Before we get to the dirty stuff, here’re the things that have been happening. The infection returned with a vengeance and I’m still out of commission. I’ve not been blogging because I’ve been sleeping. Nothing with the surgery went wrong – this isn’t anybody’s fault. I just have bad luck and a bad immune system. However, I’m noticing improvement every time I’m awake, so I’m optimistic about rejoining the world next week.

Keeping up with the world at large had been tougher this week than the last two because of how much sleeping I’m doing (and how stung-out painkillers make me…more on that in a bit). Writing, which used to take about half a spoon (more if academic), now saps me of energy. Reading is tough too, since the painkillers blur my vision and make my usual logical self start wondering if butterflies in any way or form relate to classic Latin.

So, that’s where I’m at. If you’re a parent, grandparent, teacher, or anyone else who doesn’t want to hear about my sex life, sexual history, and so on: stop reading. Seriously. I promised I wouldn’t be holding back in this blog and, given the nature of this surgery, sex is kind of integral to not only healing, but the decision to even have a hysterectomy at the fresh age of 25. So, like I said, if you’re not comfortable hearing about the nitty-gritty (or should it be wet and slippery?) parts of my sexuality and sex life, stop reading.  And yes, it’s NSFW.

Last warning…

Hi, all of you who stayed! Welcome to “Talking About Sex with the Sorta-Virgin!” My virginity is questionable (I’m talking strict penis in vagina) thanks to events in my childhood. To be honest, I don’t know if I am or am not a virgin as I’ve blocked most of the abuse out (though most of my memories point to “not a virgin”). A quick aside, I usually just call myself a virgin – I’ve never had consensual sex. I don’t consider rape sex, it’s an act of violence and therefore can’t take what society has defined as “virginity,” but society at large disagrees, so yeah. Just call me the “Sorta-Virgin.”

I’ve done some stuff – I’ve made out with enough guys that I’ve lost count. There’s been a little above the shirt action and above the pants action (though that was me on him, I’m afraid). I’ve experimented enough to know that I’m about as straight as a ruler. Usually by the time I get to the point of kissing a girl, even if I see how she’s attractive, I just don’t feel anything. Sorry ladies.

I was a bit of a late bloomer when it came to sex (and arguably still am). My first kiss was at sixteen. It took years for me to get another. I lived in a small community where everyone was related to everyone, so finding a partner involved travel. The dating pool was…small. On top of that, though my thirst for romance developed at a young age (I’m lookin’ at you, Disney) but my sex drive was almost non-existent. I wanted to date, but I wanted nothing to do with penises or vaginas. I masturbated sure, but it wasn’t a thing I needed, more like something to do when I was bored or trying to get some sleep (kind of like reading or drinking a cup of tea). I never understood how people needed sex to the point where someone was willing to shell out $100 for something that goes buzz just to simulate it (granted I’ve seen the light and now have toys of my own). I never got the “Must. Fuck. Now.” urge that I saw my friends going through. I liked the idea of romance, and even used (okay, still use) those free dating sim apps instead of reading smutty novels because they focus more on the relationship than on the sex.

I wonder which one will get fixed first?

Finally, I got to college and found out that there is something called the “asexual” spectrum. I never came out, but I identified as a grey-ace for a few years. Whether or not this is true is up for debate – I argue that sexuality is fluid and therefore my sexual identity was valid at the time. I also realized that part of the problem came from the abuse I’d experience as a child. Therapy and psychiatry are worth the time and money, folks.

Then it all changed. When I was taken off of birth control, the “sex” part of puberty hit and it hit HARD. I still remember the first time I felt sexually attracted to someone and not just “yeah, I see how that person is attractive.” Holy fuck did it ever floor me. A customer walked into work and it was like a switch flipped. It was all I could do not to grab him (or have him grab me, GOD he had muscles!!) and have my way with him in the back room…or let any of those dirty thoughts show on my face. For the first time, I didn’t care what his personality was like, I didn’t care what his relationship-status was, I wanted him.

Nothing happened (I was at work, remember?), but my eyes had been opened. It took me a while to get a handle of my new sex drive. Remember what high school was like, with all those hormones going crazy and making you want to do everything in sight? Yeah, that hit me in my twenties. I finally understood why people swooned over Tom Hiddleston and Matthew Lewis…and started swooning too.

…I’m sorry, I got distracted on Google for a while.

This added a new dimension to my hysterectomy (betcha thought this was going to all sex-talk, huh?). I was still okay with not having biological children, but I was worried about what would happen to my sex drive afterward. It had taken me so long to get it. Now that I had it, I didn’t want to lose it. My gynecologist and I talk at length about this.

An aside: I remember the appointment when I told my gyno I had a sex drive. He was so happy for me. I never brought it up as an issue before because I didn’t think it was an issue. Even so, he giggled he was so pleased that the animal inside had finally been awakened.

When we scheduled my hysterectomy, I was given about a week and a half to decide what to do with my virginity. I was risking a drop in sex drive (hasn’t happened, more on that later), but it wasn’t nearly as big of a risk as it would have been with going back on birth control. Because my cervix was being removed, I’d heard that sex would feel different. Problem was, I didn’t know how sex was supposed to feel in the first place. I seriously debated going to some of my male friends and asking them to help me out (I KNOW exactly who I would have asked and KNOW that all of them would have said yes after making sure this is what I wanted). I almost went through with it, too. I was ready to send out the text asking friend #1 to sleep with me. I ended up not, though. I’ve never operated that way. I want things to progress naturally; that’s always what’s felt best when it came to making out, so why wouldn’t that logic follow to sex?

So, I went into surgery a virgin. While I’m healing, I’m not allowed anything going up the vagina – not tampons, not penises, not fingers, not things shaped like penises that also buzz. Here’s what I didn’t anticipate: and increase in my sex drive.

My sex drive personified

Yep. You read that right. My sex drive has shot through the roof. And I still can have intercourse for another 3ish weeks. I can’t even take care of things myself. A couple years ago, this would not have been a problem. Now, I understand why it’s so serious when a couple says “It’s been a month.” Worse, painkillers make me clingy, as in cuddling – clingy. They don’t make me into a horn dog, but I know how one thing leads to another (well, I don’t know, but I understand).

A while back, one of my friends speculated that one of the reasons I haven’t gotten laid yet is because not only was my drive low, but I was missing the signs that people wanted to sleep with me, like the hormones from the birth control were making me blind to the pheromones in the room (I’ve reflected on this and my friend was RIGHT). Not only is my sex drive through the roof, but this thought has been circling around my brain since it was said – how many opportunities have I missed simply because I didn’t see them? Sure, some of them were blessings (thank god I didn’t sleep with that one creep freshman year), but what about the others? I’ve been lucky and have dated pretty attractive people (or at least, I think they’re attractive), so to have their faces swirling in my memory while I can’t relieve the figurative pressure is more than just a little frustrating.

Overall though, this makes me excited for rejoining the world at large. Dating is going to be so much different now. I’m not saying I’m going to go jump the first guy I see, but I won’t be holding back as much as I had been prior. I still want a connection with the guy. Tinder isn’t for me, nor is sleeping with a new guy within the first week (that is NOT in any way or form a judgment – you do you and get it!!)…I need a connection and I need security (survivor, remember? I would like to NOT go into a panic attack right in the middle of my first time). But, watch out world. I’ll be coming back with my high heels on.

Okay, not literally because I don’t want to know how that would feel after surgery, but you know what I mean.