OBGYN

I woke an rolled onto a crusty patch on the bed. Just once can I wake up and find everything normal? It doesn’t seem like too much to ask.

I threw the covers aside. At some point in the night I’d been too hot and had thrown my pajama pants off. My shirt had rumpled around and my tummy was bare. There was a shiny dried film on it, and I recognized the entire situation.

I had had a wet dream.

Like a boy wet dream.

Like I had ejaculated in my sleep.

I wasn’t entirely up on my female anatomy. I mean, I knew my vocab. I wasn’t sure where the cervix was, or what it did, but the rest wasn’t hard to figure out.

So that conclusion was impossible. Holmes’ axiom stuck in my head: Eliminate the impossible, and whatever remains—however improbable—must be the truth.

Having ejaculated was impossible, so that was out. Unfortunately that left me with nothing improbable to consider. I stripped my sheets in any case, while I decided that this was some hitherto undiscussed girl thing, and bore no more thought.

My tampon was very faintly pink at the tip. Thank god that’s over for the next 26-ish days. I threw it away with a sense of relief coupled with satisfaction and accomplishment. That thing sucked from the start.

Downstairs, dressed, hair dripping, I realized that I had woken early on my own. My alarm must have gone off while I was in the shower. Mom was already dressed and on the phone. She finished as I walked into the kitchen and made myself a poptart, “Okay, we’ll see you then, mmmmmmm-bye.” She turned to me, “You’re skipping first period again, so sohelpme if you fail this class.”

“I’m cool with death, but why?”

“You asked, I did. You have an appointment with the lady doctor in half an hour.”

My heart dropped through the floor. Everything everyone everywhere ever had said about the gynecologist coming to me in a rush. “So soon? Couldn’t you have made it for next week?”

“If you wanted it on your schedule you should have made it yourself. After last night I’m feeling a sense of urgency. I’m far too young to be a gramma.”

She handed me a cup of coffee, and I made my way to the table. “You’ve been wearing gramma glasses since I was six, mom.”

“Is that when I graduated? I wanted something to make my face look like a therapist’s. Seems silly now, but it’s too late to change.” She found her purse and went into the living room for her shoes.

“You’d look weird without them too.” A counter point occurred, “Anyway pregnancy is off the table. And anyway, I’m too young to have sex.”

“Why? I started at around your age.” She gave me that ‘I’ve won’ smile again.

“Mom!” She was standing around like she was waiting for me to get ready, and I realized it was because she was waiting for me to get ready. “Can we just cancel it? I don’t really feel like coming face to vagina with a speculum today.”

“No we can’t, and you’ll never be ready for that. It’s immaterial for today’s visit though, I told you they don’t do that anymore.” She got her purse and stood next to the door. “If you cancel the appointment I’m taking the charge out of your allowance.”

I ran up the stairs, “Let me get my shoes on.”

What did people do in waiting rooms before cell phones? Probably read these magazines laying around here. They all looked boring.

On the table in front of me where two of the same issue of Sports Illustrated a Time from last year, and Cosmopolitan. Miley Cyrus was on the cover. Why does a women’s magazine always feature stripped down women on the cover? Are we supposed to want her? Want to be her? If they had a woman on the cover who was sitting in a hot tub eating chocolate cake it could be the latter. Miley looks like she’s never eaten chocolate cake in her life. She was eating an ice cube instead, which looked about right. Tongue out in her signature “Bill the Cat, expression. (Aaaaaack!) I hadn’t been a woman long, point of fact I hadn’t even been a woman yet, but even as a guy I would be asking what the hell she was doing wearing a denim tube top. But lets be honest, no one wants to be Miley Cyrus. Miley Cyrus had been trying to be anyone but Miley Cyrus for 14 years. I used to have a crush on one of the girls on Hanna Montana. Couldn’t remember the name of the character or the actor.

