Herpes: Six Months Later

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This is your vagina; this is your vagina on drugs.

Vagina news! You thought this was a sexy blog, didn't you? NOPE! Let's talk about my genitals some more instead!

Had the appointment with the vaguely specialized OBGYN on Monday, and super awesome for me, it's probably not Lichen Planus! Or Lichen Sclerosis! Or any of those other diseases who's side affects are frightening noun-verbs like "scarring" and "closure."

So, before anything else:

SUPER HURRAY SUPER (PROBABLY) SUPER!

There's still a probably in there, because (as like all the other times I've been to the lady doctor), they don't know what exactly is wrong. So, it could still be those things, but mostly, it's probably not. Yippee!

I got to the office slightly late, and very damp (like, dripping on my sign-in forms damp), due to a little mix-up of me forgetting where the fuck my appointment was and going to other of their offices first, being told at their other offices that I needed to go to the other other offices, and then sprinting to a car2go to get to the other other offices (it's situations like these that really reinforce my always-fifteen-minutes-early policy). The nurse was nice, if brief, and the doctor was great. I forget her name, but she looked like someone straight out of my childhood - long dark hair, Berkeley hippie-mom clogs, dorky spectacle glasses, etc. It's absolutely superficial, but I was more at ease for her style choices.

So, we talked. It's always fun to watch a doctor's face when I start to talk unabashedly (happily, even), about my genitalia. Yes, I will use the right words for my anatomy, and no, I will not blush when I say them. It's my damn anatomy. My favorite exchange (after we'd been talking about symptoms and possible diagnosis for a while):

MD: And, with some women, they consider a vestibulectomy, which can help, but also sometimes causes more problems than it solves.

ME: Yeah, and, you know, I like my vestibule. I'd like to keep it around.

MD: Exactly!

ME/MD: (genuine laughter).

So, talking was great, and then she poked around and speculumed and squeezed my ovaries from the inside (which is always so strange and a little bit cool). She took a swab and they did a wet prep, which I'd actually never had done before (it's when they look at your discharge/fluid right there in the office, under a microscope, as opposed to sending it away for tests). I didn't have yeast, and everything looked normal. I wasn't having symptoms that day, but based on my description, she thinks it's some kind of skin issue (and not necessarily discharge related). Which makes sense to me.

They prescribed me a steroid cream, which I have to use in very careful, very small doses, for short periods of time, otherwise it's going to aggravate the problem (too much usage too frequently can thin the skin, causing cracks, etc. I'm not sure exactly how it works in the first place, but I'm going to do some V Book reading later). If symptoms come up again, and I can get in to see them quickly, they might do a biopsy. Which is... a super unpleasant procedure that includes nouns and verbs like "injection," "needle," and "punch-tool." So, I'm maybe not going to talk about/psych myself up for that until I have to.

Fast forward a few days, and right on time (just before my period), some symptoms came along. So, deep breath, unscrew the cap, and onto my vulva the steroids went. So far, I can't really tell if they're helping or hurting (it's better now, a few days later, but I'm not sure if that's cream-related or not). But that's sort of beside the point. In case you missed it, I'll say it again:

I got prescribed steroids. To put on my VAGINA.

So, on this holiday weekend of Thanksgiving, here's to you, legally doped up vulvovaginal area. May you be better, faster stronger:

drawn on a cocktail napkin by yours truly (it's not supposed to be frowning - that's my clitoris. or roid rage. who knows).

Sex Radical Sex Radical, I'm Your Sex Radical.

sex-positive, and just down right sexy.

Yeah, the title has terrible prosody, but I like it anyway.

Sometimes, I forget that the words I use (usually specific usually to kink/feminism/poly talk) aren't part of everybody's vernacular. That sounds real snotty, but what I mean is: I use these words so much, that I forget they're customized, specialized, niche-type words.

Out at the bar last night (which is a post for another time; fucking non-monogamy is so much fucking god damn fun), and I was talking about what kind of porn I like. I used the word "sex-positive," and then again later when I was talking about das blog. And the guy I was out smoking with asked me, very simply, very straightforward: "I've heard you use that word a couple of times now, and I don't think I understand what it means."

I tried (and sort of failed) to explain it. I said something along the lines of "oh, well, it's looking at sex, and sex expression/sexuality, in a way that challenges the dynamics we usually assume go along with sex, like... like, for instance [and here, I was talking about sex positive porn], the assumption that the scene is over when the man comes. What he came on a lady's tits and then she rubbed it all over while getting off? And why does it have to be a lady and a man in the first place?"

