The Science of (Bad) Sex

 

Just got back from a nice vacation with my sister and her boyfriend. (who I do like, C!) And she reminded me of a story that deserves to be told to all of you lovely and  patient people.

 

Also inspired by the date I had this weekend with a man who was gorgeous but the worst kisser I have ever experienced in my entire life including both elementary school and the time G burped in my mouth while we were frenching.

 

In high school, I was dating G. The boy I lost my virginity to. Sex with him was consistently bad. He was unimaginative, unadventurous, squeamish, and very shy about his body.

 

We never had oral sex because he didn’t want to. We never even had digital sex (handjobs or fingering) again because he didn’t want to. In fact, there was little to no foreplay. I didn’t even really know what all that was about until the third guy I slept with almost 3 years later.

 

I remember the first time we had sex I was lying there thinking “I don’t get what all this hype is about sex. People risk STDs and pregnancy for THIS?!” It definitely did not seem worth it. And it continued to not seem worth it for the duration of our sexual relationship.

 

We kept doing it, though. I was determined to figure out what the appeal was. My sex drive had stemmed from scientific interest in the process and the desire to understand human emotions/sensations. Plus, I just KNEW there had to be something magical about it.

 

I hate to say it, but at this point, my experience and desire has not changed. I have had mostly bad sex in my life. I feel that most straight men are just not very good in bed. No offense guys, but I have a lot of experience in this area.

 

But once, while I was still in high school and having sex with G, we were hanging out at my house with my little sister, J. She and I shared a room right up until I moved out.

 

I pulled G aside and asked him if he wanted to have sex in my childhood bed. Of course he did, who wouldn’t?

 

So we told my sister we would be upstairs for a while and commenced to getting it on. Now, you would think J would know better than to come upstairs and enter our shared room without knocking.

 

But you would be wrong.

 

She shoved the door open and was privy to a no doubt shocking eyeful of G’s hairy ginger-blonde ass. G and I were doing missionary (what else?) so she was thankfully spared the image of my naked body.

 

She screamed, slammed the door, and ran down stairs to sit on the couch, traumatized. And hopefully having learned an important lesson in knocking when the door is closed.

 

G pulled out immediately as the mood was most definitely unceremoniously halted. But I looked him right in the eye and demanded he get it up again and finish fucking me. And god bless that teenage boy, because he did as he was told.

 

I am a little ashamed that I had just wanted to finish. But in the name of science, research, and discovery; I really wanted to get off.

 

April Search Terms

Guys, I have had a shitty week both emotionally and healthwise. I had really only planned to do one post about my search terms. But I think it is going to turn into a monthly segment. Because this shit is amazing. And reading them made me feel better. And I haven’t written anything because I am working too much this week too.

 

Thank you for the search terms. I love all you weirdos.

 

Nacho Taco Bell- I keep hoping that if I talk about them often enough, they’ll talk back to me.

 

Chest Pain Felt Through the Back- This sounds serious. Probably something for 911 instead of Google.

 

Speculum- Have I ever even talked about speculums? Probably, actually. Knowing me. I always thought they looked like guns.

 

 

 

Pew! Pew!

 

Urination- I bet my mother would be so proud.

 

I got off the toilet and I got back pain- Listen, I may be old and falling apart. But I’m not at the point where I injure myself in bathroom related incidents. Yet. I swear, I really did fall down a flight of stairs. Sober.

 

Sex videos I wanted to fuck the meter reader- Should I be flattered? Concerned? I feel like I am disappointing so many people with the lack of porn on my blog.

 

I like fairies- I think we all do, my friend.

 

Back pain after falling down stairs- There were several variations on this. Story of my life right there.

 

Dogs breath smells rotting potatoes- Lots of things smell like rotting potatoes on the internet, apparently.

 

Sexy math- ALL math is sexy math

 

Cute Billy Boyd- I keep hoping if I talk about him often enough, he’ll talk back to me. Sorry for disappointing whoever was expecting to see some pictures of Billy Boyd. But let me make up for it now.

 

 

 

Sexy neaud (sic) doctor fingering pics- I don’t get the sexy part. Or the horrible spelling part.

 

I watched as my little sister peed in the cup- I think we’ve all been there. Or is that just me and this searcher?

