Abortion or unplanned pregnancy, which was later disagreed with. It is enough to consider it as it is, recognize it as a mistake, and everything will dissipate.
I know a family where a couple repented to each other of a manipulative pregnancy, where the husband wanted children, but the wife did not. She honestly performed her function and took proper precautions. And one day my husband pierced the condom.
She was against abortion and gave birth. Everyone was happy, the child was an incredibly smart and kind boy. He is loved by both parents. And all this crime is buried under a happy family life. However, they began to communicate less, love disappeared somewhere and thoughts of divorce appeared.
After attending marital counseling, the husband admitted to what he had done and his wife forgave him. They cried for more than an hour, as if unloading into each other. And finally they left enlightened. Their child began to receive even more love, and to see the love of the parents between themselves, and this, instead of seeing a divorce and becoming a little less happy.
Do you see? It is important to discover your mistakes and admit them. Look at them and recognize them without excuses.
Even if after this your spouse turns away and leaves, you will stop reproaching yourself, your conscience will be clear.
My husband then demanded that I confess everything to him. That was not easy. Ugh.
I blushed and turned pale while I read all this.
But he didn't send me away. He was still waiting for me to admit to cheating. “That didn’t happen, my friend. Never.
And you?"
By the way, this question worried me and worries me the least. It seems that when you are clean, you cannot be hurt.
Yes.
I have imagined his adultery several times, but I am neither cold nor hot. Well, maybe a little offensive, that’s all. Lately my love is so mature that I wish him happiness in any circumstances.
That evening (almost night) of October thirtieth, he picked me up and took me to his rented one-room apartment. I told the guys from whom I rented a place that I was going to a witch’s Sabbath so that they wouldn’t ask questions. They just laughed (it looked absurd)..
There in the apartment he was more sincere than ever. He asked me not to force things and to be careful at first. He promised to care and love as much as he could, so that I would not demand more than he could give now.
I agreed to everything.
There was sex. Slow and sad. I tried not to show that everything was very sad.
Later, of course, the sex got better and better until we started having fun, but more on that later.
That evening that was enough for me.
We slept together for the first time in two months. I rejoiced, as a child can do in a toy store, where he is allowed to do everything.
Of course, he immediately asked (he gave me an exact ultimatum) not to smoke, start eating right (otherwise I was exhausted) and cook delicious food.
Everything was done strictly.
So we got back together. I won. My persistence took over. Life taught me, and I learned this lesson like a diligent student. She didn’t give up, didn’t give up, didn’t become a victim. I won.
And what’s best is that I didn’t do it with whims, tears and manipulation like “now I’ll hang around with my friends left and right, drink, go for walks, find a new guy, he’ll get jealous, I’ll wait for him to crawl to me himself.” I wouldn't crawl. Not my man. Yes, and I'm not like that.
Therefore, my dear girls, no matter how “House Two” and other mind-bending shows teach you, never stoop to pathetic manipulations. Beautiful strategic cunning moves are permissible if you are confident in yourself and your love. Otherwise, I don’t even recommend them until you check yourself for the sincerity of your feelings for your partner. Remember, you can harm both him and yourself.
When I told this story to my sisters, they asked me to write a book for women.
I myself understand that there are few examples like mine, for the most part people just get divorced. However, there is, it’s just not all shared with the larger masses. I decided to open up to you, I hope I helped someone.
"Orgasm and frigidity, the search for marital sexuality"
So, next chapter. No less voluminous. Get ready for some revelations.
Sex is such a strange area that, in addition to gays and lesbians, there is frigidity and impotence. And there is everything together.
I could have an orgasm with self-stimulation, but not in the presence of a man.
After the reunion, my husband decided to get his way; he really wanted to see my orgasm. And I promised that I wouldn’t give up until he succeeded. I pushed the shame and discomfort further away to allow us to walk the path to my g-spot together.
There are a lot of courses on intimate gymnastics, on studying your genitals, erogenous zones, contracting and relaxing the necessary muscles, correct stimulation and the correct influence of your partner.
I took one of them three years ago. Not bad, but incomplete.
And we began to integrate my masturbation into our intimate life. And voila, after a couple of months everything worked out.