And while I think that's all included in sex-positivity, I think that's super specific to my brand, my leanings of sex-positivity.

Whereas the word, as its core? The belief, boiled down to a simple, sexy reduction? Is this:

Sex. Is. Good. For. You. Sex is fun, bodies are hot, people are (for the most part) pretty great, and pretty great to sleep with. It isn't something we should hide or be ashamed of, and it should never be an obligation, a payment, or a means of assault.

It is, basically, thinking that sex is positive.

For me, sex-positivity and feminism are pretty interconnected, which is in part where the whole "challenging of sexual norms/conventions" comes in, and makes my own personal definition of sex-positivism: "yes, sex is awesome, but look at how much of our world doesn't think so. Clearly, I should do something about that." With a little time on wikipedia, I found that the rest of the world also noticed this, about thirty years ago, and that there's a whole movement about it. I think I already knew that, somewhere in my brain, but it was cool to see. Yeah, sex is fun, and a part of being human, and wait, we have all these fucked up beliefs about how women should be sexual, about what should be acceptable as clothing, sex-acts, behavior, about how your actions as a woman, sexually, translate to a certain definition of your personality.* And hey, isn't all that just sort of... bullshit? Yeah, yeah. Somebody should do something about that. Start a movement or something...

* I recently took "the slut test" on okcupid. And while there's... a lot of shitty things about okcupid, this test was... particularly bad. I'm not sure what else I was expecting, but it asked all kinds of questions - not only about your sex life, but about your childhood, your relationship with your dad, etc. Pret-ty gross. And the worst part? I only scored something like 65% Slut! Somehow, I think maybe, we're using the word differently... and that okcupid doesn't know what it's missing with my particular brand of slut-hood. Oh well. Their loss.

I think my favorite part of that wikipedia article was reading about the different names for sex-positive feminists. I'd like to take this moment to identify as a sex-radical feminist, mostly because that word makes it sound like I have super radical sex. Which, most of the time, I do, but... well, it's nice to have it in a title.

Anyway. That's sex-positivity, now defined, in case you were wondering, or curious, or think these things are interesting like I do. And it's good to define the things we talk about, both because it helps in discovering new ways it all fits together, and because it serves as a reminder that words do, in fact, have meaning. And if you're using a word like it's important to you (which admitedly, sex-positive is, to me), then you're going to look pret-ty dumb if the hunky guy at the bar asks you for a defintion, and you blabber on for a while about something vaguely related but ill-articulated.

So that's the moral maybe. Learn your words! It makes for better flirting!

- The Good Girl, Feminist Sex-Radical since 1987.

Like The First Time

Announcement! For heretoforth until the end of the blog, my partner, Sir, shall be known and reffered to as...

Jamie!

It fits in lots of ways, and has lots of good connotations. Also, it was the only one that I thought of, and I really want a name to use, so I'm using this one. It might change if I come up with something better in the future.

So, Jamie and I have been talking about/starting to dip our toes in the water of this whole nonmonogamy business. We made OKCupid profiles together, which was super fun, if a little daunting. "Hey world, here I am, my very own presentation of myself by which you can judge!" The questions are super hilarious, although I got hung up on the herpes one, which was... a good precursor to talking about herpes with potential partners, I think. The question was something like "How would you feel about dating someone with herpes?" And they give you a yes/no/maybe kind of option, and then a place to explain further. I went back and forth between all the answers, and tried to type out why about five times before I just gave up and logged out. How to say "Yes, but I have HSV-1, so having sexual contact with someone with HSV-2 is a bigger risk for me," or "Hell yes, herpes is nothing to be ashamed of! Not that I think it's great or anything, but really I'm a cool person and stuff still," or "Yeah, I've got herpes, here's what kind, and a millllion facts about it," or "Yeah, I've got herpes. Deal with it." How to seem informed, accepting of myself, but not overbearing or overly neurotic.

All of which I am...? Working on, at least?

It comes back to the whole presentation-of-a-person thing, on the internet. Because perusing other people's profiles, you start realizing that yes, these people seem really cool, but also that these are the things they picked to share on the world of interenet dating. Not that that makes me necesarily uncool... it's just a head trip.

And it's exhausting. Plus, there's the occaisional "hey sexy how you doin'" message, which makes me want to hit things.

