So I followed the advice of my gynecologist (if you missed my post about him here’s the link http://worldssmallestvagina.com/2015/10/22/the-d-word/) I ordered both a dildo and a bottle of lube.
My parcel arrived! With a mix of excitement and anxiety I stared at the box and realized excitedly that the contents could be a game changer for me. Yet at the same time I was scared. A working vagina would mean I was ready for sex again. Ready for sex again would men dating. Dating would mean I was ready to attempt to have a relationship. Relationships scared me. After a very ugly divorce and a very painful on-and-off boyfriend situation I was afraid. My heart could only take so much. I was brave in every other area of my life. Love was frightening.
I opened the card board box that said CHARM 1 Dildo and had a graphic of the purple, hook shaped device on it. I looked it over and flexed it back and forth. It reminded me of a purple uncooked hot dog. Thinking of it as food made it seem a little friendlier. With visions of B-B-Qs and picnics I read the package: “Charm’s extended length offers extra inches for those who prefer a longer reach. Made from 100% recycled silicone. (I couldnt help woder what had been recylced to make this object I was planning on inserting into my very clean vagina). The thick oval-shaped base makes Charm compatible with a variety of harnesses” Huh??!!! Harness-compatible base? Oh, dear… what was I getting into here. Ugh. Why couldn’t I just be “normal”? I wish I smoked pot. Instead I poured myself a glass of wine and stared at my first dildo.
I put “Charm” aside and took out the bottle of personal lubricant. The bottle was larger than any shampoo or conditioner shampoo I had ever purchased. Is was more like the size of a bottle of bleach. It was time to do this! I put on CNN. I quickly learned that as much as I liked Anderson Cooper he wasn’t helpful. I turned him off and tried to turn myself on but even with a handfull of lube the pain was still there. It felt like I was trying to jam a hot dog into a key hole.
I tried again the next night after a bubble bath and a glass of wine. This time I put John Legend on my iPod. John sure beat Anderson in the sex appeal department but the pain remained. The task of trying to stretch out a menopausal atrophied vag (ryhmes with Madge as in Madonna) was more time consuming and annoying then going to the gym, doing the dishes by hand, or racking leaves. I tried to be consistent. I wished Sex in the City was still on and one of the girls was struggling with menopause. Or maybe The View could have an segment, or Steve Harvey. Meredith Viera, or Dr..Oz. Better yet Martha Stewart. She was great with step-by-step directions, was the right age and was very confident but alas I was on my own. It made me angry that there wasn’t a service, like a phsyical therapist, but with an expertise in stretching. Maybe Gwyneth Paltrow would know someone. She has experts for everything! When I realized how weird that would be I felt hopeless. I felt very alone and was convinced my sex life was over. I was done. And then wouldn’t you know, the next day I met a handsome surgeon from one of the best cancer hospitals in the world. We hit it off. As soon as I got home from the date I dug out “Charm”. With my eye on the prize, the hunky oncologist, I could do this! Fantasizing about Dr. Hotness did nothing for the pain, it was the same. I was convinced I had not stretched anything. It was time to step up my game.