It turns out that if you give a man the right instructions and stop being nervous about his every mistake, then everything works out. Definitely no hands or nails in the vagina.
I'm talking about oral sex.
Well, judge for yourself, which parts of the body do not contain bones and other solid structures?
Penis – yes.
Language – too, yes.
You see how they differ from fingers, and even with nails.
When working with the clitoris in jewelry, a healthy sized penis will not cope, but our friend from the oral cavity will perfectly match our clitoris.
It is also very important what is happening in your head at this time. What are the thoughts about, and do they exist?
There shouldn’t be any problems at this moment, you only think about your partner. You admire everything his body is made of. Hair, skin, smells, those from a clean body, of course. The natural odor of sweat or other glands in its pure form is not disgusting, as if you add unwashed clothes to it.
Drive yourself crazy with sexy pictures of him, imagine how he would look in a movie in a sex scene, how other women would get excited seeing him so attractive.
You see. Get yourself going.
And then use it as you want. When a man desires a female orgasm, he is not against completely wild primitive things.
If your man doesn't care about your orgasm, then ask him if he would like to. Suddenly it turns out that he likes this idea. Then be bold and don't miss the chance. There is something to fight for, I assure you.
And if he already feels good, then try a couple more times and change your partner.
What? Do you also feel good without the endorphin rush?
It's true, I understand. I had this happen. Try to start a healthy lifestyle.
Uh-oh, you say you orgasm alone? Then you don’t care about sex with your husband, you don’t need him in principle, and soon the genitals, head, something else will begin to hurt, sex will become less frequent, and he will begin to experience impotence named Lola (or another name of his mistress ).
Don't deprive yourself of pleasure. You are not incubators for the birth and education of new people, you have the same right to orgasm as men.
And if you don’t want to, then take care of your health so that you want to.
It happens:
– And if my gynecologist sends me to a psychologist, he says you have “vaginismus”? (for those who do not know, this is a pathological spasm of the vagina, in which a man cannot insert the penis for coitus).
– Then the answer is this: take a course in intimate gymnastics, remove the spasm from the vagina. In the meantime, learn: relax and have fun in the sixty-nine position with your partner. You don't need a psychologist, you don't need marijuana or sedatives.
You are healthy.
Rape, someone's dirty fingers and untrimmed nails in youth or sex under alcohol led to this spasm. There is no point in continuing to give them causality. You are the owner of your vagina, the cells there have already been renewed many times, this is your property. It is healthy and clean. Love it.
Now let's start talking about my attempts to get an orgasm. For the first time in a long time, or whatever, in my entire life, I began to worry about myself in sex. We no longer cared about his penis, everything worked out somehow on its own, every action became open and aimed at my arousal. He was relegated to the background, and this very fact led to an even greater erection.
Thirty to forty minutes became the norm to satisfy both. We orgasmed once every three or four days on a regular basis for three years in a row.
Of course, there were mistakes, in addition there were colds and business trips, but overall it was very smooth and stable.
The question of my frigidity or imitation was closed once and for all.
In addition, I no longer allowed myself to look bad in front of my husband, except for illness (and then, girls, I comb my hair and try to look like a lady even at such moments).
Now I have a cold, an epidemic is raging outside the doors, I have been sitting at home for five days with an unwashed hair, a red nose and no makeup.
But!
I took care of such moments in advance.
I have permanent makeup done on my eyebrows and lips, my frontal muscles are paralyzed with Botox, so my whole face looks very pretty even against the backdrop of coughing and blowing my nose.
I'm in clean, fitted pajamas, my hair is in a braid and I walk with a straight back, so as not to forget that I am a goddess.
About the goddess – this is a new trick, by the way. When I want to slouch, I say to myself “goddess” and immediately my shoulders straighten. It's funny. Right now I’m sitting writing a book, and my shoulders are already stretching to straighten as I type the word “goddess” on the keyboard.
I used to think that I was the only one who didn’t experience pleasure with men. Because my friends were embarrassed by this conversation and took the topic aside, as if not wanting to continue.
