Archive for the ‘Nina’ Category

Mistaken Assumptions & Muslim Swingers

We have a friend, well not so much friend but acquaintance. She used to the civilian clerical assistant at a medical centre Nina’s midwives used. She is a Dutch muslim lady, married with two almost teen children. She and her hubby were not what I would call devote in their religion but still followed it. She always wore a loose headscarf but would remove it amongst women. Her hubby did not have a full beard but just some sort beard arrangement. This said they always took an opportunity to espouse the value and piety of islam. To be honest while I found her pleasant enough her hubby I was always uneasy near, so was my guide dog Sissi, she would always nudge me away from him like some little tug boat attending to it’s liner (not saying I am built like a ship !)

A few years ago after her hubby had come to pick his wife up from work he learnt Nina and I were married. Later at a St Nicholaas event he approached Nina and asked if she and I would be interested in joining him and his wife for “a night” ! Nina, eyebrows raised signed to me what he had just asked and I fully expect her to do her usual upon getting such a request. On this occasion she was very restrained and declined, more or less politely and he escaped without his gonads being crushed. When Nina asked what on earth possessed him to even think it was appropriate to ask such a thing his response that as we were lesbians we were promiscuous and would welcome such a request from such a, and here I quote him “fine couple like us” !

Interesting that to him “lesbian” = promiscuous.

I grabbed Nina’s hand and we walked away but I know that later Nina told the lady that if her hubby ever showed his face in the base clinic again she would have the MPs arrest him.

Yesterday in town we ran into her in a store and during the usual pleasantries she said to us that she and her hubby would still be interested in us joining them. Now while I missed exactly how it had been said because I was not face on to the lady and so could not clearly read her lips I could see Nina flex her back in that way she does just before she belts someone so I quickly intervened and asked how it was that she squared casual sexual encounters with other married couples to her religious beliefs.

Her answer surprised me, a lot.

“You are not muslim so you do not count” unquote.


Now I am not saying that HER interpretation of islam is one that is mainstream, certainly not, but it is reflective of a degree of exceptionalism that I have noticed before amongst jews and Christians as well. It strikes me that when it comes to getting one’s end away ALL followers of religions will find justifications – just ask the Duggers !

Before I sign off I will answer the question I know is in your minds………………………. NO

(we have standards you know !).

The Gift Of Life: Two Years On

On this date two years ago Nina was heavily pregnant with Joost. This new addition to our family had been expected to be born around the middle of December but he was clearly finding his accommodations inside Nina to be very comfortable and so was in no hurry to leave. By Christmas Eve he was nine days over due but as all was well so there was no concern, besides people worry far too much about “due dates”, this modern obsessiveness about dates has been brought about by over medicalisation of birth in paternalistic societies. Our first pregnancy had over run as well, with Mariaske arriving 21 days late. Nina was still charging about, helping with our holiday guests, seeing to our other three children and generally making every other women sick with just how easy she made pregnancy look ! We were all wondering if Christmas Day would be the day, but happily that particular cliche’ passed without incident.

Mama Nina met Joost

Mama Nina met Joost

As we got closer to the day the longing inside me to see my child seemed to become almost physical, a sort of morning sickness of the barren and unfulfilled. At that time every mother and child I saw was a simultaneous moment of exultation and despair. I don’t know why it is that we women feel such a deep need to create life from within inside ourselves, why we yearn for a time when our own flesh will bring us comfort, but I did feel it, most exquisitely. That’s an experience that most women, women with their own children , miss out on in life, the intensively female grief which accompanies the fear that through our baroness those little lives will never exist.

When Nina had been pregnant with Mariaske she had breezed along though it and I had been carried along in her wake without a worry in the world, but with Joost Throughout her pregnancy with Joost I could not stop watching Nina. I was much more tense, always feeling like I was holding my breath with thoughts of what could go wrong always in my mind. I was terrified that we was putting Nina at risk and for what, we had three lovely children already, my genes were nothing special ! However, I was scarred for this slim chance that I might, against all the odds, actually one day hold a child of my own.

