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Thursday, June 22, 2006


Being in hospital recently, made me recall an episode some time ago when I almost had an orgasm as a doctor examined me.

It was seven or eight years ago and I was going through a period of abstinence from sex. I know, Girl with a one-track mind, trying to be celibate: ironic to say the least. But at the time, I was really fed up with men. I was disappointed with my single status and annoyed by the lack of romance in my life. Every man I met, never seemed to be interested in developing things beyond the physical with me; I was saddened by the emotional gap that I felt needed attention.

So I made a decision to not have sex for a while; to only sleep with a man, if we were involved more deeply than on a casual basis. Doing this, I figured, would help me meet a better class of man; one that wanted me for my mind and soul, as well as my body. And given my bad choices of men at that point in my life, I thought taking sex off my agenda might help me think more clearly too; that I wouldn’t rush into situations with men that were clearly wrong for me, just because I wanted to fuck them.

I managed 18 whole months of no sex. Amazing, I know. For me, anyway, given my healthy appetite; but with my quitting cigarettes and drugs in previous years, I figured ‘how hard can it be to quit fucking for a while?’

Very hard, as it turned out: I was horny ALL the time. The thing about it being on men’s minds every eight seconds? That’s nothing: it was on my mind for each of those other seven seconds too. The thought of sex preoccupied me from wake to sleep; there wasn’t one moment where I didn’t think about it. Let’s just say my hands got to know my nether regions very well.

As I reached the 18 month mark, I had an appointment for a gynaecological exam; a sexual health MOT to check all my bits were in working order and to update my cervical smear test.

I don’t like internal exams. I can think of far nicer ways to spend my time than having
  1. some stranger prodding my insides
  2. a freezing cold metal contraption being inserted into me and then uncomfortably holding my vagina open
  3. swabs and sticks scraped against my cervix
So I wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting a check-up. But, you know, it must be done – making sure my sexual and reproductive health is OK, is important to me – so along I went to my local clinic.

For some reason – and I’m sure this isn’t standard practice – the male doctor that examined me, did so when there was no female nurse in the room. Nowadays (given my assertiveness) I would complain about this, but back then, I just wanted to get the episode over and done with. So I lay back, put my feet in the stirrups, and let him get on with it.

[I should repeat here, that I hadn’t been touched by a man for 18 months. It is an important point.]

The doctor pushed gently on my belly, told me to relax and then, inserted a finger into me. I looked at his hand pressed up against my vulva and desperately tried not to think of a cock against me instead. As he swivelled his finger, finding my cervix and tracing the outline of my womb, I realised how wet I was. Admittedly he had lubricant on his finger, but with the gentle pressure inside me and his firm hand still placed on my belly, I felt myself fully aroused; as he slipped another finger inside, I felt my body convulse and tremble and I knew that I wouldn’t be far off from an orgasm.

‘Are you OK?’ he said and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment as I realised he could surely feel how engorged my private parts had become.

I nodded back at him and tried to focus on something other than the sensation between my legs, in the hope that I could turn myself off. I was terrified that I might climax in front of this man; disgusted with myself that I had become stimulated by the merest touch of another person.

Thankfully he then removed his fingers, telling me that everything was in order, and then swiftly inserted the speculum, scraped my cervix, took some swabs, and then left me to get dressed, red-faced, aroused and all.

I was so embarrassed about the incident, I didn’t go back to the clinic for some time – and when I did, I insisted that only female doctors examined me. Even with my mild Sapphic tendencies, I figured at least I wouldn’t be thinking of cock when they had their hands in my insides, thus limiting the possibility of my becoming so aroused again. (Of course, I took other precautions too, like never again having an examination when I was sexually frustrated or horny).

And that night, after having my insides explored by a doctor, I also finally had them explored by a rather delicious cock: I dragged my friend out to a bar and then bedded some eager young bloke who was only too happy to fulfill my needs.

This episode in my life made me realise that abstaining from sex is all well and good for some, but for me, it left me unhappy: instead of meeting a decent bloke, I spent 18 months horny and desperately missing sex, only to then get into an embarrassing situation as a result.

Years have passed since then and thankfully I am in a different place mentally and emotionally now. I may still like to meet a ‘good man’, but there is no way on earth that I am giving up sex in the meantime: if someone special is out there, our paths will cross, regardless of the amount of my current sexual activity.

Of course there’d be another bonus to meeting someone whilst I’m also busy getting action elsewhere: I’d be less likely to leave scratch marks on his back when we did end up in bed, which is a good thing: I wouldn’t want my rampant appetite to scare him.

At least not at first: I’d wait till we’d been together a month before demanding his cock three times a day - hopefully by that point, he'd be only too happy to accomodate me.

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