Blunt in the Bedroom

Destigmatize. Legalize. Sexualize.

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Let’s Be Blunt

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I haven’t written since October 2018. That same month, my daughter was struck by a car. Those two things are most definitely connected.

While I was home writing a blog post, Beard Man was picking the kids up. He called me and I heard sirens in the background, but noticed them second only to the wailing of my 7-year-old.  The SUV tire had sheared gouges into her right knee and ankle, and the tire stopped between her knees, inches from her pelvis.

She’s ok. Nothing broke. Her backpack prevented any head injury. She even crosses the same street with ease these days. I’m still pretty fucked up though. Waves of what-ifs and could-haves still punch me in the throat when I just want to get on with it. I’ve felt a little sick anytime I logged on to write. The topic of better sex through weed, even as a vehicle of therapeutic healing, became offensive to me. How could I spend a moment on anything other than my children’s well-being? Their tomorrow is not guaranteed. I’ve tottered close to panic for months with this thought.

Logically, I know the dangers to my children haven’t changed much. Our family carries scars that bolster our risk-assessment skills for the future. We’re stronger, but I don’t often feel strong, yet.

I want to publicly promise myself I’ll get back to writing scintillating details of my sexual self-discovery, but my focus has widened. Awakening to my own pleasure is a mid-ground element in the landscape at the moment, not the sumptuous pollen-laden Georgia O’Keefe of the past couple years.

Cheers to my baby blog that empowered me to tell the world (perhaps even dozens of people!) how I am working through a childhood of shame and how I am using cannabis in my personal sexual revolution. I won’t stop talking about the bedroom, weed, or the scourge of fundamentalism, but there’s a whole lot more to be blunt about.

Have a question? Got something to say? Register in the forum to start a blunt conversation.

Clitoris Sparkles: Unpacking the Junk

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“Oh yeah, I have to turn the rest of my clitoris on.”

That’s the thought I had right before my most intense, self-induced orgasm in memory. I focused inward, behind the lips of my vulva, and consciously connected the pleasure receiver in my brain to the long legs of my clitoris, called the corpus cavernosum, and deeper, to the vestibular bulbs, which surround my vaginal opening. I shivered as I recognized pleasure messages from my whole clitoris at once, and pressure started building. Once I tuned in to the right body parts, I could tell I was already quite swollen. As I felt electricity tumbling into my clitoral organ, the sensations spiraled up, each moment heightened by the last in a positive feedback loop. I eased into my release, an empowering moment for me as I gently reassured myself that it was OK to feel so good.

Intense orgasms have not always come so easily for me.

A few weeks ago, before sex, I had some high-CBD cannabis (14% CBD, 6% THC) through my vaporizer. I spent a few stony minutes lazily, nakedly musing, waiting for Beard Man to get back from the bathroom. I visualized the full shape of the clit, and focused on feeling it within my body. Zing! It was like electricity sparkled through the clitoral legs and vestibular bulbs. Not an orgasm, but an energetic flow, a crackle of firework tentacles curling through my soft tissues. Something had ignited. My orgasm tangibly emanated from from my full clitoris that night, and not just the little bud, or glans. For a deeper understanding of the whole clitoris, check out this post.

Why couldn’t I feel my full clitoris before? For one thing, I was ignorant of its existence. “Vagina” was used frequently in my childhood home, and while I am grateful my parents avoided euphemisms and pet names for genitalia, “clitoris” and its pleasurable possibilities were a talking taboo. At the age of eight, my mother told us we’d have a new sibling, baby number four. Dad had always said we kids were “Eeny, Meeny, Miny, and no Mo’!” Get it? So when we found out about “Moe” I was confused. “I thought you were just going to have three kids,” I told my mom at bedtime one night. She told me the new baby had been an accident. “An accident? What do you mean, did Dad roll over on you in the middle of the night, in his sleep?” I understood the mechanics, kind of. Mom explained that people had sex because they are married, and married people like to do that. Sex wasn’t just for making babies.

Ohhh.

