THEY CAN BE FUN 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!"