I insisted, but found out things that were unpleasant for myself. It turned out that I was really the only one who was somehow different, which is why I developed a special behavior. To be different from other women, I faked an orgasm. I didn't want to be worse than others. Now I know that many of us do not get a thrill from sex with a partner. And before I lived in the illusion of the dishonesty of my friends.
One said:
– I always reach the end if I'm on top.
Second:
– And it happens to me rarely, but in any position.
Third:
– I will not say. But I'm happy with everything. – and smiles slyly. What does it mean? Are you generally ashamed to talk about this topic, or are you really succeeding at something?
The fourth says that she experiences it, but cannot describe it. And she says it so unconvincingly.
In general, when asked how this is happening for you, they all responded with silence.
Not a single one said that it was fireworks, a fountain of feelings, the clitoris or the area next to it contracted and then pleasure spread throughout the body.
Nobody said that it was as if you wanted to pee, but in the end you get a high in a completely different place, far from the urethra.
They were not inspired when telling and describing their impressions.
There was no passionate conversation around it. What does it mean?
I personally know that my orgasm is always fireworks, a fountain, sometimes not like on US Independence Day, but still a boom. Even a dull little orgasm is a huge surge of emotions. This causes a rush of blood in my face, slight shortness of breath, and such a pleasant muscle weakness.
A seditious thought creeps in that not a single friend of mine has experienced this, otherwise it turns out that they are much shyer than me, which I strongly doubt, although anything is possible.
Am I really that frank? Ladies, tell me?
Or the whole point is that most of us have problems with sex.
If we stop hiding it and start talking openly, we might be able to get one simple message across to men: You guys need to work a little harder.
Yes. You should sweat and endure some awkwardness because the mere presence of you with a beautiful big thing does not satisfy us. And you shouldn't learn from porn films, because they're all directed by the director and aimed at men.
A woman can get aroused by another woman in a porn film, but rarely by a man.
So these are not the same courses.
Your woman will tell you how she would like it. If she is shy, take a course from the guys who have already eaten a dog at this, they are on the Internet, they are popular intimate masters, their lessons are recorded on video, and there is no pornography, a very sincere approach, designed to reveal femininity and its orgasmicity.
I have always been fascinated and at the same time confused by the heroine of Sex and the City, Samantha Jones. According to the director's idea, she regularly gets orgasms in completely standard positions, loves to experiment and has no problems.
I can assume that until she was forty years old, which is how old she was in the series, the heroine also learned about her sexuality, and not everything was smooth there.
So, there are no ideals, I guess. But I can say for sure if we all confess.
You cannot put a smile on your face or imitate the joy of sexual intercourse with your husband if there is none.
Let him work hard. If he doesn’t succeed, then let him try harder. If it doesn’t work out, then look for other ways, or change your partner.
You know, all these marriage-motivating books talk about how to be the best in bed. How to make him love you with a blowjob and so on.
This is all great, but will he give something in return?
So you met a Hollywood star, a handsome man and a world-class sex symbol, he is rich and around him there are a lot of beautiful models, actresses, smart and equally rich. I’m exaggerating, of course, but everyone had such a guy in their neighborhood, surrounded by them.
By some miracle, you managed to draw his attention to yourself, attract him with your individuality and originality, and become his girlfriend.
And then it starts, what? A race with rivals so that he doesn’t even look the other way.
You have sex with him every day, surprise him with your tricks and calluse your hands to satisfy your prince like no one else before you.
What's next? When will you demand the same from him?
– Well, how? I can't. He might leave me. Suddenly he leaves for a less demanding woman.
See what makes us imitate? He will go to someone easier, to someone with whom you don’t have to fuss, experience inconvenience and internal discomfort, see yourself as a failed lover, a loser. After all, it will be easier for him to recognize you as frigid than to persistently move towards the goal until “Everest” is conquered.
Moreover, you are right, most likely it will be so.
I know a thing or two about men.
They love this race. This is a sporting interest for them. They were not your first in sex, but they will be your first in orgasm.
It turns them on. At this moment you become the most interesting to them. Day and night, whether at work or on vacation, they think about what else they can do to excite you and bring you to the boiling point.
