The Diaphragm Experience: The Bottom
January 12, 2011 § 7 Comments
Believe it or not, humans have been trying to have sex without consequence since before the first recorded condom in 3000BC. I’m going to spare you the description of the first condom because you’ll cringe at the thought. The barrier method was very popular across the globe as well. Ancient African women used plugs of chopped grass or cloth, Japanese prostitutes employed balls of bamboo tissue paper, Islamic and Greek thought wool would be a good idea (though rough and itchy), linen rags were used by Slavic women, even a concoction of crocodile dung and honey was thought very progressive. As early as 1838 the first diaphragm was born of vulcanized rubber (angels singing).
Back in those days, abortion was also a very popular choice until it was declared murder by Pope Pius IX in 1869. Then there was all that junk the church spewed about sex being immoral if practiced for pleasure. What else would you practice it for? Today’s society seems to think that people weren’t having recreational sex before the 1960s, but if cavemen were wrapping their dongs in fish bladders, I think there was some ancient hanky panky going on.
After the church came down hard on sex (that’s what she said) birth control was illegal all together in the US. Gasp! It wasn’t until 1938 was the law deemed unconstitutional, 65 years after the ban. I’m going to take this moment to give a shout out to my girl Margaret Sanger, a devoted Suffragette who dedicated her life to making birth control available by prescription to anyone who desired it. She also is responsible for raising the money for the pill. If she were alive today I’m certain there would be a parade in her honor. She should have her own day with a long weekend so the good people of this country can fornicate.
Enough with the history lesson and back to my own diaphragm experience. Although it’s 8% more chancy then taking hormones, a diaphragm incredibly cost effective. Each ‘phragm is less then $70 and can be used for up to two years. My Ortho-Tri-PMS prescription was costing me upwards of 50 bucks a month! I convinced myself further on the barrier by doing some more math. A diaphragm when used correctly with spermicide is 11% more effective then withdrawal and natural family planning so I figure if I use the diaphragm AND I keep my calendar-o-ovulation AND he pulls out when times are dangerous, the three combined will be just as effective if not more then getting my tubes tied. Seems right to me. I discussed this with my Polar Bear and he was cool with it so I marched on into my Gyno and asked for a fitting.
My lady bits doc was delighted to hear that I wanted a little flying saucer of my own given the hormone hell I had gone through previously with my missing period. Best not to mess with the cycle. He was down there doing his thing asking me the usual questions, “How’s the job, How’s your parents” etc. When he asked me what I was doing for New Years he cut me off and said, “I know, you’re going to be using your new diaphragm!” I started laughing hysterically right there on the table in my paper robe. What can I say, he knows me.
Next was the search for spermicide, which there seems to be a shortage of. We must have gone into five different drug stores. We gave up and decided to erotically read each other the diaphragm directions instead, which are quite lengthy. Sexy time was turned off when I learned about the huge risk of UTI. If you’ve had one, you know you need a prescription to get rid of it, and there is nothing worse then to ALWAYS feel like you have to pee really really badly. As we’ve covered above, prescriptions are expensive, so I promptly bought a cranberry supplement when I went out to get the calendar for family planning. This is lot of hoopla just to replace the pill.
During the next couple days of reading up on the ‘phragm and devising the insertion strategy I came across something I didn’t expect: there is nothing sexy about excusing yourself to go put a silicone cup in your vagina. When it came to game time I said in my most seductive whisper, “let me slip into something more… protective.” With that I marched off to the bathroom. No, he was not going to get a show, of course not! I got my directions out and lubed it up with the spermicide. Note of caution: it will be very slippery, be sure to have the lid to the toilet seat down.
So there I am wrestling with the slippery little bugger, trying to follow the step by step illustrations with my leg practically over my head, and having no real idea what I’m doing. There is like some choreography you have to execute in order to get it in the right spot, which is covering your cervix. I was told your cervix should feel like the tip of your nose, but I must have been put together wrong at birth ‘cause I don’t think that’s what it feels like at all. So I emerge from the bathroom with the bad lunch face and say, “I don’t know, but I think you’re going to have to check my work.”
The Polar Bear thinks quickly on his feet and launches into some role-playing where he’s the professor and I’m some dumb blonde student. Now that I think about, I’m pretty sure he was mocking me for his own amusement. Regardless, I was feeling more comfortable when he started going down on me and confirmed everything was in place. The during part was fine, I couldn’t even feel it, and the only complaint from him was that he thought the spermicide made his tongue numb. So I guess we did everything right. There’s only one way to know for sure and it’s the first exit on the crimson highway.
The trouble came the next morning. See you need to leave the diaphragm in for up to SIX hours after intercourse. Makes sense, you don’t want any little swimmers sneaking by the ropes into the deep end after the pool’s closed. I stumbled, half still asleep, into the bathroom to remove the apparatus from my bathing suit area. Not to be too graphic, but my fingers were up there as far as possible and I could touch the ‘phragm with the tip but I could not grab hold of it. I talked myself through it, “Okay, don’t panic, the Polar Bear’s got longer fingers then you.” Aw man, I had to ask him to do this for me. I slowly opened the lavatory door, he’s just stirring awake. “I have a tiny bit of a problem,” I said. When I explained what was happening with the catcher’s mitt of love lodged so deep I could not retrieve it, we laughed about it and he did agree to lend a girl a hand. He’s no magician, but it was like some kind of raunchy allusion. Embarrassing.
I’m not one to write off something because of one experience, so we tried it again that night. In the morning I had the same result and my manfriend needed to assist me in the removal. Bless his heart, he’s okay with the way things are going to have to be until I can figure out how to do it myself. There has to be some sort of finger extender or grabber. We have now started to affectionately call it Framsies and I think it’s a great addition to our sexual activity. If I come across a solution to my little short of reach problem, I’ll be sure to let you know. Until then, I’m using my diaphragm.