 

I miss my period for a month and when I use the washroom I am passing sherik (sic) of blood sometimes- Once again, probably something for 911 instead of Google. I don’t know how much a sherik is, but it sounds dangerous. And vaguely Middle Eastern.

 

My character crush is fucked up- I am kind of offended this took you here. YOUR crush might be fucked up, but mine is totally normal.

 

How to stick a suppository up my boyfriend’s ass- The same way you’d stick anything else up his ass, it’s pretty self explanatory.

 

Naked woman that’s had heart surgery- Um…I’m not naked. At least as far as you know.

 

Gag sister story- Wow. Yeah. I’ve never gagged my sister. I don’t think I have ever even talked about gags. I mean, till now.

 

Fucking a stuffed animal that came to life- This is possibly illegal and you should take way less drugs before fucking your stuffed animal/actual animal. Or is this an idea for a movie, like that Mannequin movie? Because it is still kind of horrifying.

 

I need to die but can’t- Don’t worry, you will definitely eventually die. Unless you are immortal. Please be immortal.

 

Publix is shit- No it isn’t. You are wrong ma’am or sir. Publix is amazing.

 

Ingering (sic) gives me pain on the hip bone- I keep saying this in a sing song-y voice in my head. I like it. Thank you.

 

Male teenage suppository administration stories- I really feel like this more oddly specific porn searches.


Underwear for hematoma- It would be really cool if they had underwear that looked like you had a hematoma. Right? It’s going on my list of money making schemes.

 

 

Search Terms

There are some wonderful bloggers out there that like to talk about the search terms used to find their blog. And I laugh until I can’t breathe when I read them. But I know I am not clever in that way and am not good at that kind of funny. In case you were wondering, my kind of funny is more talking about how idiotic I am. I am really good at that.

 

However, the shit people have been looking for lately is too good to not share. So, you’re welcome wayward searchers. I hope my blog was able to answer your bizarre and smelly questions.

 

List of characters from giant monsters and dra- I don’t even know what this means or why it took you here. I should say both of you.

 

Body odor of rotten potato- I have smelled rotten potato and the only way to kill that smell is with fire or acid. Sorry about your body odor, though, that’s tough.

 

Have you ever fucked your sister doll- Um, no. Are we talking about that kid sister doll or what? Or maybe I don’t really want to know.

 

Good roach killer- I am the opposite of this.

 

Barbie fuck- I know why that would lead you here, I just don’t know why you were looking for that.

 

Gas stations without bathrooms- Those are ideally, the best kind. It’s probably better to just pee yourself.

 

How to tighten your retainer with the key- My mother did mine. I can’t even imagine trying to do this to yourself.

 

Fingering hospital story- I could not be more proud of this. I should change my headline on this blog to this. Thank you, dear internet searcher.

 

What to do if your car smell (sic) like rotten potato- As I mentioned above, the only solution is fire or acid.

 

Bedpan use myself- I hope you haven’t been sharing these.

 

Old Cabbage Patch dolls with vagina- I guess I missed the production of that line of Cabbage Patch dolls.

 

ECG taking inner the vagina whole part while fucking- Were you looking for a really specific porn? It reminds me of Mary Roach’s book: Boink. What a wonderful book about the study of sex.

Wizard of Oz tattoos- Man, mention Wizard of Oz one time and the internet never lets you forget it.

Suppository

After this post, I figured I may as well bite the bullet and finish what I started. So, here you go, the next humiliating thing that happened on that hospital stay.

Two days after the fingering incident, the hospital and my doctor were interested in releasing me to go home and recover in the comfort of my own bed. Where the TV  isn’t censored. It’s a religious hospital and I can only go so long without seeing adult language, adult content, and nudity.

Displaying 20130613_033839.jpg

I took this beauty from the same chain of hospitals. I wish I had taken a picture of the 20 foot tall mosaic at my hospital. I may go back and get one. It’s worth it.

Some of you may not know this, but you aren’t allowed to leave the hospital after a surgery until you have a *ahem* bowel movement. (I won’t be offended if you choose to skip this post and move on to the next one).

The problem was that I was not having one. Between the reaction to the morphine, the physical pain, the emotional humiliation, the medicines, and the terrible cardiac ward food, nothing was forthcoming.