When this peak is conquered, of course he will relax, rest on his laurels, covered in trophies and repeat successful actions over and over again, but if in a year or two you have problems again, he will be ready, look for a solution and help you. After all, the female orgasm itself, her very pleasure turns a man on more than any oral, manual or anal caresses.
Oh, sorry, I'm in the wrong place again. Well, since we are talking about this, then yes, you should learn how to do all manual, oral and anal caresses to your partner, but demand complete dedication in return. If you do everything described above, then only full return, not an ounce less.
Previously, I did not allow my husband to help me in any way with sex.
By the way, this is another female problem of an intimate nature.
If we have low libido, or we are so masturbated that sex with our husband is just a ritual of fulfilling marital duty, then yes, the longer it lasts, the worse.
Why do we need another forty minutes of pleasuring our vulva when we can do it in twenty minutes of pleasuring just the penis?
Is there any logic? Yes. I did this all the time until our second separation. Well, if you’re working, you’re tired, you’re lazy, you want to read or watch a movie, then why should you prolong an activity in which you get only mild pleasure.
This is certainly pleasant, a warm strong body, hot hugs, delicious kisses, pleasant rhythmic movements, neck and back massage, everything around the bush and nothing specific.
Twenty minutes, half an hour – yes. But forty minutes to an hour is too much. I was tired. And you?
My wise husband already offered help then; there was no need to beg him, on the contrary, he himself wanted and constantly tried to please me.
I didn’t let it in, it seemed to me that it was disgusting and slimy, like an oyster on an oyster. I laughed, I was ticklish, just disgusted, I squeezed, in the end I still pulled his lips towards me, kissed him and made him forget about my secret place.
After we got together, I let him mess around there. I thought: “I’ll be patient.” Let him use his entire arsenal of skills, and I’ll relax and let everything take its course.
For about ten minutes I was at a loss as to what was more disgusting or pleasant to me.
Well, if the choice is not up to the body, but to me, then maybe it’s worth taking a risk?
Let me use my willpower to choose “pleasant” and use my imagination.
Girls, what did I experience? No fingers, no penetration, just oyster to oyster, the same one that until recently seemed something awkward and shameful, only it brought to orgasm. My man has a knack for handling this thing.
“You could tell by the kisses,” someone mutters.
It was impossible, because such movements are not made when kissing. At the very least it would be strange. You know those, frequent ones that almost vibrate from bottom to top (by the way, remember, I’m almost giving a lesson).
After the first time I wanted a second and a third, and I became addicted. You know, something like a club of “not” anonymous sexaholics: “Hi, I’m Margarita, I’m addicted to cunnilingus.” – “Hello, Margarita.”
Just kidding, of course, you have to get addicted to these things, otherwise a woman’s life becomes completely sad.
How did we even live without orgasm with my husband?
You understand me, those who already yes, but were no. Masturbation is already half the battle, of course, but I would say that it’s like sitting on fast soup all your life, you seem to be full, unlike the hungry, but it’s not a holiday table, definitely not a holiday table.
We started experimenting and moved on. It turned out that you can get pleasure at the same time if you use the sixty-nine position, only the woman is below. In addition, the foreplay time has been significantly reduced, which is suitable for working women or tired mothers.
We haven’t made any progress in vaginal orgasm (clitoral legs orgasm), but there are exercises for the intimate muscles and I’m just learning how to do this.
I'll tell you how I master these techniques.
"Miscarriage. Do I even want children?”
Yes, my dears, I went through this too. We planned our pregnancy for a whole year and a half. I even started keeping a diary for the expectant mother.
You know, in September 17th, I actually started writing the book “Memoirs of a Mother,” a very entertaining work with a lot of useful tips on health and preparing for conception, but overall in the spirit of notes from a hypochondriac, I would say.
That's why it never saw the light of day. I laughed at myself so much when I flipped through all fifty pages, there are tests, tests, business, treatment, tests, treatment, business. Boring, in a word.
All this preparation can be written on one page. Here are the important points from what I did.
–Stopped drinking coffee, strong tea, sugar.
–Took a complex of vitamins for pregnant women.
