Wax Job

I’ve never had a well-woman’s examination. I was exceptionally late in the dating game and sex scene, so I thought there wasn’t a need for them (that’s wrong; you have to get them annually when you hit the age of 20 apparently… woops). When I became sexually active I went to my military doctor and said something to the effect of “I have a guy and want to make sure I have a clean bill of health before I start anything.” He has an intimate knowledge of my sex life.

I’d piss in a cup, bleed into a few tubes, and then he’d call me if there was anything going on. Today he told me to strip down and put on a hospital gown. Aw shit.

He left the room and I peeled off my clothes. I kept my socks on; it seemed professional at the time because I sure as shit take my socks off during coitus.

He came back after a few minutes. “All right [redacted last name; for the sake of my blog posts, we’ll go with the last name “Fizz;” it’s what my buddy Craig calls me], scoot down to the end of the table and put your feet in the stirrups.” I did as I was told and my lady bits were on parade.

Doc: Whoa, that’s smooth.

Me: Thanks, I waxed it myself.

Doc: Nice job, Fizz.

+1 for Jessica for having baby butt smooth vaginer… He’ll probably be the only guy to see and comment on my situation for a while.

And then he pulled out this HUGE plastic thing and started lubing it up. OH GOD! PLEASE DON’T PUT THAT IN MY TWAT! He shoved that shit RIGHT up there along with some really long swabs. I wanted to make the Pilsbury Dough Boy sound.

There were a few moments of pressure and then it was done. “Good job, Fizz. Some women who’ve given birth don’t even do that well. Almost done.”

What do you mean ALMOST done?!

He started putting KY Jelly on his fingers. I almost flipped shit. I knew it was coming.

He gently place his fingers in the Cave of Wonders… and then he started to fucking talk to me.

Doc: You got a boyfriend?

Me: *laughs*

Doc: I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ Just… sexually active then?

Me: *laughs harder*

Doc: Fizz… don’t laugh. You’re tightening around my fingers.

Shit.

If my life was a porno he would’ve said:

Instead he started to fondle my boobies to make sure I wouldn’t need to cut them off. He said he was looking for cancer. Whatever. We all know he wanted to touch my ta-tas! After all, my bra size IS C4… CAUSE THESE TITTIES ARE THE BOMB! He also pinched my nips to make sure nothing came flying out. The Pilsbury Dough Boy ran through my head again.

“We’re done here, Fizz. Get dressed; you did a lot better than I thought you would. …and don’t worry about the guy. Things’ll work out or you’ll find a better one.”

Thanks, Obama.

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