irony and said:

"It's such a shame we never actually had sex". 


You know what? I don't think it is actually. I really don't think it is. 


*are there too many references to the napoleonic war in this blog? 

The Reluctant Frou

Hello Vaginistas,


I've been thinking, it's about time we came up with another name for vaginismus. I mean, it’s not a pretty word is it? And it really doesn’t tell you anything about what it stands for; quite frankly it just sounds a bit icky.I think it’s about time we came up with something a bit more catchy/whimsical. I’m a big fan of whimsy. In fact, I'm quite sad I didn't think to call this blog "The Reluctant Frou", but this post will have to do. 

To that end, here are my suggestions; please feel free to contribute below (a friend of mine suggested “The Lady is a Clamp”, which I am very pleased with): 

Cockblocker
The Big Ouchy
Lady Zip
The Reluctant Frou
The Impenetrable Forest of Bwindi
A Nun’s Vagina
No Stuffin’ the Muffin
Fanny Flincher
Love Lockdown
The Uncompromising Clam
The No-Manny Fanny
Minge Cringer
The Lady is a Clamp
The Pissed Pussy
The Stubborn Drawbridge
The Gates of Mordor
Vagelina Clampbucket
Vaggy Voodoo
Pandora’s Box
Cunnot / Cun’t

Image from http://funnymadworld.blogspot.co.uk/2010/01/angry-cat.html

How does Vaginismus feel?

Well hi there! Come and pull up a chair, join me on the porch why doncha? Have some lemonade; it’s made with real lemons you know. Come on; settle down, that’s it. How’s your Dennis these days? Still got that dodgy ticker?... Well, as I’ve been sat here, I’ve just been thinking. It’s a funny thing, memory, isn’t it? When I first started trying to figure out what was wrong with me way back when, I hadn’t heard of vaginismus and had no idea what was going on with my body. Now, having got so far on the journey to “recovery”, I sometimes forget what it felt like not to know what in the heckins was happening to me.

If you find yourself where I was then, experiencing difficulties and not knowing what’s going on or why, you might want to know how vaginismus feels to see if it is something that resonates with you. Today then, I present to you my guide to how V feels. I’m not saying this is exactly how V is to everyone, but just personally how I have experienced it*, there will of course be variations from woman to woman.

This being a *whisper it* sexual disfunction, it has to be put in terms of a sexual situation so buckle up; things are about to get steamy, yo…..

Picture the scene: You’ve managed to insinuate yourself into the solo company of some delightful creature who likes Murakami novels and rides an up-cycled bike to the local farmers market for his weekly shop. He’s got a delightfully mischievous smile and come-to-bed-eyes and is most DEFINITELY looking at you in a very promising way indeed. Together you’ve polished off a very good bottle of wine from Tesco (when I say very good, I mean drinkable for under a fiver) and finished discussing that TOTES EMOTIVE film you just watched together at the local picture house before popping into his for a night cap. His housemates are all out. Things are getting interesting. You both DEFINITELY want it. Then, this happens:

1. To begin with, everything feels fine. Good, even, if Mr up-cycle knows what he’s about. Vaginismus itself doesn’t prevent you being turned on, and the physical process of the body becoming aroused is the same, so for this part things are pretty exciting. V doesn’t prevent orgasm either.
2. You’re approaching the main event… but when any sort of penetration is attempted, things start to go wrong. First off, it hurts. You try to breathe through it. Then it really, really hurts. It feels a bit like you’re being ripped in half, right down the middle. This is due partly to the psychological side of V kicking in (of which, more later), but it’s primarily because the muscles physically clamp themselves closed. They are not keen on that weird looking thing coming towards them and trying to force its way in, in what is - quite frankly – a very pushy manner. The muscles, instead of relaxing and widening, start to spasm, which forms a sort of physical barrier. It’s the pushing against this wall of muscle that hurts, along with the actual spasms themselves.
3. It feels impossible, like there’s no physical way on earth anything is going in there, let alone anything THAT size, you horrible brute! That can’t even be NORMAL can it?! That thing is like a missile or something! The pain makes sense, you think, because obviously it’s going to hurt if you’re trying to push something fairly sizeable through an impossible barrier.
4. Finally comes panic – waves of butterflies and sometimes frantic tears, and then the indisputable need to be right out of that situation. RIGHT out. At this point, it is the gentleman’s duty to cuddle and reassure. You hear me gents? PUT THAT THING AWAY AND CUDDLE AND REASSURE!
5. You don’t necessarily know what’s happening or why. Before I started therapy I didn’t know that the muscles were spasming, all I was aware of was the pain and the feeling of physical impossibility. I thought that perhaps there was something physically wrong with my anatomy, that perhaps I didn’t have a fully formed vagina, or maybe I had an intersex condition I wasn’t aware of. I didn’t know why it was happening or what to do about it.

