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  • Writer's pictureSarah Foley

TSS-013 ~ MY sexy story part 4: yoni massaging, sexology-ing, oral sexing

Updated: Feb 22, 2022

content warning: physical pain, sexual assault, trauma

Hello! Welcome back!! Part four of my sexy story series is here and it is POSITIVE!!! I’ve hammered you with the emotions, and the frustration, and the stagnation, but those bits were entirely essential and deeply productive. I was fumbling in the dark, needing constant assistance. I still rely on the guidance of my expensive friends right now, but I feel like I am moving in the right direction.

I am not going to hold out on you my dear friends so let's start this post with the big boy, the transformative, the divine YONI MASSAGE. I’d been familiar with yoni massages for a little while but was fking terrified at the thought of someone touching my vulva and literally putting their fingers in my vagina. That is ouchy zone. But, I had heard miracle stories of cleansing traumas, opening vulvas to pleasure, gentle healing through gentle touch: all things I would massively benefit from. And so I decided it was worth trying. Luckily, a darling friend of mine happens to have a very close friend who is a trained yoni masseuse. I had already met the incredible Poppy Rose and was blown away by her luscious femininity. It pours from her; floral and earthy. Poppy Rose is the miraculous kind of woman who carries herself with goddess energy and true self love. I followed her Instagram (@somayoni) and swallowed it voraciously. She represents all that I am journeying towards. What is extraordinary about Poppy Rose though, is that she has experienced and worked through her own sexual trauma. She is one of the only women I know who speaks about brokenness as a truly healed woman (side note, another incredible sunshiney person who speaks about their healed sexual trauma is Ev’yan Whitney- have a look at their Instagram @evyan.whitney).

The day of my yoni massage came around, and was luckily able to happen around another phase of Melbourne Covid lockdown. Poppy Rose’s studio was in Collingwood, in a blissfully and perfectly candle lit, cathedral high ceilinged, earthy smelling, wood panelled room. I wasn’t nervous, but I was feeling impending uncertainty and self imposed pressure to have a transcendent experience. I was in the midst of doing anything and everything that might help the trauma move out of my body, and this was one experience I needed to be positive. I had begun to see my progress as a sum of ambiguous and expensive attempts with no obvious growth. Whilst I assumed that moving towards sexual healing would be an unclear and non linear progression, actually sitting in that cloudiness was increasingly frustrating and hopeless.

The three hours I was there felt like a trance increasing in intensity over time. She started with a gentle meditation and a full body external massage. It was slower and softer than I’m used to, or would request in a regular massage: I’ve always thought to get my money’s worth I need to FEEL it. Unlike any other massage, with Poppy Rose’s guidance I let myself sink into deep tummy breathing, which turned eventually into strong sighs. She guided me to breathe purposefully, which became effortless and oddly primal. I don’t give myself space to do any purposeful breathing, ever. I don’t meditate (well, didn’t), do yoga, really anything that requires considered breathing. When I run I have headphones in specifically so I can’t hear my laboured breathing (it’s infuriating because I swear that I am fit but my breathing says otherwise so I refuse to listen). But, after an hour of her gently massaging my external body, not near my pubic region, but including my breasts, I felt in tune. It was a clear sign of my somatic disconnect that it took more than an hour of guided meditative breathing and gentle, womb stimulating massage to be able to locate a sensation in my body and focus on it. At the start of the massage I could recognise for the first millisecond that Poppy’s hands were on my tummy, for example, but as soon as that thought entered my brain, it was flitting around the room moving on to my dinner plans. I had always assumed that specifically focusing on a feeling in my body, was not possible for me.

After an hour or so of massaging with essential oils and breathing deeply, Poppy asked if I was ready to move towards massaging the vulva. Not internal yet, but edging closer. It was lovely. I know lovely seems like an odd word to choose, but it was. She touched, with feather lightness and purposeful pressure, and I could feel it. I could feel every touch. When she asked permission and I agreed to move to internal massage, I was sitting somewhere between wake and sleep. She positioned herself such that my legs were open across her legs, she sat at my knees so she was looking directly at me. She traced circles inside my vagina, stroking the muscles and the walls. She told me before every different touch, and showed me on the outside of my body where she was touching on the inside. Whilst I was simultaneously terrified of feeling nothing, and feeling pleasure, I was shocked to find that actually, just feeling it felt miraculous. Not just feeling it, but feeling it with absolutely ZERO pain. I was absolutely shocked that something was penetrating me and I felt totally calm, relaxed, consensual, powerful, vulnerable, and pain free. I expected pain, or numbness. Some part of me fantasised that I might be woken from years of deep slumber and experience miraculous orgasm, or something leading in that direction. But my god, just experiencing the sensation without a scratching and lingering pain to distract, made me feel invincible.

