Sex And The Type I Diabetic

It's an odd topic, I know, because there isn't any difference between sex with a type I diabetic and anyone not afflicted with the disease. However, there may be complications that arise later, decades down the road, symptomatic of type I diabetes. This little paper will chronicle one of those complications that my wife, S_______, and I have experienced relative to our sex life, and detail what we did to solve the problem. I hope that our story can be of some help to those with similar ailments or problems.

S_______ and I have been married over 20 years, and except for our first year of marriage, she has been a type I diabetic. I should also add that throughout our marriage we've always had a healthy sex life. Oh, we don't screw as often as we used to, having fallen into the quiet comfort of peaceful neglect that creeps into most couples' marriages over time. However, when we do find the time, or when the mood strikes us to make love, it's still with an intensity and passion that even exceeds the erotic feelings we had when we were first married. Familiarity doesn't always breed contempt, for us, in fact, it heightens the romance.

You must understand, I love it when S_______ comes. For me, having her come is the pièce de résistance of sex. I loved how she would lift her hips well off the bed as she neared climax. I loved how, at the moment of her release, she'd grab my head firmly with both her hands, or pull lovingly at my hair, all while moaning loudly and incessantly. Then, there was that sudden rush of her warm ejaculate, flowing freely out for all her openings, while her body violently shuddered. And most of all, I loved it when our lovemaking session was over and she would quickly drifted off into sleep.

Sweet dreams, love. I mean, who needs the late night, post-coital blab sessions, anyway?

Yes, I loved making her come. Not just because of some altruistic intentions that the woman should somehow be served first, or better yet, served first

and

well—they deserve it, guys—but I had selfish reasons for S_______ climaxing so spectacularly. In many ways, her deep and forceful orgasms bulwark my status as a husband, a lover, and a man.

Yeah, I know, it was

macho man

thinking, to use a Richard Pryor euphemism—

I put your ass to sleep, I'm Macho Man!

I saw it as a 'twofer,' though. I made her melt like jelly on a hot summer day—sticky liquid, sweet, sexual repose—while stroking my ego at the same time. Nothing wrong with that, is there? By the way, to be a true Macho Man, you must strike the Superman pose while saying the above 'euphemism,' with hands on hips and standing over her sated, sleeping form.

Then, about five years ago, our better than average sex life began to change, and change in a most distressing manner for both of us.

It started as a decrease in the intensity of her orgasms, which was quickly followed by reduced sensitivity of her vulva, overall. As we progressed into that first year of decline, what used to take about five to ten minutes of direct clitoral or vaginal stimulation after a good bout of foreplay was extending well into twenty to sometimes thirty minutes of direct stimulation in order for S_______ to achieve orgasm. To make matters worse, even when I was getting her close to coming, or what I perceived as close, given her breathing and squirming, this damnable, internal alarm clock of hers would go off, telling her all this was taking too long. More than anything, this would kill the moment, even more than the length of time it was taking to get her off in the first place.

Trends being what they are, as of a couple of years ago, no amount or combination of fucking, oral stimulation or fingering would work to get her to climax. Not even her own masturbatory techniques would push her over the edge, except on the rare occasions when repeated and prolonged stimulation didn't cause heightened numbness and irritation to her pussy.

The reason for her numbness and overall de-sensitivity is due to diabetic neuropathy, which is a nerve degenerative disease related to long term conditions of diabetes.

In the initial stages of neuropathy, diabetics usually experience severe pain and numbness in their extremities—usually the legs and hands—as nerve endings begin to degrade. As the condition progresses, or worsens, other, more proximal body systems may become affected. In men with the condition, the neuropathy may cause severe erectile dysfunction or even permanent impotency.

S_______ was essentially experiencing the female equivalent of male impotency—her pussy was dying, not to put too fine a point on it, and there wasn't a lot we could do about the problem.

As her condition relates to our sex life, S_______ was becoming worried about my frustration, which was piqued more times than not when that damnable alarm would go off in her head, thus short-circuiting my attempts to bring her to climax. To assuage my feelings, she would tell me that it didn't matter to her whether she came or not. It was sweet of her to say that, but we both knew that was a lie. However, her self-sacrifice aside, it did matter to me. I wanted her to come.

