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Whisper #33 – The Walking Hormone

Author: Mags

I’ve just counted back on my calendar that it has been 9 months and 4 days since I last had sex.  If I’d known that this drought was going to last so long, I would’ve made more of an effort to enjoy myself back in September, rather than settling for the drunken fumble it ended up being.  Mark my words, people, live every shag as if it’s your last.

Whilst it feels like a hardship, I’m ok with it really – thank god for Literotica, and if I’m honest the rather spectacular weight gain I’ve managed since last year means I don’t want to get my kecks off in front of anyone, let alone someone I want to have sex with.

What’s worrying me however, is that I have to go for a trans-vaginal ultrasound next week: according to the letter I got from the hospital explaining it, and for those that don’t know, they are basically taking a great big dildo/camera, covering it a condom, squeezing a tube of KY over it, and then shoving it up my hoo-ha.  Sounds great, doesn’t it?

The problem is, it actually is sounding great.  I’m not saying I get off on medical procedures, far from it, but what if I get turned on by it? The last person I spoke to about vaginal ultrasounds said she was so horny afterwards that she went home and demanded sex from her husband.  I have no husband. I don’t even have my Rabbit anymore. I’ll probably get arrested for jumping on the man operating the camera and demanding he finish me off.

Which would be embarrassing.

And then -THEN! –  I’ll have to go to the doctors to discuss the results.  If I’m lucky, I’ll be able to talk to the lady doctor (Dr Payne …. I bet she has a sidekick called Nurse De’Ath).  If I’m less lucky, I’ll get one of the male junior doctors, none of whom look like they’ve started puberty yet, let alone know what a vagina is.  If I’m really unlucky, I’ll get the older male doctor: the one I have the most barnstorming crush on.  The day I had to talk to him about IBS was one of THE MOST humiliating days of my life – I really don’t want to go and talk to him about my lady bits. I might get the giggles again like I did when we were discussing my poo.

It’s a cliché, I know, but I can’t help having a thing for certain doctors: I think I watched too much Peak Practice as a student.  When I was growing up, my GP was the divine Dr Rob – both my sister and I adooooored him, as did every other female under the age of 70 in the village.  He’s still there now, I’m just hoping I never get sick when I’m visiting the parentals, because some teenage fantasies should never be shattered: in my head he’s still tall, faintly muscular and gorgeous; according to my mum, he’s lost most of his hair, and has spent the last 15 years enjoying the local ale a little too much.  Shame.

But back to the ultrasound next week.  I’m like a walking hormone at the moment, chances are they’re not going to need that tube of KY.  What’s the best way to approach these things?  Lie back and think of England? Chat away as if you have someone poking a camera up your chuffer everyday? Perhaps I’ll resort to the same tactics as when I’m getting a smear done – eyes shut and desperately wishing the person poking around in my fanny knew what they were doing.

Which is also what I used to do with one of my ex-boyfriends.

There’s no dignity at all when it comes to spreading your legs in the name of medicine. I can’t say I’m looking forward to finding out whether I’ve got polycystic ovaries, or whether I’m just a hairy lardarse with irregular periods, but I guess it’s better to know than not know. And if nothing else, at least the dildo camera will break through the hymen that appears to have regrown itself since last year.

 

If you’d like to write your own Whisper, we’d love to read it! The submission guidelines are here.

 

 

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Whisper #32 – Oh Baby, Maybe

Author: And Then There Were Three

I think it’s fair to say The Boy and I have a pretty healthy sex life. He has a very high sex drive (3 times a day would probably just about keep him satisfied). Mine is not quite so high, plus there are just not enough hours in the day once we’ve factored in working, eating and a bit of sleep, but I’m hardly a once-a-week-is-plenty-thank-you-very-much girl either. We generally manage to reach a happy medium which keeps us both satisfied and far enough away from starvation or sleep deprivation.

However, I’m conscious I should probably be writing this in the past tense, as things stand at the moment.

Last night The Boy came back from a couple of nights away. Usually I would be falling into bed with him at the first opportunity. Last night I only had sex with him because if all goes well I will ovulate in a few days, and I don’t want to miss any chance we might get. I still love The Boy, and fancy him loads, but if his penis got broken and we couldn’t have sex for the next two weeks, I think I’d feel pretty happy. Not for his broken penis, obviously – apart from anything else he would never stop moaning about it – but just for the ‘no sex’ thing.

I’m really struggling to separate sex from trying to conceive at the moment. When we first started trying it was all exciting and new and naughty. We’d spent the whole of our adult lives being incredibly careful to avoid pregnancy; sex without contraception is like sampling the forbidden fruit. Was.

