by Meghan Quinn
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step fully onto the scale.”
We both looked at my feet, and I giggled. “Oops, my mistake. I thought it was one-foot-on-the-scale day. Man, you should have told me it was a both-feet-on-the-scale day. I don’t think I’m mentally prepared for two feet on the scale today.”
The nurse put her hand on her hip, clearly not entertained, and said, “You can either put both feet on the scale or I can write down that you weigh two hundred pounds and move on.”
“You wouldn’t,” I sneered at her.
“Test me.”
She was one tough bitch.
“Fine, but just so you know, my friend said I’ve gained a little love chub since I’ve moved in with my boyfriend, but I’ve been going to the gym, despite how much it hurts.”
Yup, I knew it made no sense to a perfect stranger.
She ignored me and started moving the knob on the scale right past one twenty, on to one thirty, and stopping at one forty.
“One forty-one,” she announced to the entire office building.
“You shut your mouth,” I snapped at her, covering my lips right away from my outburst. “Oh dear, I’m sorry. I don’t know where that just came from.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed at me, scanning me up and down. “You peed in a cup after you signed in?”
“Yes, and thank you to whoever opened the little pee cup door while I was still in there . . . I gave them a good show.”
“That was me.” I could see the look of satisfaction on her face. I grew more and more agitated with her by the second. She had to be related to Marta in some way, as well as the spin instructor. Nurse Scale Nazi and Marta, decorating and medicating vaginas one spread leg at a time. “Follow me,” she called out, moving toward one of the rooms.
I quickly gathered my discarded items and trotted after her, trying not to let the fact that I had gained sixteen pounds enter my mind. I could feel the tears threaten to fall over, but I breathed it out. I didn’t need Nurse Scale Nazi judging me anymore than she already was.
When I arrived in the room, she made me quickly change into an open-face Aztec-decorated gown behind a partition while she asked me questions.
“Are you a smoker?”
“No.”
“Do you drink?”
“Not really. My boyfriend does, though, but I guess second-hand alcohol consumption isn’t a thing,” I joked, laughing to myself.
Crickets.
“Sexually active?”
“Yes,” I practically screamed and then realized I’d said it loud enough for the entire top half of the building to hear me. “Sorry,” I said. “Fresh to the sex scene, three months in, and going strong.” I held up a solid fist of accomplishment. “I enjoy the sex, feels nice. Henry has a great-sized penis. Is that a question?” I popped my head past the partition and the nurse just shook her head at me. “I guess not, but if it was, he has a nice penis. No STDs or anything, if you are worried about that. We use protection.”
“Birth control?” she asked, continuing with her questions.
“Condoms. He uses the Legacy brand. Sometimes ribbed. Not that he needs to use ribbed . . . he can get my engine revving with just an index finger and thumb.”
“Details aren’t necessary, Miss Bloom.”
“Oh, sorry.” I walked out into the room, wearing my robe and cinched it to my body so my boobs didn’t poke out the front. I sat on the table, weary of the stirrups I’d be propping myself up in. “Didn’t know how much detail we had to get in to. I don’t do any butt play, if that’s a question. I don’t think that’s something I want to explore, but I do enjoy trying new positions, and we have used toys. Oh, I got a bullet stuck in my vagina once, if you need to know that, and I did get my butthole bleached once, not really by my choice. And, of course, I had a bad waxing episode, but I did recently get vajazzled and that was a real delight, except for the fact that one of the gems got stuck in Henry’s pee hole. He had to jump up and down to get it out. What a sight that was.”
I smiled at the nurse, who was staring at me, dumbfounded. Without any emotion or acknowledgment of my sexual history, she asked, “Last period?”
“Oh, that was . . .” I paused, trying to think of the last time I menstruated. “Huh, I guess . . .” I counted on my fingers, trying to recall the last time I’d used a box of tampons, but nothing was coming to mind. “I guess it’s been a while.” I shrugged off my answer. “If you’re taking notes, I would like to talk to the doctor about being allergic to my boyfriend’s penis, because we’ve had a lot of sex, and I’m kind of afraid our private parts don’t mingle well. My vagina has felt very heavy lately, like it was stung by a bee or something.”
