According to the Wikipedia:
In human anatomy, the Skene's glands (also known as the lesser vestibular or paraurethral glands) are glands located on the upper wall of the vagina, around the lower end of the urethra. They drain into the urethra and near the urethral opening... The Skene's glands are homologous with (that is to say, the female equivalent of) the prostate gland in males.
Yeah, it's the G-spot all right. Unfortunately, they're often too small, put in the wrong place, or utterly lacking in many females...and thereby hangs a tale.
Ever since I've been about thirteen, I've been either plagued or blessed, depending on your POV, with strange spells.
It would happen (mostly) when I had a fairly full bladder, and would strike like heat lightning. It felt good, was not like an orgasm, and was almost non-sexual, though it definitely happened "down there".
It was like...stars. Although I could localize the sensation, it co-opted (and still co-opts) my conscious mind for a few seconds to about half a minute. I involuntarily (though I've been able, at times, to set me up and breathe out, which stops it) breathe inwards, pressing the bladder as hard as it can without leakage. Every hair on my body stands up, a lump starts in my throat...this is close. And I think of stars, and love, and...well whatever primal instincts are stimulated by high-end shopping, a really great pair of shoes, Christmas in midtown Manhattan, and classic Hollywood glamor. No, it's only a little like sex. But sexy. (If this explains some vague theory of modern aesthetics or merchandising, so be it.)
Doctors couldn't explain it. Or even get excited over it. Well, it's not life-threatening, and it doesn't really impact my life (other than making for some really embarrassing moments). Lovers looking for my G-spot searched in vain, not being satisfied with "don't worry, dear, maybe I don't have one".
Until now. Apparently what happened is this: I have got Skene's glands, and apparently quite large ones, but someplace that no cock or finger or tongue of a lover can find them. But once the bladder is full enough...ah, sweet mystery of life at last I've found thee.
Which has made me somewhat reflective. When people try to explain how HIV is transmitted, they say that one of the greatest vectors is passive anal intercourse where the active partner is not wearing a condom. Everyone who talks about anal intercourse talks about the pleasure of the active partner: the passive partner is supposed to lie back and think of England -- the prostate gland is mentioned mostly in passing. Most straight men, and quite a few gay ones, are downright squeamish when they even consider being fucked as opposed to fucking when they talk to me, notwithstanding the fact that I've been fucked already, both before and behind, and I don't consider it to make me a bad person. What could possibly possess a man to let a fellow do this to him?
Love. And those stars.
And all I can do, is cry.