Every time the nurse came in she would check the toilet to see if I had had one. Because in the hospital you are not a trustworthy adult. You are a petulant child that must shit into a pan to get released.

Another day went by. Waiting to be released from the hospital is exactly how I imagine hell to be (if it existed). You are in serious pain. They wake you up every few hours all day and night to poke you with needles and press on your wounds painfully so you never get a goddamn minute of sleep. They humiliate you. There is no much bullshit and red tape. And then, you can’t leave. Ever!

Finally the nurse came in to talk to me directly. This was the same one from the fingering story and she had been avoiding me in an obvious and humorous way. She told me that it had been 4 days with no movements and it might be a good idea to take a suppository.

I didn’t know what she meant by a suppository, I mean, I knew what one was. But I thought that’s how you gave pills to horses and how teenagers get really fucked up on ecstasy.

Fun fact: A suppository can be administered not just up the anus but also in the vagina or the urethra for men. You’re welcome.

For my five male readers; there you go, gentleman.

But she was talking about giving me some kind of stool softener suppository to help me “go” so I could get the hell out of the hospital. I really really did not want to do this. But I wanted to go home more.

She got me the suppository. It was huge! Which I guess makes sense because it’s not like I was trying to swallow it.

Like a fucking missile!

I went into the bathroom. Remember the whole serious agony/heart surgery thing? Yeah, there was no way I could contort myself to get this pill in my own ass. I could still barely bend at my hip bones.

I’m glad I got to use this picture.

I called the nurse back and told her the situation. The look on her face was one I will treasure for many long years to come. I swear to you, I could read her mind at that exact moment. And she was thinking “Seriously, bitch? I already had to root around in your nasty vagina. Now I have to put my hand up your ass? Fuck this job.”

But instead she tried to convince me that I really could do it if I just tried harder. And I assured her that there was no fucking way I could bend like that without re-opening my wounds.

I did not feel the slightest bit bad for her. This was her job. And if anyone was going to be embarrassed it was me. And I had instead chosen to find it all very hilarious. But that may have been the drugs I was on.

At this point, A stepped in. He offered to do it.

I tried to talk him out of it, mostly to fuck with the nurse. But he was very insistent on putting that suppository in my ass (you men, so obsessed with anal).

So we went back into the bathroom and he assisted me. I assume nobody wants the gory details of this, it was pretty straightforward anyway.  I have never taken anything for constipation before or since. But I can say it definitely works as intended. I was released later that day.

Of course, I developed a huge hematoma and had to go back in to the hospital almost immediately, but that is a story for another day.

Bursting of the dam

I haven’t posted anything about my period or my vagina in a few weeks. But brace yourselves, people. The shame is strong with this one.

My fifth and most recent heart surgery took place just over two years ago. It was noteworthy in several ways. It was my fifth one. I had been chosen to participate in a clinical trial for a new type of catheter that had sense receptors on it. They were going to burn through my right heart atrium and into my left for the first time. And I was in my first few months of a new relationship with A. We all know how that turned out.

It’s not like burning holes in your heart is serious or anything.

My other four surgeries had been some of the worst experiences of my life. This one would turn out to be my worst. Because of the added procedure and the sheer quantity I had had by this point, they stressed very heavily that I could die.

I was at a crossroads. I could take medication that controlled my heart, but the medication was newly approved and there had been no research into the long term side effects. There was an extreme likelihood that I would die from liver failure in about 20 years. When I was 47. And I’d be on very expensive drugs forever. Missing even one dose caused serious heart problems.

Liver, shmiver. Am I right?

I was taking so many drugs that I had to set up multiple alarms set throughout the day. Or I could choose the surgery. It might work. It might kill me. It might not work and I’d still have to take the drugs. I decided that I would rather die sooner than later.

I had been on my period for three other surgeries, and it was no surprise to anyone that I was on it for this one too. As mentioned here, I use the Diva Cup. It is a little tiny silicone plunger that catches everything. It is comfortable and clean and good for your body and the environment. (Still no endorsement forthcoming).

Best thing ever invented for periods besides chocolate.

When I was wheeled into the operating room at 5am, I told the head nurse that I was on my period, I was using the cup, etc. She said she would note my chart and if I was under for more than 8 hours they would remove it for me.