So, for the most part, I've stuck the world of real-world dating. Errrr, real world flirtateous friendships, as it were. Jamie and I met this guy at a party the other week, he was cute, he flirted with me, etc. etc. And so, in the spirit of recent developements, I e-mailed him, and we went out for drinks. Because fuck it, the worst that could happen is that the drinks were boring and bad, and I (basically) never see him again.

But as it happens, it was great! Although he's not so much available for dating (he's married, and at the moment, basically monogamous in that marriage), which is sort of... strange, because he wants to be? I'm not going to go into much detail, because I haven't actually asked him about that yet, but at this point, I'm putting it in the friend bucket. Which isn't such a bad bucket, I don't think, for my first real foray into this dating-other-people-thing.

The most surprising, out of all of it, is how fucking giddy I am about my current relationship. Like, I just want to hear about the cute people and get excited about the making out and come home to him and giggle like fucking teenagers on the couch. I think the only reason I haven't jumped him multiple times a day in the last week is that my vagina has decided, once again, to be unhappy. The rest of me? Nonmonogamously thrilled. My sex organs? Angry and red and not in the fun-torture kind of way.

But it's really wonderful, actually, to be this happy about things. Sure, there are points of misgiving I still have, and the boundaries at the moment are super small (baby steps, as they say). And when those happen, I talk to him, and we check in, and it's okay. But for the most part, I'm just... over the moon about loving my dudeman. I want to dote on him, go on dates with him, I think about him all the time. And I mean, I always think about him all the time, but this is like... it's like the beginning, in a way.

And so, in honor of that (and his new namesake), I've got a tape I want to play for you:

Upload MP3 and download MP3 using free MP3 hosting from Tindeck.

(the audio is crap, but the partner in question who has all the audio knowledge isn't home, so... this is it. and because really, what other song would do?)

I have the coolest fucking boyfriend ever.

Corset Time!

I really like corsetry. Like, I'd go so far as to say it's a fetish (as far as you can say anything that's linked to sex already is fetishizable). Here, then, are three of my favorite corsets. I have a few more, but they're cheapo-type things, not made with any real... staying power. Har har!

Sir* helped me out with this (both the lacing and the photos - because although I can lace myself in, it's not fun, and it's never quite right). And although they're mainly about the corsets, I am, in fact, putting suggestive photos of myself on the internet, so it also might be a little bit about... whatever that is. Will it come back to bite me (and not in the fun way)? Maybe. But, risk-aware, I'm doing it anyway.

First, red and black leather:

front

side

back

It came from kinkfest, so it has a bunch of memories wrapped up in it. It's the only real underbust I have, and for that reason, and also because it's leather, I think it's my favorite. It looks a little small on me from the back, but we didn't really take the time to get me into it properly (lace, let it rest, lace, let it rest, lace, etc). So usually, it closes a fair bit tighter than that.

Next: the one I made that's not really a corset yet!

side/back

This one is a work in progress. I'm not sure why we didn't get a front photo (or maybe I lost it?), but I haven't put the boning in yet. It's made from my first pair of backstage blacks - carharrts that I'd patched through a couple times, and finally had the idea to turn into something else. It's underbust, but over-the-shoulder (and you can kind of see... where my boob juts out at the weird angle there? Yeah, that's the underbust part. I thought it looked super funny, in the photo - hello boob! - but that's sort of how my boobs look when they're... well, when I'm bent over, as such, for any number of nefarious purposes).

Anyway. I've got boning for it, I'm just trying to find the time to put it in...

And finally, my first ever corset, and probably a shy second to the red and black leather:

back

front (with bruises :)

This was a present to myself after I'd quit smoking for three months, when I was nineteen. The quitting didn't take, but the corset did. It's black satin. It's missing one hook in the front. I was wearing it the first (and only) time I was ever suspended. Depending on where it sits, it can either give me serious cleavage, or (more like this picture), make my nipples just visible (and playable with) over the top. Okay, maybe this one's my favorite. More likely, they're all my favorite.

So, that's the news from Corsetry Land, where all the women are strong, all the men are feminists, and all the children are yet-to-be thanks to modern methods of birth control.

*Asterix from the top: I think my partner needs a name, like a real name, on here. I mean, he has a name (sh'duh), but I don't want to use his real one, and "Sir" is sort of... formal. And I like that it's formal. In fact, that's part of the reason why he needs another one, in this context, for me: I want to keep it formal.

Options I'm thinking of include: Jamie, and that's as far as I've gotten. Suggestions welcome!

