I am not a doctor. I'm a businesswoman, a wife — a woman who spent 38 years not knowing what an orgasm truly felt like, until one ordinary Wednesday night in October.
Everything here is real, pulled from my own journal entries. I'm not promising miracles. I'm telling you: if I could do it, you can too.
— Bella
Chapter One: Broken
After 38 years of being non-orgasmic, I sat with myself one day and had an honest conversation that I had been avoiding my entire adult life.
I thought to myself: Well, I've delayed this. I've prioritized everything else — my career, my business, my marriage — for the last 16 years. Now my husband and I have decided we want to have a baby. I know that when that baby comes into the world, he or she will become my entire world. Things will change. The dynamics between my husband and me will shift. And so I asked myself the most important question I had ever asked:
If not now, when?
I had tried everything. Over the years I experimented with all kinds of sex toys — the rabbit, the clitoral stimulator, the bullet. You name it, I tried it. I tried a plasma injection with stem cells directly into the clitoris — a procedure that cost around $900 and was, to put it plainly, agonizing. It increased my clitoris size slightly and made sex marginally more pleasurable, but still: no fireworks. No happy ending. No orgasm.
My husband always had the fireworks. He enjoyed sex deeply and fully. Meanwhile, I felt incomplete — like I was always arriving at a party but never quite getting inside.
Not being able to reach orgasm affected him in ways I hadn't fully understood at the time. He felt that he was failing me. Every time I didn't get there, a little piece of his confidence chipped away. Satisfying me was hugely important to him — and not being able to do so was, as he put it, crushing him.
We had always had an amazing relationship. We loved each other deeply, cared for each other, were each other's best friends. But we were missing that spark — that sexual fire that makes a couple feel truly alive together. While I enjoyed being with him most of the time, I often avoided intimacy. I would pretend to be asleep when I wasn't. I would say I was "too tired." From time to time we would have a serious fight about it, and he would remind me how much it affected him that he couldn't satisfy me.
I would feel guilty. I would promise to do better. And for a few days, I would try. But soon I'd slip back into the routine — masturbating alone maybe once a week, during our long Sunday sessions, never quite arriving where I needed to be.
I always thought I was broken. I thought maybe it was because of how small my clitoris was. Maybe it was the stress of the business we were building together. Maybe it was just the way I was made.
I was wrong about almost all of it. But it would take one brutal conversation — and a decision I almost didn't make — to find that out.