Squirting ketchup & a dry vagina
Sh*t.
The panic starts setting in as I ransack my bag - searching, hoping, praying I brought it.
C’mon, pleaaaaase tell me I remembered…
Nada. Nothing. Zilch.
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My mom taught me to always be prepared, which is why she never left the house without making sure she had ketchup sachets in her purse.
Because honestly, they never give you enough ketchup when you order french fries. My french fries want to be wet with ketchup.
A dry fry is condiment torture if you ask me…
For my mom, it was ketchup.
For me, during my middle to late twenties, it was coconut oil.
Yep. Sachets of coconut oil.
I had to have coconut oil with me. But, I often forgot it… sending me in a mental tizzy.
I can feel my lips dry up - cracking and bleeding just thinking about it.
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When I was 17, I got a rare skin infection that stayed with me until I was 28. I remember going to endless doctors appointments, with each new doctor a new diagnosis. With each new diagnosis, a new set of pills or creams to try.
Some would tell me it’s nothing to worry about, others would scare me sh*tless - they hadn’t seen anything like this before.
Have you ever had a bodily ailment nobody could quite figure out?
I think the not knowing is worse than the actual ailment itself. The constant trial and error - I panicked and cried and panicked some more. My skin got so itchy that I called in sick from school, work, and opted to stay home rather than socialize with friends.
My mom suggested I see a therapist because of my downward spiraling emotional state.
When I was 20, I even got a series of botox injections so that my muscles would stop spazzing out and relax for a moment.
It was really bizarre getting botox injected into my vagina, lemme tell you.
Yep, the other lips on my body… cracking and bleeding and panicked.
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When I was 17, the first doctor told me it was Chlamydia. I found this diagnosis quite odd because I had only been sexually active with two 17 year old boys up until that time.
I took the Chlamydia pills anyway… and still I had issues.
It’s a yeast infection! Put some cream on it…
Perhaps it’s a UTI? Drink cranberry juice…
Have you tried (insert literally ANY female health prescription/over the counter product here)??
No matter what I tried, my vagina still cried dry painful tears.
Where did the majority of my tears come from?
Fights with my boyfriend… about not being able to have sex.
I mean, can you blame us? We were teenagers with raging hormones.
It’s all we talked about.
Every conversation would end up being about how much we wanted to have sex but couldn’t… because my vagina didn’t work properly.
I’d listen to my friends talk about how turned on and wet they got over the weekend with some random dude.
This might sound strange, but I so badly wanted that for myself. I wanted to go home with random guys without panic setting in about how I would perform.
I just wanted to feel normal.
Thus, a story was born in my mind.
The story of,
“No man will ever want me as their girlfriend because I can’t have sex with them.”
Little did I know at the time that this story would single handedly shape how I showed up in my relationships with men for the next decade…
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Fast track to 26 year old me, in a 5 star hotel room. He’s on the other side of the bathroom door. Waiting for me. I forgot to bring coconut oil. F*ck.
I say my mantra to myself in the mirror over and over again,
“I have a beautiful, healthy, wet vagina.
I have a beautiful, healthy, wet vagina.
I have a beautiful, healthy, wet vagina...”
Come on. We can do this. Work with me here.
My palms are sweating bullets, but my vagina? Still dry as the Sahara.
Ugh, I knew that Law of Attraction bullshit doesn’t actually work.
“Why God, why did you have to give me such a dry and inflamed vagina? What the f*ck did I do to deserve such a curse?!”
Just a few days ago I was telling this man how wet I get, how it drips down my leg so he can lick it off. That sentence alone was what made him say yes to setting up an “arrangement” with me.
$500 for dinner, drinks, and some bedroom play. Not too bad for a Friday night if you ask me.
How long have I been in the bathroom for???
Quickly, I get a big fat gob of spit in my hand and rub it all over myself. He’ll never know the difference.
I give my usual spectacular performance, I mean really I should have become an actress. My fake orgasms are THE. BEST. EVER.
I’ve had a bit over 10 years worth of practice after all, and well over 10 men whom I’ve practiced on.
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Maybe you’re wondering WHY oh WHY on Earth did I choose to become a SEX WORKER with all those vagina problems?!
“No man will ever want me as their girlfriend because I can’t have sex with them.”
Lemme ask you this, have you ever been in a situation where there’s something you’re not able to do and it makes you want it EVEN MORE?
Perhaps yours isn’t wanting to have sex so badly you would sacrifice the health of your already sick vagina…
Perhaps yours is eating chocolate cake and donuts after telling yourself you’re starting a diet. You eat the chocolate cake and donuts, but you kinda hate yourself afterwards… or even during.
Perhaps you are a thrill seeker, like me.
Perhaps you like keeping secrets, like me.
Perhaps you just want to be admired, like me.
I loved to be someone’s PERFECT woman for a short period of time. It was like nannying, being able to be the BEST, most fun and playful nanny. Then, giving the kids back to their parents at the end when you’ve had enough.
I go back home, eat french fries and smother vagina cream all over while I sit with my legs wide open in front of a fan while Dude gets to go home back to his family. Perfect.
Squirt ketchup everywhere, cry a little. Rinse. Repeat.
I never have to tell him I’m not perfect.
I never have to tell him that I don’t have a properly working vagina.
I never have to tell him that he wouldn’t actually want me if he knew the real story.
It’s nice to feel special.
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At the age of 27, I became sober from alcohol and all types of heavier substances.
I still tried to sleep with men for money. Turns out it’s REALLY hard when you don’t have booze goggles on or any white powder up your nose.
Right then and there, I made a decision - I would stop all the ways I was exploiting myself and heal myself instead. This was a decision that sent me on yet another rollercoaster ride. However this time, I was coherent throughout the process.
My road to recovery stories will be shared in later posts, but the main point I’d like to hit you with is this…
The physical cause of my dry and cracked vagina at 17 years old wasn’t nearly as painful as the emotional.
My emotions created the story around the physical ailment. That story stuck with me for over a decade.
The story of my vagina doesn’t work properly and therefore I am not desired for a long term relationship.
Thus, my subconscious chose a path that mirrored my story, it chose a path for me where I could get close to men, but not close enough.
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I learned how to transmute my sexual trauma into healing so that I can help others do the same.
I now support womxn in cultivating a safe womb space, to dissolve the trauma from their cervix so they can get wet on life itself.
I no longer fake orgasms. I live each day as a walking, living, breathing orgasm.
And guess what? My pussy is wet and juicy, because I did the damn work.