Anatomy of a Single Girl

by Snadowsky, Daria

  “Actually, I’d like to start Depo-Provera instead. My schedule can get crazy, and I’d rather just get a shot every three months than have to remember to take a pill at the same time every day.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem, and since it’s within five days of the beginning of your period, the Depo will take effect immediately. However, we still recommend for the first week that you use another form of protection with it. So as long as you use the condoms during that time, there will be very little chance of getting pregnant.”

  I nod, impressed by how relaxed Dr. Monahan makes me, despite that we’re discussing my sex life.

  Now he stands up and pulls on a pair of latex gloves. “Let’s just make sure everything is okay with your health. We’ll start with the breast exam. You can lie back when you’re ready.”

  A moment later I’m reclining while Dr. Monahan’s standing next to me by the head of the table. He narrates everything he’s going to do before lifting up one side of my gown and doing a visual inspection of my exposed breast to make sure there’s no puckering or dimpling of the skin. Next he places his hand on my breast and presses it in a circular motion to check for lumps. Then he squeezes my nipple to see if there’s discharge. Finally he pulls the gown back over my breast and repeats everything on my other side. Nothing he does hurts, and amazingly I don’t feel embarrassed. That may be because he’s doing a good job of distracting me with questions about college.

  “You’re premed? Good for you! Any idea of which med school you’d want to go to?”

  “My dream would be Stanford, but I’m trying not to think about all that right now. I just want to get through organic chem next year.”

  “I wouldn’t be concerned. The biggest hurdle is surviving the first year, which you’ve already done.”

  The breast exam’s over in twenty seconds, and Dr. Monahan says that everything seems normal. Afterward he sits back on his stool and rolls to the far side of the table. Meanwhile Rosemary drapes over my legs a blanket that’s made from the same disposable material as my gown.

  “Now,” he continues, “I need you to move down all the way to the end of the table and place both feet in the footrests.”

  I inhale and do as he says, careful to keep my knees closed and the blanket shielding everything from their view for as long as possible.

  “All right, Dominique. Next is the external exam. First I’m going to simply look at your vaginal area in search of cysts, redness, swelling, and anything else that shouldn’t be there. So whenever you’re ready, I need you to open your legs.”

  I draw another long breath and comply. While nothing about this feels natural, it’s a lot less mortifying than I imagined it’d be with him. It helps that Dr. Monahan’s tone remains just as blasé as if he were checking under the hood of a car.

  “Everything looks healthy and normal.”

  Then he does something that my former doctor did not do—he asks if I’d like for him to hold a mirror between my legs so I can see everything he’s seeing. My curiosity out-gunning my eagerness to go home, I say okay. Rosemary then pulls up the blanket and has me sit up on my elbows to give me a full view of the mirror. As Dr. Monahan proceeds to deliver a mini anatomy lesson, I realize that I’m far less familiar with my own privates than with Guy’s, and I’ve seen his only twice! I guess that’s to be expected, since girls can’t really look at ourselves without a reflection, whereas nothing’s hidden with boys. It seems unfair, but there’s also something neat about it being shrouded in secrecy.

  After that Rosemary covers me again, I lie back down, and the doctor picks up a speculum from the instrument stand. The one my last gynecologist used was metal, but this one is clear and plastic. Otherwise they’re identical, having the same shape as a pistol. The cylinder part is divided into two sections, which Dr. Monahan says are called blades, even though they’re not sharp at all. They look more like a duck’s beak.

  “As you know, the speculum goes into your vagina so we can examine your cervix and birth canal. Rosemary has already warmed the blades with water to make inserting it more comfortable for you. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  When he slides the beak part into my vagina, it feels like inserting a tampon applicator, except bigger. Then I hear a clicking noise, which is Dr. Monahan squeezing the handle to spread the blades apart so he can look inside. Since it’s been a while since anything of comparable size has been up there, I already foresaw that this would be a little uncomfortable.

  “Does this hurt at all, Dominique?”

  “Um, there’s more pressure than anything.”

  He must sense I’m edgy, because he tells me, “You’re doing fine. Just try to relax and take some slow, deep breaths.”

