Ode to the Elusive, So Called G-Spot

The G-spot ‘doesn’t appear to exist’, say researchers
The King’s College London team believe the G-spot may be a figment of women’s imagination, encouraged by magazines and sex therapists.BBC The Gspot :

Is The G-Spot a fragment of your Imagination?

A Little History of the Wonderful G Spot: (see my comments below)

In the 1950’s German born Jewish gynecologist and scientist named Ernst Gräfenberg became well known for his studies of the role of the woman’s urethra in orgasm.

During the First World War, he was a medical officer, and continued publishing papers, mostly on human female physiology. In 1929 he published his studies of the “Gräfenberg ring”, the first IUD for which there are usage records. When Nazism assumed power in Germany, Gräfenberg, was forced in 1933 to resign as head of the department of gynaecology and obstetrics in the Berlin-Britz municipal hospital. In 1934, Hans Lehfeldt attempted to persuade him to leave Nazi Germany; he refused, believing that since his practice included wives of high Nazi officials, he would be safe. He was wrong, and was arrested in 1937 for having smuggled out a valuable stamp from Germany. Margaret Sanger ransomed him from Nazi prison, and he was finally allowed to leave in 1940, whereupon he went to the U.S. and opened a practice in New York City.

He became famous for his studies of woman’s genitalia, and human female sexual physiology; published studies include the seminal The Role of Urethra in Female Orgasm in 1950, describing female ejaculation, and an erogenous zone where the urethra is closest to the vaginal wall. In 1981 sexologists John D. Perry and Beverly Whipple named that area the Gräfenberg spot, or G-spot in his honor.

While the medical community has not embraced the whole concept of the “G-Spot”, Dr. Sanger, Dr. Kinsey, and Drs. Masters and Johnson credit his extensive physiological work. (thanks to Wikipedia)

Amara’s Comments

The Secret Fire Trigger

While it’s true Ernst was a pioneer, and some might consider him a hero who brought the insides of women’s vagina into the light of day, the G—Spot is not a new invention. Ancient Chinese Taoists refer to this area as the ‘Lute Strings’ and the Shamanic teachings of Quodoushka calls this region on the upper wall of a woman’s inner cave the ‘Secret Fire Trigger.’

While I think Ernst must have been a great guy, and I love what he dedicated his life to, I personally prefer the more poetic names. If I have to name that confounding place scientists are still pondering (and I say-let them ponder away!), I like the sound of having ‘Lute Strings’ inside me. For one thing, rather than fumbling around looking for a spot, this lovely name might encourage my lover to play gently inside me hoping to make a little music. For another, the name ‘Secret Fire Trigger’ is a lot closer to the idea of what’s inside than a ‘G—Spot’. It’s a whole ganglion of interconnected nerves and vessels—think of the beautiful illuminated branches in Avatar spreading out into a vast network of intelligent feelers. Now that’s what it feels like inside.

While scientists are still trying to figure out what on earth exists in there, (oh, and their marvelous instruments must have such a hard time pinning down what women have been moaning about for centuries,) I say let the mystery continue!

Anyone brave enough to pull my ‘Secret Fire Trigger’ will not be wondering if they have found the Gspot once I have exploded and poured in ecstasy all over the place. We love thinking we have something wonderful, special and fantastic inside, and we do!

Whether it’s somehow connected to the urethra, or called the Female Prostrate Gland (can we have a better name, please) what matters is that we are still looking, still feeling around, and still having lovely orgasms. (and they’re all good).

But really, thank you Ernst. I hope that your clinical studies were not too clinical, and that while you were alive, you smiled at our folly to name the unameable, know the unknowable or ever even slightly corner the market on women’s pleasure.  On the other hand, even if people don’t know where the name G Spot came from, I think it’s a pretty good way to be remembered. There have probably been more than a few screams of orgiastic delight made by women who were glad somebody was looking for something. So viva the Gräfenberg spot!

Reverse Flirting; The Unlikely Tale of an ‘Older’ Woman

The other day I went to Bed and Bath looking for a spa pillow (which they didn’t have) so a sales lady kindly sent me to Walgreen’s to get an Orthopedic pillow. I admit, I was in a spicy mood that day, wandering down the aisle, when a twenty-five year old looking clerk asked if he could help me.

“I am looking for a pillow you can put in water.”

“Does it need to have a hole in it?” he asked politely enough.

“No,” I said laughing, “I just need something so I can sit comfy in my new spa.”

He was in clerk mode, no one else was in the aisle and it looked like he already had me undressed, sitting next to him with the jets going off in his mind. He proceeded to flirt earnestly.

“Well, you look pretty healthy,” he said in a twenty-five year old kind of way, overtly happy to help me with my mission.

