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I realize that I am smiling. “No, it’s not funny,” I answer nervously, suppressing a giggle. “It’s just… Your dad used to make that same move… With the stethoscope…”
He bobs his chin, acknowledging that he understands as he listens with his palm against my back. The stethoscope disk wanders over my chest, nudging me in various places.
“Deep breath in,” he directs me as he switches hands, placing the disk against my back and pressing against my sternum so that I will sit up more straight.
I find myself relaxing a little, falling into the habits of command and perform that this ritual entails. I’ve been to the doctor dozens of times over my life, of course. I know how this works. I sort of appreciate the predictable aspects of it.
“Sounds good,” he announces. “Go ahead and lie back and raise your arms over your head.”
My breath catches in my throat as I remember this part: the breast exam. He turns around to retrieve a drape from the counter that he opens over my hips while I lie down. The gown falls open over my breasts though my body is still covered from the waist down by the drape.
I expect him to look away, but he doesn’t. He pushes the gown away from my sides with his fingers, pursing his lips in concentration as he manipulates the mounds slowly, pushing them together and then letting them fall, dragging his fingers in slow circles from the nipple outward. I feel my skin contract and my nipples harden under his touch, hoping to God that he thinks it is just a normal response and not a sign of arousal.
Walking his fingers up the side of my breasts to my armpit, he makes small, satisfied noises with every inch. My skin gets hotter and I try to keep from breathing too fast.
“All perfect,” he announces, averting his eyes.
With a clang, he pulls the stirrups out and assembles them at the end of the exam table. I hear the snap as he dons nitrile gloves and I automatically tense up. His fingers are warm around my ankle as he gently lifts my heel and places it against the cool metal cradle.
“Just relax,” he says firmly, the gentleness dissolving from his voice. “Move your hips down to the edge of the table, please.”
Squinting my eyes closed, I flex my thighs and try to maneuver myself closer to the end. I feel him pull the drape away from my hips as his hands slide over my belly, pressing every few seconds against my lower abdomen.
“Any pain?”
“No… None,” I choke in response as his hands slide across my skin, gently nudging my thighs apart. I realize that I really am wet, and I can feel the breeze from the air conditioner cooling my nether lips. Oh my God. How embarrassing.
“Are you sexually active?”
“What? Um… sort of...” I stop for a second. “Do you really need to know that?”
“I need to know everything,” he answers tersely. “Just relax, now. You’re going to feel some pressure.”
I hold my breath as he begins the internal exam that I know is coming. He places his hand sideways across my skin between my hip bones and squirts a glob of lubricant between my lips. I suck my breath between my teeth when he breaches me, plunging a gloved finger inside my body.
And just to humiliate me, my body sings in response. A tiny little hallelujah chorus starts to go off in my pussy lips.
“You’re very tense. Please relax.”
“I am relaxing,” I answer through gritted teeth as he slides his finger back out, then back in, pushing hard from the outside as well. My toes curl against the stirrups.
“When is the last time you had an orgasm?”
My pussy flexes, trapping his finger inside me reflexively. I’m not sure, but I feel like he flinched just a little bit when it happened.
“Excuse me? How is that relevant?”
“You’re extremely tense,” he replies as though this is an answer. “Your sexual health is what we are discussing. So, recently? Today?”
“No,” I growl angrily, “not today.”
“Just try to relax,?
? he says again, and I feel something cold on my inner lips. From the sound of the bottle hitting the counter again, I assume it is more medical lubrication. And then, with a snap, a buzzing noise begins. Is he going to...
“Let your legs fall open,” he instructs me. “I will begin to the side.”
“Begin the what—” I start, but then I feel it.
