Sarah's Fanny Diary
21st August 2011
My hole's a goal
My fanny is in a funk. If I’m honest I don’t really blame it. Since I last wrote, I’ve been a heady mix of stress over Private Pictures (the first night went incredibly well, will let you know later but I want to get this out), work (even writing about how to have sex on transport can be taxing) and excitement over my increasingly fabulous sex life and with Y.
The week where everything went numb below began with the discovery of my G spot. It was incredible. Fingers and tongue woke up a place that I’d never really sensed before. To celebrate, the next day at Sh!, the women’s sex shop where I work part time, Y met me to help chose some pressies. Regular Fanniers will know that I’m an ex vaginismus sufferer (read about that here). While I can now take willies and tampons, I still have years of penetrative sexperimentation to make up for.
Every two weeks throughout my teens I would pour over Position of the Fortnight in More! magazine. This encompassed a cartoon of a couple trying sex in all sorts of weird and wonderful ways, a guide and a difficulty rating. Even at this young age I knew that they would prove to be near impossible for my stubborn fanny. That is until now!
Now my fanny is ready to explore and my pressie was a set of sex position cards very similar to those in More! We also splashed out on a candle where the wax turns in massage oil (I will never get tired pouring this on the back of the hands of nervous customers. However much you reassure them it doesn’t hurt, they still flinch and then “ahhh” in relief at the fact it feels bloody nice.)
Anyway, Friday night was position night. Y and I had been talking about it all week and when I turned up at Y’s house with a bottle of cava, a punnet of strawberries, the candle, the cards and a porn DVD, we both felt ready to burst.
As Y opened the Cava, I picked out the cards that I wanted to try. Basically the ones with me upside down, required a load of flexibility or flesh origami were to be saved for later. I was most interested to find one where we were both sitting up and could thrust equally. “What do you think?” I asked, as he looked through them, reading each card through carefully, smiling and oohing. “We should sign them off when we’re done,” he added. Absolutely gorgeous.
But while I felt romantic, I wasn’t feeling anything downstairs. Usually when this happens, Y can give it a quick fiddle and away we go, but for some reason I thought this might not work and I began to feel tired, which is usually what happens when I get nervous. “Put on the porn,” I said in my best temptress voice.
I’d picked one for couples as I wanted to ensure there’d be a bit of man action and I wouldn’t be too jealous of the ladies. Bad choice. In all my years of editing porn mags I should have learnt that couples porn = shite porn. Especially if it’s American. There were log fires, long bleached hair (on both men and women), elevator music and absolutely no sleaze. I felt disappointed, I should have known better, I could feel my fanny sigh in dismay.
When Y nipped out to the shops for more booze and fags for me (ahh), I decided to give myself a fiddle. I’d found a bit of the film that was just about bearable and repeated it as my fingers got more and more frantic. Nada.
Going down on Y often jump starts me. Especially when he isn’t expecting it. When he came back, I pounced, sucked him till he almost came then pushed him on the bed and covered us both of us in the oily candle wax. When nothing happened, even after Y had gone down on me, I began to feel very glum and guilty. I’d set this up and it hadn’t worked. “Hey it’s OK. I’m watching porn with my bird, that’s amazing. You’ve had a hard week, you should give yourself a break.”
He was right. That was a week ago and my mojo still hasn’t come back. But I’m feeling a lot better about it. I understand that I’d made my hold a goal by trying to heap experiences on it in a bid to make up for lost time. My fanny has been through so much and now it’s taken a little holiday and I need to concentrate on other ways to have pleasure. I’ll keep you posted...
4th August 2011
A close shave
These past four months I’d been doing so well getting my fanny waxed. According to the waxer, it’s bad to shave between waxes. Something about the skin not getting used it. And when my pubes get longer, fuck me does it hurt when she goes to pull those strips away. And even more so when I wriggle, causing her to take off an extra layer of me.
But the thing is, I’m off to talk about Fannying Around at the Playgroup Festival in Brighton tomorrow – I know how cool is that? It’s actually going to be “Fannying Around & Dicking About” as the organiser wants boys to come to. I’ll let you know how it goes. And then I’m doing a saucy performing at Velvet Tongue the night I get back. There’s going to be no time for my monthly torture.
I don’t think I’ve told you yet, but I do the occasional burlesque act. Well I actually go a bit further than the average burler. I sing, dance, I completely declothe ( no pasties or panties) and squirt myself with cream singing “All That Jizz” to the tune of Chicago’s “All That Jazz.”
But the point is, this has been one of those occasions where I’d let my hair properly grow 1cm long. I’d gone past the itchy stage (I always convince myself it’s genital warts even though it’s the came every month and goes away with the hair.) Now I’m not a pube fascist – actually I was thinking about growing a bush the other day. But my hair is so damn thin, that my mound always ends up looking sorry for her.
