Man of Science

During one of our recent sessions, with a spindly finger deep inside me, the gynecologist asked if I had an IUD. “Yes,” I said, somewhat impressed. I had never managed to reach the device with my own probing. “I can tell,” he replied. I relentingly came and he gave me an earnest kiss. “I want you to know that I sometimes have difficulty maintaining an erection with new lovers, due to some past trauma.”

“I understand,” I said, nodding gravely into his blue eyes. I tried to purge any glimmer of irony from my gaze. I never liked sleeping with men with blue eyes. They always asked me what I was thinking, as though they could see the shadows of my thoughts dancing near the surface. The gynecologist never fucked me properly, not really.