A Mystery Happens Every Time I Have Sex. Men Feel Really Bad When They Find Out.

How to Do It This is really holding me back. Photo illustration by Slate. Photo by AntonioGuillem/Getty Images Plus. Sign up for the Slatest to get the most insightful analysis, criticism, and advice out there, delivered to your inbox daily. How to Do It is Slate’s sex advice column. Have a question? Send it to Stoya and Rich here. It’s anonymous! Dear How to Do It, I have a friable cervix (cervical ectropion) and have bled from having sex since I started over a decade ago. I’ve tried everything: different dick sizes or a modest dildo, waiting a week to a month between, changing hormonal birth control types, condoms or without, loads of lube, nothing particularly wild (5 to 20 minutes of penetration), or piercings. My OB-GYN is not the most helpful in the sense that she is down there for maybe 12 seconds to take a swab (no STIs or cervical cancer) and out of the room a minute later, and she suggested that if I really care, I can have my cervix frozen (silver nitrate) to see if it toughens it up, with very long appointment wait times. I used to bleed maybe one of every five times I had sex, and now it’s most of the time despite waiting at least a week in between sessions. It’s like having a five-day period after sex without the cramping. Now I’m starting to get mad about it. I don’t want to cause serious damage by continuing through it, even if I found a partner chill with blood, or increase the chance of STIs by adding blood to sex. I’m also embarrassed about it because if I tell a guy I’m hooking up with why I can’t have more sex for a while (even though I want to), they feel really shitty for harming me. If I lie that I got my period, they are going to notice I get it way more often than usual if we’re dating long-term. Where do I go next so this stops holding me back? —A Cervical Problem Dear a Cervical Problem, Feeling anger or frustration is, unfortunately, a common aspect of seeking gynecological care. Commiserating with peers (we might find ourselves angrier at the system, but with our own experiences contextualized and often shared) and seeking tips from them can help with those feelings. Find an OB-GYN in your area who will take the time to explain the cauterization options to you, walk you through the range of possible outcomes for each, and answer all of your questions. Asking friends and acquaintances for a recommendation is the most effective way to find a doctor with what is usually called “good bedside manner.” You’ll want to specify that what you’re looking for is someone who will slow down and explain, in language you can understand, what they’re suggesting and who will take your concerns seriously. Hopefully, you’ll find yourself noticing that a large percentage of the people you ask are recommending the same doctor, and can then feel confident that you have the name of the best person for your purposes in the region. Once you’re in their office, communicate what you need in terms of interaction style as succinctly and directly as possible. Tracking instances of sexual activity, instances of bleeding, and duration (and amount, if possible) of bleeding will endear you to the appropriate kind of doctor. As for how to date, this friable cervix is, indeed, your albatross. Almost all of us have at least one, and they can function as useful sorting mechanisms. By waiting until you’ve already had sex with people, you’re both raising the emotional tenor of the conversation and depriving them of the opportunity for informed consent. Lying also removes the possibility of full consent. Discuss it before the hookup. When you tell a potential partner that you have a noncontagious issue where your cervix bleeds after sex, watch how they react. You will almost certainly encounter people who recuse themselves because blood squicks them out, because they have such strong personal mores against hurting women that those mores eclipse nuance and the woman’s own autonomy, or because they have an old emotional wound around something that is tangentially related to, though four degrees of separation away from, your issue. They’ll be letting you know that they’re not a good fit for you. If they ask you for further information, that’s a good sign, especially if they’re asking about your desires and what you need to navigate a sexual relationship. That question of navigation is where mitigation of STI risk comes into play. If you’ve found a gynecologist by that point who will address the relevant questions, they can help you zero in on exactly which combinations of safer sex practices are ideal for your situation. Otherwise, it’s up to you and your partner to consider what works for the two of you, whether it’s barrier use, frequent screenings, monogamy, or some combination. Lastly, as long as both people are open to sex beyond penetration, there are myriad ways to have orgasmic and emotionally intimate sex without anyone putting anything in anyone’s orifices, much less needing any phalluses inserted into your vagina. —Jessica More Advice From Slate For most of my life, I’ve identified as a lesbian and considered myself exclusively interested in women. Sure, sometimes I’d have a few quiet fantasies about sex with men, but it was fantasy-only, and I never found myself sexually attracted to actual flesh-and-blood human men. By contrast, my relationships with women were very satisfying emotionally and I have always found women deeply attractive. Sounds like your standard lesbianism, right? Well, here’s the catch. Never miss new Slate Advice columns Get the latest from Prudie and our columnists in your inbox each weekday, plus special bonus letters on Saturdays. Advice Sex