Anyway, I’ll be getting it out on Sunday night, and I really need my fanny looking her best. As I don’t think I’ll be able to get my hands on a merkin, I’ve had to shave. My skin is so sensitive that this usually sprouts a sprinkling of bright red spots, some which become get a white head that I can never resist squeezing. So I’m a little worried about this.
A few Fannies ago, we discussed the idea of applying a thin layer of lube before shaving. Apparently this allows for a close shave, but not so close as to rash. But I’ve left mine at Y’s as he’s got a nice bath (silicone lube is great for sex in water as it doesn’t wash away). Another said that conditioner is good. So I’ve just ploughed my Bic through a load of TRESemmé.
Right now it’s looking gorgeous. All one tone, hair free, as if it’s been airbrushed. Come tomorrow and it will look like I’ve a disease. Hopefully a spot of foundation will cover will her, otherwise the audience’s “Oohs” will be of worry rather than arousal!
2nd August 2011
Testing times: the aftermath
Well I’m back from the nurse and feeling triumphant. Fanniers with stubborn fannies heed this: you do not need to have a speculum to have STD tests. Apparently you do for a smear, but we’ll leave that for another day.
So I went to the nurse and explained why I didn’t want the speculum and that the doctor said I could use a home test with her. I explained that I was recovering from vaginismus and although I can have sex, I’m still nervy at the thought of having my fanny spread open” and did a little shudder as that’s the affect that phrase has on me.
“But without the speculum I can’t see inside. I have to be able to see your cervix in order to do the Chlamydia test. You could do it yourself without the speculum?”
“But I want to make sure it’s done right, I’m kind of nervy about it all.” At which point I’ started squirming, making fists and sweating: a great thing when you’re about to open your legs to a stranger.
She then told me that the new speculums are plastic throw away ones and not the cold metal torture devices from yesteryear.
“OK OK I’LL TRY THE SPECULUM,” I blurted out. I figured what the hell, it was a new experience and I could let any Fanniers, who hadn’t had a speculum, know that it was OK.”
“But first, can I just does it hurt? How does it feel? What do patients say? How far does it open you [shudder] – more than a willy?”
“Well, it’s different with every patient.”
“But the anticipation is worse. If I can just get it in me...”
“Sometimes it is about a willy, sometimes it’s like this” and she made a huge circle with her finger.”
“No don’t show me that [shudder shudder]”. I could almost feel stretching.
“But if we can’t talk about it how are we going to do it?” said the nurse, now a little exasperated.
“Look just do it,” I said heroically and yanked my black, lacy knicks down.
“Woah a minute we have to lock the door first.”
Once the door was locked, I climbed up on to the table and started trying relax, which at this point seemed to entail making those kind of shallow breaths women in birth are meant to do. The nurse looked bemused.
“Right open your legs.” I was wearing my lucky hat and I put this over my face so I couldn’t see anything.
“Can we talk about something? Anything? Take my mind off it.” Honestly I’m not usually quite this demanding.
“Sure where are you going on holiday?”
“Um... I’m not.”
“Oh what do you do? Now if you could put your leg down.”
“I’m a journalist I write about fannies. Not really taking my mind off. Do you watch Eastenders?” Sorry I really was reaching.
“No. Relax I can’t do it unless I can see.”
“Not recently. OK here we go. No. You moved!”
“So I can do the swab myself?”
Relieved, I sat up on the bed and, under the nurse's instruction, stuck the swab in as far as it would go, bought it out, put the second one in, moved it around and we were done. No opening, no pain, all fine! Now let's just hope I don't have anything!
If anyone is due for a smear or STD test and would like some support, I am thinking of organising a Fanny trip. Message me if you would like to come.
Right, I need a cuppa tea x
1st August 2011
Dear Fanniers I’m sorry it’s been a while since I last wrote. I’ve been doing all sorts of things, including having an amazing time at Pedestal with some of you – I will be posting up pics and filling you in later. But for now, well, I’m feeling a wee bit pensive. You see, tomorrow I go for my first ever STD test.
I know, I know I should have had one before. To be honest I didn’t feel I was having enough dodgy penetrative sex to warrant it (I used to have vaginismus which you can read more about here). Now I am happily shagging away it’s my duty to Y to check all is good. Especially as rubbers are rather pricey.
So last week I popped into the doctors to check in on my skin infection (now all cleared up thank you very much) and to book a test. “I’m not sure about the speculum,” I said timidly.
