Sex after Hysterectomy — 6 Months Later

7 min readAug 4, 2023

By hiyamaia/Maia Leggott for MakeLoveNotPorn.

Content Warning: This piece contains graphic descriptions of surgery and sexual activity and language around sexual assault that may be triggering to some. Reader discretion is advised.

I’m laying out my favourite toys on a towel covering the blanket on my balcony bench I found beside my building’s dumpster.

Wand vibrator.

Air pulse vibrator.

Nipple clamps.

Funfetti dildo I got myself to celebrate being six months uterus-free.

Gold flogger necklace.

Fuck Water.

I set up my tripod and test some angles.

A friend gave me the idea recently to film my next MakeLoveNotPorn video on my balcony, and I was definitely intrigued by the idea, but nervous to make another video since my surgery, let alone outside.

When MLNP shared their “Videos you should try filming based on your Zodiac sign” Instagram post and Pisces was to take it al fresco, I took that as a sign from the universe.

Setting the scene is incredibly arousing. I can feel the heat building in my pussy.

I spark a joint.

I run the delicate gold chain of the flogger necklace along my thighs and abdomen.

I spread my legs. The first hit is gentle but the heat radiates through my pelvis.

I’m in it now.

I can’t believe it’s been six months since my hysterectomy.

Even the past three months since my first sex after hysterectomy post feels like a lifetime.

To be honest, I haven’t been writing the same way I was in the first three months post-surgery. May and June were hectic and full of change and I’ve barely had time to process it all, let alone write about it.

Since my surgery I’ve been living a life I never thought would be accessible to me again, or ever.

My uterus dominated my submissive body, mind and life without my consent for over two decades. I didn’t ask for this pain it wrought upon me from the tender age of twelve.

Society wouldn’t let me say no; it was my “gift” as a woman — a person assigned female at birth because their reproductive organs were inside their body — to use my womb for its “divine purpose.”

I let it control me and dictate my life, what I could or couldn’t do, it destroyed jobs and relationships and sexuality and self-image. I was a shell of the person I could actually be.

But the world told me it was a gift. Culture taught me it was my purpose.

So I gave in. I just let it happen for years, silent tears my cry for help that no one heard. I acquiesced to its authority over me and lost my voice, my will to live and tried to numb the pain for years with drugs — birth control, anti-inflammatories, antidepressants, anti-anxiety, painkillers, weed, cocaine, alcohol. I was trapped in a life I never asked for and didn’t want.

But now.

Now I’m free.

The bondage that held me in place is gone, replaced by an imprint that will slowly fade away as my body adapts to being without its pervasive presence.

Now I am dominated when I ask for it. I am restrained when I want it. I receive pain when I need it, not when my uterus dishes it out. I am a willing sub and a sensual dom, aware of the trauma of losing yourself and what you want.

I’m doing things I only dreamed of in the depths of my psyche. That dark place that shrouds your deepest desires in fear and shame of letting it out and being rejected.

That’s where I’m living now. Now that I can because I’m not held back by painful sex and shame and fear — I welcome them, take them by the hand and show them that it’s okay.

I finally went to a sex club for the first (and second. And third. And fourth) time(s). And I liked it. A lot.

I’ve wanted to go for a long time, but have always been too afraid of my uterus coming out to play because our dynamic is hard to share with others. I was scared that something would trigger a flare up and I wouldn’t be in a familiar, comfortable space.

But now, booting my uterus has given me a newfound confidence in my ability to do hard things, to do new things that I’ve always wanted but never took the chance because I was so afraid pain or bleeding would ruin it.

I now know that I feel incredibly comfortable and at home in that space with a body I can (mostly) rely on to do what I want it to.

It’s my third time going with my anchor partner. We’ve found a new sweet spot in our relationship that is having sex in the presence of others — it’s incredibly hot.

I’m bent over the back of a sofa, my knees sinking into the soft leather of the loveseat, the red light casting a seductive glow over the room. They bury their face in my pussy that’s been licked and fingered and fucked all over the tri-level mansion in downtown Toronto. I feel them slide inside me and I cry out, my hot cheek pressed up against the cool frosted glass of the window and sweat dripping down my forehead. There are couples fucking on leather chairs on either side of us.

Out of nowhere I’m overwhelmed. It takes me a moment to pinpoint why —

I feel no pain.

The nagging, pulling sensation deep in my vagina is gone; the twinges of trigger points softened; the not-so-subtle sting of vulvodynia nowhere to be found, the pressure in my rectum removed like the endometriosis coating my pelvic ligaments.

I feel no pain.

I feel the tears come before I can stop them.

I ask my partner if we can stop so they can hold me. The release overcomes me and I’m floating, safe, supported with my anchor.

There’s someone going down on their partner two feet from us and I watch her breast implants gently shake as we sit there and I try to process what just happened. What’s still happening.

A few weeks later, my partner is coming over to use me for a scene. It’s become one of our favourite games in the last few months — me laying out toys I want to be used on me and then blindfolding and restraining myself with the under-the-bed restraints peeking out from beneath my mattress so they can show up, fuck me, and leave. Or stay and cuddle, depending on the day. We negotiate soft and hard limits before the scene, like always, and today I feel confident to say “Anything is on the table.” Even but stuff. It’s a Good Butt Day.

I’ve always enjoyed anal play — a little tongue or finger action gets my pussy dripping down my legs.

I tried anal sex a couple of times with former partners and it just never worked. I’d sort of given up hope that I was even capable of it.

I struggled a lot with digestive issues throughout my life; diarrhea, constipation, hemorrhoids, bleeding — you name it. My chronically ill body was confused that something could feel so good but also so bad. The extremes of the human experience, as written by my butthole.

But not that day.

That day the stars align and we approach it properly and with care and I am relaxed and I trust my partner and I finally have anal sex.

We start with fingers and toys and work our way up. I’m surprised by how easily it happened. My 5” dildo is in there while another dildo and his cock fill my pussy. It’s not our first attempt at double penetration since my surgery, but triple is new. I can’t stop thinking about how I never could have even attempted this before my uterus was pulled out my vagina as I rock my pelvis back and forth on the toys and his body.

He leans over and whispers in my ear, “I think you can take my cock. Would you like to try it?”

“Yes please,” I breathe.

It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever done, and I get emotional all over again as I lean into his gentle thrusts.

My close friends were surprised when I told them I’d tried anal for the first time. Many people assume things about me because I’m so open about sex and sexuality, but my pelvic pain has impacted my sex life and sexual exploration in every way.

I feel more at home in my body than I ever have, but that doesn’t mean I understand how it works — I’m still learning and navigating, and I’ve heard it can take a year for your body to heal completely and settle into its new normal.

I’m excited and curious to discover what my body is capable of now, what kind of pleasure and pain I can explore consensually.

Filming my first video post-surgery is cathartic, to put it mildly.

The combination of being outdoors, prepping the scene and it being my first video without a uterus makes it almost a spiritual experience. Somewhere after orgasm two, three or four the emotional release comes and I sob.

I can’t stop it.

I cut that part from the first video because it feels far too vulnerable and intimate to share. But even as I write this I know that’s why I have to. MakeLoveNotPorn makes that possible.

To show people that sex and pleasure is possible after a hysterectomy.

To show them it’s okay to feel things and get emotional and need to work on your sexual relationship with yourself and figure it out all over again.

To show myself that I can be that vulnerable and intimate and it’s okay and it’s not as scary as it seems.

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