Anatomy of a Single Girl

by Snadowsky, Daria

  But the biggest pro of going all the way is that my ex will no longer be the last guy I’ve done it with. I know that shouldn’t factor in. But after how anguishing the breakup was, I’d like to strip him of that distinction.

  That I’m even thinking this way is a con in itself, though, because I’m positive I wouldn’t consider having sex with Guy if I hadn’t already had sex beforehand. I always knew I wanted my first time to be with someone I loved and who loved me, which it was … but shouldn’t I want that for every time? I disagree with what Amy said about how once you go all the way, you can’t go back to “everything but.” But now that I have done it, it doesn’t seem nearly as big a deal to do it again. That’s sort of disturbing, and it shows that I really did give my ex a part of myself I can never get back. I wonder if he also feels like he has given up something by losing his virginity to me. Maybe he feels like he gained something. Just because the sexes are equal doesn’t mean that sex is.

  The other big con is whether having sex could cause me to more than just like like Guy. But that could happen even if we don’t sleep together. You don’t even need to date a boy to dream about marrying him. I suppose that splitting up with my ex might’ve been easier had we never gone all the way, but I’m not sure if I’d do anything differently. For all its awkwardness, making love with him was also beautiful for the very reason that we were new to it. Sex with Guy would be new, too, though, because it’d be making love without the love. That’s the experiment in all this. Even Amy’s never done that.

  The bottom line is that abstaining isn’t ever a wrong choice. But what made these last two evenings with Guy so sublime was ignoring all the cons and just following my body. I’ve always played by the rules in the hopes that it’ll pay off later, and I don’t intend to stop in the long run. But if I’m smart about it, I don’t see why I can’t have some fun, too.

  When Guy calls me later that night after my bratsitting job, I tell him what just last month I couldn’t have fathomed saying to any new boy.

  “Just so you know, I’ve been thinking, and if you’re agreeable, I’d like for you to be my … number two.”

  “Huh? That sounds nasty.”

  “Guy! Not in the bathroom sense. I mean”—I speak quietly—“the sex number sense.”

  “Oh!” I can almost hear him smile. “Well, it’s, uh … almost ten now. If you come over soon, you can still make it back before curfew. Or do you want me to pick you up?”

  “I didn’t mean tonight!” I giggle. Guy certainly corroborates the theory that men hit their sexual peak at nineteen. “We still need to talk about a bunch of things like, you know … our histories and stuff.”

  “Um, didn’t we just have that talk yesterday?”

  “I guess what I mean is, like with those other girls, whether you used protection.”

  “Of course I did, Dom.” He sounds hurt that I’d mention it. “Did you think I didn’t?”

  “No, but we need to go over this. STDs aren’t a joke.” I quickly add, “I don’t have one.”

  “That makes two of us. And I do have a joke one of the guys told me recently: What’s the difference between love and herpes? Herpes is forever!”

  He dissolves into laughter, but I think it’s depressing how true that must be a lot of the time.

  “Guy, this is important. When was the last time you got with someone?”

  “I don’t know.… I guess it was Beta’s spring formal, back in April.”

  “Were you tested afterward?”

  “I’ve never been tested ever. Why should I if I’ve always been safe?”

  I’m about to tell him that ideally he should get tested after every partner whether he uses protection or not, but I’m not one to talk, since I haven’t gotten around to getting myself tested since my breakup. Instead I move on to the next question. “Have you had the HPV vaccines? I had all mine.”

  Now I almost hear him cringe. “Yeah, my mom made me get the Gardasil shots back in middle school before I even knew what HPV was.”

  “How about the hepatitis B vaccine?”

  Another pained pause. “Uh-huh.”

  “Awesome. And I know I don’t have to mention this, but if we do it, neither of us can get with anyone else until after I leave. I’ll just feel more comfortable that way. I mean, if you’d ever like to get with someone else, okay, but then we have to stop what we’re doing—”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Dom, and it’s all good. I told you I didn’t want to see other girls this summer.”

