Prioritising Pleasure: Vaginismus & centring comfort

By some people’s definition, I’ve never had sex. The cisheteropatriarchy – the misogynistic social structures that uphold the (incorrect) belief that everyone is cisgender and heterosexual – means that some define sex as solely penis-in-vagina (PIV) sex. 

I have vaginismus, which is the involuntary contraction of the pelvic floor muscles, making vaginal penetration painful or impossible. I’ve never been fingered by a partner or used a tampon, let alone had PIV sex. 

Dr Annabel Sowemimo, a community sexual and reproductive health doctor and author of Divided: Racism, Medicine and Why We Need to Decolonise Healthcare, tells me that possible vaginismus triggers include “previous trauma, negative experiences with [medical] examinations, having an episiotomy during childbirth, or gender dysphoria.” For me, it’s definitely the latter: I've always been terrified of my own body, and that fear and pain made much more sense when I realised I was trans. 

When I had sex with another person for the first time, I was expecting it to hurt. I still thought I was a cis woman and every message that I had been given about what sex 'should' look like had told me that my sexual debut would be painful. Six months of learning about my body through solo sex beforehand had only confirmed this. Whenever I attempted to finger myself, something I thought I was 'supposed' to do during masturbation, it hurt too much to carry on. Even with my smallest finger; even when I was super turned on; even with lots of lube. 

I went into my first partnered sex experience wanting my partner to penetrate my vagina despite the pain, because I thought the discomfort was normal. I feel lucky that I had a partner who didn’t force their fingers inside me when my face was screwed up in pain, even when I told them to keep going. I’m grateful that my sexual debut was with someone who listened to my body, even though I was prepared to ignore it. We all deserve partnered sex where we’re not pressured into doing things that hurt, where we’re not shamed for what our bodies can’t do.

But this isn’t everyone’s experience. There are multiple Reddit threads and forums where people with vaginismus ask whether they should do anal to "keep their boyfriends patient", to “make up” for not being able to have PIV sex. Dr Sowemino says when people are finding vaginal penetration painful following childbirth, partners sometimes pressure them into anal penetration. She thinks it’s logical that this might be happening to people with vaginismus too, even though it’s not something she’s come across in her practice. 

Of course, no one should have sex they don’t want to have just to please their partner. But as my own understanding of my body grew, I wondered whether anal sex would be any more pleasurable or comfortable than PIV sex. I figured that anal play might be psychologically hot but not physically enjoyable. 

The pelvic floor is a layer of muscles that go across the bottom of your pelvic bone. The urethra, the vagina, and the rectum pass through it, so it follows that vaginismus could also lead to discomfort during anal penetration. Dr Sowemino agrees: “Some of those pelvic floor muscles also contribute to the contraction of the anal sphincter, so if you’re getting that contraction during vaginal penetration, anal penetration may be more difficult as well.”

For someone who used to keep my underwear on during sex in case anything came close to my vagina, it’s not surprising that my vaginismus also affected anal penetration. However, anal isn’t necessarily painful for everyone with vaginismus. Jay*, who is 24 and trans-masculine non-binary, has explored anal play a bit – they find it a lot easier (and more fun) than vaginal penetration. For them, it’s not an alternative to PIV sex but something which they enjoy during solo sex. 

Meanwhile Phoenix, who is 42, hadn’t explored anal sex much before his medical transition. He thinks his vaginismus was rooted in gender dysphoria, and the NHS-prescribed dilators didn’t help him. “What worked was a combination of testosterone making everything wetter and reducing dysphoria,” he says. While he can now enjoy some vaginal penetration with partners, he still prefers anal. 

Eleven months on testosterone has changed my experiences too, albeit only of anal. Feeling more comfortable about my body and less dysphoric means I’m more relaxed during sex. I’ve discovered that not only is anal sex super gender-affirming for me, it also feels really good physically. 

Just like the idea that people with vaginismus need to simply “relax and have a glass of wine”, it's a myth that anal penetration cannot feel pleasurable for the person being penetrated. Anal sex might hurt because you’re not using enough lube, you haven’t warmed up enough and are going too fast, or because you have vaginismus. And if it hurts, you can stop. You don’t owe a partner any kind of penetration, especially not as compensation because they feel entitled to your body and to PIV sex. 

I can have anal sex with vaginismus, but you shouldn’t unless you want to. You should have sex that feels good, sex that doesn’t hurt (unless you’re into that); sex that you and your partner(s) want to have – whether you have vaginismus or not.

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*Name has been changed to protect identity