“I had issues with desire, arousal, and orgasm.
Penetration was just as painful now as my first attempts at 17.
This plethora of problems had ruined every relationship Id ever had.
But at 46, miraculously, I married someone wonderful.”
Do you mind if I touch you?
asked the erotic professional whose sandalwood burning, chakra-chic bedroom Id recently entered.
She was speaking of our general arrangement.
We were staring at her bed.
Her current vocation was more relevant.
We were not in California.
I hadnt come for criminality.
Thirty years of silence, interspersed with conventional remedies, had yielded little recovery from abuse-related dysfunction.
I had issues with desire, arousal, and orgasm.
Penetration was just as painful now as my first attempts at 17.
This plethora of problems had ruined every relationship Id ever had.
But at 46, miraculously, I married someone wonderful.
Kurt supported my overcoming a universe of hurdles.
I couldnt seem to begin.
This was not the ecstatic merging Id waited for my entire life.
I needed to reclaim a potential that had been stolen from me.
Yet now that I had the chance, I stood frozen before the tantric experts brass bed.
You know, she began in a lilting Italian accent.
Her name was Francesca.
You dont even have to take your clothes off.
Or I could take offmyclothes.
A second later, taking control of the situation, I began removing my yoga pants.
I only want to take off my lower half, I told her.
I wanted this experience to be different.
Maybe I could finally get answers to questions plaguing me since the Reagan years.Why was there burning with intercourse?
Were bad sensations the only reason I had no desire?
Did I possess a capacity to climax?
For years, I never grilled an OB/GYN.
She said I was maneuvering my husbands penis into the wrong part of the vagina.
Its not supposed to hit the cervix, she scolded.
Apparently, I was a failed fornicator.
Mental health providers werent any better.
Maybe youre justnota very sexual person, she concluded.
A sex therapist I consulted with from the basement of a Panera stopped me after three minutes.
You have pelvic pain?
I dont see anyone with pelvic pain.
I was too broken for even a sex therapist.
Francesca had no trouble with my barrage of Qs.
She emphasized that the physical component of our 90 minutes together could bring illumination.
I nodded, while thinking,If this really is sex work, how will that play out?
Once I was undressed, the tantric mistress placed a navy towel on the puffy gold comforter.
She plopped down beside me.
Tell me, she said.
Do you know where the clitoris is I mean on your body?
I laughed, relieved we were starting with basics.
Of course, I declared, showing her what she was looking for.
Yes, thats it, she said, peering in.
But you oughta lift up the hood.
Ive already done that.
No, you havent.
Isnt this the clitoris?
I asked, indicating the flesh I was holding between index finger and thumb.
Thats still only the hood, she replied.
Hot shame spread across my face.
Francesca patted my leg gently before repeating the phrase: May I touch you?
This time, consent was for real with contact.
A moment later, I felt her warm hand: So you pull this up, OK?
…Hereis the clitoris.
Of course, when youre aroused it will be much bigger.
I had to strain my neck to see the shiny head poking through.
I didnt know, I said, wiping fat tears from my cheeks.
Thats why youre here!
Her liquid brown eyes were smiling, with cute crinkles in the corners.
Do you know how few women know theyre built like that?
I tried hard to believe her as she fetched a mirror.
Then, like Lewis and Clark in lipstick, the sexological bodyworker and I mapped my pleasure terrain.
We began at the recently excavated bliss button.
The full clitoris makes a wishbone shape, Francesca told me.
No wonder Id never enjoyed lovemaking.
I hadnt known where all the nerve endings were!
She would teach me how to have penetration that actually felt good the main reason Id taken this risk.
There were three parts to this lesson, and the explanation for each made me dizzy.
I was advised to recline again so my brain could relinquish understanding to my body.
The first step was deep relaxation.
My hostess had me do slow, audible exhales (Ahhhhhh) while pressing right above my public bone.
Coordinating breath and pressure was awkward.
Stunningly though, after some minutes, I felt a sudden release of my genitals like a fist unclenching.
I think I was still in shock from this success when we got to step two engorgement and lubrication.
In other words, she wanted me to get turned on.
Her logic was sound, yet it made my armpits damp.
Sure, Id come there to get savvy about arousal.
But did I actually want to get aroused?
Though how else could I get the full picture?
A view Id paid $500 for, after saving for months.
There was no turning back.
I let the Mediterranean sexpert stroke the upper right quadrant of my little happy place.
I took a deep breath, just like she taught me.
The G-spot felt ridged, like Braille.
It was like learning to read myself.
At this juncture, we were at step three: the finale.
Francesca was going to teach me how to screw.
That is, how to use my muscles in a manner that brought joy, not pain.
She demonstrated while lying beside me.
I tried this alongside her.
I felt thoroughly spastic, but before long I was dancing with her.
With all the inner workings.
Where else was I going to get this information?
I dont remember dressing too much of a daze.
I do recall handing her my credit card: the transaction.
Hard to believethiswas the act that could throw us in jail.
The real exchange was something else her compassionate skill with my traumatized body.
Maybe lots of nooky and good info about it accounts for the extra courage.
Once I realized I wasnt broken (just ill-informed), bravery sprouted in my heart and lower.
I became relentless in finding improved medical and mental health providers.
Resolving pelvic pain, I realized, takes a village.
I needed a trauma therapist, a gynecologist focused on pain disorders, a pelvic floor PTanderotic education.
Trauma can do its own number on intimate function.
Everyone deserves accessible ways to restore wholeness.
What restoration looks like will vary from person to person.
Not everyone wants their package handled by a bodyworker.
How are we to know options, though, without open discussion of healing modalities?
We need frank conversations about bodies, pleasure and sexual solutions.
Since one size doesnt fit all, they should be customized for each individual, throughout a persons life.
I believe the Danes have it right sexual wellness is a critical part of overall health.
Till then, Id gladly commit my crime again.
In fact, I did.
A few weeks after seeing Francesca, I visited her a second time with my husband.
He was curious how this magic woman had transformed me.
He wanted his own transformation.
That session, focused primarily on emotional intimacy, equally informs our relationship.
Heres to all matrimony savers, whatever their legal status.
Hail to all helpers of love.
Laura Zam is an award-winning writer, speaker, and sexual health coach.
This article originally appeared onHuffPost.
