The Humpday Gazette

Girl Meets Gyno

In September 2010 on December 16, 2010 at 4:59 am

The beginning of this story is quite typical.  Girl goes across the world for a summer.  Girl meets boy.  Of course she thinks they might be falling in love (boy’s thoughts still unclear).  She is a virgin; he is not.

The more intimate details of the story are not important.  It could have taken place in Africa, in India, in South America, in Connecticut, on the lonely ex-planet Pluto.  I like to think that I’m original, but my path to the breathless moment when I whispered, “now I’m ready” followed a disappointingly clichéd plotline.

At the end of my fairytale summer, I imagined a smooth transition into the world of sex.  I was finally ready to DO IT, and leave my virginity far behind.  I happily slipped off my Hanky Panky and waited for the magic to occur.  I was ready to text my friends “The last woman standing falls!”

However, with everything my friends had told me about sex, nobody had mentioned that sex is remarkably awkward, especially the first time.  And I don’t mean awkward in the embarrassing sort of “oh dear, I’m naked and you’re naked” way, but in the “I have no idea how on earth THAT is going to fit” way.

With all that awkwardness to get over, virginity usually can’t be lost in just one stolen hour.  Virginity is not something that is discarded as soon as you say, “let’s have sex.”  It can be a bit of a process.  And if you only have one hour to steal, as I did, don’t make it your last night with your boy.  That is what I did.  Yes, I know, clichéd again.  Waiting until the last night before we went our separate ways!  Charming to the romantic, unrealistic to the pragmatist.

But my failure to have sex is what makes my story interesting.  Of course I was disappointed, of course I cried when I said goodbye to my maybe-lover.  However, I know you are unconcerned with my weepy emotions.  Thus, I will fast-forward about a week and tell you about Joel.

Joel is my mother’s gynecologist.  For whatever reason, I felt compelled to tell my mother about my failed sexual endeavor.  After hearing me wail, “IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY VAGINA?” enough times, my mom encouraged me to make an appointment with Joel.  She reassured me that Joel was “great”.  After hearing her theorize that there was something gravely wrong with my hymen, I agreed that maybe a visit to Joel was in order. So, she made an appointment.

As we swung into the parking lot of Joel’s office building, my mom turned to me very seriously and told me that if Joel had to do anything to my hymen, she would be there holding my hand.  I told her that I was fine, seeing as I did not really want to have Joel pop my cherry while my mother held my hand.  That’s just adding insult to injury. My mother nodded, again quite seriously, and agreed that I should probably go by myself.

Finally, I meet Joel.  He was reclining behind his desk, fingertips calmly pressed together in the imperious manner many doctors take on.  He greeted me, asked me a few questions about my general health.  “How are you doing physically? Emotionally? Spiritually?”  All fine.

After a brief but sufficiently uncomfortable conversation concerning the state of my virginity, Joel took me into his office.  I will spare you the details of the examination, but I will tell you that the only thought going through my head was, “last time a man was down there, I felt so remarkably different about the situation.”

After his examination, Joel triumphantly declared that nothing was wrong and told me to follow him back to his office.  I complied, and we resumed our original positions around his desk.

“So there is nothing wrong.  That is the good news,” Joel began.  “So, do you know what this means?”

I shook my head.

“It means you just need to relax. So, next time you try to have sex, have a drink. Or two.”

I awoke from my awkwardness-induced stupor.  This was medical advice?  After all, Joel knew I was only 19.  But I simply nodded, and allowed him to continue.

“Then, use lots of lube.”

WHAT?

“Lube will make it a lot easier for you,” Joel continued nonchalantly.  “Do you have any lube?”

Startled, I shook my head.

“Ah. Well I will give you some lube.  Do you have a vibrator?”

WHAT?

Joel registered the appalled look on my face, and whipped out a pen and a notepad.  “Goodvibrations.com,” he said calmly as he wrote down the name of the website.  He passed the paper across to me and continued, “You can order one there.  Get a small finger-sized one to practice with.”

WHAT?

“And, finally, you do understand the mechanics of how this works, don’t you?” Joel asked kindly.  He started making a circle out of his index finger and thumb and poking his other finger through it, raising his eyebrows at me suggestively.

“Yes!” I cried.

“Good,” Joel smiled.  “Well, order your vibrator and I’ll give you some lube.  And remember to relax.”

I nodded, still startled.  I thanked Joel, and he walked me back to the waiting room, where my mother still sat.  While we paid for the appointment, Joel handed me some lube with a smile and a wink.  My mother smiled adoringly back at him.

As we got into the car, my mom said to me, “Isn’t Joel just great?”

“Fantastic,” I replied, clutching my newly acquired lube in my hand.

So, if you have a special card you’re dying to get rid of, heed Joel’s advice: relaxation, lubrication, and some good vibrations.

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