She ignored me and asked again, “When was your last period?”
Taken aback by her attitude, I said, “I told you, a bit ago. I don’t quite remember.”
“Last month?”
I thought about last month and shook my head.
“Two months ago?”
Two months ago, Henry and I were on a doggy-style kick, almost every single day. I shook my head no.
“Three months?”
I laughed. “Gosh, three months seems so long ago. Three months without a period, ha you would think I would be . . .”
The words died on my tongue as realization set in.
Holy. Fuck.
Yes, I said the F word.
“Mm-hmm. The doctor will be right with you.”
She walked out of the room, putting my chart in the file holder hanging on the back of the door and closed it, a loud click ringing through the silent room.
There was no way.
Quickly, I spread my legs and lowered my head, getting a good look at my vagina. Did vaginas morph into baskets when they were hiding something inside? Holding everything together?
Standing up, I opened my robe and stood to the side in front of the mirror, examining my body. Legs were the same, thighs were the same, stomach . . . poochy.
Poochy!
My right hand ran over my belly, taking in its expansion.
Oh. My. God.
A light knock rung through the room, signaling me to shut my robe before the door opened. Dr. Nesbum appeared at the door with a giant smile on his face.
“Rosie, it’s nice to see you.”
I didn’t greet him; I didn’t even try to hide the desperation in my voice. “Can people be allergic to penises? To the point that their stomach swells?” I grabbed his shoulders and shook them, looking for answers. “Does too much penis make you bloated?”
“Excuse me?”
“Please tell me I’m allergic to my boyfriend’s penis and have had swelling in my stomach from infection.”
My robe flapped open, Virginia on display, but I didn’t bother to shut things up. I was looking for answers, desperate for them.
“How about you sit down and we can talk,” he answered, peeling my hands off his shoulders.
Nurse Scale Nazi walked in, scanned me up and down, and shook her head, as she handed the doctor a paper. He looked it over and nodded, placing the paper in my file.
“How have you been feeling, Rosie?”
I flopped my body on the table, propped my legs in the stirrups, giving the doc a full-frontal. Robe hanging open and arm over my eyes, I said, “Just give it to me straight. Tell me I’m that idiot who should be on the show about how they are nine months pregnant and didn’t know it.”
He rolled toward me in his squeaky-wheeled chair. “I wouldn’t say nine months pregnant, but you are most definitely with child. Your urine test came back positive.”
And there it was, the word I was trying to avoid.
Pregnant.
Holy hell, I was pregnant.
“I had sex,” I mumbled, bewildered. “It was supposed to be for fun, so I could learn how to stop writing about throbbing man swords and lap broccoli. It was supposed to welcome me to my adult life and connect me with another human being. I wasn’t supposed to be ab
le to procreate.” I sat up and questioned Dr. Nesbum. “Are you sure I’m not allergic to the penis? I’ve had a lot of sex, like an unhealthy amount of sex, like if I wasn’t sitting on a couch, I was sitting on his penis.”
I could tell Dr. Nesbum was uncomfortable with my candidness, but I didn’t care. I needed answers.
“I can assure you, you’re not allergic to any penises.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, raising my voice. “You haven’t even looked at my vagina yet.” The baby must have taken over my movements, because before I knew what was happening, I palmed the doctor’s head and pushed it toward my crotch, forcing him to observe Virginia. “Go ahead, tell me I’m not allergic to penises. Look at the purple flaps.”
His hands gripped the bottom of the table and pushed against my firm grip. “Miss Bloom, I’m going to ask you kindly to release my head from your crotch.”
His sentence registered and mortification took over. A nauseating feeling came over me, and instead of demanding answers, I curled up into a ball and started rocking back and forth on the table.
