Surreal Cervical Experiences
“We’re going to have to get you laid before you compete at Ms. World Leather or your Confessional is going to start getting really bitter,” my leather sash spouse Andy Mangels opined during a summer BBQ to honor his husband’s decision to run for a position of royalty within the Imperial Sovereign Rose Court.
I looked at him calmly and smiled. “Oh, that problem’s been taken care of,” I assured him, enjoying the light of realization as it slowly illuminated his eyes. He looked to his left and into the nodding face of Remarkable, the young man who had resolved my six month long, post operative celibacy “problem,” as well as reminded me that yes, I do enjoy getting out of the house once in a while to socialize and, when held in the right hand, being on the receiving end of a single-tail whip.
By the end of the BBQ, Andy was good naturedly groping the front of my friend’s khakis and commenting appreciatively about his “package.”
I’ve had more than my fair share of complications and drama during my various long and short term relationships, and although I haven’t been very good at casual sex since shortly after I achieved legal drinking age I also haven’t been completely successful with the monogamy thing, either.
After my brief time on sexual ice and subsequent thaw, I realize that I still don’t know exactly what it is that I’m doing or want to do as far as matters of the heart are concerned, but I sure am glad to know that all of my various body bits still work after being sliced, diced and otherwise surgically altered.
I have had a mildly interesting assortment of objects inserted into a mildly interesting assortment of temporary and permanent body openings during my time on this planet, but I must confess (this is my Confessional, after all) that the most “interesting” thing I’ve ever had inserted into any of my orifices was the hormone releasing Mireina IUD that my delightfully socially tolerant surgeon and gynecologist installed through my protesting cervix in order to discourage further complications from endometriosis.
There are people who will tell you that anal sex is a vile, nasty, sinful, unnatural practice that involves entering a part of the body meant exclusively as an exit. Those people have never had an IUD inserted into their uterus. I have. I’ll take the anal sex, thanks. I can do that more than once every five years without too much complaining.
It wasn’t until I experienced the truly surreal sensation of having a T-shaped piece of plastic wedged inside of an organ I’d spent most of my adult life ignoring that the size of a woman’s uterus had any meaning to me. But now I realize precisely how small mine is.
Surreal cervical experiences aside, I’m delighted to report that everything seems to work fine, that I’m just as capable of getting myself into sticky situations as I ever was, that I’m looking forward to exploring some new territory and reporting back about it – and that I will have competed in the Ms. World Leather contest in Las Vegas by the time this column is read, which guarantees – win or lose – that I’ll have something very interesting to confess next month.
— Originally published in Playtime Magazine —