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.