Crucially with vaginismus, there is nothing physically wrong with the vagina. Everything anatomically is the same** Vaginismus is, at heart, a psychological issue. Something - of which you may or may not be conscious – is telling your body that whatever is going on down there is very wrong and needs to be blocked, so your body reacts as above to prevent it. This could be due to an experienced trauma such as sexual violence, or there could be absolutely no obvious reason for it at all, as in my case. Sometimes shit just happens.

Through therapy and the use of vaginal dilators, you can train your body to stop reacting in this way. It is a totally treatable condition, and not one to be ashamed of or to be blamed for. If Mr up-cycle is worth his salt, and realises how flipping well amazing you are he will be there on the journey with you, but if not then obviously he is a massive dick and can cram his pretentious art house films right up his a-hole. And who does their weekly shop at a farmers market it anyway?!

*Please see my disclaimer page - I am not a medical doctor, my understanding of vaginismus is personal and not something I have been medically trained in. Also, I am straight, so I’m going to be talking about this from a straight woman’s perspective, but v obviously affects lesbian as well as straight and naturally therefore can affect someone who enjoys penetrative sex, whether that be with a man or with "sex aids".

** There may of course be other conditions which accompany vaginismus, and also of course there is the possibility that the vagina may in some way be slightly different. I'm literally at this point just describing vaginismus

An interview with a man about vaginismus

The other day, a thought penetrated my usually water-tight bubble of narcissism, and the thought was this: Here I am writing all about Vaginismus and how it affects me, and how it makes me feel and maa maa maa, isn’t my vagina RUBBISH, and I haven’t once written about how it affects my boyfriend. My attention was drawn to this by a friend of mine who also has v, who asked me “but…..how does he cope with it?!”. I’ve said it before that I’ve been really lucky in general in not encountering arseholes who freak out when they hear about Vaginismus, but I know that this is by no means the norm. 

My boyfriend and I obviously talk about it together, but I thought it might be nice to do an interview with him, to show vaginismus from a man’s point of view. I know some people may be surprised that a woman with primary vaginismus can enter into a relationship (I've not discussed primary and secondary vaginismus yet, I'll do so soon...) but it is really not as surprising as you might think.

So, that being the case, here he is. He has requested that I call him “The Cure”, demonstrating that his levels of narcissism equal, if not exceed, mine (not to mention his optimism!), but this is asking a little too much, so I will call him “Robert” instead. Fnar.

Hello Robert. How are you. How was your day?

It was ok. I cut my finger though (Robert proffers finger for inspection)

Sorry about that. Do you want me to kiss it better? (Robert holds his finger to his chest and pouts) No? Ok then, on with the interview! Tell me, how did you feel when I first told you about my having vaginismus?

The first thought was confusion. I didn't understand what it was...Basically, that was the first thought. 

Had you heard about vaginismus before?

No, never. 

So, when I explained what it was, how did you feel then?

Still confused! But i understood why you couldn't have sex (Robert breaks off to say - Ooh, I quite like being interviewed!) and for a brief flash I thought you were just using it as an excuse to make me think you were a virgin, because "apparently" men like virgins! (Keeks glares at him) Obviously, I didn't really think that, but it did cross my mind, when I was trying to figure it all out!