Ethical Sluttery

reading is sexy... especially under run lights backstage

I'm re-reading "The Ethical Slut," by Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy. Unlike the other book of theirs I read, that seemingly nobody's ever heard of (unless they're a nerdy, kinky fucker like myself), most everybody I know has at least heard of "The Ethical Slut." And for good reason. It's sort of considered the polyamory bible by a lot of folks.

The first time I read it, I wasn't really reading it to learn how to be polyamorous, or about poly (I was curious, but I didn't have a how-to goal in mind). This time, although I don't think Sir and I will be running out to orgies or anything, I think I'm coming at it with more of that attitude. With a more practical attitude.

I'm a little uncomfortable writing that, actually.

I've always had a really strong desire to be poly, but for pretty strange reasons. Or maybe it's more accurate to say, I've always wanted to learn some of the things I feel like poly people learn, when they are polyamorous. The regular reasons are still there, I think, but they're not the driving force. Do I find lots of people attractive? Yes. Do I think sex with more than one person at a time is hot? You betcha. But those aren't the reasons I find myself reading The Ethical Slut again, or the reasons why Sir and I get into conversations about open relationships.

I think, at the core of it, I'm trying to learn how to love (and be sexual) with certain people without attachment. And not attachment in the healthy, people-get-attached-to-other-people-because-we're-human way. In the "I don't have an identity when you're not around" way. Or, "I don't know what my life/sexuality/attractiveness/beauty means other than how it relates to you." Not only do I think that's not healthy, but I think it's not sustainable.

I want to understand how to be in love, so in love, with my partner, and not feel really terrible about myself when I hear him say "Wow, she's hot," or "Yeah, she's fucking amazing." I think part of me feeling that way, right now, comes from a bit of a rocky patch in my sex life/romantic life (busy schedules, not a lot of time, not great communication on both our parts, etc.). But part of it comes from this deeply ingrained concept of romance, or love: the idea that wanting/being attracted too (and by extension, kissing/being close with/having sex with) someone else means that he no longer wants any of those things with me.

And that's simply not true.

Sir and I have had a couple of hot dates with a mutual friend of ours. Two, to be exact. Because of all of our schedules (again, busy lives, busy times), they were very far apart. The first was amazing. It was hot and steamy and giggly and adorable and sexy and fun. I didn't feel even a hint of strangeness, or jealousy, or regret. The second was a little different. Still hot, still fun, but I had some serious hang ups about it, especially afterwards.

I think I feel jealousy differently than other people. Or maybe I don't have enough ego to feel actual jealousy; my self-esteem doesn't let me get that far. The second time we fooled around with our friend, I started to feel small. I started to feel worthless, and I started to feel cold and distant. I probably should have voiced these things more articulately than I did, but nothing happened that I wasn't comfortable with. I just wish that some of the things that happened were more fun, without all the rest, like the last time.

Because in the end, that's all I want, really. I want to be able to explore and have fun and push myself and live the stories in my head without all this darkness around it. Or at least, a better way of dealing with the darkness, a more complete understanding of where it's coming from.

When I feel (or see, or hear) my partner being attracted/sexual with someone else, I don't feel the need to pull them back to me. I don't feel possessive and I don't feel wronged. I just feel scared, and I feel like I need to get out of the way. And I don't know where that comes from, and I really hate it. The morning after we fooled around with our friend (who ended up staying over, which probably wasn't the best idea, simply because we hadn't talked about it, and I didn't voice the boundaries that I needed to), I had to leave before either of them. I ended up stopping on the bridge over the river and getting off my bike, because I couldn't breath, because I was so sad, and so scared. I sobbed into the river for a few minutes, got my breathing under control, collected myself, and went to work. I don't know what a panic attack is, but that's the closest I think I've ever come to it.

And what is that? What am I scared of? I really want to figure out the answers to those questions.

Partly, this is because I'm pretty naturally exploratory with my emotional self. And partly, I think it's because I believe certain things about love, the love that I have for my partner, the love that he has for me. If that love can't operate in a world in which we're attracted to other people; or rather, if an attraction to other people undermines that love so easily, and to such a destructive degree - that's not a love with a good foundation. I'm not loving with a good foundation. I want to change that. I want to change my own attitudes about that.

This was a more rambly, journal-ish post that usual. I suppose that's the way it goes, when you [I] have all the feelings. Ohhhh, feeelings.

Love without possession. Independent selves. That's what I want. So, like all things I want, I'm gonna go get it, and I'm gonna read (or re-read) books about it along the way.

Bruised (and getting to the happy) as always,

The Good Girl