Faith
“Well, I’ll tell you something for nothing,” my friend Kate says as she carefully removes her gloved hand from my vagina, “if you ever have kids, you’re an automatic C-section, end of, no doubt. There’s barely enough room down there for you to birth a smurf.”
It’s OK: Kate’s a nurse, and it’s smear test season again. Deep joy.
Well, not so deep, if you’re me.
“No shit, Sherlock,” I say through gritted teeth, smarting from the lingering effects of the speculum’s attentions. I’m going to be sore for days.
“You OK?” she asks me, sympathy in her eyes as she removes her gloves and bins them. “I did lube up extra, just for you.”
“I know you did,” I grumble, rearranging that ghastly blue paper the nurses always drape over you. It’s like a waterslide down there, slippery and gross, and burning like the River Styx because Kate’s hand is significantly larger than Papa Smurf.
“I have to admit,” she says as she closes the curtain to allow me privacy to dress, “I thought you were bragging or exaggerating or something, but that’s the smallest vag I’ve ever seen.Andyou have a pinhole cervix, by the way.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” I pull my knickers back on and rearrange my maxi skirt before pulling the curtain back again. “The question is, can anything be done about it?” She’s gonna say dilators. I’ve already tried them.
“To an extent,” she says, tightening her blonde and blue ponytail, but I can tell from her face that there’s not much good news to offer. “There are vaginal dilators, and they will helpsome, but the way your pelvis is structured, you’ll always have…”
“A tiny vaginey?” I joke, but inside I’m feeling pretty down. I really liked my most recent ex, George, but we had to break up because his eight inches were causing me immense pain no matter how slowly we took it, and no matter how much Durex Naturals we used. We could barely get him in, and when we did, it was like stuffing a sausage into a thimble.
“Yeah,” she admits.
Yeah.
“Well, thanks for fitting me in after work,” I say. “Hug it out, or is that too much like a date, since you basically just fisted me?”
I’m gonna die alone, I think morosely as I finish off my emergency Toblerone in front ofSaw 6. Horror films always help my mood when I’m down in the dumps, the gorier the better, go figure. Thank god I live alone and don’t have to justify myself to anyone or consider their preferences.
Enforced singletondom really sucks, but facts are facts, and the smart thing to do is face them head on. My lady garden is more of a window box, and penetrative sex is always going to be a huge challenge. Even an average Joe feels like fricking Magnum Man, which will sound great to any prospective lover to start with, until they’re confronted with the reality of not being able to successfully have sex with their wincing, teary eyed girlfriend. Yes, there’s more to sex than peen in vageen, but it’s a pretty integral part for most people.
Like George.
Pleasure just wasn’t even a thing; just the battle to get penetrated at all. And, much as I likedhim, I hated every second of our P.I.V bedroom shenanigans. Every time we shagged, he’d have to bring me frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel for my foof as I tried hard not to wail. It’s possibly the least sexy feeling in the world, especially when he gave me these sad, pitying looks with his cock looking all droopy and forlorn between his legs. We gave it everything we had to get things to work out, and he was really patient and decent about it, but eventually it became unavoidably clear: he and I would never have a satisfying sex life together. I miss him, but sex was important to him, and it’s not fair to expect someone to give that up entirely if that’s a priority for them. I mean, it’s a priority for me, too, but I guess I’m stuck like this.
I lost my virginity at eighteen to a man with four and a half inches, and sobbed in agony afterwards because it felt as proportionally painful as shoving a coke can into my business. And things never really got better from there. Well, except for training myself not to cry, an ability that has deserted me tonight.
I dash away the solitary tear coursing slowly down my face.None of that. It’s not like I’m going to becompletelyalone. I have three sisters and two brothers. They’ll have families I can spoil, and I’ll just up my game to Favourite Aunt so they choose me a decent retirement facility when I’m an old lady. I won’t be alone.
It’s not going to be enough for a happy and fulfilled life, though, Faith. There will always be something missing.
I look around my one bedroom, single person’s flat. No room for anyone else, just like my…
This might be as good as it gets for me, and I wanted so much more. I wanted love. I wanted a family.
And it’s a real pisser that I won’t ever have the opportunity because of something completely beyond my control.
Faith
“Oh,yuck!” My throat clenches in disgust. “How the hell is this still in the fridge?” I’m almost angry as I pull out the spoiled carton of milk, trying not to retch at the lumpy thunk as it jiggles. From the stink of it, there’s no way this hasn’t been past its best since well before this morning. What’s so difficult about throwing it away?
I’m the business development manager at a wealth management firm, and I swear to god, some of the planners and consultants clearly think they’re too busy and important to keep the kitchen nice. I mean, sure, they’re busy people and they work very hard, but it takes seconds to bin something. No excuses.
“Urgh,” my colleague Zaynab says, making a puke face, “not it.” She’s one of the more considerate consultants, and incidentally has a hair trigger gag reflex, so there’s no way she committed this atrocity.
I look back in the fridge. “And there’s no other milk in here.” Typical.
“I’m on it,” she says, grabbing her wallet. There’s a corner shop at the end of the road, and hey, I’d want to get away from the baby sick smell if I could, too. I don’t see her for dust.
