It began so well. She was actually wearing a dress and cotton pants. No sweaty denim, or constricting nylon jeggings. We were off on a vaginal adventure - a vagenture! A Swishy, windy day out feeling free. The penis biped drove us in his electric tissue box, graced us with air conditioning and left the heated seats off. I had no idea of our destination, but enjoyed the journey. What bliss, with chilled air wafting over me, glimpses of sunlight, music playing, with little conversational noise. How serene. Gently supported by BMW squishy upholstery, we relaxed in the gentle folds of thigh and pant.
Then we stop. I can feel her tension. Something is up. Muffled voices alert me to the fact we have left the vehicle and are looking for a ward. oh.my.God. We are at a hospital!!!! This can only be described as the vaginal equivalent of a pet going to the vets, or should I say "pussy tricked into attending the gyneacoligist." Holy fuck. What a bitch. No warning and taken hostage, no voice to protest and no way of blocking entry. Maybe I can write an s.o.s in menstrual blood for another distressed vagina to find? I could clap the flaps to alert someone to my distress or generate fanny farts to pump out morse code signals? But its too late. We're in an office with a male biped, firing questions at us at a rate of knots with apparently no compassion or kindness. He is talking about us as though we are purely cells or flesh. My panic is accelerating at rocket speed.
She's ushered ino a small room and I can smell disinfectant and sanitary products. If I had hands I'd be banging on the doors to get out. Oh god I'm exposed. The pants are off. I'm naked and exposed. Then calamity. Her legs akimbo, I'm revealed in all of my "glory" to what looks like 3 white choral singers in plastic aprons and an elderly Asian doctor who looks like the toy cleaner from toy story 2. Stasi vagina beasts are at the soft velvet door. Words like speculum, coil, hysteroscope and pipelle biopsy are thrown around casually like confetti.
I'm expanded with the plastic crocodile jaws and he approaches with what can only be described as a metal pole with a plug on it. She is tensing and tensing and as it disappears to brutalise sister cervix and cousin womb, she swears with a flourish and skill of an eastend docker. I'm so proud, and she continues to say fuck very loudly over the patronisingly pseudo helpful vag backing singers as they try to distract her with questions about her daily life!!
Oh dear god. They pull out the I u.d (with an explosion that feels like an I.e.d) and wave it in front of her face saying "do you want to see?" Not bloody likey I think. I'm still stretched like fleshed out clingfilm as they present the final instrument of despair. A hollow mental tube with a blade on the end that punctures small discs out of cousin wombs uterine wall, pock marked for science and drawing the phrase from my carrier "I've fucking had enough!!" Now my raging woman who's stirrupped legs are begining to flail about, is going a bit bonkers!
The sing song chorus of, "oh we're done/you were so brave/here's a pad the size of a beach towel/if I see you in the street I promise not to tell anyone I've seen your most hidden feminine features..mound.. curtains.. cervix." Rings around the small sanitised room. She's having a bit of a cry and we all feel sore and vviolated. i can tell she wants to kill someone but instead says thank you and waddles back to the electric powered tissue box. Gynecological warfare is temporarily over.
And now we recover. Gently held on the sofa watching movies cousin, sister and I convene in gentle retraction. I feel that I can forgo anymore day trips for now. The soft/hard sausage lodger will not be paying a visit either if I get my way, but that's for another day. So now we rest and wait.
