Many thanks to everyone who gave such useful and practical advice yesterday. On my third attempt, I managed to get the Mooncup in at what seemed like an acceptable and not too painful a siting, so I left it in there overnight, hoping that removal would be easier than insertion.
Big. Mistake.
During the night, it seemed to have shifted up a bit. Quite a bit. As in, so high I couldn't reach it, and was thanking my lucky stars I hadn't cut the stalk off. I then discovered I couldn't shift it. At all. Not from any angle. My fingers are quite short and fat, which didn't help. The problem is that even Mooncup + 1 finger is really quite unpleasant. Mooncup + 1 finger + 1 thumb is absolute agony.
After nearly 10 minutes, getting a bit distressed (not good) because it was getting late,
alextiefling pointed out I wasn't going to be able to do it on my own and offered to help (he has very long and slender fingers, which is a positive). It then took TWO PEOPLE HALF AN HOUR to get the vile thing out. 20 minutes of that was spent with me screaming continuously at almost full volume because of the utter, wrenching, shredding pain it was causing (my poor neighbours!). The final 10 minutes was spent coughing very hard (and inducing sore throat) to try and get it to shift downwards, and this was probably what finally got it to pop out. I really do mean "pop" - final removal caused the loudest scream of all, and I really did think for a few minutes that I'd done my usual smart trick of tearing the labial/perineal join (like tearing the corners of my mouth, this is something which happens far more than I'd like), but couldn't really check as I then had to shove a tampon straight back into the distressed area and leave, 40 FUCKING MINUTES LATE FOR WORK. I need to do that kind of now and yes, I'm putting it off. *shudder*
The journey into work was spent by both of us in a sort of shell-shocked silence (and not just cos of it having been one of the least sexy experiences in the history of the universe). I think I might actually have burst into tears if I hadn't been quaking inwardly with the horror, the horror. I've subsequently spent the day in a sort of post-traumatic edge-of-panic mood, similar to how I've felt on the rare occasions I've had really frightening experiences. And putting off peeing for as long as possible ftb THE BURN, which really did bring a couple of tears to my eyes come mid-afternoon.
This probably sounds a bit melodramatic, and no doubt it is (although my witness and fellow participant also seems to have been nearly as traumatised by the grimness of it all), but yes, it really was that bad. Am now genuinely quite frightened of the Mooncup. On the positive side, I suppose it *has* reduced my fear of the speculum. I spent quite a bit of my screaming time wishing for a nice, non-scratchy, professionally-wielded speculum instead of the nasty finger-poking which was going on, and which I was trying and spectacularly failing not to think about.
This is (probably) why I have never, ever been able to get on with fisting. And yeah, I'm looking back all those experiences with comparable calm, by contrast. The Mooncup was many, many times worse - at least putative fisters aren't usually *trying* to aim sharp flicks at your vaginal walls. Not if they want to live, anyway.
I haven't quite decided if I'm brave enough ever to attempt another go. One the one hand, I hate waste, and I want to collect my useful useful blood in a versatile and ethical way. On the other hand, I generally quite *like* my periods, or at the worst don't mind them, and I don't particularly want to turn an OK experience into a hellish one for several days a month. That's a poor trade.
One thing I really didn't need at this point was anything to reduce my current libido yet further. At present, I'm contemplating the possibility of NO MORE PENETRATION EVER AGAIN EVER with surprisingly positive feelings. That can't be healthy, especially not with side fantasies of permanent thigh bondage.
From now on, my crushes will all be pure and spiritual! Honest.