Urgent Care (or the Tale of the Missing Condom)

Even though I was at BlogHer this year and attended several seminars and sat in on a few panels, I was not present for the reading of Knotty Yarn's Stuck in the Middle with You. Danielle read the entire blog post during her keynote speech and I am kind of glad I wasn't there cause I would've probably pissed myself from laughing so hard and then I'd end up telling everyone around me about the time that I had to go to Urgent Care for a similar situation (you know, to distract them from the fact that I had wet myself).

Oh hell, it's an awesome story and one that I can't believe has not been shared yet. So here goes:

It was the first time I had sex with this particular individual and it had been a long time for me (dry spell). I was incredibly turned on and it was completely-spontaneous-in-the-middle-of-the-afternoon type sex and everything was going well - until it was over.

After sex, I typically lay there in the afterglow and enjoy the sensation of being naked and not having a care in the world (as opposed to being naked in front of the mirror) but this time, that moment of calm was interrupted by what he said.

"I think the condom slipped off." He said it so casually that it took me a second to register what he was trying to say. Once I did, I could hardly relax. My first thought went to what day of the month it was, quickly followed by: Was I ovulating? Was the pill 99% effective with or without a condom? I couldn't remember and I was panicking and not even thinking about the sex anymore or how good it wasn't. All I could think about was, Could I be pregnant already?

As I stood up and looked at him (standing in front of me, naked, and with an odd expression on his face), I realized that he was more freaked out than I was. I started to get dressed and was thinking about the Morning After Pill and what I would have to do in order to get a hold of one, when I noticed that he was tearing the sheets off the bed. And that's when I realized that what he really meant to say was, "The condom is missing."

We both started to look under the bed and tossed aside the clothes that lay on the floor around us. "Where is it?" I said. "It's gotta be around here somewhere," he responded.

It was nowhere to be found. The only logical place it could possibly be was inside. Me.

I went to the bathroom to try and fish it out (seriously, Danielle, I feel your pain here). By the time I finally gave up on the search, my female bits were sore and I was seriously not in the mood to even face my new partner.

I was pissed. In fact, my partner would say (if we were still speaking), that he wanted to leave at that moment because I was acting like such a bitch. I was embarrassed, annoyed and freaked out (still thinking about the possibility of conception).

We went to bed that night with our backs to each other. I was not going to let him touch me again. After all, imagine what else could happen down there? I was seriously behaving like a child, blaming him for 'losing' the condom instead of laughing about such a crazy situation (which I laughed about the next day).

I went to Urgent Care the next morning although I made sure to call ahead. See, I've been there before and I know about that little window in the tiny waiting room that you're required to speak through when you check in. The receptionist asks you what you're there for and I was prepared to not have to explain it to her and the handful of strangers sitting there.

Over the phone, I told her why I was coming in. "I had sex last night and the condom disappeared. I think it's stuck inside me." I made sure to explain that I would not be able to say that out loud when I got there. I think she was laughing at me when she hung up the phone.

When I arrived, the woman behind the desk asked me what I was there for (I swear, she should've recognized my embarrassment), so I said, "I'm the one who just called. About the situation. You know. That I can't say." She nodded (fighting back a laugh) and said, "A nurse practitioner will be with you shortly." I sat down and everyone in the waiting room stared, wondering what I was there for and why it was too scary to say out loud and should they be sitting so close to me?

Apparently, getting a condom (or anything else) stuck inside you is sort of a big deal, cause I was called back pretty much right away and as I stood up, everyone in the room looked up at me, either thinking that they were glad they didn't have what I had or jealous because they still had to wait for their emergency care.

Once I was with the practitioner, I was much less concerned about an unplanned pregnancy and was sort of intrigued when she started telling me about "other" things that "people'' have gotten stuck inside them (notice how she didn't say 'women' or 'vagina'). My imagination was on overdrive as she removed the condom and provided it to me as evidence (I asked to see it) so I could relax and return to my regular scheduled program.

Caught in the Act

I taught a class on sex last weekend and shared some rather intimate details about my sexual history. I believe that in order for parents to be comfortable talking to their children about sex in a healthy manner, they too need to feel comfortable talking about their own sexual history and experiences.

I still remember the day that I explained to my mom that touching myself (down there) felt good. I thought I was the first person ever to discover this. I was only five years old at the time. She turned white and immediately reacted by protecting me in every way possible since she had assumed that I had been sexually abused.

She assumed correctly, of course, although I'm not quite sure if that experience could've been classified as abuse, since the person who had "taught" me about sex was someone whom, I choose to believe, had not had a healthy introduction to sex himself (he was a friend's older sister's boyfriend).

As you can tell from reading this post, and many others found on this blog, I have never had a problem talking about my sex life, although I don't startle random people with too much information on a regular basis.

My son discovered my vibrator last night (and my stash of condoms) while I was preparing for my date. I had, up until this point, kept these things in a fireproof safe that is always locked. Even though the safe is kept at a low level in my room (under my nightstand next to my bed) I had no idea that my son would ever be smart enough to find the keys, let alone figure out what they were for.

As I'm doing my hair, I hear my son say, "Mom, what are these?" Immediately, I knew what he was referring to and I quickly removed the items from the safe before answering his question, or had a chance to pick up anything from inside. I simply told him that the things in there were not for children and I put them away, out of his reach. I made sure that he wasn't able to see where I put them but wondered when the right time would be to actually explain what these "secret" items really are.

Since he's nearly five, I too, want to protect him in whatever way possible, especially when it comes to protecting his innocence. I know there will come a time when I will have to talk to him about masturbation and sexual pleasure. For now, I want him continue to be a child, playing and learning as a five-year-old should be doing while I continue to keep my adult toys a secret.

Both of these stories came to mind when I discovered the Masturbation Tips on the Women's Health website. I have come a long way since the days when I thought that masturbation was an experience that was not to be talked about, let alone an activity that a young woman participated in.

I've grown to appreciate my body more and more over the years and I love discovering the ways that I can please others and show others how to please me. Being sexual is a normal and healthy part of being an adult. I have also come to have my favorite techniques when it comes to pleasuring myself, just as others do and I'm the first to tell people that the most intesne orgasms are the ones I give myself but if there's anything I've learned in my twenty+ years as a sexual person, it's that you can't expect someone else to be able to pleasure you if you are unable to pleasure yourself.

If you are looking for ways to heal from sexual abuse, I urge you to join a support group, find a therapist that specializes in sex abuse or share your thoughts anonymously in an online forum. There are many people who share these same experiences, unfortunately, and many others who are available to help you heal.