I thanked her and didn’t know anything else for a long time. I came to in the recovery room. I have a post waiting to be written about the recovery room, but let’s just say this: It is the last place I would feel okay for several days. And I wanted to make it last. I spent two hours in there.

But, finally, they had to take me to my room. When I got to my room, my mother and A were anxiously waiting for me. What I didn’t realize was that my surgery had taken 18 hours. Plus 2 hours in recovery. They hadn’t seen me in over 20 hours. They were frazzled. But to me, it was around two hours. That surgery time is lost forever.

However, while they felt fine. Maybe tired and anxious. I wanted to die. I am not joking when I say this. For the 24-48 hours after every single one of my surgeries, I seriously wish I had died during it. It is the most miserable and in pain I have ever been in my life.

After this type of surgery, you are not allowed to move the lower half of your body, at all, for 24 hours. Not even to shift positions to get more comfortable. Whatever position the nurses put you in on your hospital bed is how you stay for the duration. And obviously, you aren’t getting up to urinate. Bed pans all the way. In fact, you can’t even wipe yourself.

This particular surgery is when we found out that not only does morphine do absolutely nothing for my pain, it makes me extremely nauseated. But they couldn’t give me something for my nausea in case I vomited it back up. And they couldn’t give me something for my pain in case I overdosed on morphine plus a second pain-killer.

Also, they apparently thought only drug addicts are immune to morphine. Not so!

Cue 5 hours of intense agony and bawling pain. And a healthy dose of abject, helpless nausea. Finally, when it turned out I wasn’t going to vomit (5 hours later) they gave me something for my nausea.

I was feeling a little better and the pain wasn’t consuming my every thought. I finally thought to ask the nurse where my Diva Cup was. I didn’t feel like I was using a pad, but honestly, I might not have noticed.

The nurses checked my chart and found that the head nurse (despite saying she would) had left no notes. The searched the operating room, nothing. They searched the gurney I had been wheeled in on, nothing. They searched the room, nothing.

There was only one place left to search. My vagina.

The nurse came in and sent my mother and A out. She lifted the sheets and my gown and started probing around in my vagina. It was in there.

I was starting to freak out. For those of you bad at math, this was only supposed to be in for 8 hours tops and we were going on 26. Not to mention the fact that I was on blood thinners and the blood wasn’t going anywhere.

She reached in and tried to pull it out. But she couldn’t figure out how it worked. I tried to explain that you had to fold in the wall to break the seal, but she couldn’t get it. After a few minutes of fumbling around in my vagina, she called in backup.

A second nurse came in and they turned on the brightest overhead light ever. It was like an old timey police interrogation and my vagina was the suspect. They pulled good cop, bad cop on my vagina. But their efforts were a waste of time.

Where were you on the night of December 11, 2010?

They were just tugging on it, trying to yank it out. Not only was I in agony, but it felt like they were jerking on my entrails.

This is something I have done to myself millions of times, but I couldn’t move to get to it without opening my wounds. It was a serious issue because I had lost a lot of blood during the procedure. I had already heard mention of a blood transfusion.

They covered me up and called in my mother and A. They explained the situation and I explained how to get the fucking thing out for the third time. My mother rolled up her sleeves and offered to give it the old college try.

My mother has long fingernails. She reached up there and began probing around. I stared up into the light. Wishing myself into unconsciousness. Or at least hoping to blind myself so that I would never have to make eye contact with her ever again. But she also failed.

Finally, A stepped in. He is a very large guy with big lumberjack hands. He did a few quick warm up stretches and dove in like a pro. At this point, I was beyond pain, beyond embarrassment, beyond any sense of shame. This was the fourth person that had put their hand in my vagina in the past 30 minutes.

He finally realized what the problem was. For all the genius of the Diva Cup, they were meant to be removed while sitting or squatting, not lying down. My pelvic bone was blocking it’s passage. But he was determined to succeed.

He thrust and parried, trying to vanquish this worthy foe that had defeated so many others. Finally, with one great lunge, the cup was pulled out. It was like the demolition of a dam. Everything was now soaked with blood.

Brace yourselves!

They cleaned me up and changed my sheets through a long and arduous process. I was free.

And that is how, less than two days after their initial meeting, my mother and ex boyfriend both fingered me while in the same room together, at the same time.