I see.... And did it put you off pursuing a relationship with me?

No, not at all. 

What did you expect sex to be like?

I thought it might be painful for you, and obviously you don't want to have sex with someone who it feels painful for. I didn't know really, I wasn't sure where the limitations were and I didn't want to get carried away and end up hurting you. I guess I was a bit nervous about it.

And how is the sex, is it what you expected?

It's fun!

How have you found ways around the issue of penetrative sex?

Well, there are lots of other things we can do. Oral sex. :) (Robert looks very pleased about this)

Is it worse going out with someone with vaginismus? 

It doesn't feel any different really, it's just a normal relationship with the normal feelings, there's no difference whatsoever. In some ways it's more exciting, because trying to find different ways to have sex is a whole new game! But sex isn't the be all and end all of a relationship at all. 

What would you say to a man who found out someone he was seeing had vaginismus? (Robert needs this further explained, because he hadn't realised that most women - unlike Keeks - don't tell men on the first date about their sexual conditions)

Wow, you make vaginismus sound like it's something really awful! (Er....!) Hmmm....So I would say to that person, to go for it, see how things goes, if they can't handle the vaginismus then they are too immature to deal with an adult relationship really, and it's their loss. Relationships aren't all about sex anyway. It is sad when men are obsessed with sex, it's a bit stupid. 

I've since found out that people can have preconceived ideas about vaginismus and think that the girls should just power through it, which is so bad. To those people, I'd say how wrong you are! If the person you are going out with has vaginismus you need to do your research and support them. Trying to make them "push through" the pain barrier is only going to make things worse, and is a pretty shitty thing to do.

Is there anything else you would like to say?

Shall I do a big feminist rant like you? (rude!) At the end of the day, a relationship is not all about sex, it's about you and your partner and how you get on. If your partner is only in it for the sex then you know what you should do! Plus, sex is still good, because there is more to sex than just the "p in the v", and you're lacking in imagination if you think that's all it is. 

Well done Robert. You did good. 

Can we watch the apprentice now?

.......Yes.

My first therapy session

I've been having therapy sessions for a while now, and they're all quite varied. It's a bit of a trial and error affair, treating vaginismus, so my therapist (she of the fabulous coral earrings) and I have gone through different processes that may work for some women, and not others. Turning up for my first session however, I really had no idea what to expect. It was snowing and dark as I tramped up the unfamiliar road from the unfamiliar train station, to the unfamiliar clinic at the top of a hill. I walked through a door marked "out patients", having made the bold assumption that I would be allowed to leave at the end of the session, and found a friendly, round-faced security guard who pointed me in the direction of the right reception area. I'd been referred by the GP, at the recommendation of the gynaecologist, and really didn't know quite what to expect from it all. The letter I received was from the "psycho-sexual therapy clinic" which I found immensely entertaining, especially because it makes me sound like some sort of sexual demon. In fact, it sounds so much like the sort of thing some dominatrix cliché of a female character would attend I’m quite surprised it wasn’t included in a certain recent Sherlock Holmes episode….

I digress.

I took a seat, as instructed by the indifferent receptionist, and waited for what felt like an age to be called through. It got to the point where I started to wonder if the whole thing had been a massive mistake, if I would be sitting there so long that the receptionist would question me further and then not only turn me away in disgust, but go to the pub and tell all her friends about the freak that turned up at completely the wrong centre, and everyone would be laughing at me, and I'd go home and hide under my duvet and line up my emergency fluffy toy collection, and ask them in watery tears “why sheep, why, why?”, and cry, and never leave the house again.....when my therapist bustled through a door, all silvery hair and swinging coral earrings, and called my name. Relieved, I followed her through to the treatment room and told myself to calm down and stop acting like a dick head. 

