Free Stories

I wash my hands at the sink for longer than I need to. The water is hot enough to sting my wrists, and I let it, hoping it will settle me.

“Should I lie down now?” Amy asks behind me.

I turn off the faucet, dry my hands and pull on a pair of blue gloves. I take a second before I turn around.

“Yes. For the pelvic exam, I need you lying flat on your back,” I tell her. “Slide down until your hips are right at the end of the table. Then I’ll swing the footrests out, and you’ll put your heels in them. Your knees will fall open to the sides. That gives me the access I need for the exam. Is that okay?”

She looks at the stirrups folded beneath the end of the table. “Is there a clinical name for this position?”

“Lithotomy.”

“That sounds like something out of geology.”

“It comes from the same Greek word. Stone. Surgeons used the position for removing bladder stones a long time ago.”

“That’s disgusting,” she says. “Thank you. I feel much calmer.”

She lies back and shifts down the table in short, careful movements until I tell her to stop. I swing the stirrups out and set them. She puts her heels into them one at a time, and then her knees fall apart. For the first time tonight there is no gown between me and the vagina I am supposed to examine.

I look at it.

It’s clear she has never shaved. A dark tuft of hair sits on the mound and runs down onto her thighs. That fits everything else about Amy. She has never cared much about grooming beyond what she considers necessary. Her vulva is so tight I can barely see it.

I try to make myself examine her the way I would any patient.

“I’m going to put the drape across your knees now,” I say. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

She sounds more nervous now. As far as I know, Amy has only ever had female doctors. I can imagine this is different, lying here exposed in front of a man, even one she has known for years.

I shake out the folded sheet and lay it across her knees. It hangs down between us and blocks most of her view.

“The drape is for privacy,” I tell her. “If you’d rather see what I’m doing, I can fold it back.”

“Leave it.”

“I’m going to bring the lamp in closer.”

“Okay.”

I swing the lamp down on its arm and angle it, then roll the stool to the end of the table and sit. I adjust one glove, and it snaps at the wrist in the quiet room.

“The first part is external,” I say. “I’m going to visually examine you first. I’m checking the vulva, meaning all of the external structures. I’m looking at the skin for any lesions or swelling. I’m also looking at how everything is formed. Then I’ll touch the outside, gently, to part the labia so I can see the vaginal opening. Can I start?”

“What are you looking for, exactly?”

“Anything that shouldn’t be there. Cysts, warts, skin changes, anything unusual.”

“Warts?” I see her lift onto her elbows.

“Usually there isn’t anything,” I tell her.

She settles back, but her knees draw inward a fraction before she catches herself. I can tell she’s tensing up at the thought of me touching her.

“Okay,” she says. “Go on.”

I lean in closely with my lamp and take a look. Her skin is healthy and even, with no redness or lesions. No swelling anywhere. The labia are normally formed, and so is the clitoral hood. The only thing that stands out is how tightly her labia are pressed together, like a closed bun, with the hood of her clitoris poking out. Most of the women I see are so much looser.

“I’m going to touch you now, on the outside. Two fingers, just to part the labia. Is that all right?”

“Okay. Yes.”

I rub my left thumb and forefinger together out of habit, take a breath, and reach out. Even through the latex I can feel how soft those tight labia are, and the pressure in my pants stirs again. Stop it, I tell myself, and spread them open.

“Urethral opening is normal,” I say, partly to her and partly to myself. “The vaginal opening is too. No unusual discharge. No sign of infection. Just the right amount of natural lubrication.”

“So it is all okay?” Her voice comes from the other side of the drape, and it sounds so small.

“Everything I’ve seen so far looks very healthy.”

“Nothing is wrong?”

“Nothing I can see.”

She laughs under her breath, once. “I told her.”

“You did.”

“Say it like you’d write it in the chart,” she says. “I want to hear it in real medical terms.”

“External genitalia are normal in appearance. No lesions. No erythema or edema.”

“Erythema is redness and edema is swelling?”

“Yes.” Despite myself, I smile. That part is very Amy.

“I like knowing what’s happening with my body,” she says. “Do you mind taking the drape away? I feel better now that I know what you’re doing. I’d rather watch.”

My pulse is loud in my ears. My face feels hot above the collar, and I’m painfully aware that my body still hasn’t settled down. I have a full erection.

Whatever is happening has no place in this exam.

“Of course,” I say.

I fold the drape back and move it aside. Amy props herself up enough to see what I’m doing.

“Better?”

“Yes.” She adjusts her glasses. “Thanks, Daddy.”

The word catches me harder than it should. She doesn’t call me that much anymore, and hearing it now makes me suddenly aware of exactly who I am to her. I shift on the stool and make myself look at the instruments instead of her.

“All right,” I say. “We’ll keep going. Have you ever had any pain down here? Pelvic pain, day to day, or anything that comes and goes?”

A pause. “No. Never.”

“Good,” I say. My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.

I sit with my gloved hands resting on my knees and take a breath. I’m her stepfather, and my body is reacting while she lies here trusting me to examine her. I feel sick with myself.

“The last part is the internal exam,” I say. “I’m going to put lubricant on one gloved finger and insert it into your vaginal canal. I’m checking the vaginal walls and the muscle tone. I’m also checking whether anything is tender, or whether anything is there that shouldn’t be. You’ll feel pressure and some stretching. If anything hurts, tell me, and I’ll stop right away.”

“What does my muscle tone tell you?”

“Whether the muscles there are healthy, and whether they relax when they should. Tension can cause pain, and a lot of people never mention it to anyone.”

“So I am going to need to relax, then,” she says, trying to make it a joke.

“Yes. Just try to breathe.”

“Okay.”

She takes a breath. I can see that she’s shaking a little.

I pause.

“Amy, you can still stop here. You can sit up and get dressed, and I’ll tell your mother what I’ve found so far. It’s all good news. We don’t need to do the rest. I’m confident you’re healthy.”

For a second she doesn’t answer. Her hand grips the edge of the table through the paper.

“No,” she says. “I want you to do the whole thing. Please keep going.”

“Then I need to hear you say it clearly. Do you agree to the internal exam?”

“Yes,” Amy says.