The more I thought about it, and the more I recovered and integrated the experience of the massage, I was overwhelmingly grateful for the gentle sensations that rose naturally and safely within me: a greater sign of progress than an extreme reaction that would not have been able to be recreated and could end in an unsafe and inappropriate attachment to Poppy Rose.

The massage ended and I wished it had hours more to go. I felt unlike I’d ever felt in a situation involving my vagina and someone else (or me). I felt so, paradoxically, gently mind blown. And the answer floated through my whole body as I unwound and debriefed with Poppy at the end. My default sex mode, pleasure mode, touch mode, is hard and fast. I’ve always thought that if I am not touched aggressively and intensely, I would feel nothing so it was pointless for all parties involved. The most I felt, whether that be positive or negative sensation, was when I asked to be fucked hard, quick, entirely ungentle. So that’s how I fucked. I was incredibly impatient, and assumed that if sensation did not arise within seconds, it was not happening. This feeling was also most likely combined with my general trauma around sex which made it a task that I taught myself to both get over and done with, and do brilliantly. I had never considered that with time, and no internalised pressure to feel a volcano of orgasmic potential, I could actually feel what was happening in my body, and be okay with it. It also confirmed that the sex pain I still had after my endometriosis tissue was removed, was most likely psychosomatic—an important piece of information in moving forward eventually towards penetration.

And so I felt anew with knowledge I had assumed to be incorrect about me. I went home and told James that hard and fast had been my defence, my fear. I need to try slow and gentle for a little while, before hard and fast could be back on the menu. I felt anew, but also fucking terrified of the next time I tried to be penetrated by me or James; now that I had experienced painlessness surely I’d never have that again?

I don’t remember too much about the three weeks between my yoni massage and seeing Meg, the sexologist. I imagine I was busy integrating the massage experience, finishing my first semester of Masters, and gently trying to begin again with the dilator, slower and more deliberate now.

I’m skipping ahead to seeing the new sexologist because her guidance has led to my next breakthrough. But what I do want to mention here, is that in the midst of all this business and distraction and seeming stagnation and then momentum, I had begun to experience desire in my body occasionally. This was FUCKING HUGE. And still isn’t happening super often, but it’s a huge win and absolutely worth noting. One random night when I was in bed with James, we were trying to watch something, I first noticed. I was itching delightfully in my tummy, an impatience and a tingly inner thigh flying to the surface of my awareness. My body reverted to teenage Sarah who wanted to get her heckin dry hump on. Sex was off the cards, but I obviously still begged to be fucked, prematurely cranky for the imminent no. I tried to snake my leg around his to push my clitoris against him. Even writing this makes me a little horny, which is due to the most key part of all of this- ovulation. Ovulation is often a time of extra horniness, but not something I’d ever noticed I experience per se. But holy heck, that first leg humping incident was bang on day 14 of my cycle, as was the next horny outburst, and the next. As I write this I’m ovulating, obvious in the very sticky clear cervical mucus excreting from me as well as my body’s lovely ability to have a bang on 28 day cycle (thank uuuuu all the expensive supplements I take for my hormones).

This desire is not to be understated although I still so doubt its authenticity: assuming that I will fail this sex journey and end up without libido despite wanting one. But the point is, progress!

So anyway- Meg the sexologist. Her specialty was, as I said earlier, psycho-somatic sexual disfunction. I ran her through my history, and answered her pointed questions as well as possible. She asked me things I didn’t really know how to answer: when I have sex what is it that I do feel? What do I think I am not feeling? I can’t remember too much of our conversation, I didn’t write it down straight away, but I remember the key points. When I explained the exposure therapy I was in the middle of, she thought that this was positive, but still perhaps too much too soon. Her hypothesis was that I don’t know how to focus on feelings, so I won’t be able to locate and enjoy thoroughly a feeling, until I can mindfully enjoy. She suggested that I begin a meditation practice. My immediate thought: fuck that very much. I have NEVER liked meditation, or more accurately, never been able to do it. I accepted long ago that I have a quick moving brain that does not focus or slow down easily. I’ve been too impatient to put the time into meditating that would have probably actually made it possible. I dreaded beginning it because I’ve never believed that meditation could actually help me. I put it up there with masturbation with things I am unequivocally not a fan of. But Meg insisted that I try it. At least give it a go. Despite my hesitations, I was willing at this point to try bloody anything to get my sex back. And after the yoni massage, I felt a little ray of hope that change was within me. And similarly, I was able to recognise that the breath work I’d undertaken during the massage, had actually worked.