“Yes,” I said, “I’ve never bought anything Orthopedic in my life, but I guess now is as good a time as any.”

“You look really young,” he said, trying to figure out how to prolong the conversation and give himself time to think.

“Thanks, I am feeling quite healthy today,” I said, adding an extra glow while allowing an infinitesimally small smile to curl my lips…

Now, this is when something came over me and I thought ‘Shall I continue this lovely flirt, maybe get his number, or shall I blow his mind a little just for fun?’

I chose the latter. True, it was like having a bitty rabbit in a big Tiger’s cave, so I said, while looking straight into his eyes, “Actually, I am seventy and I do feel exceptionally good.”

Here’s a hint: never say you are twenty years older than you are if you want something to go someplace. Jeez! It was like someone announced there was a terrorist in the room. The guy went dumb, his eyes glazed over and nothing made sense. I could feel the juice leaving his lower extremities. I suddenly knew what it felt like to be a non–entity. He turned abruptly and walked away, most likely wishing he could hide. I honestly think he felt embarrassed flirting with a seventy-year old woman. Fifty, maybe, seventy? No way!

It was enlightening. Sex is indeed in the mind.

Good lord, am I gonna have some fun when I turn seventy. So stay tuned… and watch out!

In Beauty,
Amara

Nymphomaniacs Convention

A man boarded an airplane and took his seat. As he settled in he glanced up and saw the most beautiful woman boarding the plane. He soon realized that she was heading straight towards his seat. As fate would have it, she took the seat right beside his.

Eager to strike up a conversation, he blurted out, “Business trip or pleasure?”

She turned, smiled and said., “Business, I’m going to the Annual Nymphomaniacs of America Convention in Chicago.”

He swallowed hard. Here was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen sitting next to him and she was going to a meeting for nymphomaniacs!

Struggling to maintain his composure, he calmly asked, “What’s your business role at the convention?”

“I am the lead lecturer,” she responded. “I take what I have learned from my own personal experiences to debunk some of the popular myths about sexuality.”

“Really,” he said, “and what kinds of myths are there?”

“Well,” she explained, “one popular myth is that African-American men are the most well-endowed of all men, when in fact it is the Native American Indian who is most likely to possess that trait. Another popular myth is that Frenchmen are the best lovers, when actually it is the men of Jewish descent that are the best. I have also discovered that the lover with the absolute best stamina is the Southern Redneck.”

Suddenly the woman became a little uncomfortable and blushed.

“I’m sorry” she said, “I shouldn’t really be discussing all this with you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Tonto!” the man said, “Tonto Goldstein, but my friends call me Bubba.”

Why men don’t write advice columns…

Dear Ted,

I hope you can help me here. The other day I set off for work leaving my husband in the house watching the TV as usual. I hadn’t gone more than a mile down the road when my engine conked out and the car shuddered to a halt. I walked back home to get my husband’s help. When I got home I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was in the bedroom with a neighbor lady making mad passionate love to her.

I am 32, my husband is 34 and we have been married for twelve years.

When I confronted him, he tried to make out that he went into the back yard and heard a lady scream, had come to her rescue but found her unconscious. He’d carried the woman back to our house, laid her in bed, and began CPR. When she awoke she immediately began thanking him and kissing him and he was attempting to break free when I came back.

But when I asked him why neither of them had any clothes on, he broke down and admitted that he’d been having an affair for the past six months. I told him to stop or I would leave him. He was let go from his job six months ago and he says he has been feeling increasingly depressed and worthless. I love him very much, but ever since I gave him the ultimatum he has become increasingly distant. I don’t feel I can get through to him anymore.

Can you please help?

Sincerely,
Susie Fox

Dear Susie,
A car stalling after being driven a short distance can be caused by a variety of faults. Start by checking that there is no debris in the fuel line. If it is clear, check the clips holding the vacuum lines onto the inlet manifold for air leaks. If none of these approaches solves the problem, it could be that the fuel pump itself is faulty, causing low delivery pressure to the carburetor float chamber .

I hope this helps.
Ted

Woman Collapses in Supermarket Aisle, Fainting with Pleasure!

“A woman collapsed in a supermarket when her vibrating panties made her faint with pleasure. The kinky 33-year-old house-wife was wearing a pair of battery-operated Passion Pants, bought from a sex shop, while she did her shopping,” according to the British tabloid The Sun.

But she got so stimulated by the 6cm vibrating bullet in the panties she lost consciousness. She fell and hit her head in the crowded supermarket in Swansen, Wales. When paramedics arrived, they found her black imitation leather knickers still buzzing. They took them off before an ambulance took her to the hospital.

The woman, whose identity has been kept private, suffered no long-lasting ill effects. And as she left the hospital, a paramedic gave her back the Passion Pants in a plastic bag.