I suppose I was naïve to think being anxious about everything wouldn’t affect my sex life.

I’m twenty, in a very happy relationship and haven’t had penetrative sex for over a year now. And sure, maybe I would be happier having a good solid bang, but I physically can’t. I can’t even get a tampon in, most days.

In April last year, I had a doctor suggest I probably had vaginismus.

It essentially means my vaginal muscles involuntarily tighten when anyone tries to insert anything into it. Be that fingers, swabs, tampons, transvaginal ultrasound wands, vibrators or evil, evil speculums. So, some wins and some losses. But mainly some losses.

And it really sucks. It does! Yeah, I’m sure penetration is not everything, but how would I even know? The only sex I’ve ever had was cowgirl and mediocre. So mediocre. But I supposed the guy I was seeing at the time had a ball.

It complicates a lot. I feel at times like a “bad girlfriend”. Like I’m some frigid tease. And my boyfriend doesn’t mind. But I do.

The main solution for vaginismus is psycho-sexual counselling, combined with physio and at-home dilator therapy.

Dilator therapy is what Lily uses on Netflix’s Sex Education for her journey with the condition (the only information I and most of my friends ever had on this). They’re like boring vibrators that don’t move. Body safe and in varying colours and sizes though! And you train your body to get better and not panic.

Practising penetration is time-consuming and frustrating: it’s like wanking without half the fun. You end up sticky with lube and with absolutely no satisfaction, and sometimes I just stare at the really big one which looks like one of those German Herta sausages. Like the very large one. Not the frankfurters.

It’s hard not to feel totally isolated and alone in times like that. It feels like everyone else in the world, and in my house, are shagging.

But if everyone’s shagging, they aren’t all enjoying it, that’s for sure. According to BJOG (that’s the International Journal of Obstetrics and Gynaecology) between 1 in 10 women find sex painful. YouGov’s 2022 survey says, “only a third of sexually active women say they never experience pain during sex”. And it’s probably more, considering how sensitive the issue is, and how often people with uteruses are told sex just is painful.

I think what’s crazy is no one really told us it shouldn’t be.

Sex Ed for me at school pretty much consisted of boys taking up airtime to ask, “how big is big, you know?” and overly specific questions about boners. There’s such a shrouding of mystery over “losing” one’s virginity, which invents a whole plethora of difficulties for sexually active young people.

When you believe your first sexual experience falls somewhere between a member and a sword and a shaft and chaste and white and like a virgin, by Madonna, you are bound to be confused. Sex is awkward, uncomfy, but hopefully funny and safe. Sex can be painful, but it shouldn’t be. Sex can be about spontaneity, but it should be about relaxation, and taking your time.

And, that aside, virginity is conceptually wildly outdated, and not really all that relevant to Gen Z-ers. The fact something has to be “taken” or “lost” seems to cheat people out of the fun of a first time. Sex isn’t about marriage stock value or purity, and everyone has sex differently which is the actual bottom line. Defining sex as simply penetrative, in a way that risks conception, excludes so many kinds of people from the conversation.

Stepping away from the penetration of it all has been pretty fantastic for me. Being able to explore different parts of sex and intimacy without any pressure has improved my life in a plethora of ways.

I watched a video the other day by a creator (@horriblemeanbadwoman) on Instagram, where she spoke about when we define non-penetrative sex as foreplay we then downplay everything else. It seems completely silly that there’s such importance placed on penetrative sex, considering it’s caused such a thing as ‘the orgasm gap’. People with clitorises and uteruses orgasm so much less than people with penises that there’s actually a term for it.

There are thousands of articles about how to bridge the orgasm gap, what techniques work best for achieving climax during penetration, but nowhere does anyone seem to be talking about going down on people.

I think the fact that people seriously don’t seem to care about giving or receiving head, at least not openly, also frames queer sex as this alien thing, as completely other. Again, by saying penetration is the single most important act that sex can be, we devalue anyone orgasming by other means.

Go on, give head, as an ally!

And sure. I want to be in a position (ha, ha) where I can understand the hype about penetration, and then I suppose I will fully understand what’s on offer. But until then, I think it would benefit everyone to re-centre the conversation around sex to pleasure.

If a good bang works, then go for it. But that doesn’t always need to mean penetration.

Image credit: Micah Petyt