On the way to the therapy room she introduced herself, and then threw me off my game again by asking if I'd mind if a trainee sat in on our session. I very, very much did mind, quite a lot, so I firmly and decisively opened my mouth and said:

"Of course not, that'll be absolutely fine."

I am very much the polite British stereotype in this respect, all bumbling acquiescence on the surface, and angry self-righteous grumbling underneath. Silently seething, and wondering what sort of a therapist thinks it is OK to ask a patient, at their first ever treatment session on a sensitive subject, if a trainee can sit in, I followed her through the door to a very ordinary looking office room, with three hard-backed chairs, a clapped out looking old computer, and an extraordinarily young looking woman beaming at me. Ah, I thought to myself, bitter smile slapped across my face - the trainee. Excellent. 

The therapist introduced herself and the trainee who was visiting from a University in europe, and explained that the first thing we needed to do was to go through questions to a questionnaire which I had been sent. Except I hadn't. Ah, she said, yes this was a bit of a set back, but no matter, I could fill the questionnaire out when I got home after the session. She started then to talk about how the therapy sessions would work, how many I would get but not to worry if I found I wasn't quite "cured" at the end of the sessions, because if we found out that was the case she could recommend some more. I cheered up a bit at this, and also at the polite interjections from the trainee, who it turns out wasn't some slack-jawed undergrad who had turned up to snigger at the freak show, but a professional who was gaining further experience in her field. Silly me.

The therapist continued to explain a bit more about vaginismus, the possible causes and the manifestations and such. She started to describe muscle spasms using her fists – which I would soon find out would be a recurring event at the sessions – at which I felt my face freeze itself into a polite mask of vague interest and my stomach start eating itself a little.

The session was interesting, and seemed to be over remarkably quickly. As I made my way out the door, feeling encouraged and looking forward to the process, the therapist called me back with these chilling words

“If you could fill out the questionnaire we should have sent you and post it back to us when you’ve done, that would be great.”

I proceeded back down to the waiting room and off home, wad of scary paper clutched in my sweaty mitt, chanting to myself “it won’t be that bad, it won’t be that bad, dear god it won’t be that bad.”

How naiive I was.

Now get me wrong, they were all necessary and important questions, but by eck rating your ability to orgasm on a scale of 1-10 does put some things in perspective for you.

I put 8 by the way. Don’t pretend you’re not impressed.

Under the bridge

Hello vaginistas!

Thanks to the persistance of my new resident troll and his - ahem - "enlightened" ideas, I thought I would start a new section of the blog, entitled HILARIOUSLY "Under the Bridge". This is going to be a place where I try and unpick common misconceptions about vaginismus, perhaps as highlighted by Mr Troll, or perhaps just from my own experience. It'd also be great for people to contribute their own, this could be nonsense that they have encountered from other people, or perhaps even ideas that they had themselves, which they now know to be untrue.

Lets start with Maypaki's most recent comment. Just a quick disclaimer, I'm not going to focus on any of the religious ideas he is trying to put across because there are so many wonderful theologians out there who are doing it in their own work. If you are interested in theology, feminism and sexuality and so on, you could do a lot worse than to start with Dr Susannah Cornwall http://susannahcornwall.blogspot.com/ a supremely intelligent woman with very lovely hair (as you'll see on her blog). Secondly, this is a personal blog and so everything I write here is from my personal perspective. Please join in using the comments box.

Now that's out the way, here is what Trolly McTrollsons wrote recently:

