Dr. Estrogen (or) How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Menopause

by butterfly on November 16, 2011

setting fire to my smokin’ hot mojo

“I’m a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl.” 
~ Björk

I’m counting down to orgasmic ignition now that I’m on bio-identical estrogen cream and a testosterone cream to blast off my libido. Not that my libido needed anything. But like a pleasure glutton, I said “Sure, why not?” when my doctor asked me if I’d like some testosterone to boost my, um, libido. It’s like asking me if I’d like more chocolate cake, or another helping of garlic mashed potatoes.

All it requires (to get my groove back) is smearing on estrogen cream to my inner arms every morning: two dabs to the inner wrist, circling my wrists around and against each other, rubbing it in, imagining it absorbing into my bloodstream. I am visualizing my feminine body circa 1970′s model to be back to what it was before the symptoms started: as plentiful with estrogen as the plump lips of my thirteen year old self during puberty— glistening with strawberry lip gloss, ready to be kissed. The symptoms? Oh. Well, it began with night sweats and a sudden intolerance for red wine— Chianti to be more precise. It was my one pleasure, my one comfort, a glass or two of red wine. Instead of the usual soft and fuzzy feelings from a big goblet of vino, I got heart palpitations and insomnia. Wine tastings out the window, I was dismayed by this “Second Spring” as the Chinese call it so poetically. What about “Second Orgasm” or “Second Glass of Wine” or something?

I’m going crazy. I’m standing here solidly on my own two hands and going crazy. ~Tracy Lord (Katharine Hepburn), The Philadelphia Story (1940)

It can’t be happening. I’m too young. Aren’t I? But, maybe it was the birth control pills? I began them at age fourteen. I was happy to have sex and not get pregnant. I wanted to have sex with as many guys as I wanted back then. To be filled with their come and not worry about a thing. I didn’t worry. I was young and on the pill, so why worry about anything except remembering to take my pills? Had I known how it would affect my body later? Perhaps the years of taking the pill affected my hormone levels and who knows if it has anything to do with beginning menopause so early. But I feel like I’m not myself. It’s not me. It’s someone else. I feel like I am going crazy. I want my estrogen back. I hear it on the loudspeaker at the grocery store: “Ms. Butterfly, your estrogen is waiting for you at register 9, please come to the information desk.”  

And what about my groove? My mojo? My oh lala? Where did that go? Do you think Joseph Campbell knows where I can find it? Is it in my closet, or in the messy sock drawer? I just can’t find it anywhere. It must be with my pearl rabbit vibrator. I just know it.

“When smelled, an estrogen-like compound triggers blood flow to the hypothalamus in men’s brains but not women’s.” (Ivanka Savic of the Karolinska Institute, Stockholm)

So when I am low in estrogen and feeling less than my usual juicy self, my peri-menopausal mind is confused. I want sex, I want sex, and I-want-sex. But my body is off playing golf with the boys. She isn’t undulating with estrus anymore. She isn’t the Aphrodite she once was. No, in my case, I am wondering where the sexy vixen (a.k.a. my former body) went. Why did I feel like my body and my sexuality were two different and separate things? My mind was contemplating filing a ten-year restraining order against menopause. Do you think a G-Spot vibe would alleviate the symptoms? Hot flashes. Every other minute. During sex. I’m burning up, burning up for your love. Madonna, how did you know? I’m a woman in heat, that’s for sure.

It was supreme… the chicks will cream… for grease lightning… We’ll pound ‘em in the dashboard and duel muffler twins, oh yeah, with new pistons, plugs, and shocks I can get off my rocks, you know that I ain’t bragging, she’s a real pussy wagon, Greased Lightning. ~ Danny Zuko, Grease

Testosterone cream, when applied to the labia, has caused some pretty magical wonders. For one, I wasn’t sure where it came from, but I squirted during masturbation the other day. I hadn’t done that in about ten years. So I tried it out the next day. And it happened again. The G-Spot. Let me tell you folks, I just discovered that I had one. After all these years of looking for it. Female ejaculation is caused by pressure on the G-Spot that releases fluid. More specifically:

“All women have a functional prostate gland, about the size of their thumb, that surrounds their urethra. (Important Note: A medical article published in August 2011 indicates that while all women have “gland-like” structures surrounding their urethra, only 50% may have “a female prostate”. Read more) Just like the male prostate, it produces fluid, beginning at puberty. Within the prostate gland there can be an area of increased sensitivity, more commonly referred to as the G-Spot. The G-Spot is located somewhere along the length of the urethra. When the prostate gland is stimulated, many women experience female ejaculation, and a distinctive type of orgasm, a vaginal orgasm, one that is different from that experienced during clitoral stimulation alone. Some women cum, as in ejaculate, during sexual arousal, prior to orgasm, even without G-Spot stimulation. There is muscle tissue that surrounds the prostate gland that contracts during orgasm, potentially expelling its contents. There is some debate about the origin of all the fluid that is released during female ejaculation, as the prostate gland itself is relatively small, yet some women release up to two cups of liquid. Nevertheless, the liquid released during female ejaculation is not the same as urine. The best way to stimulate the G-Spot is through rhythmic massage with fingers, a penis, or dildo. It may take practice to locate and connect with the G-Spot, and to learn how to experience vaginal orgasms that are accompanied by female ejaculation. G-Spot and vaginal orgasms aren’t nearly as common as clitoral orgasms, some women always experience them, others never.” (

