How Sex Went from “Ouch” to “Oh, My God! Don’t Stop!”
By: Danika Bloom
Tags: Health, Sexuality, Self, Advice, Life Lessons

I had more sexual hang-ups in my teens, twenties and thirties than a good Catholic prostitute has Hail Mary’s. When it came to anything related to sex, I was intentionally witless, being from a good W.A.S.P family.

Of course, being as uncomfortable as I was with everything to do with sex — even talking about it — I was a perfect mark to believe anything I read since I had no other context to check the veracity of claims and assertions about what was and was not normal.

One of the things I believed was that ALL healthy, young women had on-call personal lubricant dispensers inside their vaginas.

Bedroom scenes in movies showed me how it automagically squirted its stuff as soon as a girl’s panties hit the floor. Romance novels told me, in technicolor purple prose, about the ease with which cocks slide into pussies. And all that stuff we hear about how easy some women rape, well, that left me thinking that if a woody is in the room, women will be wet.

Unfortunately, I seem to have been born with a defective axel-greaser. But I never had the courage to say anything. So for my entire fourteen-year marriage, in addition to having a virtually non-existent libido, I also got zero pleasure from intercourse since it always kind of hurt. There was just too damn much friction, so the sooner it ended the better.

Well, imagine my delight and surprise when the first man I slept with after my marriage ended, rolled on a lubricated condom.

His cock slid in and out with no resistance! And it felt…well, to be honest, it kind of felt like he wasn’t even there. He was quite a bit shorter and less girthy than my ex-husband and without the friction there didn’t seem to be much to get me either hot or bothered.

But I was delighted to discover the magic of a lubricated condom.

The next man I dated had a cock that was the shape of a soup can. Since I’d never watched porn, and Hollywood movies don’t typically provide up-close and personal cock shots, I was taken aback by how short and wide this man’s member was.

He, too, used a lubricated condom when we had sex. The challenging thing with this man was that he couldn’t maintain a hard-on so he’d thrust once, twice, maybe five times then pull out and masturbate for a few strokes, then re-enter me. Of course, each time he did this, he’d be rubbing off the lubricant so after three or four re-energizers, his condom-covered cock was dry.

Pushing a dry can of soup into one’s vagina is no fun at all. At least, it wasn’t for me.

To my credit, after suffering through this three or four times, I did let him know it was uncomfortable, so he’d add some spit. That helped a little, but never enough to make sex actually enjoyable.

My third post-marriage sexual partner was the cross-dresser who realized after our one night together that he preferred the company of men in bed.

That’s when I gave up dating for a while. But in those nine months, I’d learned that since condoms came lubricated, my ‘vadryna’ must be at least somewhat normal. That was a win.

But even better was the fact that the next man I dated took the time to make sure I was ready for intercourse before he dove in. He would — and still does when needed— spend thirty minutes getting me primed, so I’m desperate to have him inside me. I’d never experienced this kind of attention before.

And even though it gets me hot and bothered in a good way, I still don’t get wet. He was happy to bring home lubricants to help, since after several months together I got an IUD and were able to play sans condom, therefore, without the free lube.

It took several brands to find the one that works the best for us—it’s silicone-based — but sweet Mary Mother of Joseph, who knew that the right lube would make such a pleasure difference?

Well, apparently the researchers who studied Women’s Perceptions about Lubricant Use and Vaginal Wetness During Sexual Activities and had their research published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine in 2012, knew.

We were recently reminded when we ran out of our favorite Sliquid and had to resort to the old drugstore brands we had collecting dust in my bedside table. What remained of the ones our sons had (allegedly) stolen, drip-by-drip.

Using subpar lube led to subpar sexual experiences. It made me feel bad for all the folks who don’t know that there’s a world of quality personal lubricants available that cannot be found on drugstore shelves.

When I recently used some of the basic brands, I found they either got sticky or seemed to evaporate before Mr. Barker and I had finished needing their services.

“Owe! Wait. Can’t you feel that your cock is catching? Stop!”

I’d have to thrust my hips forward far enough to pop him out since he’s typically behind me, roll over to face him and apply more lube to his quickly shrinking manhood.

This was not great for either of our egos or libidos.

In a pinch, we found that the very best substitute for high-quality lube is coconut oil. It stays slippery with just about the perfect friction for as long as we need it. The only trouble is that it leaves oily stains on the sheets.

The point of all this is that I spent twenty years fearing sex, first because it was sinful, then because it was painful, when I could have reduced that time to six years — since married sex is not a sin — if only I’d had a Fairy Sex Godmother to tell me that it was okay to need help getting wet and that it was worth spending a half day’s pay on a 500ml container of high-quality lube since it would give me months of breathless pleasure.

Now you know. You’re welcome.