More on Masturbation

The Mormon Therapist has put out a very good post about masturbation, here.  She really presents her case well.  I have not had the opportunity to read all the comments that followed, but I did skim some of them and they are mostly positive.  The most bizarre comment I’ve seen (so far) is that masturbation leads to pornography and homosexuality.  Huh.  Where’d they get THAT idea?  Possibly some over-zealous leader or parent, I don’t know.  But that one made me laugh out loud!  On second thought, that’s a scary opinion, and quite possibly dangerous, too.  It’s also a good example of how people are mis-taught as youth.  That person teaches that to his/her children and so on.  YIKES!

The sad comments are from men who were kept from advancement in the Priesthood as boys because of it, who attempted suicide because they could not squelch their sexuality, because they could not completely stop something so hardwired into our bodies.

Over the years I’ve had lots of different thoughts about it.  When I was young I did masturbate.  Of course, I learned that it was wrong like we all did, and I stopped doing it.  I learned that one of my brother’s was having a challenge with masturbation and was having to work to overcome it or something.  At the time I thought to myself, what utter nonsense.  Masturbation is something so serious it has to be overcome???  But it was my dad who was talking to me about it, and he firmly, truly believes masturbation is a sin.  So I went with what my dad taught and believed.  I trust him and his counsel for everything.  Why not that, too?  I always did wonder how that could be right, though.

So I made a kind of compromise, where masturbation wasn’t ALL bad, but you shouldn’t do it just because, and you should try not to do it when you are single.  See the bishop over it?  Not in my opinion.  Anyway, I personally stayed away from it.  Now I’ve read a lot of people’s stories about it and done a lot of thinking about it over the last year or so, and I made up my own mind and came to the same conclusion as Natalie (The Mormon Therapist).

Then I really, really broke out of my comfort zone and started actually doing it.  *GASP*  Turns out it is really nice ;-).  And I have had some very positive results (besides the obvious, of course).

I do have real life friends who read this blog, and so I don’t want to get too explicit, but what the heck, I’ve revealed a lot in some of my other posts *blush*, so…

Through masturbating, I’ve learned that I can orgasm multiple, multiple times.  I have not reached a “limit”, yet, as in, nope, no more are happening.  I’ve just ran out of time.  So the sky is the limit, I do believe haha!   Also, I’ve learned that I can have female ejaculation.  (That’s a great subject for another post, because I get all kinds of hits on my blog from people wanting to know about that.)  I think the best side benefit, though, is how easily and quickly it can happen for me now.  No mental effort involved anymore.  Compare that to how difficult it once was for me, and how I could only get one, and it had to be a certain way, etc.  Nice!

If you are searching for answers about this masturbation question you will get good ones from Natalie’s post.  I highly recommend her.  Thank you, Natalie!


Anatomy Lessons

I recently talked to a 50-year-old woman who told me she didn’t even know what a clitoris was until she was 30 years old.  As you can guess, she also didn’t orgasm up to that point, either.  I asked her if the reason she finally had an orgasm was because her next husband knew about female anatomy.  She said, no, it was an accident.  We weren’t able to get into how she learned about the clitoris, or how her current husband learned about it.

I was appalled.  How can a woman not know about her clitoris?  Well, let’s see.  Her mother didn’t tell her, it’s very likely her mother didn’t even know, herself.  She apparently didn’t discuss such things with her girlfriends, either.  She never read a Penthouse Forum or a steamy, graphically termed novel.     She didn’t read a book like “The Joy of Sex”.   She probably didn’t even read, “Are You There, God, It’s Me, Margaret” by Judy Blume, which was scandalous for mentioning  female masturbation.  Gasp!!!  And she certainly didn’t discover it by accident through self exploration, the way I’m pretty sure many women do.

Then my bestie, Ms. Canon, who has commented here a total of one, yep, ONE time ;), reminded me that I was the one who told HER what a clitoris was.  We were about 15, I think.  There’s a story to that, an inside joke that wouldn’t be funny in the slightest to anyone but us.  When she reminded me of it we laughed and laughed!  And, yep, I did have to explain to her what a clitoris was.  Even back then my favorite subject was sex!   She is very thankful to me for that, uh-huh!

