the dreaded Bench
One of the most embarrassing things for a women is going to a gynecologist. It is humiliating, it is perverse and oh, it is so neccessary. So, usually we don’t whine about it much, sometimes to our sweet girlfriends, but never, NEVER to a guy.
There is something about a stranger (much worse if it was a strange man!) looking at your vagina that makes guys so uncomfortable.
It’s not that bad though. I’ve grown to get use to it as long as I am sure I’m shaved correctly before the visit and I have a chance to “refresh myself” in the bathroom.
Going to a gyn is always such a mess. I start to prepare myself at least two days before. As much as I would like fantasies of playing doctor, in the gyn’s office it’s much rather other deal. I am scared. I am petrified. I make silly jokes. I try to put off going to The Bench as long as possible.
And everything is much worse when you gyn appares to be stunningly beautiful man. That was my last experience. And that was awful. Awful I say!
I’ve heard lots of crazy stories about gyns.
My own said to me when I was in my “tender age”, about 17. Picture it. Me on The Bench, she, hands deep in me. Me, staring celing, not trying to think about it. She, making weird sounds.
“Ugh. Ugh.”
“What? Is something wrong?” I finally asked.
“No… It’s just… It’s just that your vagina… It’s really, really long.”
Oh, tough luck honey. Maybe your fingers aren’t long enogh?
But there are more stories. One friend of mine claimed, that her gyn was doing her a pre-birth examination and said: “Well, too bad you’re having a baby. If I were the father it would look so much better. And oh, I know where the clit is!”
Apparently few years later I had a chance to sleep with that same gyn (he was armenian or something, really cocky and self-absorbed, I realised that he was the same gyn days later though) and let me tell you. He knew exactly where my clit was and tried to rub it off. It was horrifying.
But all in all after the visit to your gynecologist it’s always such a relief. Knowing you don’t have to visit him/her at least 6 months. And that all is in order, working properly.
Or not, which is an another story.
And yes, I have my gynecologist examination tomorrow.
Freaking a bit out, but all in all I’m fine. (And talking to Shane earlier realised that I haven’t had sex in very, very, very long time. That’s break up for you, kids.)
