CRS
Chandler, Arizona, United States

There's an old saying. If you don't want someone to join a crowd, you ask them, "If everyone were jumping off of a cliff, would you?" Well, I have. So my answer would be "Yes". True story.
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Watching a porno when you don't think you're going to be watching a porno.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

this entry brought to you by okkervil river, "our life is not a movie or maybe"


The two subjects I'm about to describe to you don't initially sound like they go together, but hear me out.

Have you ever watched a porno when you weren't in the mood, and didn't expect to be seeing a porno? Say you're cleaning out the folder that you put all your innocent, non-porno movie files in, and there's a file name that you don't recognize, so you double click, and boom, it's porno. And after the initial shock goes through you, like when you reach for a glass of water and you instead get Sprite, doesn't it just seem fucking weird? I mean, when you're ready for porn and you've got your underwear around your ankles and your parts in your hand, you're like, "Yeah! Give it to her!" But when you're minding your own business and porn is as far from your mind as it's going to get, you think things like: You mean he's not going to try and sweet talk her or anything? No tender back and forth? He's just going to stick it in there like that? Huh. Well, I guess you could do it that way. If that was your mission in life.

When my wife was pregnant I went with her to all the check-ups at her OBGYN. Her doctor was Dr. Warner, and she was a really cool lady, good sense of humor, real friendly, good conversation skills, a snappy dresser-- frequently wore these Chinese dresses, yet was not Chinese. The point is, however, that when she came to the check-ups, she was like an auto mechanic. She'd slap some lube on her speculum, get a good grip down there between Michelle's legs outstretched on the stirrups, and as Michelle twisted her face uncomfortably she'd ram a lubed, gloved finger up there, say, with satisfaction, "Aaallllright there. Coming along nicely!", then write something down.

It was like watching a porno when you're not in the mood to watch porno. It was beyond methodical, it was morbid. Keep in mind, Dr. Warner was an awesome, awesome lady who we loved seeing once every check up. And don't get me wrong, Michelle never felt that the actual process was unpleasant, but watching it, I might as well have been seeing someone carve a chicken before cooking it. But I mean, this is what doctor's visits are like, period. They're very matter of fact about the most intimate, and frankly, disgusting parts of their job, because they've done it a billion times and both parties involved want it over with as quickly as possible, even if the subject feels like they are a car getting a diagnostic check.

I don't know if every OBGYN does this, but Dr. Warner had us see two other gynecologists for two appointments each. The idea was that there was no way to tell if Dr. Warner would be available when Michelle went into labor, so she wanted her to get used to the other doctors in case they were the ones on call. There was a male doctor, and another female doctor. The male doctor was much like Dr. Warner herself, very methodical, like going down a check list.

But the other female doctor, I forget her name, had what you would call, a woman's touch. She put Michelle's legs gently in the stirrups, and oh so carefully put the speculum in place. Michelle winced, the doctor's hand went up and gently held Michelle's knee, in what you might call a caress. "It's okay," she half-whispered, half-cooed, in a gentle, caring voice. "Okay sweetie," she said, her voice demure, as she lubed up her fingers. "This is going to be a little uncomfortable. Are you ready?" Michelle nodded, and the fingers went in. Michelle held her breath. The doctor eased them in, and she whispered "It's okay. It's okay." She felt around for a moment. "Okay. One more moment. A little further..." Her voice was soft, a gentle touch. "There we go. Okay. Okay, sweetie. We're all done." She eased her fingers out. "That's the end. Everything alright, hon?" she said in her gentle caress of a voice. The whole process from beginning to end was much slower, much softer than Dr. Warners, and took about twice as long.

My eyes were burning slightly from the lack of blinking. I found a lump in my throat and, moreover, my pants. I adjusted myself. I'd gone to what felt like dozens of these appointments, each one so much the same, methodical pull and push, the sound of the tube of lubricant making that familiar fart with a squeeze, the whole thing seeming like, well, a doctor's visit. But this was more like a sensual massage, even though none of the actual processes were even remotely different than they were previously. But if soft, new age jazz music started playing and the doctor started kissing her inner thigh, I totally would have understood what women see in those frilly chick pornos that are story-driven and have fancy costumes that never seem, when I actually have cock in hand, to get to the damned point.

When all was said and done and the doctor said good bye-- the encounter was so fucking intimate I swore they were going to hug-- and Michelle was getting dressed, she looked at me wide-eyed and said, an ashamed tone in her voice, "This is going to sound really weird, but that was actually kind of hot."

I told her that I was glad she said that, because I thought I was some kind of hyper-pervert for getting turned on, because nobody but people being paid to be filmed gets turned on from a doctor's appointment.
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with love from CRS @ 8:42 AM 

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