Any sort of medical play has been a hard limit for me since I entered this world. The idea of latex gloves, cold exam tables, and specifically anything involving a speculum has always given me shivers, and not the pleasant kind.
Having been stapled by Domsigns at eroticon this year, I am happy to make an exception for surgical staples. But that’s mostly because I want to be tied up in pretty ribbons.
While I fully embrace the idea of YKINMKBYKIOK and would never want to kink-shame, I have never understood the appeal of a speculum. I can understand the lure of a power imbalance dynamic and being helpless at the hands are wicked doctor. I can understand the opportunity for humiliation and exposure that medical play offers. There is the sensation of different temperatures and materials (cold metal implements, latex, etc) and all the different mindfucks a good Dom or top could ask for, but… Speculums?
My experience with them has been purely medical, so I haven’t ‘enjoyed’ the sexy side of them. But they’re just so damn uncomfortable.
After cervical screenings, having IUDs fitted and replaced, and (most negative of all) treatment following a cancer screening result, I will be happy if I never see a speculum again as long as I live.
For those who have not had the pleasure of a gynae endoscopy appointment, let me tell you; it’s a lot less fun than the normal trip to the practice nurse. Once a year, you trot along to the hospital and a team of three wonderful NHS angels look after you. After a few visits, you become a pro, ready to drop trou at a moment’s notice. They prefer it if you use the little changing room, though. With a sheet casually wrapped around your lower half you assume the position in The Chair.
The Chair is a large affair, like a dentist’s chair but with birthing stirrups attached. Legs akimbo, you are raised up towards the ceiling, where they have thoughtfully stuck a poster of a beach view. Once you are reclined and about four feet in the air, the seat drops down, completely exposing your vaginal entrance.
Your vulva is at now eye level to the medical professional armed with a head lamp and video camera who takes position between your knees. Enter our old friend the speculum.
The staff are chatty, asking lots of questions which I’m sure are more to distract the patient than to confirm their date of birth. Sometimes the monitor screen is turned towards you, and you can watch as your cervix is poked and prodded. This is a strange experience. I know many people advocate the idea of women using a mirror to get to know their vulvas better, but not too many are so well acquainted with their cervix. Seeing yourself from the inside is oddly fascinating, but far from sexy.
Adrenaline is a dick
Once they are finished, you descend back down to ground level and shuffle to the little room to get dressed. A sanitary pad in place just in case, mostly for iodine rather than blood. As you are putting on your shoes the adrenaline shows up, far too late to be anything more than a further pain in the arse. You have trembles, feel too hot or too cold. You might feel lightheaded and panicky, and you have a funny taste in your mouth.
Your brain knows what happened, but your body still says “what the fuck?! We were just violated! We know sexy times when we feel them, and that was not sexy times!”
I dutifully attend every appointment, and I will never miss a cervical screening. A speculum probably saved my life and I’m suitably grateful, but the last thing I feel near them is aroused.