Secondly, my body was not mine to touch, anyway. It was for my future husband. My parents’ prohibition on body self-exploration stifled my burgeoning sexuality in ways I’m not sure they could have understood, unless that was the intended effect. I touched myself in shame through my pre-teen years, discovering varied sensations and eventually had an orgasm from the glans of my clitoris. That was as far as my hidden shame would let me go – rub hard, fast, and surreptitiously, to come with a quick burst that hopefully even God wouldn’t notice.

Fast forward to early marriage. Beard Man and I were married in our evangelical church, where we served with deep dedication and conviction. We’d gone through premarital counseling at church and read Christian books with sex tips like: female orgasm is not required, and women are often satisfied with the sensation of fullness. So when we had sex on our wedding night, I was fully prepared to expect…nothing. Beard Man was always savvy enough to rub my clitoris glans, but when tiny pinches twinged deeper within me, I subconsciously had to choose whether I would accept what my body could do. Wading through a quicksand of social morays and conditioned fears, I believe I shut off the possibility of more pleasure because my internal conflict was too great.

A few years past our awakening out of religion, Beard Man and I had let go of most of the trappings of that life, but I still carried the shame. Things changed when I brought cannabis to our bedroom. While high, I can remove the mental filters that separate me from my body, and consciously experience orgasms from my whole clitoris, the G-spot, the A-spot, and my cervix, provided I remember to turn them on and connect.

 

 

TED Talk Review: The Power of Mindful Sex by Diana Richardson

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Stop and smell ’em!

Sometimes my Friday night entertainment is provided by TED Talks, because smart is sexy. Almost any topic can capture my attention, but when Mary Roach told me that orgasms can cure hiccups, her talk, 10 Things you Didn’t Know About Orgasm became solidly my favorite forever.

Recently, a TEDx talk by tantric sex expert Diana Richardson found its way into my playlist. She introduced me to the concept of mindful sex, the deep intersection of meditation and sex. You can watch her talk here: The Power of Mindful Sex.

Diana defines mindful sex as sex that lets go of orgasm as a goal. Not going to lie, I’m unsure about this suggestion. She says to consider the climax as “an option” but not the sole purpose of the experience. Most importantly, though, she says, is to maintain an intention to be aware and in the moment. She says by viewing our bodies as a whole sexual organ, we can focus on “being sex, not doing sex.” Doesn’t that sound amazing? I want to swim in an ocean of it. Some of my recent sexual experiences with Beard Man have given me a glimpse into this type of sex as a reality, not just a lofty idea. According to Diana, mindful sex moves slowly in every way: breath, penetration, and movement that is more pressure, less friction. Mindful sex is an experience to notice in the days that follow, she says, to track your happiness, focus, and connection to your partner. Goddammit, it sounds like whole-being-altering sex.

While dedicating 3 hours or more to a sexual experience, per Diana’s suggestion, sounds marvelous, my busy homeschooling mom life doesn’t accommodate it yet. I don’t have that kind of time for a sloth romp. If I had a life that allowed me to sit down and watch the Lord of the Rings all the way through, maybe I could trade that in for a mindful experience, but even regular length movies are generally two-part events in my house. Some glorious day we’ll excuse ourselves to our bedroom for hours while the kids are still awake, but nobody is ready for that quite yet. Until then, I’m embracing an intentionally slowed down experience. Today that means an hour versus 20 minutes. Perhaps this is an area where cannabis shows its true value. Weed fucks around with my sense of time, a bit. My awareness tends to be focused intensively on our bodies, such that time is hardly a consideration.

Introducing cannabis to the bedroom I share with Beard Man has opened me to the idea of mindful sex more than I would have embraced throughout my 20s and early 30s. The idea of having slow sex for 3 hours would have sounded boring, like a chore, or even painful. Early on in my sexual life, I thought the best I could hope for was 19 minutes of rhythmic motion with an edge of frustration, culminating in a momentary explosive clitoral orgasm that rode the line between pain and pleasure. In contrast, lately I spend most of our time in the sheets in a hyper-aware state of low-level orgasmic pleasure throughout the experience, with peaks and valleys, twists and turns. In my view, cannabis is training my brain to maintain focus, like a good camera, blurring the background, highlighting the subject. Diane’s Tedx Talk confirms for me that I am seeing a sexual revolution in myself and my attitudes, but with weed.

My relationship with the rest of my body is changing too.