Back then, in those heady first few months of trying, I’d engineer particularly romantic and passionate scenarios, thinking that was the kind of sex that was sure to result in conception. Now it’s all charts and timetables and scans and what the consultant has told us to do and medication and horrible side-effects. It’s all about: when’s the best time? If we skip tonight and I don’t get pregnant, how will I feel? Last month we did it in this way, and this often, and I got pregnant, so we can’t risk not doing the same this month. What if, despite all this sex, I still don’t get pregnant? We absolutely must do it now. Should we be doing it more often? Less often? If I don’t orgasm will that make it less likely that I get pregnant? Oh, skip the foreplay and just come already.

Basically I feel so much pressure to do it even when I’m so not in the mood, I’ve talked myself out of being in the mood at all. Ever. Despite the fact I’ve always enjoyed sex for its own sake, I’m turning into one of those women who doesn’t see the point if I’m not ovulating. The Boy has noticed. He keeps buying me sexy underwear and propositioning me. Which just makes me feel less sexy than ever.

It all comes down to that ‘Men are from Mars’ conundrum (an engagement present from my in-laws, which I was quite offended by at the time. It’s actually saved rather a lot of arguments and misunderstandings in the ATTW3 household). Men need sex to feel loved, women need to feel loved to want to have sex. The Boy propositioning me whilst I (and he) knew I was miscarrying probably gets the top spot in the ‘not feeling very well loved or understood’ moments from our relationship, even though rationally I know that was him trying to show how much he cares about me. What’s wrong with flowers though, that’s what I want to know.

We’ve maintained the equilibrium pretty well up to this point, through thirteen long months of trying to conceive (TTC). Hopefully, once this horrible, desperate month is over, we can move on and back to the usual state of affairs. I really hope so, because I so want to want to have sex with my husband again without it always being about what may or may not occur nine months from now. I can’t help but wonder, with quite a lot of sadness, whether we’ll ever recapture the spontaneity of pre-TTC sex though. I do hope so.

 

If you’d like to write your own Whisper, we’d love to read it! The submission guidelines are here.

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Whisper #31 – Know Yourself

Author: Korhomme, who blogs as The Empirical Reader


A phone call, out of nowhere: to tell me that my cousin was dead. And by his own hand; things began to unravel from there. A long, long forgotten memory stirred in my head.

We’d been close as kids, he would stay with us in N Ireland, we would stay with him and his parents in the south of England. I didn’t realise it then, but now I see that he was brought up in what his brother conceded was ‘genteel poverty’. Yet his parents were gentlefolk in the best English tradition. Over the years I’d grown very fond of them, though my cousin always seemed to have greater ambitions, a desire, a need, to escape from his origins.

“He was always flamboyant,” my sister said when I told her. And it was true. He was ambitious, determined somehow to escape from the circumstances of his childhood. He would smoke only the most extravagant cigarettes, the most unusual, Balkan Sobranie for example. Just to be different.

There was more, it all gradually unfolded. He had been missed by his lover, he hadn’t phoned, so his lover had called the police, they had been alerted and found him.

He’d married years before, and had a couple of boys; and had had a grandson, though out of wedlock. But he had divorced her some years ago, and taken a series of lovers. Men.

When he was married, they used to quarrel, frequently and seriously. And then he’d suffered from depression and had been treated for this — and still was being treated at the time of his death. And the migraines; he’d never had these before, but after his marriage they were frequent, debilitating.

All of this was revealed in pieces, in fragments. As if the family didn’t understand what was happening, how he could have taken his own life, as if they couldn’t accept what had happened.

It was difficult for me to take this all in; he’d seemed to be content, to have been a success. And he was, at least financially and socially. The foreign holidays, the cars. What had happened; how had he changed?

It came back to me a week or two after the first phone call; funerals arrangements can be delayed, and I’d time to think before going to meet the relatives. I remembered a scene from forty years before, when I stayed with him and his parents. We were on a station platform, his brother and I, he was going off to his summer job, and we were chatting, as lads do.

“You know,” he said, “it’s only after you’ve fucked a girl for the first time that you’ve proved yourself.” We’d all laughed at this, for it was true, a proof of manhood.

But it was a lie, he’d deceived us and himself for decades. He hadn’t proved that he was heterosexual, he’d pretended to be something that he wasn’t. It was illegal then; his parents would never have understood.

And he lived with this self-deception for decades, until it was too much.

 

 

If you’d like to write your own Whisper, we’d love to read it! The submission guidelines are here.

