Humiliated in the End

Soccer mom, sex toys, and viagra, humiliation at the gynecologist's

Her birthday is October 1. Nikita feels like a woman half her age. Any mention of her birthday puts her in an a state of torment because she doesn't like that kind of attention. At this point in her life, she would love to get a clit piercing, but it is a pipe dream for her. Always the pragmatist, she dreads the raised eyebrows and flurry of lectures at the gynecologist's office.

She regularly corresponds with a male friend and as always, is as blunt as a hammer about everything. This is the birthday email.

G:

It is Friday morning, my eyes are half open. Coffee sets in motion what mother nature takes it's time to do, heh, heh.

Kick off the day music, gets the blood going. . .

Let's Get Party Started by the ever exciting Pink

"Pumping up the volume, breakin down to the beat. . ."

Today, I have my annual pussy checkup. There will be plenty of time in the waiting room to ponder about the number fifty. I remember my last annual check up with him. He's about my age, piercing blues peering out from behind glinted eyeglasses. He has a bedside manner without being overt; he doesn't have to. Maybe it's just me.

It felt a little kinky when the gynecologist first unveiled my bald, puffy, pink lips, a woman in the full bloom of menopause. He quickly moved to the clinical phase, where the well lubed, rubber gloved hand was deftly inserted in my warm, moist, silky sheath and tight asshole at the same time. Nothing new for him, right? I think gynecologists invented the six-pack method. You know what I mean? The same technique used examine a woman is used to pick up a six pack of beer. Think about that next time you go to the liquor store.

"I'll be burnin' rubber, you'll be kissin' my ass; Pull up to the bumper, get out of the car. . ."

When I'm on that table, I close my eyes, block out the clinical surroundings and try to focus on other things, like paying bills, making dinner, carpooling the kids to soccer; similar to men trying to keep from having a hard on at inappropriate times. Inevitably, when I feel his warm hand separate the folds of my quivering quim, it takes EXTREME self control not to squeeze my thighs together to trap the magic fingers in place. I used to wonder why it took so long for him to come in and get it over with. If I was a doctor, I'd have to withdraw to my office for some quiet time whenever one of those pussies waved the right flag. Why do you think doctors wear long white coats at work?

"I'm your operator, you can call anytime. I'll be your connection to the party line" (singing loud by now)

Menopause: What you didn't know.

There's a lot of things women and their husbands don't know about menopause. On the up side, it can be a shot of sexual adrenaline for the woman, especially combined with hormone replacement therapy. Hormonal upswings cause some women to feel like nymphomaniacs, which, by now, is a long gone feeling. In order to cope with the sudden urges, some play a lot of tennis, take cold showers, and invest in vibrators. Others write dirty stories and visit their gynecologist often, especially if he looks like mine. I don't think most of my lady friends would admit this, so, I keep it to myself. I live in the Bible belt, where shame is a virtue.

If God was on top of his game, some husbands wouldn't be on the downside of their sex life when their wives are on the upswing. Well, they're not really on the downside, just their dicks. The word is, they get horny and hard, but they can't stay hard, at least not long enough for their wives. However brief this period is, the need for Viagra and Levitra is as necessary as vitamins. After a time, the cock gets a second lease on life and wants to play catch up; a phenomena similar to "the weekend athlete." The younger, greedier men take Cialis. (I'd love to see the results of that on my husband.) Another category of mature men are the "life time fuckers." These guys have possessed hard ons from the time they were sucking on their mommy's titties until well into their 80s. (I would also like to see one of these guys before I die.) Mind you, I've read all this. It's not my personal experience or opinion. And, I'm not asking if you have experienced menopause either. ROLF

School on Cialis

As we are in the "normal" stage of mid-life crisis, my husband paid a rare visit to his doctor to take care of business. When he returned, I was given school on Viagra, Levitra, and Cialis.

"Cialis? What's that?"

"It's the new recreational drug of choice in Hollywood."

He's in the know, a real insider, heh, heh.

"Going to Hollywood?"

Well, he is handsome for an older guy, and vulnerable so I was "stroking."

"And not just in Hollywood. Younger guys who want to fuck the whole weekend pop Cialis, then, anything's a target."