My daughter told me that the clitoris was discussed in her health class, too.  It certainly wasn’t when I was in school.  That part of the female anatomy might as well have not existed, at all!  Why not?  Because it has no other function that pleasure and orgasm?  Scandalous!!!  That a woman might know how to get an orgasm, and what part of her body is required, was as taboo as anything else. “You’ll find out when you’re married” obviously is not a good way of dealing with it!

How did I know my anatomy, you ask?  Well, in all honesty, I cannot remember how I learned about the clitoris.   I do remember how I learned about the rest of the female anatomy, though.  Very simple.  I read and studied the little diagram on the instruction paper in my mom’s tampon box.  Yep.  I used to look at it all the time.

I got to thinking, does my daughter know about her anatomy?  I can’t remember telling her about it.  So one day in the car I asked her, do you know what your clitoris is?  Yes, Mom, you told me that already–awkward!!!  She says to me.  hee hee!  I love embarrassing her.   Well, you need to know these things, honey.  I tell her.  No I don’t, Mom, I’m only 13!!!

Well, she does need to know these things.  All men and women need to know these things.  Let’s make sure our kids know about their bodies and the bodies of the opposite sex.  Hiding it, being ashamed and embarrassed, hoping they’ll figure it out, those things just don’t cut it as lots of men and women have learned the hard way.

Passionate Kiss by Rabi Kahn

Beautiful, huh?  I love abstract art, and this one is lovely.

I’m posting this at my dear reader, CM’s, request to get RID of the “I Feel Fat” title and the picture of the scale as the first thing one sees when coming to my blog.  Request granted!!  Next–a post!  Gasp!  Yep, a real post.  Coming soon to my blog.



I Feel Fat

I feel fat today.  Well, I do.  Don’t ask me to explain it.  Don’t try to talk me out of it.  It’s not rational, it’s not logical, it’s not even physically possible to be not fat yesterday and fat today.  But I took one look at myself this morning and went, ewwww, ga-ros!  I’m so fat.  This psychological phenomenon changes the way I feel about everything.  My clothes look bad on me.  I can’t make my hair do what I want.  Then I start nitpicking.  Yuck, look at those wrinkles.  Look at that nose.

As a complete aside, I’ve had a love, hate (mostly hate) relationship with my nose my entire life.  My grandfather died three years ago.  I was sitting in the viewing room, looking and looking at him in his coffin, when I realized with a start that I had my grandfather’s nose.  I love him so much and he is, I mean was, so amazingly handsome, even as a 90-year-old man.  I now love my nose.  For that reason, only.

So back to the story…look at that nose.  My teeth are not perfect.  My smile is crooked.  Look at this, look at that.  My  tummy, legs, butt, feet, etc.  Ugh!  Before 10 minutes have passed, I’ve now condemned every part of myself as ugly and gross.

Now, when I was in my 20’s and 30’s, this would have been a 100% DO NOT TOUCH day.  Gross, don’t touch me, I’m fat.  Stop, yuck, I’m ugly.  You don’t want this.  I don’t want you to see this.  NO ONE is going to touch or see this, period.

Our men have to deal with this nonsense.  Honey, you look fine to me.  Don’t lie to me!  Don’t tell me that!  You have to say that because you Just Want Sex.  The man can’t win.  If he says, Yep, honey, you’re fat.  That’s a definite no no.  Then he gets, You’re so mean!  I KNOW I’m fat!  I’m gross!  Never touch me again!  If he says, honey, you’re beautiful, he gets, Stop lying to me!

