Things have really progressed here.
My clitoris has shrunk. Literally. In the end I was worried over nothing. Over the days and with the application of JONCTUM, it grew smaller steadily until it reached the unobtrusive size of a rosebud.
What’s more, it is now entirely brown, like the rest of my skin.
And to crown it all, the painful sensations are on the way to disappearing. The only area still sensitive is at the front where the stitches are. Because yes, these damned stitches are still firmly in place. Besides that irritates me terribly. Almost four weeks have gone by since my last consultation at the Louis XIV Clinic and the stitches should have come out easily two weeks ago.
I’ll wait, I’ll wait. I’m even becoming a champion of waiting.
In spite of this good news, I have been assailed by a thousand feelings of guilt during the last weeks.
Each of these has been about my man’s frustration. I have been thinking about it all the more, now that my clitoris is all but healed, which leaves me no excuse, no justification for not taking up the question of sex again, from where I left it.
My love keeps insisting that he would prefer me to wait, that he wants to wait for me to be ready in my head as well. And me, I feel bad about making him wait.
It’s so long since we made love that I find it hard to believe when he swears he doesn't bear me any grudge over such a long abstinence. Seven weeks and a half of waiting serenely? No I haven’t believed it for a second. I thought he was saying it out of kindness, out of love or whatever, and that he was sparing me from his dissatisfaction.
He has had to repeat again and again that, although he misses making love, he wants us both to enjoy our lovemaking, and for that he is ready to wait a long time if necessary. He had to repeat it because that doesn’t relate to what I believe I know about men.
For me, a man would like to make love all the time. And if his partner is unavailable too long, then he’ll go and look elsewhere. It seems simplistic but it appears to me to be exactly what I think. Of course a man in love will wait a very long time, but all the same, what I believe is that without sex there is no salvation.
So, for me, more than two months without sex is the antechamber to a split up.
It took me a long time to shake this belief. And in the meantime I have given myself a little anxiety which I will need to discuss with my therapist when he returns from holiday.
What revealed this fear of being left because of the lack of sex was the pre-eminence of my man’s pleasure in my mind. Until now, his needs, wishes, rhythm has guided our sexual life more than mine. My weak libido was happy with little and was inspired by the desire to give him pleasure.
To push the reasoning further, I would say that I was “at my man’s disposal”. Not being able to give him pleasure during my healing, I had the feeling of lacking in my duty, to be at fault.
The sad admission of the complete success of the circumcision that I suffered, I am a docile woman, sexually submissive to male desire. I had, and still have, my mind focused on the sexual needs of my man, totally denying my own.
This reminds me of my room mate at the clinic who told me that her husband, who was working outside Paris, wasn’t expecting to return to Paris until after six weeks of healing. She thought that normal. “You can’t make love, so OK, what good if he returns?” At the time I thought it was awful. To tell the truth, it shocked me.
And, now, I know that basically I think like she does.
I am convinced that it is a view of things that stems from the fact of having been circumcised and the sexuality that you have afterwards when you are adult.
My docility in sexual matters, my subordination to masculine desire, that’s what has been slowly building in my head since my circumcision.
That brings tears to my eyes, that idea. It puts me into a black rage and at the same time makes me sad.
So is that what my mother wanted for me? That I should be submissive to a man? That I should be his sex object? Is this the woman's future she chose for me? Or did she even think about it? After all, if she was circumcised herself, perhaps these are questions that never occurred to her, it seems so normal not to have any sexual prerogative when you are a woman?
I am disgusted. I don’t even want to ask these questions. I can no longer take discovering the extent of the tragedy of circumcision on its victims.
I feel I have still further to go along the road before blossoming. Kilometres even. The price to pay for repairing the broken pots seems to me to be heavy, very heavy. That annoys me to some extent, that statement.
My man has suggested to me consulting a sexologist in a few months “to learn how to make love well”. I think it’s a good idea. Because even if we have taken up lovemaking again (pianissimo this time, I’ve learnt my lesson) and it’s going relatively well, I basically don’t know how to make love well….
[Original in French]