– Passed all tests for hidden infections, clinical biochemical, smears, urine, ultrasound of the thyroid gland, mammary glands, ovaries, uterus, abdominal organs.
– Was treated for ureaplasmosis and herpes.
– I found out from the proctologist that my hemorrhoidal nodule is not terrible and surgery is not needed.
–paid a tax for individual entrepreneurs to the Social Insurance Fund in order to receive the required benefits from the state.
–I started building a house: I bought land and persuaded my husband to hire a crew. By the way, the house is almost completed at the moment.
–I had sex exclusively with orgasm, so that the uterus was more receptive to sperm with a Y chromosome.
–They did this twice a week consistently, or even more often, without skipping (always without protection, of course).
–We walked a lot in the fresh air, moved in general. I went to the gym during the preparation stage, and as soon as we stopped using protection, I stopped. All that's left is daily walks.
This is how I, as a person trained in medicine, walked towards my goal. And finally, after a year and a half, the test showed two stripes.
I was in the fifth week. It was both a holiday and not. The fact is that my stomach was constantly pulling, there was some chills and body aches. An incomprehensible feeling, as if my period was getting ready to come, but couldn’t, it lasted two weeks before the test, and I was pretty tired by that time.
My husband and I tried to be happy, but at the same time, we both didn’t want to spend nine months in agony.
Pregnancy was not my goal in itself. I didn't want to just get pregnant. I literally wanted to “conceive a boy, carry her without problems for my health, without toxicosis, complications, give birth myself easily and without pathologies to a healthy, strong, handsome, happy boy who will live a long and happy life and make this world a better place.”
Yes, I really screwed it up. But here I am writing all this to you, being in quarantine and thinking “thank God that I don’t have a month-old baby in my arms right now.”
May the millions of mothers who have it now forgive me. This is your happiness and the sun, take care of it. I'm happy being away.
So, we tried not to be too happy, because the pathology was obvious. Although, of course, I already told everyone and accepted congratulations from my mom, dad, and friend.
The gynecologist forbade us from having sex and prescribed Duphaston.
I refused both of her recommendations.
Firstly, I won’t be able to not have sex with my husband for the entire pregnancy, and if the child already needs us to abstain, then what will happen later, forgive me.
Secondly, I am against hormonal drugs, I am for stimulating the production of my own, but against the introduction of artificial ones. They have a lot of side effects, not very harmful, but compared to the threat of interruption, I chose personal health.
You can throw anything at me, I love myself, and I will never stop.
When the choice is between ruining the lives of already established people in order to save who knows who, or allowing a fertilized egg to fall out if it turns out to be non-viable (while preserving the health and happiness of the mother and father), then for me it is obvious.
After a couple of weeks, the temperature rose to thirty-seven, the stomach and lower back began to feel stronger, my husband and I went to the doctor. It was Sunday six o'clock in the evening. In the toilet of the medical center, I noticed blood on the pad, just a little, but it became clear that a miscarriage had begun.
The ultrasound showed no fertilized egg, the doctor was worried that it was ectopic and sent me by ambulance to the hospital.
I burst into tears. My husband followed the ambulance, trying to support me at such a difficult moment. I cried not from the loss of the baby, but from the horror of the operation. I have never had general anesthesia in my life. I have never broken my arms or legs, or been injured enough to end up on the surgeon’s table. And then suddenly it was ectopic. I knew perfectly well what the dangers were, and that in such cases there was only one way out, an emergency operation, so that there would be no rupture of the pipe and death from massive internal bleeding.
I don’t like anesthesia because I don’t like the altered state of consciousness, who knows how it will end. There are many cases of psychosis after operations.
My mental state worried me no less than my physical one.
Fortunately, the ectopic was not confirmed. But gynecologists do not give up so easily. They began to suspect a potential incomplete release of the ovum and prepare me for surgery in the morning.
– But I do not want.
– We do everything.
– I know, but if it comes out on its own, there will be no need for surgery.
– If something remains in the uterus, infection and sepsis may begin, we will no longer save you.
– Same thing from surgery. You will create a huge wound surface on me, tear off the entire endometrium, the risk of infection is no lower.
– That's the protocol.
– Okay, but can I decide for myself?