So I went home, and tried. I made an appointment to see Meg again in a month, after working on mindfulness. She said to pay attention to the sensations of my every day: how my toes feel in my shoes, how my legs feel under clothes, how my tummy feels when I write this, how my shoulders feel as I sit still. The more I focus, the more awareness I can create, and the more sensation I can access. It’s all a web of effort. That’s largely the point of all of this-- where there is progress, there has been effort. I begrudgingly downloaded the Smiling Mind app and convinced myself to start doing the tiny few minute meditations a few times a week. I struggle to focus so much, that’s not changed, but I do it. I do it every couple of days, now building up to ten minutes of trying to be mindful. I know that my brain races incessantly and I’ve never trained it to slow down so learning to meditate is going to take a while, but I feel like I am noticing things. Maybe it’s all placebo, maybe I don’t want to think I’m doing all these things out of my comfort zone for no tangible improvement. But I do feel that I might be starting to enjoy it. I’m not getting better at it, I still jump around the room while my body lays still, I still think about dinner and work and tv and the doggy with tiny intervals where my brain quiets.

Okay final point for this HUGE post because I just want to sneaky sneaky mention that I had ahem actually around this time also begun to lovingly, patiently, enthusiastically give James oral sex!!!! Zero to not even remotely a hundred am I right?! But exciting! So exciting! This first time this came about, was literally out of the blue. Like out of the bluest blue. We were on the couch before dinner, chatting, as we always do, when a regular chill kiss became not a regular chill kiss and James pulled me on top of him (!!!!). I wanted to fuck him SOOO much but simultaneously, knew that I didn’t really want to. But, I felt comfortable, safe, and surprised we hadn’t already considered that I could give him pleasure. It made sense that we hadn’t earlier on- any sexual environment was alarming and triggering, but in knowing that oral sex would only be oral sex, nothing further, I was genuinely excited at the thought of doing that with James. And, bizarrely, I didn’t want it to be over. As you’re fully aware, I’d become a hard and fast, get this over with kind of traumatised lover, but this time, I was content and happy for as long as it would have been. Even just that patience, genuine patience, and contentedness, was SO exciting. The total reset of celibacy, was becoming delightful. Being able to connect with James on that level as well, was so exhilarating. It had been at least four months since I’d touched him. I felt open and renewed.

However, I still didn’t feel a libido arising particularly strongly. At no point in the giving of oral sex did I want him to touch me. Nor did I want to do anything else. Once the act of oral sex was over, after cuddles and intense shows of love post orgasm, we were back to celibacy. I had no clue how to initiate and I had no clue how to make our relationship sexual again beyond what had happened.

What if we are only companions now? How do we become lovers again? I’ll come back to this question in later posts but for this post, I just want to pose the idea that whilst I was happy we were able to share a sexual act, I somehow felt less sexual than ever. That one off act had made me somehow feel even further away from sex, because the seal has somewhat been broken, and I had no idea how to progress from there to reawaken both of us. For four plus months James’ body has learnt that I am no longer a source of his sexual pleasure. He has learnt that that territory is unsafe for me, and not to be ventured into. And so I’m brewing, ignoring, and avoiding a fear that James doesn’t see me sexually anymore, and that he did that out of love to protect me. So how do we come back from this?

Who the heck knows really, that’s a topic to come! In the meantime, let’s celebrate the little wins! SOMEONE TOUCHED ME AND IT DIDN’T HURT, I’m beginning to be a person that meditates lol, I licked a willy, I learnt I need to slow the fuck down!

NEXT TIME: Hold your bloody horses but next time there are two MAJOR things I am bloody ecstatic to tell you about. Hint hint, my body was a wonderland, and I am a very loved up lady who cries big tears and loves a fucked up romantic weekend away in the rainforest.

Until next time!



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