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Subject: {ASSM} They Can be Fun
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Date: Sun, 08 Apr 2007 15:10:02 -0400
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Semi-realistic Medical erotica - F/F


                                              THEY  CAN  BE  FUN


[ Linguistic note: in British slang, "fanny" means "vulva / vagina" -
as opposed to American slang, where of course it means "backside".]


There's a book - published in Britain in quite recent years - by a Dr.
Anne Szarewski, title "The Cervical Smear Test". It is, in fact, an
excellent work, highly informative about all things to do with the
procedure and its purposes. However, the feature of this book which
most pleased me, is definitely in the frivolous realm. In her general
"preamble" in the early pages, Dr. Anne sets out her take on the
matter - to the effect that she realises that cervical smears are not
very pleasant to undergo; but they are highly necessary for women's
well-being. She writes, "I have never yet encountered a woman who
found this experience actually enjoyable (no letters please!)"

When I read these words of the good doctor's for the first time, I
absolutely broke up with laughter. What a pity you've forbidden
letters on this point, I thought - I'd have loved to tell you how much
of an exception I am to your general rule. For that matter, Dr. Anne
should do a bit of logging-on to ukgyn: it would be a real eye-opener
to her, and demonstrate that her generalisation - while no doubt true
very much in the main - is not 100% so.

Being one of the small minority of women who find an -- at least part-
sexual --excitement and pleasure in having rude things done to them in
medical and clinical situations, I look forward eagerly to smear-test
time. "Diagnostic" and true-purpose stuff quite aside, I wish that
here in the U.K., the thing were scheduled annually - not the measly
every-three-years (sometimes less, depending on various factors) which
we in fact get. Ah, well, I make the most of my triennial event.

Last time, for me, was a few months ago. I have been registered with
my current medical practice for getting on for ten years, and like to
think I have a good relationship with the personnel there - in part, I
suspect, because I am (touch wood) blessed with excellent health, and
seldom have to trouble them. My G.P. (male) is just great; but my
favourite member of the outfit is Katie, one of the practice nurses. I
usually seem to get her when it's a "nurse" job, which suits me
beautifully: she's grand fun, and we have the same sort of take on
things, and are on the same wavelength - we've become good friends, as
well as being "healthcare person and patient".

In the matter of sexual orientation, I regard myself as "straight";
but so far as I'm concerned, I get a big kick out of "rude clinical
doings" whoever is carrying out the stuff on me: it's basically
independent of the person's sexual attractiveness, or otherwise, to me
- if it should happen to be a fanciable guy, that's a nice bonus; but
male, female, young, old, it doesn't really matter. I'd probably be
equally turned-on if the business were being done to me by an alien
from Tau Ceti - I should be so lucky as to be able to verify that
first-hand.  I just love being indecently exposed in the surgery - the
more exposed, the better - and being intimately fiddled with, in the
interests of making sure that things are right, health-wise. When I
know that a situation of the kind is coming my way, I take care to
plan things so that I can get "rude and bare" to the maximum possible.
For smear tests, I dress in trousers, knickers, and if I can possibly
get away with it, shoes or sandals but no socks (I adore "medical"
circumstances where I can be barefoot, as well as whatever else). The
day of my appointment turned out to be a quite warm late-autumn one,
and I took full advantage of the weather. "Below", I dressed as just
described; "above", I wore just a skimpy top, leaving my midriff bare,
and no bra. This should guarantee my having just one garment on, for
the business being done; too much to hope, no doubt, that she'd want
to check my breasts as well - but if she were to: oh, bliss!

