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Pelvic Floor Therapy #2: Well, it didn’t hurt as much this time.

artwork via Pixabay

It was still not comfortable. There was still some pain. But it was better than the first time.

It was equally awkward during the pre-massage interview — in the Why am I trying to make her more comfortable about these questions? kind of way; I mean, she’s the Vag Therapist, right? She should be trying to make ME more comfortable! — and there were a couple of WTF points, but overall I think this whole getting-a-deep-tissue-massage-in-my-snatch thing is helping.

She seems to think so too, based on her “Wow, that’s a big improvement!” comment when she pressed on a spot that was not nearly so YELP! as it was last time.

The general appointment procedure was the same as last time:

  1. Discuss symptoms.
  2. Share information.
  3. Terrorize Therapize my vag.

She seemed a little concerned that I had residual pain after my first session, but since it was basically the same kind of residual I used to get after my massage therapist would beat up my back, I thought it was no big deal. I’m guessing there are people who don’t come back for a second session when the residual-pain thing happens though, so that could have been why she was concerned.

We discussed my libido. “I’ve experienced a few minor awakenings,” I told her. To which she responded, “What were the circumstances?”

Errr…

?

I’m pretty sure she wasn’t asking about my jill-off fantasies, and I’d already told her that I have not attempted penetrative intercourse with my spouse yet1, so I had to think about that one for a minute.

Interpreting ‘circumstances’ as ‘general situation’, “It was warm,” was the first thing that came to mind. (Being too cold has long been a known factor in my libido-less-ness.) I was also relaxed. I’d just had several days of not having to work and had just gotten over being sick.2

[Insert moment of PT stressing out loud about how many people come to their appointments when they are sick.]

And then I told her that, whether it’s related or not, I’ve stopped having to wake up at night so often to go pee. (I mean, I kinda figured it was related, because {a} the lessening took place after my first pelvic therapy session, and {b} clearly those nether-regions muscle groups are all inter-related.)

And then she told me that ‘normal people’ (OoooooKaaaayy…) pee between five and seven times in a 24 hour period.

I guess this is a thing?

It’s been studied. Apparently.

And I found that a little bit interesting. Because — being a young-starter and long-sufferer of UTIs — I’ve always been told not to “hold it.” Like, if you feel a sense of urgency, you should go. And if you are about to leave the house, you should go (even if you don’t feel like you have to go). Or if you’ve put any kind of liquid in your system in the past two hours, you should go.

And such.

But apparently there is a negative side to that. Which is: if you go too frequently, your muscles forget how to “hold” and they don’t get their proper exercise, which leads to a weakening of the pelvic floor muscles.

Which is why, apparently, pelvic floor therapy is often useful for women with urinary incontinence issues.

So there ya go. Fun fact.

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Mmm…

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CONTENT WARNING: Mommy/little D/s sexual dynamics

Feed Mommy your cock…

The thought whispers through my mind, conjuring a vision of youth — tussled, smiling, lean — kneeling, hard, between my legs, eagerly waiting for permission.

Push, baby. Go slow…

And in the same way I dream with lucidity of feeling, so too do I conjure corporeal feeling from fantasy (and what *is* this fantasy, anyway? I’m no good at fantasy.1 But until recently I’ve been no good at desire either, but my libido is slowly kicking over at a low hum — like the slow hum of a furnace kicking on after a long, cold outage — and if this is where my mind is going to go while my body is powering back up, I’m not going to overthink it), imagining the split-ridge gentle push against wet resistance, the slow glide forward, slightly back, forward again.. and again… until he is seated deep. Tensed. Waiting.

I imagine this child — how old is he? 29? — vaguely in countenance; in body, approximate; precisely in appendage. His cock is thick. Swollen. Vein-ridged. I can feel his heartbeat — my own, in reality — as a low thrum against my cervix.

I imagine him, trembling slightly, torso tensed, wanting

But no.

Be still, baby boy.

And he is a good boy. He holds still.

While *I* move.

Tightening and releasing, inner walls flexing, I tilt my hips ever so slightly back and forth around him until I’m al… most…

Cum for mommy.

There.

1Unless we’re talking about dragons.

Ripple

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image modified from a combination of two found at Pixabay

It’s a flutter. Heavy, weighted with unexpectedness, turning deep circles behind my navel.

Awareness turns damp.

A swell.

A ripple.

Memories of lips soft and the urgency of once… before… back then… floods forward to now.

Fingertips to the first knuckle coax muscles learning to un-taut.

Circling.

The weighted somersault flips inside, landing skim-skip against long-still waters.

And the undulations roll unsplashing through the spectrum of light now illuminating the depths.

Breathe Through It: My First Session of Pelvic Floor Therapy

'breathe' neon sign via Unsplash!
header photo via Unsplash!

Breathe Through It

I never realized, until this week, that having spent several years under the ministrations of a massage terrorist would help me with vaginal issues. But it’s true.

Because, you see, when Helga The Horrible1 used to knead and press and dig her elbows into my overtight, sore muscles, I had to breathe through it. (And then, when I relaxed into the pain a bit from the breathing, she would dig in further and I’d have to breathe some more.) (I think she was a sadist.)

And that’s what I had to do during my first pelvic floor therapy session: breathe through it.

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