 

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Lucy Waters’ Love Songs


I am cringing as I listen to some of these songs and revisit my younger self.   Actually, I’m not cringing; I was a hopeless/hopeful romantic who loved the words of songs and soppy ballads.  I miss her a bit.  These are some of the songs that will conjure up the past if I catch them on the radio.

 

You can click on the song titles to play them in Spotify, or click here to listen to the whole list.

 

The Commodores – Easy

Straight back to my teenage days at the local disco; I was the plain to my best friend’s pretty (which didn’t stop me scoring the gorgeous stranger who arrived one dark night … a story for another time) but I did get asked for the occasional slow dance … and it was always this song that was playing!  Oh and in this case the words mean nothing – or meant nothing at the time.  Though I do love the idea of being “Easy as a Sunday morning”.

 

Robert Palmer – Can We Still Be Friends

A male friend played this to me…. twice … after we’d spent a night in the same bed with nothing happening … I don’t think I want to hear bad messages … I thought he was just playing me a Robert Palmer album … ‘Things are not always what they seem’… not long after that he traded in his sports car for a family saloon and married a woman with two children.

 

There was a pivotal relationship in my late 20s, early 30s that finally kicked me from being the sort of girl who worshiped distant and unattainable ‘stars’ into the sort that would rather have a real live boy.  Nothing ever happened, (though I tried) but it got very intense (in my head at least) and the ‘yearningness’ satisfied my need for drama and melodramatics.  I packed all my teenage angst into 18 months.  The bad news is that this happened in the early ‘90’s when there were several heartbreakers on heavy rotation on the radio.

Oh and Noel Coward said it best:  ‘Extraordinary how potent cheap music is.’

Richard Marx – Right Here Waiting

‘Oceans apart, day after day, and I slowly go insane.’  Has there been a better line written in a love song?

 

Michael Bolton – How Am I Supposed To Live Without You

Come on – if you’re of a certain age I bet this is lurking somewhere in the back of the cupboard.  Try and remember the first time you heard it, and then imagine the first time you heard it was just as you were discovering feelings you’d not had before. And that those feelings weren’t really reciprocated.  ‘And how can I blame you, When I built my world around, The hope that someday we’d be so much more than friends, And I don’t wanna know the price I’m gonna pay for dreaming.’

 

Sinead O’Connor – Nothing Compares 2 U

The video with the single tear;  being 30 and feeling 16; imagining I’d never feel like this about anyone else ever (did I mention my melodramatic streak?!)

 

Barry Manilow  –    In Another World

Barry was the unattainable pop star and my real life man worked for him … What he actually said to me was ‘if only we’d met in another life.’   Actually Barry’s recorded a song called ‘Another Life’ but that’s a different song and that one’s about having the strength to say no when someone who’s broken your heart wants you back (something that happened to me later on … and I didn’t have the strength  to say no … for five years).

Betty and I have trawled the Internet and can’t find a copy of the song to share – so instead listen to Somewhere Down The Road … ‘we had the right love at the wrong time … Letting go is just another way to say I’ll always love you so,’ similar sorts of sentiments and I have to have at least one Manilow song in this list!

Oh – I met him again a couple of years back (the one who’d worked for Barry) … the meeting I’d fantasised about for years; no prizes for guessing, massive let down – what  a prat!


For years I’ve collected songs about being the other woman … they’ll probably end up the chapter headings for the book;  this is one of the more subtle ones.

Robbie Robertson – Breaking The Rules Of The Game

The entire Storyville album makes me melt, it sounds hot and sweaty and how I imagine late night New Orleans with your forbidden lover must be.  The words of this one spoke to how I felt during so much of one relationship:  ‘Don’t make me the victim, Don’t make me the clown.’ I gave him a copy of the album, never did ask if he’d listened to it.

 

Russell Crowe – How Did We Get From Saying I Love You

Can’t even remember when I first heard this.  Struck to the heart of where I was with ‘took me five years to say no’ boy – I even bought it for him via iTunes, I was trying to reach out to him.  And now I can’t hear it, both literally as I seem to have deleted it from all my hard drives and in every other way, if it were to come on the radio I’d have to turn it off.  ‘How did we get from saying “I love you” to “I’ll see you around someday”.’

Betty: Sadly this doesn’t exist on iTunes, but thankfully YouTube offers the track WITH RC SLIDESHOW!

 

Duffy – Mercy

Music in relation to my love affairs has always been more about how I feel or want to feel; rarely are they about a shared experience.  However I do share this with someone, it’s a joke, but one of those ones based in a little bit of reality: ‘my morals got me on my knees.’