  “Okay. And I can get us condoms if you’d like. I live near a CVS.”

  “Remember where I live? The Betas keep an industrial-sized box of Trojans in the lounge, so we’ll be covered for a while. And yeah, they’re the kind with spermicide.”

  “Are they too old, though? That stuff has a shelf life.”

  “We just bought them this year, so they’re fine. Jeez. What a guy goes through to get with a future doctor.”

  “Oh, we’re not done yet. There’s one last thing about STDs.… I totally trust everything you said, but I want us to be a hundred percent positive we’re healthy. So, I’d like us to see each other’s immunization records and … for both of us to get tested … for everything.”

  Guy’s quiet for several seconds, except for his angst-ridden breathing. “Well, I can get my records no problem, but what would the tests involve? In my freshman dorm there was a dude with the clap, and to check it out the doctor stuck a Q-tip up his pee hole. I’d rather get hazed again, Dom.”

  “Don’t worry. You just have to give a urine sample for gonorrhea. Same for chlamydia. And a blood test can usually determine HIV, syphilis, the herpes simplex viruses, and hep B and C. The only time you really need to give urethral cultures is when you’re already showing symptoms.… You there?”

  “Yeah, but I’m about to ralph.” Guy takes a deep breath. I know he’s trying not to sound as aggravated as he is. “Listen, I’m down with being responsible and everything, but I’m sure I’m clean. I’m not a fan of needles, either.”

  “Still, it’s the right thing to do. I mean, if you had a daughter, you’d want her boyfriend to get tested before they did anything, wouldn’t you?” When he doesn’t answer, I repeat, “Wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think that way. I’m never having kids.”

  I hold the phone away from my ear, startled by the certainty in his voice. “Well, having kids isn’t for everybody, but … you don’t think you might want kids even when you’re older?”

  “No interest. They’re time-consuming and expensive, and no matter how good a parent you are, they can still turn out to be screwups.”

  “Anything worth doing is hard.”

  “I’m surprised you’d want kids, Dom. You’re the one who says ‘bratsitting.’ ”

  “Oh. Right,” I whisper. “I guess I should probably stop doing that.”

  Since I was thirteen I’ve made most of my cash by looking after children in my building, and of course they can be bratty sometimes, but I wouldn’t have kept at it if I weren’t happy to do it. The best part’s been watching them grow and learn over the years, and I’ll miss them far more than our apartment when we move. Some scientists hypothesize that having children is the only reason romantic love came about. It kept couples together long enough to mate and see a baby through infancy. I’ve always wanted kids for myself one day, though I don’t know why I assumed Guy would, too. Being childless fits in with his footloose existence. That night at Bantam Beach, Guy said we could always date each other again in the future, but unless he changes his mind about being a dad, this summer really will be the end of the line for us.

  “Anyway, we’re getting off task here.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but the tests are nonnegotiable. If you’d rather not, that’s your choice, but then we can’t—”

  “No, it’s fine. You know I want you to be cool with everything, so consider it done.” He takes another deep breath. “I’ll go to St
udent Health tomorrow, okay?”

  “Thanks. That sounds great. And I’ll try to get an appointment ASAP, too.”

  Guy then switches topics to a TED lecture with Stephen Hawking he just watched, and I know we’re both relieved this conversation’s behind us. I’m proud I made us go through it, though, and I’m glad I handled it over the phone, where Guy’s hotness couldn’t sidetrack my thinking. I understand now why other people might never bring this stuff up. Talking about sex is the least sexy thing you can do. One of the most convenient things about being with my ex was our mutual virginity. We didn’t need to worry about who we’d been with before. Looking back, however, I was wrong not to ask him to get tested anyway. I mean, I still believe he was honest with me about his sexual history, but there’s no way to be sure. And now my ex is my sexual history. I guess soon Guy will be, too. I wonder how many more penises I’ll have inside me in my lifetime.