I'd managed to sort things for my appointment to be at the end of the
day, leaving work early for it - test done, I could go straight home
and do whatever I fancied, in the aftermath...  got to the surgery in
good time, checked in at reception, and - excited anticipation was
making itself known to my bladder, so I asked whether I had time to
visit the loo. "Sure," said the girl, ""no problem" - so in I went,
bolted the door, and it was "undress rehearsal", so to speak - nether
garments down, and open the floodgates, giving delightful "release and
relief". In a society where people were more relaxed about nudity, I
reflected, it would speed things up and reduce messing-around if in
this situation one just took one's trousers and pants off to wee, and
then left them still off, until one's smear was accomplished; but
prudish as we are "here and now", my going from here into the waiting
room and sitting down there bare below the waist, trousers and
knickers casually slung over one arm, would cause some raised
eyebrows. Pity... "Number one" accomplished, I wiped myself off down
below with loo paper - don't want to lumber the nurse, re what she has
to do, with private parts more damp with urine than I can help. Get
"decent" once more - situation which won't obtain for many minutes
longer - and into the waiting room.

Late in the day: only two other waiting-room occupants. One was a
pretty girl, seemingly some years younger than me; the other, a fellow
probably in his thirties. I sat down, and rude department in my head
immediately went into overdrive, as it tends to - what were they here
for? Her, perhaps like me, for a smear - or contraceptive doings
requiring, maybe, everything off, and highly-rude interference - or
some problem for her, involving tits and / or down below, which would
have her undressed and having who-knows-what indignities visited on
her. He - problems "downstairs" maybe, or just a required medical exam
- anyway, trousers and pants off, genitals being embarrassingly
investigated, and / or finger in his rectum (guys truly hate that) -
lovely for me to contemplate, and, plus thoughts of what very shortly
coming my way, had my "blood-cocks-babies hole" getting gloriously wet
and sticky. I love this scene, I thought - if only (as has come to my
mind a thousand times) smears took place every year.

"Penny Harvey," came the receptionist's disembodied voice. "Treatment
room 2". I'm on, I thought, and stood up and went where I was
directed. I entered room 2, and, great, there was Katie. Who's a lucky
girl, I thought.

"Hi, Penny," Katie said. "This time comes round quicker than you'd
believe, doesn't it?"

"Three years in the blink of an eye," I replied - making conversation,
rather than how I really feel about the issue.

"Well," she said, "let's see if your cervix is behaving like cervices
ought to. Undress below the waist, if you would."

Indeed I would. In no time at all, I was down to one item of clothing
- trousers and pants  on the chair which is always there for the
purpose (I  find even this highly mundane feature of this scene, sexy
- I really have got this thing horribly bad.). I got up on the couch
and "assumed the posture" - lying down, feet apart, knees as far apart
as possible, so as to open my vulva to the max before artificial
assistance brought to bear to make that more so. As always, I
delighted in showing off my charms; and I was loving it that my bottom-
hole was plainly in Katie's view - what a pity that this procedure
doesn't involve rectal probing too: I adore it when that happens to me
- both the physical feeling, and the sheer indignity and rudeness of
the situation. Dear God, I ought to be locked up.

"We've got you well trained," remarked Katie, picking up the speculum.

"This is my third smear with you people," I said. "I ought to be
getting the idea by now, don't you think?"

"You keep score," she observed.

"Having to take your knickers off for someone to put an expanding
gadget up your fanny, so that they can stick another thing way up
inside, and scrape off a few cells, is quite memorable," I said.

"I usually say, it's not very nice but it's vital for it to be done. I
don't think that's appropriate to say to you, though."

"Oh, dear," I replied, "am I that obvious?"

"It's plain enough to see that you're one of our few patients who
actually like this. Don't worry - you're a refreshing change. Anyway,
in it goes." She suited the action to the words.

I love every second of this business: as with pretty well everything
that's come my way to date in the "clinically indecent" sphere, I both
enjoy it physically, and delight in the "normal conventions of modesty
totally out of the window" aspect - embarrassing, but in a way in
which I love being embarrassed. She cranked the "infernal machine"
open, and I found the "fuller and fuller" sensation, quite delicious.
After all, vaginas are designed to be very expandable: they can even
let a baby through, though that's something which I haven't
experienced so far.

"We're a hairy lass, aren't we?" said Katie, eyeing my extensive pubic
bush just above the main theatre of operations.

"We are," I said, falling in with the "nurse-speak".  "We really like
being this way."