 

Whitney Houston – Saving All My Love

If there were one song that would represent the soundtrack to my love life, this is the one…Too many years I’ve been in love with people who aren’t mine.

 

Love Songs is a new strand for this blog, in which people share the ten tracks that sum up their love life. Would you like to share your list? Click here for more details.


 

 

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Whisper #30 – Living Without Icing

Author: English Thorn, who blogs here.

 

Just under three years ago I stopped orgasming. I didn’t stop trying, I didn’t stop having sex or masturbating, but one way or another I just didn’t come. At first I tried not to stress about it, knowing that if I worried about coming then I’d make the problem worse, but as the months went on I went through several phases of getting down about my anorgasmic state.

 

A year ago I decided that I’d develop my kinky side; I’d been interested in elements of BDSM since my early teens but had pretty limited experience. I started my blog to document my misadventures and thoughts, which inevitably covered my orgasm problems.  Unexpectedly I found that D/s (Dominance and submission) could give me satisfaction to match an orgasm, and could also help me get closer to a climax.

 

A commenter on my blog responded that she’d seen an NHS sex therapist for her problems, which prompted me to consider putting more into overcoming my problems. I spoke to my doctor about getting a referral to the NHS psychosexual services; it’s been six months now and I’ve still heard nothing but I can wait. In the mean time my boyfriend has been very supportive. We balance big attempts with going-with-the-flow; he’s there to comfort me when I get emotional, we always talk things over when anything happens (or doesn’t happen) and thanks largely to him I have a much better understanding of what’s happening to stop me from coming. I seem to be riddled with strange anxieties that rational sensible me doesn’t have, but which creep out during sex.

 

The hardest thing about anorgasmia is choosing how to approach it – do I just shrug my shoulders and start seeing myself as someone who just doesn’t come, or do I see it as a problem that I want to fix? Either way sometimes are going to be difficult, but arguably it’s harder to try to fix things – every discussion of orgasms leaves me feeling a little deficient, a tiny bit of an outsider looking in, desperate to be a part of the club of which I used to be a regular member; every time I miss climax by a mile it feels like a step backwards.

 

So when I recently heard of a special technique which had a name that implied trouble-free orgasm I got very excited – maybe this would help with the breakthrough. Usually I’m fairly rational and skeptical, but in my enthusiasm I somewhat suspending disbelief. The instruction was in the form of a video which my boyfriend and I watched together; it was uneasy viewing but I put that down cultural differences between us and the target audience. My boyfriend, however, was deeply offended by the portrayal of men as inattentive and/or incompetent at pleasing women in even a basic, straightforward way; it didn’t take much discussion for me to agree.

 

Despite this I was still eager to give it all a go, my boyfriend less so. I discussed dropping the whole thing with him, but he reassured me he wanted to try it for me, but several weeks passed and nothing happened. At this point we watched the video again to remind ourselves of the technique details and it precipitated a pretty dramatic discovery. This time we became aware of the contradictions in the philosophy of the technique – being told to throw away all rules, and yet being given terrifyingly detailed instructions that must be followed for the technique was just all back to front, plus there were conflicting messages about the aim and likelihood of orgams. Further to this, some things just didn’t make sense; all the half-decent sex advice I’d seen so far in my life emphasised that individuals vary hugely in their erogenous zones and sexual preferences, yet the technique was very much one-size-fits-all, and that started to ring serious alarm bells.

 

In our deep unease we started to do a little research into the (for-profit) company that had formulated and marketed this technique – in my enthusiasm for finding a solution to my orgasm problems I’d ended up (very distantly) involved with a company that seems, on the evidence, to be a front for a cult! Like many cults they’re prone to litigation and what you might call forceful PR, so I am reluctant to name them. Suffice to say my boyfriend and I dropped any idea of attempting the technique, and any other possible “miracle cures” for my ongoing problems. It’s back to waiting for the NHS and occasionally having a go at working things out myself.

 

I did get one positive thing from my experience – the video reminded me of the importance of staying in the moment during sex, and that has helped when I’ve found my thoughts drifting in unhelpful directions. It’s a very common piece of advice for these kinds of problems, but something that can be hard to actually do. I’ve painted a somewhat gloomy picture of a life without orgasm, it’s not so bad really – I still get a lot of sexual pleasure and the lack of orgasm hasn’t hurt my self-esteem or relationships. As I said to one of my friends, I’m missing the icing but at least I still have the cake.

 

If you’d like to write your own Whisper, we’d love to read it! The submission guidelines are here.