I have never been a woman of extreme female ejaculation capabilities, barring two exceptions. Once was way back in my early thirties, when I drenched the bed (during sex) with my amrita or nectar of the goddess. I was surprised that it all came from me. It was truly amazing to realize that I had ejaculated so much mysterious fluid. Second time was during masturbation, again, in my thirties. I was using two vibes and double penetrating myself (there is an art to this) when suddenly I was coming so intensely, feeling this warm and wet rush of wetness goosh out of me. My lips were swollen, my body was responsive, and I was wet in between my thighs all the way to my knees. It was, strange to say, similar to when my water broke before giving birth. Warm and rushing like amniotic fluid. Pleasant. Not really like peeing yourself, which would be embarrassing. Mainly, I’ve been a ‘clit girl’ with my orgasms beginning with the slippery pressure to my swollen clitoris, and amplified by penetration. Of course, I can orgasm without penetration, but the combination works well. Anal sex is an additional subwoofer to my orgasmic sound system. Did you know that the most powerful subwoofer (for cars) is called the Jackhammer? And here I thought my minivan disc player was antiquated. But, what is worse is me.

I’m functioning like a tape deck with a raveled tape, and what I need is an upgrade. What I need is a good tune-up, an oil change, and a new sound system; and I’m a fast pussycat all ready for speed. After estrogen, and a little dab of that testosterone cream, I’m slick, I’m greased lightning. Thank you for the hormone fix, doctor!

“Cultivate your curves – they may be dangerous but they won’t be avoided.”  ~ Mae West

With the onset of perimenopause, I started getting curvier. Yet a vegan diet and raw foods only made the matters worse. I ate kale and avocado salads, and I worked out two hours a day. Nothing budged. Curves were accentuated. Then. My orgasms weren’t as, well, they weren’t as… they weren’t as orgasmic. It was like eating your favorite dessert but only you have a cold and you can’t taste it as much. You know it’s good, but it’s just hard to taste. Sometimes they would be darn elusive, get so close, and then without warning…kapow! Thankfully, I’d have a good one. But still, it wasn’t the same. Now, I’m a hyper-sexual gal with a libido that matched an entire professional football team (said my ex-husband when we were married). What exactly does that have to do with estrogen?

Menopausal symptoms all conveniently occurred simultaneously with the hottest sex of my life. Fortunately, [the hot sex god that is] my lover is capable of making me have incredible orgasms and knows how to please me in many ways. Including kissing. I thought my orgasms were gone with the wind. Then I discovered passion, or it discovered me. However it happened, chemistry. Bang! Fireworks! Hot flashes! Wow-wow!

“I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.” ~ Mae West

The night sweats, the hot flashes, the insomnia, the feeling of discontent, edgy thoughts, bursts of aggression. Nearly hitting my ex-husband and telling him I’d like to sock him in the face, for instance. Fiery-tempered, hot-headed. I’m a stranger to myself. What was my problem? Other things were changing. And fast. No period for four months. Nothing. No blood. Wanting to come harder and get wetter, but instead I’m not so wet and my orgasms are really good but, occasionally, muffled like before. I worried. I didn’t think it could be anything but hormone fluctuations. Passion and desire certainly helped the situation, and for a good while, distracted me from the issue.

I come frequently, immediately sometimes. Multiple orgasms, yes, yes, yesOh, good, I sighed. My orgasms are back in full swing. Maybe that momentary pause was due to a dampening relationship. Was it emotional? Probably. Maybe it was the end of a relationship kind of mystery lull. A new lover has sparked my fire. Orgasms, ho! Yes, the best sex of my life and a real, honest-to-goodness lover that is a good listener with not only his ears, but his hands, his mouth, and his intuition. Amazing sex happens in between the ears. His brain circuitry makes my pussy wetter than any cream, um. Yes, pardon the pun. But he gives me neural and cerebral O’s.

And I was denying it, the onslaught of menopausal verklemption. What happened to my waist? My arms? Why did my six year old daughter tell me I reminded her of Mrs. Doubtfire while I was putting my bra and panties on in the morning? Exact quote: “Mommy, you remind me of Mrs. Doubtfire, but you’re prettier, and you’re a girl.” But I felt like Mrs. Doubtfire. I wasn’t happy about that. No, I’d rather be told I looked like Nigella Lawson with the sashay of Marilyn Monroe and the smoldering appeal of Ava Gardner. How about a dash of Rita Hayworth? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Being forty-one years old, I would have never suspected menopause would interfere with what is supposed to be my “prime” sexual peak. This myth of a woman’s sexual prime being between 35-50 years old isn’t that mythical, especially when I experienced a surge of libido after giving birth to my third child. I thought for sure it would last. I was a believer.

A man’s eroticism is a woman’s sexuality. ~ Karl Krauss

And yet, my sexuality has blossomed in the midst of menopause. I found my G-Spot. I have estrogen and testosterone and everything is groovy. I’ve reached a deeper level of pleasure with my lover. Deeper and wetter and yummier. I’m having amazing sex with someone that turns me on more than the largest electric generator facility in the world turns on over 36,000 incandescent lamps— I explode when he breathes on me, when his fingers ignite my clitoris and even when he nibbles on my neck, ear, lip— I am saturated, swollen, drenched with want. Thank you, Dr. Estrogen, for giving me my groove back. Or maybe I should thank the heavens that I finally found my G-Spot?

I won’t sweep my blossoming sexuality under the rug at forty-one years old. I just won’t. I’m just beginning to have soulful sex and understand my body in ways never before imagined. Like female ejaculation, finding the elusive G-Spot, and discovering that sometimes kissing is just as good as really good sex. Maybe menopause is a blessing, coming out to help me clean house and get ready for satisfying sex. Sorry Micky Jagger, sorry Austin Powers, but I’m getting all of your mojo in a cream and getting some real satisfaction.

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