"Fair enough," she said, as she reached for the spatula. "Can make
things a bit more difficult for us, but the medical party line is,
'pubic hair is good' ".

"Glad of that," I replied; "otherwise, you lot would be perpetually
after us to depilate. I get a certain amount of pestering of that kind
from other quarters."

"I figure, each to their own," Katie said, inserting the item to take
the needed sample. "Myself, I trim down to the minimum; but you
clearly like the natural arrangement, and more power to you."

"Women like me are in a minority these days," I said, "but I've always
felt pubic hair is really sweet. It's weird, and often inconvenient,
and I love it."

"Whatever floats your boat," she responded, taking the spatula out.
"Right, we've got what we need here - I'll just put it onto the slide...
do you mind my asking, is your boyfriend happy with your pubic-hair
preference?"

"He says that he loves it - either he really does, or he's a very
accomplished liar. Tells me that the odd hair between the teeth is a
small price to pay for the overall deal."

"How romantic," said Katie; "O.K., down it comes," and she started
reverse-pumping the instrument. "Mills & Boon would adore that little
gem."

"Sometimes he does get truly romantic about the subject," I said,
"waxes all poetical about my 'gorgeous raven fleece' - soppy bugger."

"Don't knock it," she replied. "I wish mine said things like that to
me."

"Ah, well, he's a darling mostly," I conceded. "I think I'll keep
him."

"Yes," she said, as she gently pulled the speculum out of my cunt,
"don't go and die of cervical cancer on him. What we've just done is
the best possible safeguard against that."

I got down from the couch. "No hardship at all for me, and you can
take that to the bank," I said. "I wonder, do you lot have a red flag
or something like it on my personal patient-file, meaning, 'this one
enjoys rude medical stuff - beware!' "

"That'd be telling," said Katie. "But it really isn't a problem. So
many ladies utterly hate having to have anything intimate done to
them: it's nice to have a few like you, for whom it's a pleasure -
very relaxing. We know that at an appointment with Dr. Matthews,
you're not likely to leap on him and ravish him; or lead him on, and
then sue him for abuse - so we let common sense rule."

Katie didn't seem in mode to hurry me to get dressed and get out of
the treatment room - likely I was her last appointment of the day, and
I happily took advantage of the situation. It was lovely having this
conversation, with me still bare, except for "top" - stomach and pubes
and lower orifices and buttocks and legs fully and nudely on display -
let the situation go on for as long as possible.

"The cat's out of the bag," I said. "I'm weird - I love smear tests. I
find the British three-yearly thing very mean and mingy. No chance, I
suppose, of slipping you a bribe to mess this one up accidentally-on-
purpose so that I'd have to be summoned back soon, to have it done
over again?"

"Wish I could," she said, "and I'd not ask for money. It wouldn't be
right, though. And if we were both single, maybe a private and
personal arrangement could have been considered; but that's not how it
is."

"Damned boyfriends," I said. "Don't they just take the fun out of
life?"

"Grass always greener," said Katie, "only it isn't."

"Suppose I'd better get back to decency," I said reluctantly. "We
don't want anybody accidentally walking in here and finding me nude-
and-rude: I wouldn't mind that, but they probably would."

"You're a dangerous woman, Penny Harvey; perhaps we should put that
red flag on your file after all."

"I'm an iatronudic," I said, getting back into my knickers.

"If you say so. No doubt you're about to explain."

"It's a Greek word, meaning someone who likes to take their clothes
off at the doctor's." I put my trousers back on.

"The only thing in Greek I know, is, 'I love you' - and they mean it
most sincerely - not."

"I've never been to Greece; I'm quite happy to stick to reading about
the place in ancient times."

"Hippocrates and all that. Sometimes we sail very close to the wind,
as regards what he set out."

"There's ideals, and there's real life," I said. "We try to live up to
the ideal, but we don't always manage it."

And Katie and I agreed to meet up for a drink sometime, and I left
Treatment Room 2 and the surgery, and headed for home. Well, Dr. Anne,
if you invited correspondence, I'd send this piece to you - "Smears
Can Be Fun!"

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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