“This can’t be happening.”
“Rosie, I’d like to discuss this with you.”
“What is there to discuss?” I asked, my voice full of sorrow. “I’m pregnant, my boyfriend is never home, and honestly, I’m not even sure how committed he is to me, given the fact that Tasha has been probably flopping her boobs on his desk every day. She’s so pretty, and here I am, frumpy girl whose yoga pants barely fit. What’s a girl to do?” I’m sure the words sounded stupid, but they actually felt logical in my brain. He was never home. He looked at pretty Tasha all day. I was frumpy. Period.
“If you sit up, we can discuss options.”
His comment didn’t help. I popped off the table and secured the robe around my waist. “How dare you, sir?” I held on to my stomach. “I don’t know what you mean by options, but I will tell you this, despite the fact that my boyfriend might be a workaholic who doesn’t want to have sex with me anymore, I will by no means give up this baby.” With my head held high, I grabbed my belongings and tore out of the examination room, while calling over my shoulder, “Good day!”
The walk home wasn’t as freeing as I thought it would be after storming out of a doctor’s office and standing up for my unborn child . . . since I was practically naked and barefoot.
But I didn’t focus on the weird stares . . . from everyone, or the way my robe kept flapping in the wind, dangerously almost exposing Virginia to the world. Instead, I tried to think of ways to attract Henry once again.
I knew he loved me . . . he had to. Maybe if I stepped up my sex factor for him—put on a little display of cleavage—he’d find me attractive again and not leave me the minute I told him I was pregnant.
I pulled my phone out of my purse and texted Delaney.
Rosie: I need you to sex me up for this party. Henry isn’t going to know what hit him when he sees me.
Satisfied with my plan to keep my baby daddy, I finished the trek across New York City.
Tasha who?
“Don’t burn my skin,” I screeched, feeling the heat of the curling iron close to my scalp.
“Yell at me one more time. Go ahead,” Delaney said.
I’d been jumpy, irritated, irrational, moody, emotional, and a whole plethora of other emotions since I got back from the doctor. I didn’t say a word to anyone; instead, I went straight to the fridge, stuck my head inside, and ate leftover pizza straight off the plate, like a pig at its trough, not even bothering to use my hands.
The cold felt good on my heated body, and the pizza delighted my gullet as I practically swallowed it whole. I’d just finished gobbling down the crust when Delaney showed up at the apartment, armed with a militia of beauty products and styling devices that looked like they belonged in an electric dildo chamber of tortures.
I didn’t want to tell anyone about the pregnancy yet, because honestly, I was still in denial, even though it all made sense.
Who missed their period and didn’t realize it? I was THAT girl. If I thought about it, I guess at the time I was happy I didn’t get a visit from Aunt Flo, so I could continue to have sex.
Ugh, randy much?
“You need to settle down. You’ve been sweating this entire time. Your makeup is going to melt off.”
I aired out my shirt by fanning it away from my body. “It’s hot in here.”
“It’s a normal temperature. You’re just being a complete freak. Now settle down and look in my purse. There’s something special in there for you. You want to get sexed up; well, I’ve got just the trick that will have Henry panting for your attention.”
There was a questioning rise to my eyebrow before I grabbed her purse and pulled out a small bag.
“Look inside.” She nodded at the present.
I set her purse down and peeked into the bag. At the bottom were two gold-colored marble-looking objects connected by a string. “What are these?” I asked, pulling them out and holding them up.
“Those are what are going to separate you from everyone else at the party tonight.”
“Is it a necklace?” I held the balls to my collarbone and observed them in the mirror. Delaney continued to curl my hair, but managed an eye-roll for good measure. “I don’t normally wear chunky jewelry, but I could possibly make these work.”
“It’s not a necklace, Rosie,” Delaney said, exasperation clear in her voice. “Those are Ben Wa balls.”
“What are Ben—?” I paused as the name sunk in. “The vagina marbles from Fifty Shades of Grey?”
