For the longest time, I thought my libido was an ol’ biddie; an old car with zero drive, a 95′ Macintosh with dust. I like sex but it’s not something I particularly crave. If sex was like eating a hot piece of pumpkin bread with a slab of maple butter, then my friends, I would be a freaky-dinky B. Yea, it’s possible I’ve been plagued with un-climatic sex but sometimes I wonder if maybe just maybe, I have tight- small pussy. Not in the bed-talk kind of way but more like Hunger -Games- in- a-closet kind of way; anything phalic shoved into my vagina is shanked out by a tiny little Katniss.


It wasn’t until one day, in the middle of a training session with a client, my menstrual cup popped out on it’s own, without any exertion. Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face while, coddling a soaking, hot mentsral cup in between your legs, which you can totally see through tight gym leggings? There are probably 4 billion embarrassing period stories, I officially place mine in the top 10. As I stood there holding the punching bag for my client, pretending my ass was not covered in blood sweat, I excused myself and swiftly ran to the bathroom. I jumped into one of the stalls, pulled down my pants, grabbed the mentrual cup by its neck, put it in a choke hold, shoved it back in, used close to a million sheets of toilet paper to wipe my ass cheeks, which were now covered in dry blood and torn tissue, put my leggings back on, said a prayer and came out of the stall. Fortunately, because my leggings were black, I didn’t look like I had just walked off the set of Law and Order…yet. Fucking YET. Peeps after about 10 minutes of solid drying and trying to pretend I was a normal human being, I noticed that the crotch area started to dry in a red hue and then my mind started to race. Huh? What? How the fuck does black turn to red? Did Satan pull my mentrstual cup? I ran out of the gym like a sad teenager, with a hoodie wrapped around my waist.

Feeling ultimatley betrayed by my mentrsual cup, after 3 good years, I threw it out and went back to tampons. For a while I thought the cup went faulty until my tampons started to slide out too. My roommate proposed my cervix was low and was pushing everything out. Cervix = Tiny Katniss. So I started thinking, do I hate dicks or is my cervix a bitch? All seriousness aside, I’ve never questioned my sexuality before. I’ve always considered myself a heterosexual but after living 30 years in a world of un-climatic sex I ask myself, would I have better sex with a woman?

I grew up in a Dominican, religious and conservative household. My mother since I was young, instilled in my sister and I that we were investments and they couldn’t afford for us to get pregnant and “throw our future away”. My parents would give us lectures constantly reminding us that if one of us got pregnant, we would get kicked out and shunned. I vividly remember my mother measuring my throat with a string, an old-school Caribbean method to check a young girls virginity. Now is it scientifically proven? Probably not, but I can assure you my libido died at that very moment. Ya know it’s one thing to be the daughter of immigrant parents but it’s another thing to be the first person in the entire family to reach their true academic and financial potential. Sometimes it felt like I was racing with a golden baton; a baton I would ultimately pass onto my children but now that my sexual appetite is all out of wack, my legacy is fucked.

(Author’s note: just felt impelled to tell you that when I reread this, I read bacon instead of baton and I was this close to changing it.)

How does one explore his or her own sexuality, in their thirty’s, in New York City, 1/5 way into the 21st century? How can I explore my sexuality without being vulnerable? Real talk fam, I have a hard time letting my guard down. Whether it’s a combination of oppressed adolescent sexual aggression/ trauma and a New Yorker do-not -fuck-with-me-or-I-will-eat-your-kids-and-their-dreams mentality, I have a hard time being intimate with anyone without punching someone with the face. It’s a daily struggle. Now that I’m single, my friends married off, I’m watching Scrubs by myself, wondering if I’ll ever find someone who appreciates Scrubs humor. Can I find someone who will find J.D and Turks version of the Sandford and Son theme song hysterical and THEN will they sing the theme song with me?


I mean, these qualities are important amiright? . What do I have to do, write an annotation on my OK Cupid profile?



Oh shit, sounds good to me.

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