Sex After Hysterectomy
By MakeLoveNotPornstar and Ambassador hiyamaia aka Maia Leggott
Content Warning: This piece contains graphic descriptions of surgery and sexual activity and may be triggering to some. Reader discretion is advised.
Get ready for me to come over and use you for a few hours. Please.
Lay out a few toys that you would like me to use on you.
When I arrive you will be naked on all fours with your ass in the air.
Your eyes will be closed or your face covered … no words will be exchanged.
When I’m done with you, you’ll sit there and let my cum drip out of your pussy.
Then I will get dressed and leave.
You’ll never see my face.
My heart is racing as I go through my toy basket and carefully choose a selection, laying them out on my yellow teddy bear blanket that I’ve had since the day I was born, a blanket that has seen better days. The process of displaying toys that will be used to (consensually) destroy me is incredibly erotic. I let my mind wander to everything he could do to me with what I’ve chosen. I’m in control of being totally out of control.
The heat spreads over my body as I undress, fasten a satin blindfold over my eyes, and assume the position. I’m nervous, but excited-nervous because I’m able to give myself over to the unexpected., This wouldn’t have been physically possible in my former life.
Three months prior, I had my uterus, fallopian tubes and cervix cut out and removed through my vagina, as well as excision of endometriosis.
It was my third surgery to address my horrific periods, chronic pain, painful sex, and inflammatory lesions spread throughout my abdomen. Although a hysterectomy is not a cure for endometriosis, I decided that if it could improve my quality of life by taking away my periods while also excising whatever endo they found — I was ready for it.
I’d been mentally preparing for just over a year, and I got 16 days notice for my surgery date. Enough time to let work know, reach out to my hysterectomy-experienced pals for advice and let my mum know, as she was coming to stay with me post-surgery. I also managed to throw in a “Boot the Ute Charcute” night with my nearest, dearest and queerest where we ate a Charcuterus (shedding a pomegranate lining) and a Cervix Cake.
I couldn’t fathom a life that wasn’t ruled by pain or my cycle or bleeding or feeling disconnected from my body, but I wanted to try. I was tired of doctors prioritizing my fertility when I never acknowledged wanting kids (I don’t). I was tired of being afraid of penetration to the point of avoidance. Sometimes you just need to get railed, ya know?
As a nonbinary, bisexual, polyamorous person who often has multiple partners, having a painful sexual experiences can be soul-crushing. Society told me that femininity or womanhood was tied to this organ and my ability to reproduce. That I couldn’t seek sex just for pleasure, especially because it often brought on the opposite.
I felt so alone, so I did what many people do these days — I took to social media. I connected with fellow uterusless humans including Eileen, who could relate to what I was feeling. “As soon as I woke up from surgery, I had amazing relief, not only of pain, but also of this pressing obligation to be fertile, to bleed every month, to be this very narrow definition of a ‘woman.’” They had the same surgery last May.
They’re also polyamorous and have found that the communication skills learned from practicing this relationship style are invaluable when communicating sexual boundaries, needs and desires post-hysterectomy as well.
“At first my sex life post-surgery was amazingly pain free,” she says. “But I’m dealing with some pelvic floor, kidney, and scar tissue issues that can make penetrative sex and orgasm difficult sometimes. There are so many different flavours to pain and part of intimacy for me means figuring out how to relate to different pains in different ways.”
They are a perfect example of how things can still evolve and change even a year after surgery.
Another hysterectomy pal, Hez, spent a lot of time in a heterosexual relationship/world, even though they didn’t belong there, and their hysterectomy helped them feel like a sexual being independent of their ability (or lack thereof) to reproduce.
“While gender and sexuality are two different things, this was my first gender-affirming procedure as [my doctors] wouldn’t pursue the surgery for endo, and it helped me feel more like the genderless, queer being that I am, which strengthened my sexual identity as well.”