The first time I’d actually seen a speculum in a girl was on Channel 4’s Joy of Teen Sex Show. A teenage girl and boy lay naked from the waist down and separated by a partition. The nurse first opened the girl’s fanny and swabbed it. Many of younger girls watching on a monitor looked a bit doubtful about this. Sat at home crossing my legs tightly and feeling a bit sick, I was desperate to know, did it hurt? Was it uncomfortable? Could she feel herself opening? The nurse didn’t ask her, but when it came to swabbing the boy’s urethra, we got a full explanation of the symptoms. Grrr!
Luckily my doctor was very sympathetic. While he didn’t actually know what vaginismus was before he met me, he understood, once I told him, that it is a sensitive complex issue. “Would you like to do a home swab?” he asked. This just involved sticking up swabs with no need for a speculum. Hmm... To be honest one of the problems with doing progressive things to one’s stubborn fanny is avoidance. I knew that, wherever I put the swab kit in my room, it would be looking at me, demanding my attention like unfinished homework. Plus I wanted to make sure it was done right.
So we decided the nurse would do the home swab on me when she did the blood tests and he booked me a double appointment. I left curious as to why a speculum is needed at all. I didn’t want to ask as the doctor is really busy and there were a lot of patients outside.
“Here’s you home swab” said the receptionist. When I told her the nurse was going to do it so I didn’t need to take it, the receptionist looked confused and ran across the room to the nurse's room. “Why do you need to do it at home?” shouted a grumpy looking nurse, poking her head around the door. I smiled awkwardly at the room of patients desperate to be distracted from their Take a Breaks and ailments.
“Em... do I really have to say in front of everyone?” But the nurse looked even grumpier. I crept up to her and whispered that I was recovering from vaginismus. She looked confused but the receptionist patted me on the back and smiled, “Don’t worry.” Easy for her to say. I go tomorrow. I’ll let you know...
20 July 2011
Good afternoon dear Fanniers, I am writing this laid up in bed with a skin infection – on my face not my flaps thanks goodness. Though I’m having to wash my hands before I go near it for fear of spreading it to my lower set of lips.
Now I’m bored and sad and the daytime rerun of Glee has just finished. But even though I’m having lots of saucy thoughts about Y, my fanny doesn’t want to get wet and my favourite lube is in my bag downstairs.
It's got me thinking though, I’m sure orgasms have at least as many healing powers as a good cuppa tea or chicken soup, what with all those feel good hormones being pumped around. For want of something more fun to do, I’ve decided to look at the research...
After no more than 30 seconds of typing into Google, the most recent study I can find was compiled last year by scientists at the University of Pennsylvania. They asked 44 men and 67 women how often they had sex. They then tested the levels of the antibody immunoglobulin A (IgA) in their saliva – the more IgA we have, the less likely we are to get colds. Of the 111 students, those who had sex once or twice a week had 30% more IgA than those who had more or less sex. So too much and too little are equally bad?
Of course this is a rather odd survey. What does a “time” mean? Would a night involving a 69, a bumming and a hefty dose of doggy and cowgirl resulting in 7 orgasms equate to just one time? Would masturbation count? And would a two-minute quicky with no orgasm be enough to get make any sort of bodily impact - anti or otherwise? Finally, is the saliva of 111 really going to offer conclusive evidence of anything?
Maybe I am in bed due to having too much sex? Or maybe the study is in fact, a load of bollocks. Either way, the only thing I'm turning on at the moment, is the kettle.
15th July 2011
Toying with them
The plus side of having spent most my sex life informing conquests that they may not be able to get it in me, means I find introducing toys into the bedroom very easy.
Also for the record, I was never actually turned down by a guy because of penetrative problem. On the contrary, they glad of the challenge and, if it did go a bit wrong, a champion blowee.
Where was I... yes sharing toys has always been a source of fun for me – especially as I can find it hard to climax. I figured they’re rather I had fun than faked it. But when I was chatting about this at the last Fannying Around, I was surprised to see that other girls found this a hard thing to do.
My fave toy to bring to the bedroom is the Mystic Wand. It looks like a microphone and the bulbous head is flexible so I don’t get a sore wrist as I push it against me. Plus Y seems to like feeling the vibrations as I buzz away on top of him.
The reason men can be mystified by toys is simply because they don’t need them. Not for wanking anyway. Of course there’s whole world of anal play that many men find hard to stomach. But the fact that our little helps can vibrate quicker, reach deeper and look cuter than his knob, can make them feel less of the stud that he is.
The key to raiding your toy chest in company, lies in being frank, unapologetic and treating it like a fun thing that you can explore together. Do gloss over the fact that you may have explored the exact same thing with someone else and where possible avoid cutesy, pink, butterflies and big, beautiful veiny, throbbing phalluses mmm...
12th July 2011
My name is Sarah and I have PMT. Yep at the grand old age of 33, I've finally realised that once a month I turn into an overwhelmed tearful, needy mess who can't remember ever not being said overwhelmed tearful, needy mess.