  I do, which helps a lot.

  Then he says, “There’s no discoloration, no inflammation, no polyps. Still healthy and normal. Next is the pap smear.” Dr. Monahan holds up a long cotton swab and says he’s going to insert it into my vagina and brush it against my cervix to get a cell sample. “Any pain?” he asks when he’s done.

  “No. I barely felt it.”

  “Okay, now I’ll be removing the speculum.… Done.”

  I’d be happier about that duck-billed contraption being out of me if it weren’t also time for the bimanual, which to me is the most awkward part of the exam. As Dr. Monahan explains, he’ll be putting his hand where the speculum just was in order to feel around my ovaries and uterus. So I take a final long breath as he then inserts his second and third fingers into my vagina and presses upward while using his other hand to press downward on my lower belly. It’s painless, but I’m relieved when it’s all over five seconds later.

  “You’re okay to go, Dominique,” he says while taking off his gloves. “After Rosemary brings the pap sample to the lab, she’ll be back to give you the Depo-Provera shot and go over possible side effects. Chances are that the only thing you’ll have is some soreness around the injection site. And if there’s a problem with your pap smear, which I don’t foresee, the office will contact you.”

  “Great. Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Of course. And good luck with organic chem. Just don’t let it intimidate you. That’s half the battle.”

  Even though I’d bet my life that my STD tests will come back negative, I’m still uneasy waiting to hear. After work Friday I bike to the clinic, and it’s the biggest weight off my shoulders when Rosemary tells me the good news. I gleefully fold the results into my pocket next to my immunization records, which I ordered earlier this week from my old pediatrician. As I head back outside, I text Amy that I’m fine and wish her a safe flight to Wichita. Finally, I text Guy.

  Dominique: Everything is “taken care of.”

  Guy: Very cool. Got plans tonight?

  Dominique: Yes. Beta house @ 8.

  Guy: :) Let’s do it.

  18

  I can’t help feeling disappointed when I get to Guy’s room that evening. I wasn’t expecting him to light candles or scatter rose petals. But I just made myself infertile for him, so the least he could’ve done was make the bed. Instead, he tossed some condoms on the rumpled sheets. Suddenly I miss the plush Sanibel hotel where I had my first time after senior prom. Sure, it was silly blowing so much money on a single night, but it was a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. Tonight is, too, though. It will be my first time after my first love.

  Guy and I hand each other our medical papers to look over. He barely glances at mine before returning them to me. I read his carefully, and after a minute Guy asks worriedly, “It says I’m disease-free, right?”

  I grin and return the records to him. “Yeah, you’re all clear. Thanks again for doing all this, even if it was ‘overkill.’ ”

  “It’s okay. Sorry if I sounded like a dick about it before. It actually felt kind of good getting the results back, you know? Now we can just relax.”

  I nod and lay my purse down on his dresser.

  “Hey, Dom.” Guy lassos me in with his bath towel
and holds me against his chest. “Is anything wrong?”

  It’s fruitless to explain. Having never been in my place, he can’t possibly appreciate the momentousness of this night. Besides, our spartan setting isn’t too difficult to ignore in the midst of Guy’s naked body. Freshly showered, his skin’s glistening like dew. Plus his normally wild hair is wetted down, drawing all the attention to his deep-set eyes, which are fixed on me so fiercely that they seem like sex organs.

  He continues, “ ’Cause if you wanna wait, don’t sweat it. We can do other stuff. Or I can show you the Star Wars prequels, although they kinda sucked—”

  “I know, but I’m okay.” I grin again and kick away the empty pizza box that’s been sitting in the middle of the floor since we ate from it last weekend. “I’m ready.”

  The first time we do it, it hurts somewhat, and I have to tell him to stop before he can even come. I think I’m just nervous, considering how long it’s been since I last did it. Also, I’m preoccupied with thinking, I’m having sex again! Take that, first love! Like he’ll ever know, or care.

  Thankfully, the second time, I’m more into it and have hardly any pain. But as sensual as Guy is, the sex itself still feels awkward. I suppose thrusting is an inherently comical activity, no matter what the guy’s experience level.