Delaney proudly smiled. “The very same.”
“Are you insane? I’m not going to use these. How would these even relate to being sexy?”
Delaney released my hair from the curling iron and let it fall over my shoulder. “Of course you’re going to use them. They will be perfect. When you get to the party, slip into the bathroom quickly, insert them up there, and then walk out to Henry with a mischievous smile on your face. He will ask you what’s going on, and very gently, you will press your hand against his chest and lean toward his ear and whisper that you’re clenching those balls, pretending they’re his penis. He will go wild.”
I give her a wincing look. “Sounds like a really bad idea.”
“Believe me, I did it with Derk, and we had the wildest sex ever that night.”
“Ew,” I screeched and tossed the balls to the side. “Were those in your vagina?”
Delaney rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Vagina wands, balls, lubes and nets should never be shared. One lady’s vagina juice is another man’s sex cream.”
“What?” I nearly puked. “That makes no sense whatsoever, and is so incredibly crude that if you put that in a book people would immediately bring your rating down from a five to a four star.”
“Well then I suggest you keep clear of quoting me in your book.” She twisted another section of hair into the curling iron and continued. “How’s that going, by the way? The book.”
“I finished, and it’s with an editor,” I answered sheepishly.
“What?” Delaney cried, almost ripping my hair out of my scalp. “Your book is being edited right now? What happened to letting me read it? Did Wolf Fleece Wendy read the whole thing?”
“She did.”
“And . . .” Delaney motioned for me to continue.
“She loved it. She actually said some really sweet things and warned me that since it was a comedy, not everyone would get it, which was okay. She said as long as I made some people laugh, that was all that mattered.”
“Not everyone is going to like your book, and that’s all right,” Delaney said. “Look at a popular book like Fifty Shades of Grey. It opened up the publishing market for authors like you to write what you want and express your thoughts and feelings through creative imagination. Those books made such an impact on our generation and encouraged people like me, who never read, to pick up a book and read a little smut-mance. Despite her popularity,
there are people out there who absolutely despise her stories; there will always be someone who doesn’t agree with what you write.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I know I’m right,” Delaney stated matter-of-factly. “Now, back to Fifty Shades of Grey, you are going to wear those Ben Wa balls tonight, and you’re going to wear them well. I will pack your purse with the balls and some lube while you’re getting dressed. Don’t argue with me about it.”
I sighed and left the conversation at that. She wasn’t going to the party, so she wouldn’t know the difference.
Since my hair was so thick, it took some extra time to finish; by the time my hair was fully set in place by a pound of hairspray, I was already running a little late. I was meeting Henry at the party because he had some things to get done beforehand—shock alert—so I didn’t have him pestering me to hurry up.
“Crap, I’m going to be late.” I looked at the time. “Let me get dressed and then we can walk out together. Can you call the doorman to flag a taxi for me in ten?”
“You got it,” Delaney called from behind me, while I ran into the bedroom.
Hanging on the doorframe of the bathroom was my dress Delaney had helped me pick out. Thankfully, she’d steamed it while I was doing my makeup, so it was ready to go and wrinkle free.
Rummaging through my drawers, I looked for my strapless bra. I tried to remember the last time I wore it, but nothing was coming to mind. I fished through Henry’s drawers, wondering if it accidently got stuck in with his boxers, but it was nowhere to be found.
“Damn it,” I muttered, looking around.
Trying one more time, I dug through my drawers, but could only find the strapless bra I wore to my high school prom. I should be ashamed for having something so old, but memories got the best of me sometimes. It used to be white and had definitely seen better days, but it was all I had, so I connected the ends together at the front clasp and brought it up to my breasts. I shoved them in and gasped at how tight it was.
“Christ,” I groaned. My boobs rested heavily in the cups and the underwire strained from end to end. “This is really tight.” I eyed the dress and knew I had to wear a bra; there was no option of going commando up top, not for a girl of my breastual size.
