Anal Sex and Strawberry Leaves

My vagina took a break today, tapped and climbed out of the ring. Although the fissures healed I'm still experiencing the mean stuff. This creamy, white syrup that coats everything inside is like friction food. It is not slippery, nice vaginal lubricant. It is angry and dries the whole damn situation to "like the desert", he said, "you could grow cactus there."
          Yesterday I failed to mention that he, the man who puts his penis inside my vagina, griped about having creative sex, meaning he wanted it like usual, vaginal-penile penetrative without any, well, creativity due to not-slippery-when-wet. Ahhhhh. My vagina would like to report that this was not a sexy request. And while I do like that he enjoys how we usually sex, I also appreciate versatility.
          So after some physical and emotional blows, my vagina submitted to not getting the V-P sex. Of course. Vagina just came off a week of the papercuts, still parched, and now shuffled around by a request for monotonous, vanilla intercourse. Huh.
          Anus takes the ring--I switched entry points and proceeded with a different kind of caution. Happily anal sex was great. My vagina was thrilled to vacation and my clitoris received just as much attention in the same woman on top positive I tried to rock vaginally.
          Promptly afterward, I took a shower with the man who puts his penis inside my vagina and my anus (TMWPHPIMV-->TMMV-->TimV). We got dressed in farmer clothes, had lunch: tofu korma, lentils and kale, with Basmati rice. Then, per my request, we went to the nursery for trees. While shopping I came upon a package of strawberry seeds. Unlike like any other package on a wall of seed options this one blurted its remedial powers. For menstrual cramps! I took my stack of seeds: zukes, peas, lettuce, carrots, poppies, sunflowers, radishes, and strawberries to the white-haired green-thumb who was answering all my questions and asked her advice on planting from seeds. Everything was a go but the strawberries. Referring to the menstrual cramp relief tag she asked, "Are you growing strawberries to eat or er, uh?" "Both," I replied. She suggested grown plants and I bought 25 for $11 something.

My uterus' cramp alleviating strawberry leaves.

     For the rest of daylight the seeds, Dahlia bulbs, peonies, four raspberry bushes, an apricot tree, cherry tree, and strawberries were submerged in rich, wet but not slippery, soil. Each one considered for its beauty, taste and productivity to enrich the landscape. The strawberries, specifically served additional function--combat against a future opponent--the cramps.
     Note: Since sentence one of this record I have been using fighting words. "Tapped", "submitted", "ring". I even perused the Ultimate Fighter fan page to make sure I was using them correctly. Then I realized how much of a fight I've been having with my vagina, how many fights we've been through in the past, and the reality of more to come. Reading through boxing terminology surfaced analogies for all the attacks I've felt to my body. It also surfaced the how-tos for offensive hits and blocking punches. Applicable as fighting may be to my vagina's experiences--years back with on-going dyspareunia (pain during intercourse),  recent fissures, the mean white stuff, male intention, self-inflicted expectations to perform, and monthly menstruation--it is not how I want to view those experiences.
Tonight my vagina gets a new attitude--rather than viewing the world as a boxing ring, I choose a garden. Like nurturing those strawberries, I'm going to pull the weeds and foster sweet solutions. You just watch, this is the Vagina Report!