Do other women have this happen to them?  Or am I the only one?  Oh, and it’s not PMS, in case you were wondering.  I suppose that might be a good explanation if it was PMS, but it’s not.    Good grief, why do things have to be so complicated???  Why can’t I just look in the mirror and see myself for how I am and like it?  Why must I analyze, scrutinize and criticize myself?  And why does my psychological view of myself affect my sexuality so much?   I guess it makes sense, since sexuality has to do with nakedness and all flaws being seen.  You can’t hide your flaws when you’re naked.  Sometimes when I feel this way I dive under the covers!  That’s how it’s done in the movies; sheets draped artfully here and there to hide some and show some.  Why not real life, ha ha!

I don’t have the answer on how to stop this “I’m fat” feeling.  All I know is I have to work through it.  I have learned to work through it.  Part of that came from actually, truly being fat, and now knowing the difference between being fat and feeling fat.  I also decided I couldn’t allow my feelings about my body, which are completely subjective, to affect my sex life.  I still want to hide myself.  I still don’t want to look at myself or want anyone else, even Conan, to see me, when I feel this way.  So I pretend like I feel beautiful and sexy and act as if I am and it seems to work.

Hey, I just looked in the mirror and guess what?  I don’t look THAT bad.  Okay, maybe I’m not FAT.  Maybe I’m just pleasantly plump.  My clothes still fit me.  I didn’t eat too much today.  And I didn’t skip my workouts so far this week.  Oh, and I didn’t gain weight, either.  Okay, I guess I can get naked.

In a couple days I’ll wake up and feel beautiful again.  If anyone has an explanation for that bit of craziness, let me know.  I know I can’t afford how much I’d have to pay a psychologist to figure it out!

Happy Easter!

Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.  Romans 6:4

Christ the Lord is risen today!  Hallelujah!

This is my most favorite Easter song of all time.  “He is the Root and the Offspring of David”, performed by the MoTab.

I have had the extreme pleasure of singing this song in a Stake Choir for a special Easter performance.  It is wonderful to sing or listen to this beautiful piece.  Enjoy!





A Woman’s Hair

I HATE my hair and want to chop it all off!!!!  Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!  My 13-year-old daughter shrieked as she ripped bobby pins out of her hair and slammed out of the bathroom.  Calm down, sweetie, it’s fine, I soothe.  NO, it’s NOT!  she responds in typical dramatic fashion.   I smile at her histrionics and remember those days.  A few minutes later she comes back in the bathroom and says to me, your hair looks good, Mom.  What??  I say, no, no, no, it looks like CRAP right now.  I haven’t even styled it yet!  I would NEVER leave the house looking like this!  Mom, you’re crazy, your hair looks fine, she says to me.  She doesn’t see the irony of the situation.  Haha!

I’ll say this about my hair.  I want it to be pretty.  I want it to make me feel pretty.  And I always want it to make me feel sexy.  Always.   I don’t care about my nails, I don’t care about a tan.  But my hair MUST be perfect.  (Oh, I wish.  It actually does what it wants when it wants and gives me fits every day.)  And good hair makes me feel sexy.  More than clothes or jewelry, and slightly more than makeup.  Sexy hair and minimal makeup works.  Good makeup and crappy hair doesn’t work AT ALL.

My relationship with my hair, and make no mistake, it is a relationship, can be pretty rocky at times.  Three times in my life I’ve had short hair.  I kept forgetting that I HATE my hair cut short.  I was a senior in high school the first time I cut it short.  I can’t remember WHY I cut my hair short, but I did.  It wasn’t all that bad, but it just didn’t make me feel pretty.  I was about 23 when I went into the salon and decided it would be “fun” to get an entirely new look.  My stylist convinced me to go short.  That’s the style these days, she reasoned.  You’ll look so fashionable and up-to-date.  Off went a good 12 inches of beautiful, dark chocolate brown curls (those were the days of permed hair, if you can remember that far back).  Maybe more.  It was all over the ground around me.  Convinced I was going to look “soooo cute”, I was happy to see it all gone.  For about two days, that is.

