Reclamation

It's that time of the year again: one more pap smear, one more internal exam. For all my medical fetishism, I've never been able to eroticize, or even really get comfortable with, the gyn exam. 

My blood pressure was through the roof before I even got into the exam room. The nurse was surprised. I wasn't--I'd been dreading the appointment for days.

My first several gyn exams were really bad, done by insensitive assholes I never want to see again, and they did a lot to raise my anxiety level. I've had a few good ones, done by sensitive doctors who knew how to keep me distracted and not make a big deal of it. Even the best exam has left me feeling... violated. I come away from them with the feeling of some semi-stranger's hands inside me, the feeling of my cervix burning from the brush they used to scrape off the precious cells so they could tell me whether my body is turning against me... it's hard to shake those sensations. Usually, I find specks of blood on my underwear afterward and it makes me sad. My cervix shouldn't have to weep. This year it didn't, and for that, at least, I'm grateful.

I took the day off work, knowing from long experience that I'd be emotional and wanting to be able to take care of myself. I had a harder time with this year's exam than with my last several--I have a new doctor and we don't connect as well as I did with the last one, who moved into a different specialty field for the money. I miss her.

I did what I had to do--I got through the appointment, went to the lab to have blood drawn, met up with Boyfriend for lunch, and drove myself home. I regretted having scheduled myself several other commitments on that day, but I had a little time, and so I did the next thing I had to do: I took off my clothes, found my favorite vibrator, put fresh batteries in it, told my pussy I was sorry for putting her through that horrible exam again, and made love to her. I didn't cry, though the urge was there. As always during this yearly ritual, it was difficult to find my groove. Orgasms tend to be elusive when my mind is filled with uncomfortable, unerotic thoughts. Finally, with some effort, I brought up the memory of my most recent play with sounds: the way it felt to slide a big, solid, smooth, cold metal rod through my urethra and into my bladder to massage my g-spot from an unusual access point. That did it--thirty seconds of those thoughts and I lay gasping and twitching in a twist of sheets. When I stood up and put my clothes back on, I no longer felt anyone's hands on my body but my own. Relief.