Once a week on Friday nights our other children would have Mama ( “Nina is Mama, I am Moeder -Mother) stand in bra and panties against the measuring wall in their bedroom and carefully draw around her baby bump to mark the progress of our pregnancy. Outwardly I would be smiling and happy but inside I would be relieved that another week had safely passed for Nina and baby, my happiness coming from that.


It is strange how all this had come about. The reason Nina was having Joost because of of silly incident that resulted in me having a second intra-cranial bleed. This bleed had wrecked havoc on my visual cortex causing me many visual problems. It was while I was in hospital recovering from surgery for this that a blood test revealed that I might still have a functioning ovary. An ultra-sound scan confirmed that not only was one ovary still present healthy and functioning, but that eggs were present. No doubt they had been sustained over the last ten years by my cousin Tyjardia’s wonderful efforts with bio-identical hormones to keep me from dropping into early menopause following the loss of my uterus when I was twenty years old. On learning the scan results Nina had instantly demanded that those eggs be harvested and stored, she wanted them and as soon as humanly possible – who was I to object ! Five months later, and two rounds of IVF, a kind donation from our very good friend Nik and the eggs raided from my very own larder and she was pregnant with a child of mine. Ever since loosing my womb I had never dreamed that I might still see, hold and nurse a real child of my own, but now here I was holding my breath, drowning in the enormity of what she was doing for me.


During the day on News Years Eve we had gone out for lunch with friends at a restaurant on the Vrijhof. Normally at this restaurant Nina would order their baked fish but on this day she just settled for a light salad. I looked at her and she just smiled back and I knew, and she knew I knew, and for just a little while we shared that little time, a private little secret that her labor was just firing off its first little warm up shots as we sat in that lovely companionship with friends and family. We had hoped to get back home without any fuss from everyone else, but then someone observed that Nina was not eating much. Our excessively bright and sharp daughter Hilke stated that “Mama is not eating because baby is coming”. I was never sure if everyone stopped because of the content of her news, because of the calm way she had delivered the statement, or because of the looks on Nina and my face that she had known all along ! Then the dam burst and the questions flooded in as we tried to re-assure everyone that it was just the barest of first contractions and that our newest child was not about to be born there between desert and coffee !


As it turned out it was some twelve hours later after an uneventful labor that Joost finally slipped from Nina’s body. Joost arrived after surprisingly little effort and into my waiting hands in our bedroom, watched by our three children, our midwife Anna, two dogs and a cat. As a throughly satisfied Nina sat back I placed Joost onto her chest and as I did I could feel myself unwind a little inside. As my son lay there and rooted about for a nipple another part of me unwound, he was fine and showing normal behaviour. There was just the after birth to be delivered and we were safely there. As is our custom here everyone in the bedroom stayed quiet and just left birth mother and new baby to get acquainted until her body was ready to birth the placenta. I do not think I had ever been so unaware of my surroundings as I was then, my entire consciousness was there with them on my love’s breasts, over her thumping heart, and my son. I drank in every detail of him, desperate to know him, to imprint on me.


A little later while Nina and Anna attended to the afterbirth I held Joost for the first time. With my blouse off I held Joost to my naked skin so that he would get to know me as well. I have grown up holding babies, my mother was a doula for 40 years so I have handled babies for longer than I can remember. All our children are precious to me, adopted, birthed alike but right there and then I was holding this beautiful little soul whoes loss I had already grieved over some ten years before when told my womb was gone – I wanted to yell for joy for what I thought I had lost but now was here in my arms, and I wanted cry with relief that Nina and Joost were safe and well – caught between these two mountains of emotion I did the only thing I could do. I sat on the floor and asked his brother and two sisters the come and say hello.

Much later, alone and out of ear shot I wept and wept until purged and when I was done I went to our son’s cot, scooped him up and put him to my breast. While he suckled I put my face to his head and drank him in, trying to fix this new reality deeply in my mind.

So here I sit on one of the couches in our living room typing this. On the opposite couch my better half is asleep on her side with Joost tucked up ever so tightly against her and her arms enfolding him. Together like that the painting “Mother & Child II” by Gustav Klimt came into my mind. I want to reach over and catch that little run of dribble from the corner of Joost’s mouth and lightly push the hairs of Nina’s fringe that had fallen across her closed eyes, but I restrain myself


In a moment I am going to save this file, put the laptop down, slip over to the other couch, put my face to my son’s hair and drink in his lovely smell once again.