Fast forward about 15 years.  I’m having a hormone induced fit about my hair.  I can’t do anything with it.  I have spent the last half an hour messing with it and it still looks crappy.  It sucks.  I HATE it and want to chop it all off!!!!!  So I impulsively jump into the car and drive up the road to the no-appointment-needed salon.  I plop myself down in the chair and say, I’m SICK of this hair.  Chop it ALL OFF!  After a dubious, are you sure?  And me answering a decisive YES!  My little stylist happily obliged.  Those stylists can’t wait to get their evil little scissors into long hair.  Snip, snip, snip, and my hair is short.  Not as short as the last time (which in my hormonal fit I had completely forgotten about) but still, pretty darn short for me.  Once again, it took about as long for me to regret it as it did for my PMS to go away.  About two days.  Then it took me three years to grow it out to an acceptable length.  Since then I’ve kept it long.  My advice to my daughter just the other day:  Never, NEVER, EVER get your hair cut when you have PMS.  You WILL regret it.

It’s really long now, it brushes just below my bra strap down my back. I just measured it and it’s 24 inches from crown to ends.  My long hair makes me feel sensuous and sexy.  My hair is like lingerie or sexy shoes.  It’s much better, actually, because it’s something Conan absolutely LOVES.  It makes me look and feel good.  I like the feel of it brushing against my bare skin.  It spreads invitingly out on a pillow.  It falls, a feminine curtain, around my face.  It pools on Conan’s stomach and thighs.   It is just long enough to almost cover…

All right, enough about me.  I think women want their hair to be sexy or sassy or cute or pretty, and if it is, we feel better about ourselves and that translates into feeling better sexually, too.  I also think that our hair and how we take care of it says a lot about how we feel about ourselves in general.  That’s just been my observation, of course, no scientific studies or anything, so feel free to completely disagree.   I think a woman who likes her hair is more likely to like herself!

Now, what happens when our hair starts to turn gray?  Most of us color it, some of us let it go.  This has been bothering me for a couple years, now.   I still have very little gray.  In fact, it has just been this year that I can see it without picking through my hair to find the grays.  For the last five years or so I’ve simply plucked out the few grays that grow in. When I found my first gray hair I screamed (literally) bloody murder and scared the crap out of Conan.  He got extremely put out with me and told me never to do that again.  I told him don’t worry, I wouldn’t, because my life was officially over and he might as well start digging my grave and kill me.  (You don’t wonder where my daughter gets it anymore, do you?)

I may not be screaming anymore, but it is incredibly depressing to see those gray hairs.  Blah.  I’ve reached the point where I need to start coloring my hair.   This whole business makes me feel extremely UN-sexy.  Call me vain, shallow, narcissistic, I don’t mind, Conan’s been calling me those things for years, HA!  I HATE that I’m getting older and getting wrinkles and gray hair.  HATE IT!  And I’m having to adjust my thinking about sex just a bit again.   Oh, sure, I was pleasantly surprised at 40 when I didn’t shrivel up and die on the spot and my sex drive charged up like a Lamborghini, but NOW, what about being a gray-haired old lady grandma?

Oh, and why is it okay for men to go gray but not for women?  Just a little graying at the temples hints at maturity, strength, character, and is just a bit sexy.  On a man.   Graying temples on a woman makes me think that woman has been neglecting herself, at the very least.  Sexy it is NOT.  Blah to that.    (Sorry if that’s judgmental, it’s my one character flaw!) And OMG!  What about gray hairs “down there”???  Gasp!  Okay, that settles it, I’m bare for life or until I’m physically unable to de-hair myself anymore.

So I tried coloring my hair a couple years ago.  What a horrible thing that was.  I could tell it wasn’t the same color and it was a little bit red.  I HATED it.  Can you see all that redness on the ends?

Don’t get me wrong, I like red hair.  It’s beautiful.  On some one else!  If you want to have red hair, natural or otherwise, go  for it!  But I DO NOT want red hair.  My hair is chocolate brown.  Dark chocolate brown.  And I want to keep it that way.  I am petrified of trying to color it again.   If I want to get rid of that pesky gray hair I’m going to have to try again, though.  SIGH.  I suppose that any color is better than gray, so what am I crying about?  I’m saying a long, drawn out goodbye to my youth, that’s what, and it isn’t pleasant.