This perked my interest.

"Got yours?"

He rolled his eyes.

There was a bagful of Viagra and Levitra samples on the table. Too bad he's is a little thrifty.

"Want to go test them out?"

"Nah, let's save them for later."

That's when I wanted to take his scrawny neck and bang his head a couple of times on the kitchen table. You know what I mean.

I've broken two Hitachi wands in twelve months. Two wands costs as much as a bottle of Viagra. Now that's thrifty! The wand has saved my marriage. It's ready when you are, it stays hard as long as you want, and it gives the most explosive orgasms. But, its not the same as the husband I trained.

For my birthday, I'm going to pop for the Cialis.

"I'm comin' up so you better get this party started"

Coffee kicked in, appointment in one hour, gotta run. Good coffee, that.

Talk to you later.

Nikita

G:

It's later.

It's been a rough morning. Thought I'd get some writing done before going to the gynecologist and got pretty worked up. (Method acting techniques work really well for writing.) I couldn't go to the appointment all pent up, so I used the little old pocket rocket before riding down the highway. Imagine how it would have turned out if I didn't.

I brought along a paperback collection of erotic short stories. It was a new one I had not gotten to yet. An inspiring book really. A quick read, the stories are just long enough for a trip to the bathroom, but, the wrong book to bring to the gynecologist's office.

The waiting time was about an hour or so. I was squirming in my seat as the book was burning in my hand. The pages were hot and the stories were right up my alley. (Notice the metaphors here?) I had seepage. After several trips to the bathroom, I had to stuff my panties with paper towels. You would think this flurry to cover up evidence would distract me while I disrobed for the examination. But, noooo, my body still betrayed me, dammit.

"Hello, Mrs. XXXXX, how are you today?"

I was sweating but hoped he didn't notice.

"Fine and you?"

He looked the same, handsome and distant.

"Very busy. Please inch toward the end of the table and spread a little wider."

Not the first time I've heard that, but not with the same effect. He spent a few minutes fiddling around.

"Nurse. Speculum. Get a fresh one for Mrs. XXXXX."

The metal on metal sound was the cue.

"Now I'm inserting the speculum, it will be uncomfortable for a few minutes."

My head snapped up. It had been in the fridge. The next few minutes were spent trying to peel myself up off that table. My hips palpitated against the cold invasion. With a few sorries cooed my way, he continued his exam without missing a beat. I tried to hunch towards the warmth of his hands, moving this way and that. The cold speculum did little to quell the heat.

"Mrs. XXXXX, did you recently fall down a flight of stairs or something?"

Oh no! Forgot about the bruises from the flogging session a few days ago.

"Uh, yes, I did. But I'm ok."

He accepted this without comment and continued touching my bum gently. He moved to the business end.

"Hmm, what have we here? A little yeast infection?"

Was that a little sarcasm in his voice?

"Well, I, uh, didn't think so."

"You're very moist."

My face felt red and beaded with perspiration.

"And your skin looks very red and irritated."

There was definitely a slight inflection in his voice.

"Nurse, let's take a culture of this."

Shit!

I leaned to the left to see him take a long swab. As it disappeared under the paper tent, I felt the most delicate of maneuvers in my "hoo hoo." After a minute, my bud pulsed. Instinctively, my hand moved to it's usual position. He cleared his throat.

The doctor put his hands on his thighs and instructed me to stay in the open V position while the smirking nurse took off with the specimen. My "moist" nether regions felt the coolness of the air conditioner. He was enjoying this humiliation as much as I was hating it. (or was I?) He whistled while he busied himself with notes on a pad.

"Mrs. XXXXX, here's a prescription for cream to rub on your skin irritation. Apply twice a day until the tube is finished."

"Yes, doctor."

I sighed with relief at not being discovered. Swinging my legs to the side, I sat upright, holding the ridiculous paper towel in front of me for modesty. He made a few more notes on my chart and turned to scold me, with his finger pointed like a schoolmaster at an unruly student.

"No more toys or hanging off the chandeliers for two weeks!"

I heard him chuckle outside the door. It took me fifteen minutes to get myself together and slither out of the office unnoticed.

It's true, I swear.

Nikita