With all my grateful thanks to my Wife for this most wonderful of gifts.

Judith van der Roos.



My Garden, Sensuality & Sex

Part I

It has been a long hot summer’s day, but now with sun set and the evening starting to cool it I  meandered through the summer paradise that is our modest walled garden in the heart of old Maastricht.



Botticelli's Primavera

Botticelli's Primavera

As I walked through my nigh time paradise my mind drifted to thoughts of that beautiful painting by Botticelli of spring called Primavera. In it Venus, precious and beautiful, is standing in the centre of the picture, set slightly back from the other figures. The figures of the Charites, also called Three Graces, are elegantly dancing a rondel. The garden of Venus, goddess of love, is guarded on the left by Mercury. It is a beautiful, wonderful, lovely painting full of symbolism and telling a story, as all pictures of that period did.

The painting contains images of nearly two hundred plant species. One, the myrtle plant that surrounds her is a plant that represents sexual desire, marriage, and child bearing. From the right, Zephyrus, the god of the winds, is forcefully pushing his way in, in pursuit of the nearly naked nymph Chloris clad only in a diaphanous gown. Chloris gave her name to chlorophyll, the substance that gives all plants their green colour. Next to her walks Flora, the goddess of spring, who is scattering flowers. Flora tells how she was once the nymph Chloris herself, and breathes out flowers as she does so. Aroused to a terrible fiery passion by her beauty, Zephyr, the god of the wind, follows Chloris and forcefully takes her as his wife, raping her. Regretting his violence, he transforms her into Flora. He makes his gift of contrition to her a beautiful garden in which eternal spring reigns. The painting actually depicts the two separate moments in the narrative, the erotic pursuit of Chloris by Zephyr and her subsequent transformation into Flora. She is beautiful with a rich flower garland on her head and delicate spring blooms erupting from her dress, arms full of flowers. Chloris/Flora, nymph, lover, mother, giver of life, force of nature. It is a painting that resonates with me on a number of levels.

One summer evening when I was in my very early teens I was in my grandmother’s sprawling garden. As we wondered arm in arm down her rose tunnel her lovely, lyrical, aging voice spoke a verse I had never heard before…

“Spring-time and Venus come, And Venus’ boy, the winged harbinger, steps on before, And hard on Zephyr’s foot-prints Mother Flora, Sprinkling the ways before them, filleth all, With colours and with odours excellent.”

She smiled as she told me that some of her best times with lovers had been in gardens. My Oma was famous for the long string of male and female lovers she had had in her life. Walking with her amidst stories of her lovers I found I was seduced by her garden, it was the first time I was aware that a garden could seduce you, but it was not the last. Ever since that lovely evening, I have been a prolific lover of gardens. In my time I have flitted from one garden to the next enjoying every brief liaison, and in some I have even indulged my own passions and lusts and given myself over freely to the botanical and the human delights with equal abandon.

Part II

This night I was wondering through my garden as I often do on summer nights, naked. I had shrugged my nightshirt off my shoulders as I left the hardness of wooden deck and stepped onto the cool grass. As my feet touched down on the soft, cool carpet of grass the first caress of the garden came and touched my feet, tickling little teases of grass between my toes, cool and soothing. The air of the night wrapped itself about my naked body pushing away the fog of the warm indoors and breathing freshness over every part of me with a caress as sensuous as any lovers kiss. Away from the house lights I was now blind, my sight no longer functions in low light, but it did not matter, I know my garden so well I do not need my now failing eye sight. I fancied I could almost navigate by smell alone. Turning left I could smell is the clematis along the Roman wall, turn right the first burst of Honeysuckle by the first border. I turn right to walk alongside the big stone and flint wall and my guide dog Sissi walks past me brushing my leg just enough to tell me that she is there watching over me like my own Zephyr, then she wanders off to take her own pleasure in the garden’s scents. Imagine if I had a dogs nose, how wondrous my garden would seem then. I could smell every tiny little bud, every mote of soil. I wondered if she could smell ladybirds, do caterpillars have a smell ? Does she see the smells of my garden as a haze of intermixing colours in the air?

