Having sex with a physical therapist. The Day My Therapist Dared Me to Have Sex With Her.



Having sex with a physical therapist

Having sex with a physical therapist

Losing my virginity was painful, but I fully expected it to be. The pain was also difficult to pinpoint. Sometimes the pain was mild and I could almost completely ignore it, but other times it was excruciating. My exams and pap smears always came back normal, so I felt justified in doing absolutely nothing about it for several years. At 22, I got engaged to my now husband and finally felt safe enough to admit that maybe something was wrong and maybe it could be fixed. I went to see my gynecologist and tried to explain my broken vagina.

But there was an explanation, and even a potential solution. I had two options: I chose physical therapy, envisioning some sort of pleasant gym that would involve bouncing on those fun exercise balls and maybe practicing my Kegels while eating pastries or something. I dressed in layers for my first appointment. I had no idea what I was in for and, when in doubt, my mom always told me to dress in layers.

The first thing I noticed about Marsha, aside from her gentle Wisconsin accent, was her outfit. She wore mom jeans, sensible sneakers, and a different pink top every time I saw her and always smelled like baby powder and lavender. After a brief chat about the nub, Marsha gave me some books about Vaginismus Note: Not the name of a terrifying H. She explained that it was possible the nub could be causing all of my problems, but it was more likely that the pain was the result of my pelvic floor muscles clenching up as a learned response, thus increasing the magnitude of the pain from annoying to unbearable.

Aside from some dim lighting, aromatherapy, and frilly pillows, the room looked just like a regular gynecological exam room i. The primary therapeutic tool was this set of dilators, ranging in diameter from Pencil to Giant Erection. Marsha had me remove my clothing from the waist down, turned me on my side on the exam table, and proceeded to attach electrodes to my inner thighs.

I quickly realized that my pride had no place in this weirdly feminine little room. Marsha entered and exited my vagina with all the grandiosity of a mailman on his daily route. Taking the stigma away from the pain and removing the respect it demanded was hugely empowering.

I set up weekly appointments with Marsha and dutifully read my VaginaMonster books and practiced with the dilators at home. Every week or two, Marsha would graduate me to a larger sized dilator covered in a metric ton of lubricant, which was always at the ready in this crazy lube warmer contraption another wonderful thing that I would like to own.

Several months later, when I was comfortable with the largest dilator the Giant Erection-sized one , Marsha and I said our goodbyes. I continued our work on my own. At first, I had to engage in a really unsexy routine before intercourse, which involved pre-exercising my vagina with my at-home set of dilators, but my method worked.

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What happens in a Pelvic floor physiotherapy assessment



Having sex with a physical therapist

Losing my virginity was painful, but I fully expected it to be. The pain was also difficult to pinpoint. Sometimes the pain was mild and I could almost completely ignore it, but other times it was excruciating. My exams and pap smears always came back normal, so I felt justified in doing absolutely nothing about it for several years. At 22, I got engaged to my now husband and finally felt safe enough to admit that maybe something was wrong and maybe it could be fixed.

I went to see my gynecologist and tried to explain my broken vagina. But there was an explanation, and even a potential solution. I had two options: I chose physical therapy, envisioning some sort of pleasant gym that would involve bouncing on those fun exercise balls and maybe practicing my Kegels while eating pastries or something. I dressed in layers for my first appointment.

I had no idea what I was in for and, when in doubt, my mom always told me to dress in layers. The first thing I noticed about Marsha, aside from her gentle Wisconsin accent, was her outfit. She wore mom jeans, sensible sneakers, and a different pink top every time I saw her and always smelled like baby powder and lavender. After a brief chat about the nub, Marsha gave me some books about Vaginismus Note: Not the name of a terrifying H.

She explained that it was possible the nub could be causing all of my problems, but it was more likely that the pain was the result of my pelvic floor muscles clenching up as a learned response, thus increasing the magnitude of the pain from annoying to unbearable.

Aside from some dim lighting, aromatherapy, and frilly pillows, the room looked just like a regular gynecological exam room i. The primary therapeutic tool was this set of dilators, ranging in diameter from Pencil to Giant Erection. Marsha had me remove my clothing from the waist down, turned me on my side on the exam table, and proceeded to attach electrodes to my inner thighs. I quickly realized that my pride had no place in this weirdly feminine little room. Marsha entered and exited my vagina with all the grandiosity of a mailman on his daily route.

Taking the stigma away from the pain and removing the respect it demanded was hugely empowering. I set up weekly appointments with Marsha and dutifully read my VaginaMonster books and practiced with the dilators at home. Every week or two, Marsha would graduate me to a larger sized dilator covered in a metric ton of lubricant, which was always at the ready in this crazy lube warmer contraption another wonderful thing that I would like to own.

Several months later, when I was comfortable with the largest dilator the Giant Erection-sized one , Marsha and I said our goodbyes. I continued our work on my own. At first, I had to engage in a really unsexy routine before intercourse, which involved pre-exercising my vagina with my at-home set of dilators, but my method worked.

Having sex with a physical therapist

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5 Comments

  1. Work payments that were past due are finally finding their way into my bank account. I set up weekly appointments with Marsha and dutifully read my VaginaMonster books and practiced with the dilators at home.

  2. I see what she means. Sometimes the pain was mild and I could almost completely ignore it, but other times it was excruciating. The first two sessions of my therapeutic reboot had gone great.

  3. How do you talk about it without seducing the patient and with keeping your professional ability to think and to reflect? There were two ways to find out: When our sessions finally resumed, I could not wait to tell her about my budding relationship with Shauna.

  4. So upon the precipice of my return to therapy I told Shauna about Lori, and admitted to having mixed feelings about what I was getting back into. Frankly, all those questions could be answered in the positive. I went to see my gynecologist and tried to explain my broken vagina.

  5. It seems my emotional workouts in erotic transference were just beginning to produce results. Shauna is beautiful, with flawless hazel eyes and straight dark hair, spunky bangs and a bob that matches her always-upbeat character.

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