Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Dawn: On Lesbian Bed Death and Lexapro Sex

An email exchange on Lesbian Bed Death with Dawn, who is, indeed, a lesbian. Please, no flash photography.

Dawn: So, I've been irked by the Kurt comment on Glee! about lesbian bed death. [IBWMW: In the scene of which she speaks, Kurt worries that he and Blaine are becoming too familiar with each other (including 'familiar' in the sense of 'family-like') and might be suffering from lesbian bed death.]

Here are some thoughts:

I don't remember the last time Lyn and I had sex, but it definitely isn't because I think of Lyn as "a sister" (or a sista' either for that matter), which is how Kurt described it to Rachel. Frankly, I think it is that we are just both exhausted. I guess all couples probably are, so what makes us "special" I don't know. We should be all over it, I suppose, with no risk of an "oops" baby. And we have so much more disposable income to go out on dates not having to pay for birth control. Except we both only make 70 cents on the dollar if Rachel Maddow is to believed - and she is - so crap, there goes that theory. Maybe two vaginas* (today's secret word) is too much subconscious ugly for one room? Perhaps we are still subject to being conditioned not to be sexually assertive so neither of us makes the first move? One of us (OK, me) being on Lexapro doesn't help since that cuts the potential drive by half, or a quarter, or something - math isn't my strong suit so we'll just say diminished. Or is this something that happens to many married couples, but since it is two women, one of the pair can't blame the other for "holding out" and using sex to manipulate? So, they came up with this label. Probably to scare people away from lesbian relationships. "Sure you may double your wardrobe if you choose a partner wisely, but you will die a horrible bed death." I think that's it.

OK, creative juice depleted. Entering refractory period.


* You use this "*" thing all the time, so I wanted to use it too. How fun! OK, focus. Spell check doesn't like vaginas. Its first recommendation is singular "vagina" - so I think it is probably homophobic. Except that penises is somehow OK, so they are women haters. "Vaginae" does make the suggestion list - but that reminds me of alumnae, which makes me think we are all graduates. In a way we are, I suppose, of the vaginae of mothers everywhere. What does it take to graduate summa cum laude? Get an APGAR score of 10?

In Bed With Married Women: So to clarify, you are irked because everyone has bed death and it unfairly makes it look like a lesbian thing? Yes?

Btw, I too am on Lexapro and although the negative sexual effect (in my case, more difficult to come, TMI of all times) appear to be lessening (oh, please let it be!) my shrink once advised that you can take drug holiday over the weekend if you decide you want to get it on. Not sure how long you can be off safety and to get results. If one of us is brave enough to do it, let's report back on our results. Because that's the scientific thing to do. [Note: Readers? Any of you tried this? Oh, c'mon, surely you aren't all happy and well-adjusted, like, naturally...]

Dawn: I think I'm irked because this may have been the first time a lot of people have heard of LBD and now think that lesbian relationships are even more weird than they thought. Interestingly, Lyn and I have been out places and have been asked if we are sisters. We don't look much alike, really, but I think people must pick up on a degree of closeness beyond friends, so they guess sisters because thinking about two women in bed together bothers them. Guys *say* they like to think about it, but they really mean 2 straight porn stars with breast enhancements and shaved cunts, not the real deal. Watch some lesbian porn for lesbians sometime - the comparison is comical. Anyway, the sister comparison makes the sex part go away, like some soothing ointment for an oversexed imagination or something. Who the fuck knows, but I don't like it. So there.

For the Lexapro, I can only go about a day and a half and I'm off my titer. I get nauseous and dizzy, and not in a cute school-girl way, both coming off and going back on. Not so great for setting the mood. I do have a similar side effect to what you describe, but it isn't too bad since it has throttled back my drive to nearly nothing. The up shot is that Lyn and I used to have a lot of conflict about our different drives, so now it is all harmonious. Harmonious like, like, I don't know, sisters?

(photo: Giulio Aristide Sartorio - Nus FĂ©minins, n.d.) 

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Okay, ONE more thing about vaginas. Then I'm done. Possibly.

Today I'll tell you a quick story from the book I just read which is--this will come as no surprise to you--The Vagina Monologues
I'm telling you the story because it's just so fucking heartbreaking but also to remind us (me) why it's important to talk about this $%$# even though some people (well, this one dude on reddit who said I'm like a 12 year old boy) think it's unladylike. (Motherfucker calling me unladylike! What the fuckity fuck?....oh...yeah...I see.)

In the story, Eve Ensler interviews an old lady from Queens who was extremely hesitant about talking about her "down-there." "What's a smart girl like you talking to old ladies about their down-theres for?" she barks. After much prodding, she finally tells about the last time she ventured down there, in 1953. The woman--let's call her, oh, Agnes--tells about a date she had with Andy Leftkov, a real catch, a cute tall boy who asked her to take a drive in his new Chevy.

She and Andy were sitting in the car, recalled Agnes when "he just kissed me in this surprisingly 'Take me by control like they do in the movies' kind of way. And I got excited, so excited, and, well, there was a flood down there. I couldn't control it. It was like this force of passion, this river of life just flooded out of me, right through my panties, right onto the car seat of his new white Chevy BelAir."

Instead of realizing he'd found himself one hot little number, Andy was horrified. He said she'd stained the car seat and that she was a "weird, smelly girl." Agnes tried to explain that the kiss had caught her off guard and that she normally wasn't like this, but Andy drove her home in silence and never spoke to her again. "When I got out and closed his car door, I closed the whole store. Locked it. Never opened for business again. I dated some after that, but the idea of flooding made me too nervous. I never even got close again," said Agnes.

Years later Agnes got cancer and the surgeons pretty much cleared out her reproductive system, thus ending any worries about flooding ever again.

When Ensler asks Agnes a typically squirm-inducing Vagina Monologues-esque question, "If your vagina wore something, what would it wear?" Agnes replies, "It would wear a big sign: 'Closed Due to Flooding.'"

As the interview ends, Agnes says, "You happy? You made me talk--you got it out of me. You got an old lady to talk about her down-there. You feel better now?" [Turns away; turns back.] "You know, actually, you're the first person I ever talked to about this, and I feel a little better."

Knowledge is power, brothers and sisters.


(photo source)
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