During my teenage years and early 20s, I would go on and off antidepressants more times that Madge changed her image. This all related to the vaginimus and frustration that, while I was happier they dulled my libido. This was an unfortunate vicious circle that rendered me one giant mood swing. What's more, I never kept a track of my monthly visit so I had no idea if I was regular or not - fact that caused many a doctor to give me that disappointed look (the look also associated with confessing to drinking and smoking too much).
Then, in my late 20s, having been able to get over the vaginimus, I had the contraceptive implant inserted into my arm. This dried up Aunty Flo for three years!
It's only this year, now that my implant has gone, I'm free from prescription drugs and I have the help of my "P Tracker" iPhone app, that I am able to tell when I am due and monitor my mood swings. So yesterday, when balling my eyes out down the phone to poor Y while standing at the bus stop, a quick look at my app told me the unfortunate news.
At least I am now able to prepare for this emotional onslaught. And Y is able to stock up on tissues and remove all throwable things from my reach (he doesn't have to move them far - I'm only small).
Dear Fanniers, if you have tips for dealing with this monthly rampage or have any PMT-related stories, please contact me here. Right, I'm off to replenish my water bottle...
11th July 2011
I'm (hopefully) having a ball
Morning dear Fanniers, I hope you've all had good sleeps. I have to say, my slumber was a little interrupted with thoughts of balls. For once I don't mean Y's man bags, I mean Ben Wa balls (aka known as Ami balls, love and vaginal balls, luna beads...).
These are the weighted balls that, if you pop up your fanny on a regular basis, can help improve orgasms, ease the birthing process, stave off incontinence, hemorrhoids and banish wrinkles and banish nicotine cravings. OK I made those last two up but basically, they are said, by people who know about these things, to be pretty fecking good.
I work as a Sunday girl at Sh!, home of Fannying Around and an amazing sex shop for women and their lovers. Before I go on, I must stress that I am not on commission nor am I attempting to suck up to my boss by continually bigging up their products - though she does seem to give me extra big fairy cakes. I do, however, get great education on the toys and chat to lots of ladies as I help them make their purchase.
So I've been selling a lot of balls lately and I'm thinking that there must be something in them. They've been around for centuries, helping ladies throughout history strengthen their kegal muscles. Apparently you can have them in for hours - maybe some of you are wearing them right now!?
The problem is that, having spent a long time frightened to put anything up my fanny, I get nervous knots if I look at them too long. I am fascinated by the leaflet for the Lelo Luna Beads, that explains the balls are good for relieving muscles spasms associated with vaginismus. Indeed to get a ball or two up there would be a triumph for any vaginismus sufferer!
And once they're up, what if I lose my nerve and can't get them out? This happened many a time when I was getting used to tampons. For the first hour I'd feel chuffed that, with half a jar of lube and some deep breaths, I'd managed to get the little bugger up there. Only what goes up must come down, and I've spent hours in public toilets building up the urge to pull the string, knowing that, engorged with my blood and puffy, it's a lot bigger than when it went in!
My boss assures me that the smaller balls can fall out on their own. And you can wear them during sex. So, with a further deep breath and a frown of determination, I can announce that balls are officially my next goal. I will let you know my progress.
Have you had any luck with balls? Let me know here. We'e actually working on a comments section for this site so hopefully you should be able to post soon!
10th July 2011
Morning ladies, ooh I have to say. I'm ever so chuffed: last night I was able to actually really enjoy doing doggy style!
I've lived for years with a stubborn fanny due to vaginismus where my head tells my pelvic muscles to tighten making sex painful. When I was first able to get a willy inside, this position used to hurt the most. At the time, I figured that it was all part of the condition. However, I've since discovered that many girls find doggy style painful as the willy can hit the cervix.
I also know that it's a position that fellas often favour as they get to oggle our our bottoms and go nice and deep. And I like it because it makes me feel slutty - a state I rather like sometimes. So Y (what I will be calling my fella) and I have played around with different ways of trying to do this - me standing up, me bent over the bed and so on.
However last night, I hadn't seen Y for a while and had decided to turn up to his house in a basque and suspenders. I was feeling so saucy, that I really wanted to try doggy. And not only did it not hurt, I found myself calling him to go deeper!
I've heard that being turned on can open you up even more, but I'm a pessimist who's had a tricky vag so never really believed it could happen - for years I didn't think I'd even be able to have sex. So please raise your right hand and accept my e-high five!
9th July 2011
Christening my fanny
The word fanny is believed to have come from John Cleland's scandalous 1748 novel "Fanny Hill". Unfortunately in the US it means bum and I cringe whenever anyone refers to their "fanny pack."
When I dreamt up the name for Fannying Around, I would never have imagined that I would be talking about my fanny, but this is the word that it has adopted and now I can talk about my fanny with much greater ease.