  17

  At Lee County Medical the next day I deliver flowers to a new mom whose nurse told me she got pregnant even though she’d been using an IUD. It makes me think back to when Amy was late last year and she worried that one of Joel’s condoms might’ve torn. It turned out to be nothing, but she got so freaked out, she went on the pill as backup so they could virtually eliminate any chance of conception. I’d probably like doing it more if I had that peace of mind, too, so when Guy phones that night, I inform him it’s another nonnegotiable that we use a second form of birth control. He says he understands but that it’s overkill as long as we’re careful. I say we can never be too careful, especially now that I know Guy wouldn’t be supportive if I accidentally did get pregnant and couldn’t bring myself to get an abortion.

  Unfortunately, my gynecologist is booked solid through the summer, as is every other gynecologist I call in greater Fort Myers. I’m sure Dr. Braff or the nurses at the hospital could pull strings for me, but I don’t want them to know my business. There’re plenty of websites where I can order STD testing services and get seen at a local lab the same day. So in case I go that route because I can’t meet with an actual doctor, I look into over-the-counter birth control options, like the sponge. Since Guy and I will already be using condoms with spermicide, though, I’d rather not host any more foreign objects inside me. The sponge is just 91 percent effective at best, anyway. There’s always the morning-after pill; however, it’s really only meant for when you have unexpected, unprotected sex, which Guy and I won’t be having. I immediately rule out the withdrawal method, because sperm can still be in the pre-ejaculate fluid, and that could spell disaster if the condom gets a hole. But even if withdrawal were legitimate birth control, I don’t want to have to worry about Guy pulling out in time.

  I continue calling doctors’ offices during my work breaks, to no avail. Then on Wednesday, Guy phones to tell me that he got a Certificate of Vaccination card and all negative STD test results from Student Health. Meanwhile, I’m no closer to a satisfactory contraception solution and am beginning to feel like a tease myself. Finally I decide that I’ll go to Planned Parenthood this weekend as a walk-in and just wait there in the hopes that someone will be able to examine me. Later on Wednesday, though, I get a callback from a women’s health clinic saying that they had a cancellation for today at four, a full hour after my shift ends. It sounds perfect until the receptionist goes on to clarify that the doctor is a man.

  “Oh.”

  “Is that all right with you, Ms. Baylor?”

  “Well … there’s no one else who can see me?”

  “Sorry, not at this time. Would you rather pass?”

  “Um …”

  Normally I look forward to going to the doctor’s because it’s an up close glimpse into what’s in store for me later. But pelvic exams are way more invasive than the typical checkup, so having a male physician will make me especially self-conscious. It’d be stupid to chicken out when this may be my only shot to get an appointment, though, so I answer that I’ll be there. And the fact is, XX or XY, an MD is an MD, which I keep repeating to myself in the clinic waiting room that afternoon as I shakily fill out the intake paperwork. My anxiety promptly turns into annoyance when I reach the part that asks for my marital status. Last year at my gynecologist’s I contemplated inserting the word “mentally” before “married” and checking that. It seemed ludicrous to check “single” when the very reason I was even getting a pelvic exam was because I was not single. Now I want to insert “mentally” before “divorced” and draw in an entirely new box for “summer romance.” If I had my own medical practice, I’d have boxes for every possible state, because whichever one you’re in can impact your health as much as anything else.

  I check the “single” box and complete the rest of the pages, by which time my skin’s coated with nervous sweat. At least the physician assistant’s a woman.

  “Hello. I’m Rosemary,” she says while leading me down the hall.

  “Hi. I’m Dominique,” I say stupidly as if she hadn’t just called my name.

  First she points me to the bathroom and hands me a cleansing wipe and plastic container for a urine sample. When I come back out, she shows me to the exam room, where she takes my temperature, weight, and blood pressure. Then she says she’ll give me a few minutes alone to undress. After she leaves, I strip except for my socks and put on the disposable gown she left me. It’s really just a sleeveless robe with the texture of paper towels, and the armholes are so big you can see the sides of my boobs.