 When you work your garden every day you can walk it by memory alone, I marvelled at how well I could move about despite not being able to see. Under foot I could tell where I was on the grass paths by the feel under my feet, by reaching out I could place my location by the feel of the plants that came into my hands. The Foxgloves filled my hands with their tall bell like structures so I had to be alongside the wall. I gently felt the separate little fox bells in my fingers and feel their delicate little structure as carefully as though I had my fingers in other intimate places.

Then I turned towards the long wildflower grass and stepped lightly into the patch and enjoyed the caressing of thigh high grasses and wild flowers. As I pushed through the light sea of grasses the lush smell of them washed about me, while all over my thighs delicate thin fingers tested and teased their way up. I bent forward and pushed my hands down into the gently rolling surf of grass and meadow flowers, the little strands and stalks between my fingers, crisp tight heads of grasses popping past me. The swaying heads played against my breasts, naughty little fingers reaching up to tickle and tease until I felt the familiar warmth of milk starting to let down. It felt like grass and meadow flowers were growing out of my legs, as though I was becoming Flora, how wonderful would that be, to breath out sapphire cornflower heads and golden Marigolds, sowing my garden afresh with each exhalation !

Then Sissi has circled back to me and pushed her muzzle into my right hand, the message for me to look about and pay attention. I looked and coming towards me silhouetted against the light from the house was a very familiar shape indeed. My very own Chloris clad in a diaphanous gown of fine white linen. In my mind I could make out the roll of her hips, that gentle swaying saunter she has that exudes sensuous sexuality. Wading through the floral surf she reached out and put her hands onto my hips and pulled us together. I smiled to myself as I realised her scent was Flowers a vivid mix of Jasmine, sweet pea and rose. I reached under the edge of her nightshirt and traced her nakedness underneath with my fingers, from the smoothness of her thighs, across the curves of her waist and across the flatness of her belly. Exactly a year before that wonderful belly had been great with child but now it was back to its normal gentle curvature while from womb to home our baby now slept soundly in the house. I un-did the buttons on her shirt and pushed it off her shoulders. As it dropped to form a white pool amid the darkness of the grass about her feet I stepped back . Chloris was naked before me. She took my arm and we walked the night time paths of our garden past Amethyst, Summer Sorbet, Wisteria and Akebia.

Author: Judith van der Roos.





Tampons+Daughter+Supermarket = Embarrassment !

I had been reading a blog over at about an embarrassing moment with her children brought to mind one of my own a while back, so here again is the story;

My oldest daughter, Hilke, is well known for being something of an embarrassment at times, as all children can be of course, but Hilke really does have this knack for dropping her mothers in it.

With my wife Judith still not able to see very much after surgery and me having a day off I had gone to collect our kids from school. Judith had asked me to collect a few items from the supermaarkt so I took the kids with me for a little bit of a treat. I should explain that we do not often go to the supermaarkt because most of our fresh produce either comes from my in-laws farm or from the local organic farm here. With Judith preparing our meals from scratch there is little need to visit the big stores so for our kids it is a bit of an adventure, especially the Albert Heijn just off the Vrijtofht which is not unlike a cave inside.

Albert Heijn supermaarktNo sooner had we got into the store and we ran into some of Hilke and Nicholaas’s school friends and their mothers. Put any women together in a store and we go into gossip mode and shopping is relegated to a poor second place while we catch up on news and the kids are left to run riot through the store. We mothers happened to be standing in the toiletries isle talking when Hilke and friends come returned from their exploring. The children start to give their critical attention to the shiny and colourful products on display and I kept a little of my attention on what they were saying between themselves while continuing my gossiping;

“My mother uses this, it’s very good” said one little girl with all the earnest intent of a telesales operator trying to sell you something.
“But your mum has some HUGE spots on her nose, it can’t be that good !” replied another who was clearly an early developer of her Bitchy Gland.