"I just had a THEOLOGICAL DISCOVERY: God is indeed a MALE. The reasons are: 1.) If God is a female, she would never inflict women with painful intercourse. She would merely inflict them with infertility. Her empathy towards women's feelings will always prevail. 2.) It is known in history that men treat women as property. Therefore, if God inflicts a woman with primary vaginismus, thick hymen or dry vagina, then her vagina is now the property of God. She's meant to control the population. God uses her as an instrument to reveal who the real rapists are, thereby upholding women's most divine right -the right NOT to be raped. This proves that God is a male, because for him, there are things more important than empathy towards females. This explains why painful intercourse is MORE COMMON among females than males.Because God is a MALE and treats some women as his property to control the population. I am now an enlightened man. If vaginismus is one of God's test to humanity, then it seems to violate his own commandment (to be fruitful and multiply). God seems to contradict himself. Claiming that it is a test makes God so unreasonable. So there are 3 possible rational conclusions: 1.) God is omnipotent, therefore Vaginismus is God's will. It's Gods natural birth control -if you believe that there's a reason for everything. 2.) Vaginismus in NOT God's will, therefore God in not omnipotent. He cannot prevent vaginismus. 3.) There is no God. Sometimes, things happen randomly and for no apparent reason -if this is your position, then I rest my case. P.S. My e-mail address is maypakialam@gmail.com"

All completely sane and reasonable, I'm sure you'll agree. Once we have all stopped grinding our teeth, there are a few points here that are actually quite common misconceptions about vaginismus which it would be good to iron out. You know, so we can let him get back to the more important task of ranting.

1. Women who have vaginismus cannot give birth - Not true (On a side note - Maypaki's idea that it is "kinder" for women to be infertile than to have a very treatable condition preventing penetrative sex only - BIZARRE). My therapist very kindly explained this to me in a session. She was trying to change my perception of sex (it bloody well hurts!) by telling me all about childbirth -

Her, enthusiastically and using her fist as a sort of model vagina - "It's designed so a baby's head can go through! Like THIS! *expands fingers* A whole baby's head, which is so much bigger than a penis!"

Me - "If you need me I'll be in the foetal position, hyperventilating, in the corner"

Any woman who has ever gone into labour will tell you - gleefully and with the quite justifiable elation of someone who has not only survived the battle of trafalgar, but made off with Napoleon's eagle to boot -  that nature takes over and the contractions that come are far beyond your control. Yes, this is similar to vaginismus in a way, but also very different. While a woman with vaginismus may not be able to conceive through penetration, there is no reason for vaginismus to prevent her giving birth.  As my lovely therapist said, beautifully succinctly: "Vaginismus is all about preventing entry. Giving birth is allowing exit." For a full and proper medical account, please go to Vaginismus.com

2. Women with vaginismus cannot be raped. 

Ladies, I bet you didn't even know that we are SUPERHEROES, with our magic clampy vag muscles, sent to HUNT OUT THE RAPISTS and BLOCK THEIR COCKS RIGHT OFF! Cape me the hell up, for I am VAG HAG!

Er....No. Vaginismus does not prevent rape. The pain of the muscle spasms and the difficulty/impossibility of penetration can actually often be a result of the agony and trauma of rape however. The World Bank report on Gender and Equality 2012 which everyone should read, says that:

"Physical, sexual, and psychological violence against women is endemic across the world. A flagrant violation of basic human rights and fundamental freedoms, violence can take many forms. International statistics are not always comparable, yet incontrovertible evidence shows that violence against women is a global concern." World Bank Report on Gender and Equality Chapter 2 page 83.

There is a chart (which unfortunately I am unable to post here but can be seen on the above link) which sets out different justifications for women being beaten by their husbands in different nations: "Burns food", "argues with husband" and "refuses to have sex". The marks along the chart show the percentage of respondents from each country who have agreed to each of the reasons. In guinea 65% agreed that a beating was justified to a woman who refused sex. In Lesotho, 40% agreed it was acceptable if there had been an argument. It is only when you scroll to the very bottom of the chart that you realise it is the women themselves who are giving these responses.

What is the point I am making here? Violence against women, in many different forms, is a huge and universal problem and unhelpful and incorrect ideas such as "Vaginismus prevents rape" will do nothing to help reverse and change this pattern. The idea of blame and personal fault is so engrained upon the female psyche, in terms of sexuality, as well as so many different ways, that we need to be doing our damndest to stop this. Do read the report.

Finally, he's kindly left his email address. Do send him some love.

From Keeks