The Trials of Being the Owner of a Vagina

This post is going to be about vaginas and labias.  Generally mine, so just the one vagina.  If you have no desire to read my complaints about said vagina or her health, or public waiting lists for gynecologists, then consider this your fair warning.  I’m going to be a little detailed, but purely in a clinical manner.  Feel free to go here instead.  Immediately following there is a cute animal buffer, below that, you were warned.

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For a while now my vagina and I seem to having problems with getting along.  I’d had enough of it, so decided to see a nurse.

I explained to the nurse that I was sore, all the time, occasionally itchy, occasionally crampy along the vaginal wall spontaneously (these cramps are nothing like period cramps, which I haven’t had since October 2010 when I started taking Noriday), my labia minora had shrunk to half its previous size (I used to be a outty, now I’m an inny), and the smell had… changed, it wasn’t bad, it was just different.  And there was also that I haven’t been able to have sex comfortably in about a year.  Lubrication is generally fine, but most of the time it hurts like a mofo.  She had a look, took samples to be tested, and said everything looked normal, but suggested I also see the doctor.

One of the problems with labias and vaginas is that because there’s such a variety from person to person, there’s a huge range for what is considered normal.  Unless you happen to see the same person more regularly than once every three years for a pap smear, but not so often that they can’t notice slow changes over a period of time, then things are generally going to look normal. (Does that make sense? I think it makes sense.)

I get to the doctor, explain all of the above again.  She takes a look as well, thinks I may have some thrush, but it generally looks fine.  Tells me to get some blood tests to check my hormone levels, and to wait for all the results to come back.

While the nurse actually treated my concern about my labia minora seriously, I did feel that the doctor just kind of brushed it aside, like it wasn’t something to be worried about, that I must have been mistaken in my recollection what my own vagina/labia minora used to be like.

So I wait for the test results to come back.  A couple of days later I get a message saying results all came back negative, there’s no infection of any kind, and my hormone levels are all normal.

I asked the doctor to please, send a referral to the hospital so I can see a gynecologist.  I told her that I know something isn’t right, even if the test results don’t agree.  She said that she would, though it felt like she was doing it begrudgingly.

And now I wait.  I’ve been placed on the routine waiting list, and should receive an appointment within the next six months.  And while I wait, I continue to feel that I’m somewhat failing at being a wife because I can’t have sex.  Even if J tells me otherwise, it sucks.  I don’t know what else I can do about it, if there is anything I can do, and it makes me kind of sad.

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If you’re reading this anywhere but That Girl, Fae or a feed reader without attribution, it has been STOLEN! Who knew that my stuff was that good? ~ Fae

Creative Commons License
That Girl, Fae by R Simpson-Large aka Fae Teardrop is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 New Zealand License.

Indifferent Tiger is Indifferent (Slightly NSFW)

Click thru NSFW

Click thru NSFW

I’m pretty impressed by this tiger’s complete lack of regard for the scene it’s involved in, and for the actresses commitment to her part.  That’s a tiger beside your bed!!

If someone tells me this is photoshopped, I’m going to be decidedly unimpressed.

H/T Indifferent cats in amateur porn

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If you’re reading this anywhere but That Girl, Fae or a feed reader without attribution, it has been STOLEN! Who knew that my stuff was that good? ~ Fae

Creative Commons License
That Girl, Fae by R Simpson-Large aka Fae Teardrop is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 New Zealand License.

“Erotica” to Make You Giggle

You know that banner over to the right that warns you about posts and links that may be Not Safe For Work (NSFW)? This is one of those posts, and has some of those links.

While trawling through the month-long back-log of my Google Reader, I came across this post by Violet Blue which put me on to this little gem: Fifty Shades Generator.

Inspired by Fifty Shades of Grey, which is to erotica and BDSM what Twilight is to vampires (spoiler: not that great), upon clicking Ms Blue’s link, I was greeted with this:

The slamming makes me splurge my clunge gunge all over his skin flute. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin’ semen trickling from my mavis fritter and all over my hairy goblet. There was cock custard weeping from his ocean’s 11 inches and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of cheese-crusted cock and Da Vinci load, the creamy load was flowing down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The feeling of his love piss salivating down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

Seriously, splurge my clunge gunge!? That’s brilliant, and some pretty fantastic random generation.

Clicking on “generate more” did not disappoint:

After having my chamber of squelch fucked, he then proceeded to slam my mavis fritter. When he removed his brie baton from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn’t wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his spam dagger. I can’t wait to suck the baby gravy from his stilton sword. Inserting a footlong fudge bullet into my smush mitten got me spouting spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his veiny quim prod hammering my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container.

Is it talking about scat play? I’m pretty sure it’s talking about scat play.

And while that makes me a tad uncomfortable (hard limit there), the number of different types of slang used is astounding. Even though the paragraph was generated by a computer, someone still had to enter those terms, had to think up those terms.

So go on, embrace your immaturity, if only for a moment.

Acceptance of the Self

I do not agree with the premise of Valentine’s Day. You should not need a specific day to remind you to show your love to others. Random acts of love are much more meaningful. However, think of this as my Valentine’s Day post: love from others, and how that can effect the love of oneself.

It’s funny which things can have a triggering effect in a positive way.

Yesterday I was thinking about when it was that I started accepting my own self. It happened in a way that many would think bizarre.

Lying in bed one night, after J had drunk a considerable amount of alcohol, he told me, “I love my fat slut.” I believe this is in reference to my body size (obviously), and our polyamorous (open) relationship.

I admit, I was a little shocked initially, but once that soon faded, I realized that I was proud to be his fat slut. Here was the man I loved more than anything in the world, professing his love for me, using terms that many would consider offensive, and using those terms in the most endearing way. It was at that moment that I was proud of who I was, I could see in myself what he was seeing, where I had previously been blind.

He was embarrassed when I told him what he had said the next day. I don’t blame him. He was probably thinking that I was going to be upset, not knowing that what he said had had completely the opposite effect.  It actually filled me with a warm glow-y feeling.  I had never felt so loved and accepted.

I’m not sure whether it’s a good thing that I only found self-acceptance though someone else accepting me, but at least I got there.