All Dried Up? I Don’t Think So.

Some things are meant to be dry. A good, white wine. A well-shaken martini. A particular joke.

Some, not so much. That which falls in the “not-so-much-and-beyond” category is my vagina. Yep. There-I said it, for all the world to hear.

According my gynecologist, that is the current climate of my “oh so precious” lady parts. Now, I didn’t need her to tell me that what was once was a well-oiled cavity is now as dry as sandpaper. Every thrust and pull of what should be called love-making confirmed that fact. It was like scraping a fingernail on a chalkboard. But like a good wife, I would grin and bear it, letting my mind wonder to what we would have for dinner the next night or what I would wear to work, trying to ignore the fire down below.

It was my husband who had to cease and desist. One look at my tortured face and that was it for him.

In order to remedy the situation, we tried various gels. Some sort of worked. Some didn’t. Just yesterday, I saw a TV ad for a new product, Poise Personal Lubricant. All the women had bright orgasmic smiles on their faces, so I’m hoping this one does the job.

Since that doctor visit, I’ve learned that this Sahara Desert condition is perfectly normal. Just one more part of being a woman that is not often discussed. I can remember several similar situations growing up.

Take that first orgasm.

One of my friends exclaimed how absolutely, mind-boggling it had been. Another nodded. I assumed they both felt the same wonderful, “over the moon, nothing in the world is better” elation. Whereas, for me, it hadn’t been that great at all. Something must have been wrong with my anatomy.

And I nodded when they discussed giving a blow job. Even though I didn’t have a clue about what do to with something that size in my mouth.

Of course, years later, I realized that deep down inside, we were all pretty much the same. Not really sure what was going on but trying to act as if we did. Talking about how we had felt deep, down inside-perhaps scared, confused, intimated- would have been better for my psyche.

So, I say, we pour a round of extra dry martinis, and start telling our daughters and granddaughters how it really is.

Read more from Janie Emaus on her blog.