We went on a cruise to Nassau & Freeport, Bahamas. We had a blast! As we walked into our tight-knit room, we set our stuff on the bed & began making out. It was awesome. We took off our clothes and kissed each other on the neck and on the chest and on the stomach. We had sex. And it hurt. So bad. I tried my hardest to pretend like I was into it, you know, just like the movies show. But it was excruciating pain. The second it was over, I was incredibly relieved. I couldn't wait to just lay on the bed and not hurt so bad.
Each time after we had sex, it seemed like the pain got worse and worse. I hated sex. I always tried to steer away from it. I would even go the extent of going to buy myself ice cream so I would get sick and have an excuse. Of course this was not healthy. I needed to tell my husband how I felt. I needed to express my frustrations and my pains.
A few weeks later, I expressed my frustrations, pains, and emotional toll that sex had on me to him. Being the amazing, wonderful, and understanding man that he is, he worked with me to find out what exactly was going on with me.
After that, we cut sex out of our lives. We would try almost every day, but it never worked. I cried every single time. I cried because it was excruciating. I cried because I didn't feel like I was a good enough wife to please my husband. I cried because my sister talked about how amazing her sex life was all the time. I cried because my husband didn't get sex. He got other things, yes. He never got sex, though. He never got the whole thing. I cried. Every single day. And I didn't understand why my body didn't allow me to have sex.
I was confused. My mother had told me many stories about girls who were very tight down there and had to stretch out by having sex and it hurt for the first little while. But it wasn't like that. After a few months, my body wouldn't even allow me to have sex. If I could have just handled the pain and gave my husband what he deserved so much, it wouldn't have been this big of a deal. But it was. I couldn't even have sex. I couldn't stick a finger up there. And I couldn't even use tampons anymore. It got worse & worse. And I just didn't understand.
Each time after we had sex, it seemed like the pain got worse and worse. I hated sex. I always tried to steer away from it. I would even go the extent of going to buy myself ice cream so I would get sick and have an excuse. Of course this was not healthy. I needed to tell my husband how I felt. I needed to express my frustrations and my pains.
A few weeks later, I expressed my frustrations, pains, and emotional toll that sex had on me to him. Being the amazing, wonderful, and understanding man that he is, he worked with me to find out what exactly was going on with me.
After that, we cut sex out of our lives. We would try almost every day, but it never worked. I cried every single time. I cried because it was excruciating. I cried because I didn't feel like I was a good enough wife to please my husband. I cried because my sister talked about how amazing her sex life was all the time. I cried because my husband didn't get sex. He got other things, yes. He never got sex, though. He never got the whole thing. I cried. Every single day. And I didn't understand why my body didn't allow me to have sex.
I was confused. My mother had told me many stories about girls who were very tight down there and had to stretch out by having sex and it hurt for the first little while. But it wasn't like that. After a few months, my body wouldn't even allow me to have sex. If I could have just handled the pain and gave my husband what he deserved so much, it wouldn't have been this big of a deal. But it was. I couldn't even have sex. I couldn't stick a finger up there. And I couldn't even use tampons anymore. It got worse & worse. And I just didn't understand.