– Yes. Before leaving, sign a waiver of claims.
– Okay, now I'm just waiting for it to come out, right?
– Yes. We will give you papaverine and antibiotics. In the meantime, get tested.
By that time, hCG had dropped significantly, which confirmed the onset of a miscarriage and the absence of a tubal pregnancy.
They didn’t inject me with anything, I said goodbye to my worried husband and went to the ward.
My neighbor, a seventy-year-old woman, was lying after surgery and hardly looked at me, we exchanged a few words, but she was lethargic and I didn’t want to take over her mood. I tried to control myself, hoping for the best, and even laughed while watching my favorite TV series. By twelve o'clock at night I wanted to go to the toilet (sorry for the details, to empty my bowels). I think you should know if you encounter something like this.
In high spirits, I pushed. And suddenly I was thrown into a fever from a sharp dull pain in the lower abdomen. I started to sweat and my vision went dark. I didn't feel like defecating anymore. Having barely pulled on my panties, I crawled along the walls to the post. She didn’t scream, the patients slept in the wards, it was night. There was no nurse at the post. And I crawled along the wall to the staff room at the other end of the long corridor.
She burst into the office and collapsed on the table.
– Help. – moaned.
They only looked at me slightly fearfully. They questioned me, understood something, and took me back to the treatment room.
No, can you imagine? Take them! They didn’t take me in a chair, and they also took me along the walls. Fiends. There were strollers, I saw them.
They looked at me on the chair. They confirmed that the pain is cervical, the fertilized egg is expelled. To reduce the pain, I was finally injected with papaverine, which was supposed to dilate the cervix and an antibiotic.
They could have injected me earlier, but no, they forgot, they waited until I howled in pain.
And I really howled, I sat on the cold floor next to the chair and couldn’t even move to a chair. The nurse tried to persuade me to return to the room.
– Am I going to howl there? People sleep there. I'll wait for the medicine to take effect here.
– No. We need to go to the ward.
– Am I bothering you? Am I not letting you sleep? Stay here for those same vaunted seven minutes, during which you say, the antispasmodic will work. Don't drive away.
vFine.
She tried to put socks and a robe on me, I took them off, it was hot and painful, I kept howling. The pain did not subside.
– Inject papaverine into my vein.
– Fine.
The tired nurse was apparently ready to do anything just to get back to the sofa. She complied with the request and after a minute I felt better. I returned to bed. It's not heroin, guys, it didn't let me go. I only reduced the pain by a hundredth part, which was now at least bearable.
Apparently the cervix had dilated.
I woke up a couple of hours later with the sensation of a foreign body on the pad. The thing is that I don’t wear them during my period, the tampon does everything, so it’s so easy to feel them when the dryness in my panties disappears.
In the toilet, in the light, I saw him. The very thing that caused so many problems.
“Thank God you came out. God, I avoided the surgery and the cleanup. Consider half the job done, now hCG won’t let you down.”
The pink-gray two by three centimeter formation was mercilessly flushed down the toilet, and I fell asleep until the morning.
On Monday, my tests showed a sharp drop in pregnancy hormones and I was discharged on my own responsibility. I had to fly to Kazakhstan on business and I couldn’t miss the trip, there was no one to replace me, and besides, I wanted to prove to myself and the world that I was not giving up, no circumstances would break me. My neighbor was very surprised (considering that she was generally incapable of any emotion other than apathy) that I did not give a damn about the doctors’ recommendations to stay for cleaning and rest, and discharged myself. I took antibiotics and antiprotozoal drugs for a week and donated blood. After the business trip, the tests showed nothing. I was completely cleansed. My body coped thanks to the will of the owner who controls it.
A plus that I noted after pregnancy. My breasts have softened and they no longer have pronounced lumps, this is great, the doctors noted that the mastopathy has decreased.
The downside is a slight feeling of disappointment. I firmly believed that I would be able to carry the baby, my body would not reject the pregnancy. I was so self-confident that I even pissed off those around me. The miscarriage knocked my arrogance down. I landed a little, settled down, and became more attentive to people.
No, the minus is not that I have become more sensitive, but that my confidence has been shaken.