I know this will sound self-serving and maybe a little contrived, but truly, I derived the most pleasure from sex not so much when I got off, but when I got S_______ off. Don't get me wrong, getting a blowjob was always a highpoint for me, but it wasn't as much fun without first hearing her moan, squirm, scream and cream in ecstasy. That's a fact, and she knew it was, and it added to her anxiety.

Worse, my frustration, and her concern for it, was adding mental difficulties along with the physical, and creating a very damaging, negative feedback loop in our sexual relationship. Over time, as it took S_______ longer and longer to achieve orgasm, the interval of time between when we started having sex and when that internal alarm went off, shortened. Once she put a halt to the proceedings, my frustration would mount, making her even more self-conscience of the neuropathy. So that next time the interval of time between when we began lovemaking to when that damnable alarm sounded shortened further, etcetera,

ad infinitum.

It didn't help that I was beginning to anticipate the inevitable alarm going off once we slipped into bed, which was having a negative impact on my own performance.

On top of that, her worry was broadening outside her inability to have an orgasm, and into the more general quarters of our marriage, namely, how long before my frustration with our situation leads me into having an affair? Fears that I might have a wandering eye were causing her even greater anxiety, and, as such, causing that

fucking

alarm clock to go off even before I had her panties off.

Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much.

Now, I would never have an affair, certainly not because of reasons beyond either of our control. However, I could tell the possibility of it was ever in the back of her mind. We couldn't insulate ourselves from the myriad of firsthand accounts of extramarital affairs affecting the marriages of our friends and relatives. We knew all about spouses who went out on 'seek and destroy' missions—that is,

seeking

out what they felt they weren't getting at home, and

destroying

their marriage in the process. Although she never was specific, I'm sure there were numerous scenarios of potential infidelity on my part playing out in the back of her head—

How long before he goes on one of his own 'seek and destroy' missions?

No, I wouldn't dream of having an affair, yet, because of all the problems I've outlined, sex for both of us wasn't fun anymore. It had become a frustratingly, anxiety-laden ritual that both of us were beginning to shy away from.

By now, some of you are probably screaming at your computer screen:

Hey, dummy, try using some marital aids. Sometimes a nice, rabbit vibrator is better than a tongue, ten fingers and a cock, combined.

Don't you think I would have tried that already? Over the last couple of years, I've spent a small fortune on every conceivable marital gadget known to man and enjoyed by women: from regular vibrators to g-spot vibrators to rabbit vibrators, vaginal vibrating balls, vibrating eggs, clitoral stimulators and, of course, dildos, all in a variety of sizes and shapes. Although we had a modicum of success with some clitoral stimulators—the Hummingbird seemed to work the best—it was never consistent. Sometimes she'd come, most times she wouldn't, and never when

I

used the device on her. She needed to be in control to have any type of success with it. I didn't mind that. In fact, I like watching her pleasure herself, but it still wasn't working like we hoped. Her climaxing was very sporadic and not nearly as intense as they once were, which continued to add to the frustration, particularly hers.

After all that, sex for us was becoming as infrequent a prospect as going to the dentist, and becoming as much fun—and about as expensive as well, given all the crap I bought. That was until about a year and a half ago.

Yes, there is a happy ending to this story, or, at least, a happy continuation—for nothing has ended yet.

Temporary salvation presented itself when I was viewing some less-than-savory U-Tube videos. Yes, I know, don't judge—and yes, I know, I spelled it wrong for copyright reasons. In one of them, a woman was using, what I considered, an unconventional masturbatory device. I'd seen them used before, but because of their unorthodox shape—they can't be inserted, which I viewed as a negative—I didn't give them a second thought during my first pass through the marital aids. Now, however, seeing the woman using the device in the video, and the loud results, I knew instinctively that if this didn't get my S_______ off, nothing would.

The one I purchased is called

The Wand,

but I'm sure it's called by other names—things like 'Oh my God, I'm going to squirt!' or 'I know you're just an inanimate object, but will you marry me?' or my personal favorite, 'Sweet mystery of life at last I've found you!'

The Wand

is just that, a fairly long, thin stick with variable speed control, and having a very large, bulbous, rubberized knob that vibrates at the top. What is unique about the gadget is that it plugs into the wall. That's right, this wasn't some wimpy, nine volt, battery operated party favor, this contraption was a 120 volt, unadulterated, no-nonsense, orgasm-inducing, cream machine. The only thing that would make it better, was if it had

Black and Decker

stamped on the side, was gas operated, and came with a primer and pull cord.

