FIVE DAYS until the release of What's Up Down There? Questions You'd Only Ask Your Gynecologist If She Was Your Best Friend! In anticipation of the big launch day (Sept 28), this week we are pleased to publish exclusive excerpts and blogs by our very own Dr. Lissa Rankin. Today's excerpt is the intro to Chapter 4 - Sex and Masturbation (i.e., the chapter we're all going to read first anyway). So, an OB/GYN must be a total sexpert, right? Read on to find out!

OB/GYN, Sex Goddess

I never thought much about the true nature of sex when I was younger.  Like most kids, I learned that the penis goes inside the vagina, and sex makes babies.  Later, I learned from peer pressure that sex keeps your man happy and prevents him from abandoning you. Somewhere along the way, my mother told me that sex is a manifestation of marital love, a physical embodiment of the human connection bound by the sacrament of marriage. The combined message left me feeling a little lost when the time came to explore my own sexuality.

The media certainly didn’t help matters. The romantic comedies I adore lead me to assume that losing my virginity would be an earth-shattering journey to nirvana. But in reality, I suffered a painful, awkward, pleasure-less cherry popping in the arms of my college boyfriend -- we’ll call him Don Juan. While I loved him and relinquished my virginity willingly, it was mostly just a bone I threw him to reward him for good behavior – an alternative, more than anything, to having him dry hump the leg of my jeans in his dorm room while his roommate was at a frat party,

20 year-old virgin

In my mind’s eye, I can still see it like it was yesterday. There I was – a twenty-year-old virgin (nearly an old maid, according to the other girls in my dorm).  Sweeter-than-gelato Don Juan was trying so hard to make it fun for me, but what did he know? In a hurried embrace of a one night stand, he’d lost his virginity to a local girl on the beach of the tropical island where he grew up. 

After locking the dorm room door and clumsily undressing, we climbed into the tiny twin bed where we had already spent many sex-free nights spooning. I was already on the Pill for gynecologic reasons and must have skipped the sexually-transmitted disease chapter in my biology books, so the idea of condoms didn’t even occur to us (shame on you! Bad Lissa).

We kissed, but not in the passion-soaked way we had in the past. Instead, we kissed timidly, with awkward tongues and bumbling lips. Our noses kept bumping and our hands didn’t know what to do, but since we had committed to making it happen that night, we forged ahead. We fumbled with jean zippers and tangled panties, until suddenly, with a rush of blinding pain, the moment was upon us. I couldn’t think straight  – not due to ecstasy, but rather, from searing, razor-sharp agony. I screamed, and Don Juan quickly pulled out, horrified to be hurting me. But I encouraged him to go on. The poor guy had waited a long time for this.  It was the least I could do.  After a few more stabs of the knife, I felt him quiver, followed by a sudden burning inside of me. And then, apparently, it was all over.

After my first sexual experience, I seriously pondered a lifetime of celibacy, but I liked men too much. Embarrassed to discuss my issues with anyone, even my closest girlfriends, I clammed up and resigned myself to a lifetime of martyrdom for the sake of love.

Stop the madness!

For a decade, sex hurt like the dickens, but, wanting to please my boyfriends, I shopped for sexy lingerie, popped champagne corks by firelight, and went through the motions of being a good lover. Sadly, I did this at the expense of my authentic self. Deep inside, I wanted to scream, “STOP! Stop the madness! Why are we doing this? I’m hurting and you’re having fun. It’s not fair, and I’m pissed.” But I quieted the voice of my truth and learned coping mechanisms instead.

I would essentially leave my body every time I saw a penis coming my way. Part of me would run for the hills, screaming bloody murder, leaving my partner making love to a cerebrum, but that cerebrum learned to moan at all the right times and follow a pattern of acceptable sexual behavior, which was enough to keep relationships afloat for a few years, but certainly not enough to blow anyone’s mind.

The fact that I was training to be a gynecologist only highlighted the irony of my sexual disappointment. All day I gazed at vaginas, answered questions about intercourse, and preached sexual wellness. Others sought me out as a guru, as if I had it all figured out. And my ego preferred it that way. It instilled me with a sense of worth that balanced out the worthlessness I felt in the bedroom. Back then, I never told anyone the truth. I felt like a f-cking hypocrite.

Not until the searing pain disappeared in my thirties did I begin to imagine what all the fuss was about. When I left my unhappy marriage and fell in love again, the searing pain I had experienced for a decade magically disappeared. Imagine that. (I tell you, the coochie is wise.  Anyone who says there isn’t a mind/body connection is nuts.) Not until then did I begin to imagine what all the fuss was about.

One sexy baby step at a time

As the veil of pain lifted, a tiny part of my essential self began to emerge, one sexy baby step at a time. But it takes time to reclaim your body when you’ve sent her to time out for a decade. Slowly, I began talking with my girlfriends about the details of my two failed marriages and sharing stories of my sexual dysfunction with patients experiencing similar issues. Telling the truth liberated me and began to shake loose some of the cobwebs of my sexuality.

Now that I’ve just entered my forties, I feel a shift happening, and it excites me. While society seems to associate sexuality with youth and beauty, I believe we more truly embody the full richness of our sexuality as we age. By shedding the façade of who we think others expect us to be, we more clearly step into who we really are, and with that, the potential for true sexual bliss awakens. I feel like I’m just beginning to walk this path, exploring how two people might connect, not just physically, but spiritually.

For me, part of this requires slowing down in the rest of my life to prioritize a sexual connection with my lover. It’s easy to get so consumed by family life, ambition, and the details of daily existence that we think of great sex as just the icing on the cake -- something nonessential and merely decorative. But I’d argue that sex is one of the essential ingredients in life’s cake -- just like a healthy body, an outlet for creative expression, a strong sense of self, loving relationships, a balance between meaningful work and child-like playfulness, and a spiritual path. If you skip the flour, the eggs, the baking soda, or the sugar, you’ll wind up with a soupy pile of unleavened batter, instead of the light, airy, delicate, enriching, whole pastry you know you can be.

One thing I’ve learned about sex is that one size never fits all. We must each walk the path to sexual awakening in our own way, knowing that we walk it in good company. In this chapter, I will try to answer your questions with some generalizations that might help, but keep in mind that no one formula works for everyone. If anything I write doesn’t resonate with you, take it with a grain of salt and look deep within yourself. Chances are, the answers you seek have been there all along.

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What do YOU think? What was your cherry-popping experience like? How do you own your sexuality, one sexy baby step at a time? Do you lie about what gives you pleasure in the bedroom, to keep your partner "happy"? What has your coochie taught you about yourself, your desires, and your sexual health? Dish, dish, dish... 

Want to know what sex and masturbation questions Lissa answers in this chapter? Read the book, What's Up Down There? Questions You'd Only Ask Your Gynecologist If She Was Your Best Friend (available Sept 28) -- in fact, you can help us reach our goal of 5,000 books sold in the first week by pre-ordering your copy now. Want to get receive a special newsletter with the inside scoop on Lissa's journey in writing the book, the Fall Book Tour, and lots of other goodies? Join TEAM PINK and serve on the frontlines of the What's Up Down There movement, and be sure to visit the What's Up Down There? blogto sample questions like those answered in the book!