Sex without orgasm: nothing!

sex-without-orgasm-nothing

Anyone who experiences sex without orgasm can be in a bad mood. A woman and her search for new highlights.

This morning I had sex with my friend. We both came to orgasm. And mine was really nice. That is not a matter of course. Oh, yes, now again. I feel it and slowly gain new confidence. But it is not easy after the sex trauma of menopause. It started in November 2006, I was 47. My lover was with me and spoiled me in the usual way, until the tingling overwhelmed me. Like Goldmarie, I always felt like I was at the climax if it trickled on me and made me happy. On that day, but inexplicably in the middle of the cock was turned off. The orgasm, which had started as nicely as ever, broke off abruptly and cruelly. How cut off. I checked to see if my friend was still there. He was. And he was still absorbed in his work. But I was in shock. 

Now do not exaggerate, you will say. Okay, I admit, sex was always important to me. Body contact, touch, love. You could almost say, since I discovered good sex, I lived from climax to climax. An orgasm is like refueling for me. After that I have basic confidence again, in myself and in the world. And a power, out of the belly.

Apparently this is not the case with all women like me during my odyssey in search of my libido found. I had to listen to the most unbelievable things, phrases that I would have thought possible only of my mother. “I was glad when I did not have to have sex anymore,” my alternative practitioner said. I had asked her if she, as a phytohormone specialist, might also have a cure for me. Because after the first terrible experience more followed. No more such a brutal ending, but many vile mini-orgasms without the fulfilling contraction, experiences that had not been worth touching even a finger. On the contrary, they were like a sausage pulled away just before snapping. I felt taunted by my own body.

“That was a small one again,” my lover said sympathetically, and I felt disabled. Sudden dryness overcame me again and again, mostly in connection with my whim following whim. I was desperate. There used to be a solid, steady rhythm in my life. My menstruation was accurate to the day, my moods too. Ten days before I was depressed, either bitchy and aggressive and was no longer responsive. With the first day I turned back into a lamb and right after that I became very dependent.

But now my moods and lusts, or better non-lusts, jumped like unpredictable animals. I felt like someone had pulled the ground from under my feet. What else should I rely on? At any rate, the moment I had longed for when my lover rang became a horror. As soon as he had laid himself down on my bed, I became dog-tired. If he wanted to seduce me, I became afraid of the failure of his endeavor, and I was ashamed. “Another little one,” I hated to hear that. And more, to feel it.

I tried the psychological cure first. It was actually clear that our sex was not good anymore. After all, he was married and our three-year affair was painful – apart from sex. Especially for me. Surely fate wanted to tell me that things could not go on like this. We broke up.

I was fortunate, and soon I met an untied man. But the psychological reasoning for my libido loss turned out to be wrong. Sometimes it was unexpectedly wonderful, as it used to be. But then again, without warning, all the tireless effort was in vain. Difficulty concentrating, hysteria or aggression – with everything that went along with the menopause, I could have lived. But not with the one: the end of my satisfying sex life.

Girlfriends reacted strangely. “You always with your sex,” they said dismissively. Or: “I have no problems at all.” Another told me that she “just does not feel like it anymore”. At night in the marriage bed, she tries to completely avoid her husband touching her. Finally, we split because of the topic. After I had dared to ask if she would satisfy herself even if she no longer sleeps with her husband. “Embarrassing” she called me. And I she “frigid”. 

So I continued to search for help. My gynecologist recommended estrogen cream for the drought. But the cream felt rather uncomfortable and did nothing.

I tried Schuessler salts, chaste tree, phytohormones, ginseng root, soybean from the pharmacy. Another non-medical practitioner mixed my own droplets, which I also eagerly took, besides, I waived months for coffee. Finally, I took a cocktail of innumerable substances, but they did nothing. Finally, I ended up in the hormone center, where the doctor diagnosed progesterone deficiency. 

The natural progesterone that I have been taking since has saved me, at first purely physically. After only two weeks, I was able to concentrate better again, and at some point I was given a new kind of orgasm.

Yes, he is back. Long and extensive, and he leaves nothing to be desired. Nevertheless, he is different. I’m no longer showered from above like Goldmarie, but pulled from very deep inside. The former methods no longer work, stimulation had to come suddenly from the inside. My friend and I had to try and develop new ideas on how to deal with myself. It was not so simple and classic anymore. Sometimes it worked out right in work. 

I was embarrassed too. I did not want to expect it. Not so often, anyway. I just wanted to take care of him. But then I was frustrated. And still I felt the same thing I had felt since the awful afternoon almost seven years ago. Insufficiency. A kind of castration.

Since this morning I am suddenly sure: I still have a sexuality. And there is a life after menopause. They take seven years, I once read. In November 2013, this time is over. And until then, and afterwards, my friend and I will have many more holidays like today. But holidays are just holidays and do not come every weekend.