Pausing by the tampons and sanitary towels the girls started a deep debate on feminine hygiene products. Dutch schools start sex education at age seven so they knew about periods even though none were menstruating themselves yet. I think their interest had much more to do with the wide variety and very girlie styling of the packaging rather than any interest in the contents but when one girl discovered a familiar brand she grabbed it and stated very clearly;

“This is the one my mum uses, only she buys a big super box of them!”
“Does it have wings?” asked Adrie trying to show some knowledge of the subject.
“No, it’s a tampon, it has a string not wings” replied Mahaultt.
“You tie it to your underwear with the string then?” Marysa, clearly unaware that it is worn internally.

Just when I feared that this could soon turn into a bit of a car wreck unless one of us mothers intervened my daughter jumped into the fray, from past experience of her contributions my heart rate immediately doubled;
“It’s a tampon, that means you stick it up inside you” she said with all the authority of a girl who is academically at the top of her class.
“OOooooohhhh!” was one’s response, “EWWWWWWWWW!”was another’s.

I am not, I should point out, a religious person, but with the intervention of Hilke I started to pray. I prayed like the life of my first born depended upon it. Those of you who have met Hilke, or who know of her will understand why only to well. She continued;
“You put them in your vagina to stop it up”.

By now the girls were starting to draw a small audience and I knew this was not going to end well, I could just feel it and but like a rabbit stuck between headlights I froze. Hilke was now clearly the leading authority on feminine hygiene products in this group and all attention swung around to her.

“So why do tampons have strings?” asked Marysa.
“So you can pull them out of your vagina when you go to the wc, all tampons have strings”  she stated.

One girl noticing one particular box of tampons and picking it up exclaimed “Hey these ones have skirts, why do these have skirts, is that in place of a string, because you can pull skirts down” said the little asian girl whose name I can never recall.

“Do your mothers use these Hilke?”

CRASH ! The wreck I had been dreading happened.
“No mama uses sponges” she proclaimed over the shop noise and looking toward me as I tried to shuffle to the nearest cover.

“SPONGES !” came the loud and collective response, and as one they started to examine the shelves for sanitary sponges. It took them a few minutes to realise they were not on the shelves so I started to relax a little. Then one girl held up a large bath sponge in her hand and triumphantly, and very loudly, proclaimed…….

“Your mama puts THIS in her vagina ?” I swear the entire store stopped dead, I could have heard a pin drop if the frantic beating of my fibrillating heart was not drowning out all sound in my ears. Even the gossiping mothers came to a complete stop.

Gasps of “Mmmmuuuhhhh!” showed they were clearly impressed, or horrified, or perhaps both.
I think Hilke, upon seeing the expression on my face, sensed that her allowance was seconds away from being stopped until she reached her late teens and so attempted to ease the situation by telling her friends.

“No, no, no, they are tiny little sponges” Hilke added, slightly helping matters, “Like cotton wool balls. She orders them specially, you cannot buy them in here, they are special”.

By now men in the store were giving me full lengths looks as they walked past, I could guess what they were imagining. The gossiping mothers edged towards me and some sort of unspoken agreement between seemed to nominate one of them their spokeswoman.

Sea Sponge Tampons

Sea Sponge Tampons & Yikes !

“Sponges?” asked Mevrouw Klaas. At least the store seemed to be returning to normal after the revelation that one of their customers appeared to spend her menstrual cycle with a bath sponge shoved up her vagina.

I explained that in fact natural sponges were the very first form of tampon ever used and that unlike the tampons and towels stocked in stores like those on the shelves they were natural, hypo-allergenic and do not cause toxic shock to their users. Having experienced an intra-vaginal allergic reaction to tampons as a teenager I knew better than most the dangers of manufactured sanitary protection. They also caused no pollution during their manufacture, and contained no dioxins (the most deadly poison known to life on this planet and routinely used in the manufacture of tampons and sanitary towels).

In the end the girls interest moved onto something else, as did everyone else. On the way home I tried to explain to Hilke that it had been a little embarrassing for me but in true Hilke form she counted by saying that it shouldn’t be, “Periods were quite natural mama!” Yeah thanks Hilke I think I know that much better than you do given your age!. I know we have always been very open and straight with our kids but it does come back to bite us at the oddest times.

Sea Sponge Tampons – Jamsponge (English)
Sea Sponge Tampons – Gladrags (US)
zeespons tampons –
zeespons tampons –

Author: Nina.