I, too, have felt the innate correctness that comes with booting my uterus. I would call that gender euphoria?! At 36, I finally feel at home in a body that’s caused me so much grief over nearly 25 years. Like I can live without fearing the next time I menstruate or cramp. Sure, I’m still settling into this new home, getting used to its creaks and cracks and nooks and quirks, but isn’t that part of the whole experience?
Another social media friend Bev manages multiple chronic illnesses on top of endo. “From having chronic illness in general, pre- and post-hysterectomy, I’ve definitely realized that sex isn’t such a narrow experience, and that it can look different than what is shown in our media.”
☝️THIS☝️
It’s one of the things I love so much about MakeLoveNotPorn — it’s Real. World. Sex. It can be orgasm-less joy; it’s a voyeuristic peek into the sex lives of ordinary people; it’s a licktionary of tags that MLNPstars choose for themselves.
Sharing my #RealWorldSex on MakeLoveNotPorn has been a liberating conduit for me to explore sex beyond penetration, and figure out what that looks and feels like as I navigate gender and sexuality, especially post-hysterectomy.
My surgery put a pause on the physical component for a while as I recovered; I wasn’t allowed to put anything inside my vagina for eight weeks post-op, but my surgical team said that I could masturbate clitorally “whenever I felt ready.”
I felt ready around 3 weeks post-op, which surprised and delighted me. I thought I wouldn’t be interested in sex for months in fear of vaginal cuff dehiscience (improper closing of the wound where my cervix once was). I was nervous about muscle contractions, or the release of an orgasm. But the slow, gentle waves of pleasure that cascaded through me were like a warm bath soothing my swollen insides and stimulating my soul.
Tears formed at the corner of my eyes and rolled down my cheeks when I realized it was going to be okay. I was going to be okay.
Yes I was afraid to have penetrative sex. I have likened my cervix-less vagina to a sock chilling in my pelvis, waiting for the right (or wrong) insertion to flip it inside out. My pelvic physio and one of my surgeons both informed me that that is highly, highly unlikely. I was also afraid of losing the pleasure of cervical stimulation during sex, but so far that seems not to be an issue. In fact, I’m realizing I may have turned a pain into a “pleasurable” experience in order to cope with it.
I had penetrative sex with a partner after the eight-week mark and got so emotional when the pains I was used to anticipating during sex were suddenly absent that I melted into tears. When I realized I didn’t have to steel myself for what was coming. When I felt in my body, the right body, for the first time.
Kay, another endo friend can relate. “I find that I’m more in the mood than before, and I think a good part of it comes from having less anxiety or chances that it’ll bring me pain. Prior to hysterectomy, there might have been a 1 week window of the month where sex *wouldn’t* hurt, but it would be near impossible to track until you tried.”
I still experience some vulvodynia, or pain upon insertion, which plagued me before surgery as well, but a little — or a lot of — lube helps that, as does some gentle labia massage. Feeling more at home in my gender also gives me a new sexual curiosity I never had before that I’m eager to explore within a queer dynamic.
I masturbate nearly every day, but still hide behind the buffer of my favourite suction toy. For whatever reason, I’m feeling nervous to explore my newly cuffed vagina with my own hands. Like I’m afraid of what I’ll find up there. (Spoiler alert: nothing!). Sure, I’ve rubbed one out with my hands but fingering myself hasn’t made it to the menu just yet. Not that I did much of that before, but there was less hesitation.
I let my lover inside me and my pelvic physiotherapist — what aversion do I have to getting my own fingers up in there and poking around?
I know it’s okay, that this is an ongoing process — it’s only been three months! If my conversations with others were any indication, sex after hysterectomy continues to be a roller coaster, and is different for everyone.
For whatever reason, I’m feeling nervous to share post-surgery #RealWorldSex. I know it will come, but something about it feels even more vulnerable than before.
Vulnerable like placing my trust in someone to enter my home without me seeing them, and do with me as they like, within boundaries that I set. That I can set because I know and can trust my own body in a way I never could before. I can submit completely to sensation that I get to assign new meaning to. And that feels the most liberating of all.
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