How’s a girl supposed to feel sexy with wrinkles and gray hair?  I don’t know yet.   I do know one thing, I’m not going to let wrinkles and gray hair stop me from enjoying myself in bed, that is for sure.  The days of denying myself and Conan pleasure because of my perceived flaws are loooooonnnng gone.  I’ve learned that much over the years.  No matter how we look or how old we get, we still want and need a good orgasm.  Or two.  Or more.  🙂  Gray hairs be damned.

It’s time to start shopping for a good color, I suppose.

Guy Valentine’s Day

March Madness is here.  Conan loves college hoops almost as much as he loves football.  Or wait, does he love it more?  I’m not sure.  🙂

I grew up in a very non-sports family.  We did not play sports and we did not watch them, either.  I knew nothing about sports.  PE was torture for me.  Learning (or not learning) to play basketball in high school was a disaster.  Don’t even mention “pivot foot” to me!  GRRRRRRRRRRR!  I simply could not understand it.  Since I’m 5’10” people were always asking me if I played basketball.  Um, no.  It’s actually laughable.  I can’t throw, catch, hit, pitch, kick or whatever else there is to do with a ball.   The closest I got to sports was being a cheerleader.  I know you’re thinking, how could she be a cheerleader and know nothing about sports?  First of all, my abilities as a cheerleader were questionable, and it would have been a mistake for me to pick out the cheers (my favorite cheer was “sack that quarterback.”  I had no idea what a quarterback was, and I didn’t know what it meant to sack one.  Whenever I’d ask if we could do that cheer, the other girls would say, NO, we have the ball!  Well, what’s that got to do with it???), secondly I couldn’t do the splits or a cartwheel, but I had a big smile and was very enthusiastic and adored it and had more fun than a girl should be allowed being a cheerleader.

Anyway, when Conan and I got married I had no idea what a sports fan he was.  I certainly didn’t know what March Madness was!  It took me a few years, but  I finally started recognizing, Oh, it’s that March thing again!  The time when I’m not allowed to speak for fear that Conan will miss something those guys on ESPN say.  (This was before DVR,  But even now I’m not allowed to be noisy when they’re doing whatever it is they do during the month of March.)  The time for “Brackets” and “Final Four” and games on TV day and night and boys crying on the court when they lose (which breaks my heart) and things being thrown at the TV when the wrong team wins (before the plasma.  No one is allowed to throw anything even remotely in the direction of the plasma!)

What does this have to do with Guy Valentine’s Day?  Nothing!  🙂  It’s just all there used to be in March.  A few years ago I discovered something much more fun that happens in March.  March 14th, Guy Valentine’s Day, otherwise known as Steak and Blowjob Day. (  Oh, yes!  It’s a real day.  I’m not including the link to the official site because although the home page is tame and you won’t get hit with any porn there, you will find porn links on at least one of their side links.  So go there at your own risk.  If you do go there, be sure to watch their little video.  It is absolutely hysterical!  (And safe.) They also have some naughty little cards you can print out to surprise your man with.  Ribald little rhymes that are very funny but a little TOO risque to put an example here. (You can safely click on their card link without getting any porn.)

When I first heard of it, I surprised Conan with one of those little cards and a bottle of flavored lube and then served him a delicious rib eye steak and mashed potatoes dinner.  mmmmm.  Then…..He enjoyed his “Guy Valentine’s Day”!  And we’ve been celebrating it ever since.  I’ve told all my girlfriends about this day. (Well, all my bunco friends, anyway.  My church friends and I are not on that intimate of terms.  I am going visiting teaching today…maybe…well, no, never mind!)

So now March is fun for Conan in two ways.  March Madness and Steak and BJ Day.  And I get a big kick out of this little “holiday” and get so pleased with myself over my awesomeness that I can ignore all that basketball all month long!