I picked up the magazine anyway. “SEX… Your Way” I read. Then underneath, “Kisses, Touches & Positions to Satisfy Your Body—Get It Girl!” Is this a guide on how to masturbate? Because I have the Internet. Maybe I could use some pointers? I opened the magazine and flipped past 6,000 pages of ads before finding the article.

On my way there I paused at an article on crystal sex toys and paused. The article specified that there was no proof that crystals had any healing powers. Then in the next sentence pointed out that the Chinese had believed they had healing powers for 2,000 years. In the next sentence it pulled a quote from a doctor saying that crystals can’t heal shit. The sentence after that was someone who sold crystals saying that they could cure cancer. It went on like that before finishing: Read on for their purported powers and suggested uses. The “on” part was scant, and was just pictures of crystal sex toys and what the crystals were supposed to do.

There was an egg shaped piece of jade. You were supposed to jam that inside yourself to “bring humor and happiness.” I guess because saying “I slammed a rock in my lady-pipe” is something the wrong kind of clown would say. There were obsidian cock rings, because obsidian “taps into your dark side and detects bad vibes.” It didn’t say what obsidian did when it found the bad vibes. I was—had been a 14 year old boy. If obsidian detected bad vibes in my dick, every arrowhead buried under the city of Denver would be glowing red hot. There was a Red Jasper Massage Wand. The instructions were: Make windshield-wiper strokes over your clitoris.

OW! I had a clitoris and I liked soft thing on it, thank you, Cosmo.

On the other hand… the egg was supposed to make your pussy stronger. Make you better at sex. I’d never had sex, and I had no idea if I was good at it. Everyone seemed sure I would be, Autumn and Regular Dave in particular. But none of the others had expressed any doubts.

Of course, none of them knew I was a virgin. Might be good to have a leg up on the competition.

It was $60 for a small, and I was sure I wouldn’t need a medium. I can probably order one online?

At that time my name was called and I put my finger in the page, deep in thought. I followed the nurse into the office and kept reading while I waited another ten minutes.

There was a knock at the door, and the doctor breezed in. “Hello Ay-sling, I’m Doctor Swanson.”

“It’s Aisling,” I had my hands on the bed at my side, in a stress pose, and I didn’t meet her eyes.

“Aisling? Is it French?”

“Gaelic.” I still couldn’t look at her.

“Let me put a note in your chart so no one else makes that mistake.” She went over to the computer and I noticed that she was both young, and very good looking. Chin length brown hair and soft features. Just a little taller than I was, and according to the nurse who took my vitals, I was five foot even.

Well. Four eleven and a half.

“So,” She turned to me and I looked away again, “According to your intake you started your period, was everything normal?”

I shrugged and then nodded.

“No problems?”

“Well it all sucked, if that’s what you mean.” I finally managed to look at her directly.

She crossed her legs and put her hands on her knees, “So what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping for some…” I swallowed. “… some birth control?”

“Are you sexually active?”

“No.” Man this is hard.

“Well normally we don—”

“I mean… I’m sort of… incipiently. Sexually… active,” I gave her a wan smile.

“So no sexual history up to this point?”

“Up to a couple of d—weeks in the future.”

She gave me a smile that suggested that—had we both been guys—she would have given me a high five. “Sure. Pill, shot, or implant?”

Shot or implant? I loosened up, a little from my curiosity, a little from her attitude, “What are the advantages?”

“The implant is 99% effective and lasts four years, the shot lasts three months.”

Implant sounds pretty sweet then. “Disadvantages?”

“The shot feels like getting injected with toothpaste, and if you have side effects you can’t go back in time and prevent yourself from getting it. The implant? Pretty much none. You don’t even feel it.”

I opened the magazine, and handed it to her. “Not like, say, a rock?”

“Like a rock under your skin?” she said, as she took it from me. “What do we have here?”

“Do they really work?” I asked. “I mean I know crystals don’t work, but will they make me better at sex, and stuff?”