  “So, what’s it like having been laid by six different girls?” I tease him after our third try. “You can count us on two hands!”

  “It’s cool,” he says through a laugh, “but I don’t care about that right now. I just want this to start feeling good for you.”

  “Well, practice makes perfect.” I wink.

  We decide not to try for four, though, because I’m a little sore now and don’t want to push myself. Instead we go out for sashimi and kill the remainder of Friday at a nearby roller rink. Not having worn skates in years, I keep slipping, so to help with my balance, Guy holds my hand. Ironically, that’s the most intimate I’ve felt with him all night.

  After biking home just shy of curfew, I stay up until three reading Cosmo articles about “great sex” tips, which I test out when Guy and I resume doing it the following afternoon. First I lift my leg up over his shoulder, which supposedly does the trick for a lot of women, but I’m not flexible enough to pull this position off for long. Then next time we do it, Guy tries rubbing my clitoris with his fingers, though it’s uncomfortable having his hand wedged between us, and we give up on that quickly too. By evening I’m staring bored up at the ceiling, wondering whether casual sex is worth the hassle or if I suffer from some kind of sexual dysfunction. Or maybe, as with anything, imagining having sex is always going to be better than actually doing it, because in your imagination it’s bound to be perfect. But just then, Guy stops, sits back on his knees, and asks, “Dom, you know you can move and stuff, right?”

  “Move?” I lift my head off the pillow. “I move all the time.”

  “Not just your arms and legs but, like, your hips. That’s what the other girls did.”

  “Oh. How’d they do it exactly?”

  “Well, everyone had their own thing.” He wiggles his pelvis back and forth, side to side, and then around. “And they definitely liked it more.”

  “All right,” I say, my enthusiasm rekindled. “I’ll try.”

  Soon we’re at it once again, and now I know why I didn’t move before—because I couldn’t, at least not easily. It takes work to maneuver with a heavy male midsection sandwiching you against a bed. At one point I do manage to arch my back so Guy’s entering me at more of an angle toward my stomach, and immediately I get a kind of hot flash from deep within myself that I’ve never felt before. I can’t take his weight for more than a couple seconds, though, before my back drops flat against the mattress.

  “Dammit,” I mutter. “I was getting somewhere.”

  Guy rolls off me and says, “Dom, I really think you should get on top.”

  “I told you last night I like being on the bottom.”

  “But obviously that’s not cutting it. C’mon. The Lilith wouldn’t ‘lie beneath’ Adam. Have you had a bad experience on top or something?”

  “No. I’ve never done it.”

  “So what’s stopping you?”

  Because if sex feels awkward, it must look awkward, and as long as we’re in the missionary position, I’m largely covered. But then it clicks how I like being concealed for the same reason I like having the room dark. As it turned out, keeping the lights on wasn’t that embarrassing. And isn’t one of the pros of having sex again to try new things?

  “Okay, Adam. You win this time.” I sit up and command him, “On your back, stat!”

  Once he reclines, I hold up his penis with my fingers and straddle him before slowly descending on it. Then I just sit there for a moment, our torsos at right angles, taking in this new vantage point. I was certain I’d miss that safe feeling of having Guy’s weight on me, but it’s liberating not being pegged underneath him. Now the only part of me that’s really being touched is my insides, and I can center all my attention on that without distraction.

  Guy gently pushes his pelvis upward, so I begin moving with him and then against him at varying speeds and directions. At first I don’t care how it feels and just revel in my newfound freedom. It must look like I’m hula-hooping and riding a pogo stick simultaneously. But eventually I arch my back again to see if I can re-create that fiery sensation from before. I do. I keep on moving.

  I’m glad the other Betas are far away playing paintball, because when I climax, I couldn’t have stayed silent if I’d tried to. The intensity’s beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before with Guy or by myself. My skeleton feels like a tuning fork that’s been struck. It actually kind of hurts, but it’s in an exquisite way. If love and hate aren’t true opposites, perhaps neither are pleasure and pain—if you go far enough in one extreme, it resembles the other. The shriek I let rip certainly doesn’t sound like I’m enjoying myself, and the groans I hear on the hospital wards could easily pass for orgasms. Now I understand what Amy meant at IHOP last week when she said sex with Joel made her feel like she was going to die.