 

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Quiet Riot Girl’s Love Songs

Quiet Riot Girl writes at the sidelines of pornography. She is gaining a bit of a reputation for saying the unsayable. Her latest collection of shorts Unethical Sluts is available free on Smashwords. She is currently promoting Mark Simpson’s new book, Metrosexy which tells you ‘everything you always wanted to know about the death of sexuality but were afraid to ask’.

 

 

You can click on the song titles to play them in Spotify, or click here to listen to the whole list.

 

1. You are my world – The Communards

I still feel a bit giddy and get butterflies when I hear it. I fell in love for the first time to this track, aged 16. His mum bought us tickets to see the Communards as a present, but by the time of the gig we had broken up. We still went, but sat in stony silence.

 

2. Just The Way You Are  – Billy Joel

The song I lost my virginity to (I think! It was a long time ago. My boyfriend at the time used to play it a lot. Though really, you wouldn’t make that up would you?) But I did go changing and so, it isn’t our song anymore.

 

3. Dry – PJ Harvey

I went through a very dry patch in my early twenties. PJ Harvey and Riot Grrl kept me going.

 

4. Spring Heeled Jim – Morrissey

I met my boy, my ex, when Vauxhall and I was just out. It brings me back to 1994 to that dingy living room, to alcoholic afternoons, to those endless conversations to the sound of my heart opening again.

 

5. What’s Going On? – Marvin Gaye

That’s more like it! Shouldn’t a girl lose her virginity to Marvin Gaye rather than Billy Joel? Can you lose it twice or more?

 

6. Famous Blue Raincoat Leonard Cohen

Leonard Cohen Leonard Cohen Leonard Cohen

 

7. Who Are You? – Tom Waits

We broke up and when we got back together(before we broke up again, for the last time) he said this is the song that he used to play. The line that particularly haunted me was: ‘You were falling out of windows in expensive shoes’ There is a story there. I will tell you another time.

 

8. Babies – Pulp

Can you fall in love with yourself? Can you fall out of love with yourself? If so, this was my getting back with me song. I played it over and over on a loop in a bedsit in Sheffield, in 1998. It may be my favourite pop song ever.

 

9.Spring Rain – The Go-Betweens

My boy loved the Go-Betweens. I can’t listen to them any more it is too painful. I love them though.

 

10. I Wanna Be Adored – The Stone Roses

My most recent love affair seems to be with ‘self-love’, not my own, I hasten to add, but  men’s. I am currently working with Mark Simpson, who coined the term ‘metrosexual’ back in 1994 and who is my favourite current writer on men and masculinities. I Wanna Be Adored is an anthemic example of men expressing their need to be desired, loved, adored, just as women always have been. ‘You adore me’ is such a powerful line, turning the tables so the male singer becomes the object of desire.


 

 

 

Love Songs is a new strand for this blog, in which people share the ten tracks that sum up their love life. Would you like to share your list? Click here for more details.

 

 

 

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Henri’s Love Songs

Sadly music that is special to me is more often an individual choice rather than tangled with the start (or end) of a relationship, so I only have a few that give that resonance. Perhaps it’s a good thing, otherwise I’d spend too much of my time in a sobbing, snotty pool.

 

You can click on the song titles to play them in Spotify, or click here to listen to the whole list.

 

1. Harry Nilsson – Without You

In 1970 something when this came out I hadn’t even had a boyfriend, but gosh this was what I thought it should be about.

 

2. Adam Ant – Prince Charming

All I can say is you can fool some of the people some of the time.

 

3. Theme tune to Hill Street Blues

This was on the television when I told my first partner that I was leaving him after 5 years. I couldn’t hear it for years after without feeling cold and scared.

 

4. Jon Anderson – Song of Seven

The sound track to falling in love with my husband.

 

5. Elgar  – Nimrod from Enigma Variations

I walked up the aisle to this, my husband’s surname is Hunter.

 

6. Neil Young – Only Love Can Break Your Heart
7. Gluck – J’ai Perdu mon Euridice
Both are about regret for something lost, that you are afraid you may never find again

 

8. Philip Glass Soundtrack to The Illusionist

A marvellous film, a fairytale ending and a bit of eyecandy thrown in. May not be “real” love, but it’s a wonderful dream.

 

9. Fratellis – Henrietta

Nothing wrong with a bit of self love, it makes me laugh and bearing in mind the subject matter, fantasise wistfully.

 

10. Evanescence – Bring Me to Life

After a long time of feeling invisible and unfulfilled this track, cheesy though it is, sums up my realisation there are still choices and opportunities in my life

 

Love Songs is a new strand for this blog, in which people share the ten tracks that sum up their love life. Would you like to share your list? Click here for more details.

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