  “Your pregnancy test came back negative,” Rosemary announces upon returning. “And I see from your paperwork that the reason you’re here is because you want things to stay that way.”

  “Yeah.” I force a giggle. “I’d like a backup birth control to use with condoms. And also I need to get tested for HIV and everything. I’m okay, but just to be sure.”

  “That’s fine. And results are available in two days.”

  “Great!” My heart hammers. Friday will be the night!

  “Just a few questions. Have you had any major illnesses or surgeries in the past?”

  “No. Just my wisdom teeth out when I was fifteen.”

  “Do you take any medication?”

  “Only vitamins.”

  “Okay. When was your last menstrual period?”

  “Sunday. It ended today.”

  “And your cycle’s regular?”

  “Pretty much. Earlier this year it got thrown off for a couple months when I was really stressed out, but now it’s back to every three and a half to four weeks.”

  “Any spotting between periods?”

  “Almost never. Usually just, you know, clear stuff.”

  “And you already had the human papillomavirus vaccines?

  “Yes. Four years ago.”

  “That was a healthy choice. It protects you from most types of cervical cancers and genital warts.” She looks at my paperwork again. “And from what you wrote here, your last trip to the gynecologist was fourteen months ago?”

  “Yes, that’s the only other time I’ve been. My doctor said I wouldn’t need to go again this year as long as I felt okay and there were no major changes, but I want tests and a prescription now.”

  “Are you sexually active?”

  “Um, yeah. That’s why I began going to the gynecologist’s. I know you’re supposed to get examined when … all of that starts happening.” Admitting that I’ve gone all the way doesn’t feel as strange as it did during my first appointment. But it’s still bizarre knowing that my non-virginity is part of my medical record, like it’s official.

  “And do you use protection?”

  “Yes. Well … I always used condoms for, you know, normal sex. Not that other kinds aren’t normal. It’s just—”

  I blush, recalling Saturday night in Guy’s room. I’m usually so cautious, you’d think I would’ve insisted on him using a dental dam, but it didn’t even occur to me until after it was over. Your brain really does turn to mush in the heat of the moment.

  “I h
aven’t always used protection for … oral sex.”

  “Just keep in mind you can still contract a variety of sexually transmitted diseases through unprotected oral-genital contact. The same holds true for outercourse, what we call skin-to-skin genital contact without penetration.”

  “I understand.”

  It’s time for my blood test, so Rosemary tells me to relax my arm as she ties a tourniquet around the upper part of it and rubs a disinfectant cloth over my inner elbow. She then has me make a fist while she pricks me and draws four vials of blood. Afterward she covers the puncture site with a cotton ball and Band-Aid before taking the vials to the lab, leaving me alone and as tense as ever. I use the time to text Amy, who’s just getting out of work.

  Amy: You’ll be fine. It’s a routine exam.

  Dominique: I know, but I still can’t believe that soon some man I never met will be touching me THERE.

  Amy: I know what you mean. On Friday I’ll be going through airport security again for Joel. Ah, the indignities we suffer to get nookie!

  Dominique: Whatever. I’ll take a patdown over a pap smear any day.

  Amy: Maybe you’ll luck out and your doc will be super old with shaky hands. HAHAHAHA!!!!

  I’m typing back “Gross” when the door swings open. Rosemary walks in, along with a man in a white coat, who I presume is my gynecologist. Frantically, I shove my cell back into my purse so they can’t see what we’re writing.

  The man holds out his hand to me. “Hello, Dominique. Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Mike Monahan.”

  I hold my gown closed tightly as we shake. He’s not old but definitely middle-aged. The fact that he’s probably seen thousands of women’s vaginas by now puts me a little more at ease. I’m glad Rosemary’s here, too. It’s common practice for a female assistant to be present with a male gynocologist. For whatever reason, having a second woman in the room helps defuse the weirdness.

  “So …” He sits down on the roller chair and skims my file for a few moments. “You’re thinking about starting the pill to use in conjunction with condoms?”