  When Guy finishes, I’m too keyed up to lie down with him. Instead I bound up from the bed to walk it off around his room.

  “You okay?” Guy calls after me, but I don’t respond. My brain’s like vapor, and tingles continue coursing up and down my legs. Then he switches on his lamp. “Damn, Dom. Are you crying?”

  “Hmm? No.”

  But I brush my fingers across my cheeks, and sure enough, there’re tears. My hands are quivering, too. I look back at Guy.

  “I came!” I yelp.

  “No shit, Sherlock. I could feel it.”

  “It was like … time-slowing, space-curving—”

  “Now you’re speaking my language.”

  “So … how many other people know about this?”

  He cracks up laughing, but I’m not kidding. It’s as though I’ve pledged a secret sorority, and the members are the women who discovered firsthand that sex is about so much more than reproduction or pleasing your partner or trying to get closer to each other. I make a mental note to look into buying one of those internal vibrators Amy mentioned. I’ll be damned if a man’s my only gateway to feeling this heavenly.

  I scamper back to Guy and reach for another condom from his stash under the bed.

  “Let’s do it again!”

  “Whoa, girl.” He stops my hands from tearing open the wrapper. “I need a break first. Maybe in twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes?” I could slap him. “Five! Ten max!”

  “Dom, this isn’t something we can bargain over. But I assure you, we’ll fuck the second I feel capable, okay?”

  I huff and slump down next to him, though I’m amused by his choice of words.

  “We did just ‘fuck,’ didn’t we?”

  “I should say so.”

  I smile. “This sounds loony, but that felt like my first ‘fuck.’ I mean, I know it wasn’t, but
before I never thought of it as ‘fucking.’ ”

  “I’m not sure how to respond to that, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  When we do it again, nothing happens. I’m not discouraged, though, because I know the reason is that I was trying too hard. The next time I’m calmer and just go with it, and it’s even better than earlier. The first thing I do afterward is check the date on my phone. In the same way that I’ll always remember the anniversary of that April night I began having sex, I know I’ll always remember the anniversary of this July night when I began having good sex.

  By this point Guy and I both need a break, and he pulls me close to him so my head’s on his chest. My ex would also hold me like this after we did it, and then we’d tell each other, “I love you.” Maybe it’s force of habit, but I’m compelled to say something sweet now, too.

  “Guy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love fucking you.”

  He laughs again. “I love fucking you, too.”

  19

  As curfew approaches, the idea of leaving Guy’s bed anytime soon seems unconscionable. So I dial home and conveniently forget that I’d promised myself after my last relationship that I’d never again deceive my parents because of a boy.

  “The hospital called. It’s another staff shortage. They need me to come in right away for the overnight shift … and maybe through tomorrow, too. I have extra scrubs there I can change into—”

  “But it’s the weekend!” Mom peals. “Aren’t they exploiting you?”

  “It’s okay. They haven’t asked me to volunteer overtime since the Fourth. And I need to be able to stay awake for long stretches if this is what I’m going to do for a living.”

  “Well, we’ll miss you at fishing,” Dad says, “but you should be proud they’re turning to you for help. That shows you’re doing a good job.”

  “Very true, Dommie. And at least you’re getting plenty of experience!”

  “That’s for sure.”

  I also cancel my babysitting gigs this week. I know I promised myself never to do that, either, but I want to maximize my time with Guy. Before long, I lose count of how many times we do it, and all the different ways we try it. It’s not always good. But the more we do it, the more I learn what to do to make it good, and the less inhibited I feel instructing him about what to do to make it good. But my favorite position is still with me on top, since it allows me the most control. I even start giving Guy head—not because it suddenly feels better, but because I’m thinking of it differently. Down there I’m in the lead, and it’s fun making him react to whatever I choose to do to him.