The day it was delivered to the house, I prepared something special for S_______, and made reservations at our favorite restaurant. It was a wonderfully romantic dinner. We took our time, lingering over dessert. No rush, no fuss, and besides, I made sure she had at least two Italian Margaritas—her favorite. I wanted her mind at ease, with no hint of self-conscious anxiety rearing its ugly head in the bedroom.

Liquor is, indeed, quicker...

Once we got back to the bedroom, I gave S_______ a nice, long, baby oil back massage, from neck to toes, paying particular attention to her feet and calves. They were giving her real problems of late due to the neuropathy. I also made sure to entice her now and again with a playful finger or tongue slipped into her more sensitive spots—although not as sensitive as they used to be. What with the Margaritas and my massage, she almost fell asleep—at least my tongue kept her somewhat awake.

The moment had arrived. Figuring dear heart was relaxed enough it was time to try out the device. Flipping her over onto her back, I spent a bit more time tonguing her pussy before applying more baby oil to her vulva.

When I first turned on

The Wand,

the head vibrated so violently that I thought it would be too intense of a sensation even for a desensitized pussy. As such, I just placed it on her mons, just above the start of her vulva. Right away, she begins moaning, and loudly. I'm ecstatic; this is working better than I conceivably hoped.

Oh, she was squirming and moaning and laughing and even crying for joy. She hadn't felt like this in over a year or more, and I hadn't felt this confident and in control for even longer.

I wanted to push her to climax slowly. Too often in the past when I felt her arousal climb, I applied too much stimulation too quickly, desensitizing her to where she lost the feeling—and setting that alarm clock off, of course. So instead of shifting the device directly to her vulva, I pressed the vibrating, bulbous end of the device firmly into her mons with the palm of my hand, while placing a vibrating finger of that same hand just at the base of her clitoris. Thinking this would ramp her up a little further without inadvertently over-stimulating her to the point of numbness.

I was wrong—Oh God, thank you, I was so wrong!

She started coming immediately. I say started, because the damn thing seemed to go on and on, not accompanied with the violent body shakes and spasms like before, but certainly with the full-throated—her mind locked in a sexual frenzy—shrieking of a continual, deep-penetrating orgasm. When she finally quieted down, she lay clutching her knees to her chest, panting heavily.

"Put it in, quick," S_______ squeaked out between deep breaths.

That was about as verbally vulgar and 'dirty' as she ever got during lovemaking—always such a shy, proper girl, even when she demanded I fuck her brains out.

I just slipped into her slowly and gently, almost teasingly—again, wanting all this to last—when the most extraordinary thing happened.

S_______ blurted out, "I'm coming again! Harder!"

I think she said that a couple more times that night. Sweet mystery of life...her words still ring in my ears, as do many others that have been uttered, subsequent. It's been over a year since that night, and our lovemaking sessions have all been as good, if not better than that first time.

I'm not sure who the inventors or designers of

The Wand

are, but if given the chance, I will personally kiss their ass from one end of the country to the other in thanks.

I may be nearing the end of this essay, but our story is not over. Certainly there are no happy endings for us just yet, only continuations—good and bad.

Unfortunately, the neuropathy continues to afflict S_______, and we have noticed a renewed desensitization of her vulva. The progress is slow toward total numbness, but I believe, inexorable. I could be wrong. I hope I am, but I'm a realist. The trends in her neuropathy are sloping toward full numbness of her honey pot, although I think that it's still a ways down the road. In the meantime,

The Wand

still provides good stimulation. And if by chance or providence it doesn't do the job anymore or do it as effectively, maybe by then some enterprising company will have finally come out with that gas-powered vibe—one attached to a four barrel, four-forty—and if not, I guess I'll have to build one myself.

I hope I could be of some help to some of you. I imagine that the problem and temporary solution I've described could be used with anyone suffering from a nerve degenerative disease other than that caused by type I diabetes. The main thing to remember is to have patients. Your partner, who may be suffering with this condition, doesn't want it any more than you, and is probably equally as frustrated. Continue to find solutions and to try different things. I believe if you continue to try, you will find something that works, and when you do, keep with it and have fun.

Best regards,

a.m. dresbach