The first time Farley went to the gynecologist, she was nowhere near as blasé. She picked at the appointment like a half-healed scab, and ran to her mother every time it hurt. Her mother, to her credit, did her best to assuage her daughter’s worries and fears, but a mother’s assurances can only do so much in the face of a powerful imagination backed up by the internet.
Despite the signed pledge to never have sex or babies, Farley was chauffeured to her first ever gynecologist appointment by her mother. The only thing keeping her from throwing herself from the car at high speeds was her mother’s promise to stay with her the entire time. That and the childproof locks.
Once they filled out the paperwork, and Farley was measured and weighed, had peed in the cup, and was now naked under a sheet in a chilly examination room, with her mother holding her hand, Farley cracked.
“This isn’t a gynecologist appointment, is it? This is actually the first step to selling me into sexual slavery.” Farley rolled her head to look at her mother with wide, baleful eyes. “Why, Mama? Why are you doing this to me?”
Her mother smiled fondly at her and leaned in to kiss her head.
“Everything is going to be fine, sweetpea.”
Farley knew with a certainty born of eighteen years of intuition that nothing was going to be fine about this.
Her gynecologist came in shortly after that. Dr. Martins was a short, no-nonsense woman with warm, impersonal hands, and no time for Farley’s drama. She explained the procedure, and showed Farley the speculum that would inserted into her vagina.
“So, I have this policy,” Farley squeaked out, pressing her knees tighter together. “I call it my All Natural Policy. Nothing that is not all natural and made by God goes up my vagina. This includes, but is not limited to, tampons, massive dildos, and scary-ass medical equipment.”
Dr. Martins looked decidedly unimpressed as she said, “This is important for your health.”
“It’s going to be okay, sweetpea,” her mother said, squeezing her hand.
“Seriously, nothing goes up my vagina, not even fingers. It’s one hundred percent virgin,” Farley explained.
“That is good to know; that means I won’t have to do the pap smear. I only need to take a look inside and make sure that everything is healthy.” Dr. Martins sat down on her stool and wheeled it up to the bed. “Butt to the edge of the table, feet in the stir-ups, and spread your legs.”
“Oh, my God,” Farley whined as she scrunched up her face and scooted her naked ass down the bed to the edge, lifted her feet into the metal stir-ups, and let her knees fall apart. “De-virginized by a speculum. So mortifying.”