Viva La Bidet !



Bidets & The British

What is wrong with the Anglo-Saxon world, why is it so impossible for them to embrace the concept of the bidet. I like to have a clean “undercarriage” if you get my meaning. I like to be clean and the simple and not terribly expensive bidet is the key to this. Having the ability to manage your personal maintenance is never more important than when we ladies are menstruating or pregnant, and for me having the convenience of being able to wash thoroughly with simple, plain warm water is my idea of a little bit of heaven. I guess it is just my bad luck that my visits to English speaking countries have been when either menstruating or pregnant. I am sure this coincidence just compounds my irritation with their irrational puritanical prejudices against fitting bidets into their hotel and house bathrooms but come on, this is basic hygiene we are talking about, not invading an oil rich under developed nation, it should be simple!

Riot in the Streets

Why are English women (or American, Canadian, Australian women for that matter) not rising up and protesting this lack of feminine hygiene facilities ? I know for a fact that they also menstruate, they also have pregnancies and engage in other activities that result in the need for a bidet so why are they not out in the streets throwing stones at lines of riot police as they fight for the right to have a clean and fresh crotch ? (wouldn’t you just love to see the wording on their placards at those demonstrations?).

Industrial Chemicals Up the Whazoo !

I guess the English speaking world tries to mitigate their lack of bidets in bathrooms by telling us that there are any number of feminine hygiene products that can be used to freshen-up, but let us be clear about something; spraying industrial chemicals and heavy metals on your delicate vulva is NOT cleansing or refreshing no matter how prettily the canisters of these nasty substances have been decorated by the marketing companies to reflect “fresh, feminine and delicate”. Putting in a tiny, teeny fraction of “Natural Aloe Vera” or other such botanicals in no way changes the fact that that what you are contemplating plastering over your delicate folds is in some small way more akin to the toxic waste lakes of New Jersey than a part of the natural botanical eco-system of the Amazonian rain forest that the product packaging likes to hint at it being ! It is worth keeping in mind that where you are being encouraged to spray these things is an extremely efficient gateway to both the blood stream and the lymphatic system of your body. Short of getting a needle and tapping a vein or artery you could not do a better job of getting it inside you.

“Cleanliness is Next To Godliness –Unless It’s Your Vulva, Then DON’T TOUCH !”

I think the real reason for the lack of bidets is the meddling of the paternalistic Abrahamic religions. Their claim that “Cleanliness is Next To Godliness “ what they really mean to say is;

“Cleanliness is Next To Godliness –Unless It’s Your Vulva, Then DON’T TOUCH because touching your genitals might lead to lustful thoughts and only your legally married husband (and owner) has the right to raise thoughts of lust, you alone doing that might lead you to thinking that you can do that yourself and not have need of a man, and we cannot have that, oh-no, no, no, no!”

When you use a bidet you are very clearly going to have to touch yourself in order to wash (gasps of horror from the Christian seats in the back) and clearly no woman can be trusted to wash herself without raising lustful thoughts so best not have those beastly bidets at all. Problem solved.

Be Kind To Your Genitals

What our vulvas and vaginas do for us through the course of our lives is amazing, truly amazing, so be kind to them and treat yourself to the best – Fresh clean water from the faucet of a designed for the purpose bidet.

Postscript: Other uses for your bidet

Just in case you still cannot see the value in having a bidet, or you feel your significant other may need a bit more of a business case in order to include one in your next bathroom remodelling then here are some suggestions:

  1. Bidets are great for washing your feet in.
  1. Useful as a pre-soaker for small items of clothing, dirty sports socks for example.
  1. A bidet is just the right height for when your toddler decides that “dolly/teddy/the cat needs a wash”.
  1. Bidets are great for bathing cats and small dogs – I kid you not !
  2. Bidets make good temporary Goldfish bowls while you clean and change their normal home.
  3. Bidet beer cooler; when I was in officer school and we had a party in our dorm the bidets were employed as beer coolers !
  1. Bidets are not just for the ladies, men can use them as well, goodness knows many men could do with being more fastidious about cleanliness down there !

Author: Nina.