Doctor Swanson looked over the page for a moment, then picked up the phone on the desk, “Hang on a second, Aisling. Yes Cindy, it’s Carol. Listen, can you remove all of the issues of the September issue of Cosmo from the waiting room? Thanks. No, that’s all.” She put the phone receiver down and muttered something that might have been, “Fuck you Gwyneth,” under her breath.

My curiosity was burning as she swung around and looked me in the eye, “Aisling, you’re young. That’s all guys need. When you’re in your forties you’ll need to be good at sex, and by that time you’ll have had some practice. Eggs can make the walls of the vagina stronger, but that won’t be a concern for you for many years.”

She put her hands on her lap, “You’re mother is a doctor, so you understand that when a doctor says ‘I would not recommend’ they really mean, ‘for-fucks-sake, do not’?”

“Well she’s a psychologist.”

“So you really understand, good.” she did the unprofessional thing and put her hand on my knee, “Aisling, I ‘would not recommend’ that you put any rocks inside your vagina. Not rocks you find on the ground, or rocks that someone has washed really well, or rocks you buy on the Internet. The smoothest rock can still be porous, and they can still have tiny indentations. Those are places where bacteria and fungus and grow and thrive. Even if a jade egg made you Virginia Hill, I would not recommend using a jade egg.”

I gave a little nod, “Okay.”

“Okay, back on track then, because I’ve been meaning to say this: The implant goes under your skin, not in your vagina.”

“Oh, then let’s—” Wait a second. Do you want to be the one having your period while all the other girls are in the loft having fun? Sisterhood is only good for so long. “—do the pill.” She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to sell the implant and I rushed on, “I’m… kinda… Look we’re all sort of doing this…” She’s been really understanding so far, and she’s nice, and she can’t tell your mom if you don’t want her to. “I’m sort of in… a club.”

“A period club?”

“No, like a different kind of club.”

She raised her eyebrows further, then said, “Wow. Okay.”

“We all synchronize so no one gets left out.”

“That shows… remarkable forethought.” She wiped her brow, and then her composure snapped back. Someone is gonna have some great reddit content tonight. “Okay, I’ll give you my favorite prescription for your age.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a little box, “Just take one everyday. When you get to here,” she pointed, “You start your period.” Then she pulled a little wooden phallus out of the drawer and a condom, “For two weeks from starting to take the pill, you can still get pregnant.” She opened the wrapper, “Pinch here. Place it on the tip. Roll it down. Now show me.”

Face flaming again, I demonstrated that I was aware of how to use a condom. I’m glad she had an example, because I’d never even pulled one out of the wrapper before.

“Good! Alright, here’s the story girl.” I bridled at the pro-noun and then flushed. “I need you to come back and see me within six months of starting sexual intercourse. Tell your mom it’s a routine checkup or whatever you need to do. But see me. Okay? I have a sample of the pills if you want them, or you can just go to the pharmacy.”

“If I can have some now, that would be great. Side effects?”

“Some nausea, doesn’t last more than a week if you experience it, or you see me. Sometimes headaches. All birth control has a possibility of weight gain. As a doctor I recommend regular exercise in any case. And your period will be lighter, fewer premenstrual symptoms—”

“Yes please.”

“Been a little rough, huh? There’s some chance of irregular bleeding in the first month though. And this,” she gestured across her chest, “Might get a little tender. And a little bigger.”

“Works for me.”

“I hope so dear, when girls your age are jealous they can get cruel.” She stood up and brushed down her skirt, “Alright, see within six months after, and go get some, girl!”

The solidarity, and Doctor Swanson’s unprofessional encouragement, helped me feel pretty great about the whole thing. Oh shit. Just when did I decide to actually do this? Somewhere inside me a brain cell was saying, in Charlie Day’s voice “Everyone’s on the gas, no ones on the breaks…”

I met my mom in the waiting room with my prescription in hand, feeling like I was trying to plug a cracking dam, while the water rushed past my fingers.