As an Olympic fencer, you might say I'm pretty handy with a sword. And, although I spent more than a decade outwitting opponents in competition, I became my own worst enemy as soon as I entered the bedroom. During my teen years, I didn't know what to call it. It was just a big black hole of anxiety that opened up each time I lay naked with another person. But in my twenties, I finally found the words to describe my unspeakable problem: <a href="https://www.womenshealthmag.com/sex-and-love/a19...
From our very first call, CJ Major* took me by surprise. His voice is thin, almost reedy. And the way he rattles on about his peniswith enthusiasm and precisionreminds me of my junior-year science teacher explaining the minutiae of the physical world.
From our very first call, CJ Major* took me by surprise. His voice is thin, almost reedy. And the way he rattles on about his peniswith enthusiasm and precisionreminds me of my junior-year science teacher explaining the minutiae of the physical world.
The bulge in my pants I expected was nowhere to be found. Kayla, my first high school girlfriend, gazed back at me and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. Detecting a hint of confusion in her eyes, I ground my pelvis down hard against her. My bedsprings squeaked. I squirmed. But nothing happened.
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