I’m embracing my breasts and nipples as pleasurable FOR ME, not as an attraction tool or a plaything for my partner. What I heard loud and clear from the culture around me told me my boobs were not my own. My breastfeeding years are over, and my parents don’t control my body anymore, so fuck the culture noise, my boobs work for ME now. I’m beginning to see myself overall as sexual and beautiful, perhaps for the first time. I’ve always felt pressure to be sexy, but now it’s happening not because of purchased trappings such as make up, accessories,  or lingerie, but because I accept my own pleasure, and it’s pretty fucking cool.
I am rewiring my sexual patterns through plant medicine and self-education. This is life-changing shit.

I am choosing to make stoned love with my partner, and in doing so I am finding acceptance of myself. This idea could not be more important – good sex doesn’t just affect the couple of hours each week I spend having intercourse. Good sex bolsters how I relate to my partner, my kids, and myself during the other 166 hours of the week.

A final quote from Diana: “Awareness in sex creates love, generates love, nurtures connection.”

I’ll light a blunt to that.

Coming from the C-spot: Discovering Cervical Orgasms

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Still a bit breathless, I explained to Beard Man that I’d felt a new sensation, a rhythmic pulsing, almost orgasmic, but way up high, by my cervix. What was this dark sexual magic? I’ve long been acquainted with my clitoris, and more recently the G-spot and the A-spot, but what in the ME was this? In our post-coital stony conversation I described it this way:

“Hmmm….well, I feel so clearly now, that now, I know, in myself, where my G-spot is. The A-spot is pretty clear too. It’s like right on the edge of my pubic bone there. Okay, even talking about it right now, I’m settling into just like a warm, fuzzy feeling in that spot…Um, but then this was something different. This was like WAY up in there, like I almost wasn’t sure if part of the glans was against my cervix, like flicking the edge of my cervix or something? Or if it was this toward my front, but, it was like I could feel an orgasm emanating from that spot. And, I wanna call it the U-spot, but I have no reason to call it that other than some odd, varied, fake varied (pretty sure I meant vague) memory from some article, ages ago. I suppose I have this Google thing.”

It’s not called the U-spot. I was high.

I tucked the experience away, hoping to repeat it, still not knowing exactly what had happened. Based on sex ed class and teenage colloquial discussions, I’d believed the vagina to be sensitive only the first couple of inches in from the opening. Did my belief in limited sensation near my cervix prevent me from consciously feeling anything other than pressure? Cannabis removes my mind’s limitations on my own pleasure, so when I use cannabis therapeutically, I can mentally take a step back from the broad idea of what I think I should be feeling, and step into the nuanced sensations actually going on within my body.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve appreciated online content from Dr. Lindsey Doe, a clinical sexologist. Her channel, Sexplanations, leaves no sexual stone unturned, balancing research-based content with hilarious demonstrations in a refreshingly open, shame-free way. This video had a lot to say about errogenous zones that were new to me. The C-spot. Ah, that’s it! That’s my new up high spot. I’ve heard that knowledge is power, but when it comes to our bodies, knowledge is also pleasure.

Dr. Doe didn’t go into a great amount of detail about the orgasmic potential of the C-spot, but the video confirmed that my sensations were not a trick of my THC brain. It gave me a place to start searching for more information. When I mentioned my C-spot experience to a friend, she said the phrase “cervical orgasm”. She’d had a boyfriend in the past whose penis was curved in a way that always gave her cervical orgasms. Hmmm. There’s something to this, I thought – time to Google. A quick search led me to blogger Kim Anami, who, in her post, The Holy Grail of the Cervical Orgasm, puts it this way:

The clitoris generally has a refractory period. Meaning, women need to rest before they can have more of these orgasms. And they often feel like after one, they have had enough for the session.

Not so with the cervix.

It’s designed for the long haul.

You can have several/many/an infinite number in a row.

So the ecstasy just keeps coming.

The whole post is powerful prose to the cervical orgasm. Kim believes that all women can experience this type of pleasure from their vaginas. Through total sexual re-education, a conscious effort to thwart shame, and a lot of weed, I’m finding my way to a deeper sexual experience. In my opinion, there is too much pain in the world to ignore the possibility of more pleasure.

Have you had a cervical orgasm? Do you want to?