Mona's Magic Wa...uh...hey, is that IT?
I got the cooter wand today.
Not like last year. That was more like...."DAMN! At least take me out to dinner first!"
Last year, the doctor 'found something' in my cooter that he wanted to check out. No, not in that way, ya pervs, with an ultrasound. So I innocently went to the lab and they did the normal external ultrasound. Then the lab tech said, "Go ahead and get undressed from the waist down."
"For the internal ultrasound."
Tech and tech assistant, both women (thankfully) left the room, leaving me with a sheet and a stunned expression. Internal? What? The? Fuck? When I called to confirm, they never said nuthin' 'bout no damn internal ultrasound! What were these yayhoos trying to prove?
So I undressed.
The techs returned, lowered the lights to a passionate level, perched my little (read ample) ass on a stack of towels, and with a sound like a broadsword being unsheathed, unveiled
It was huge. Okay, it had a handle on it, but it was still...John Holmes Huge. (Okay, to all you guys, yes, it was as big as you. If anything is as big as you. Stop playing with it or you'll go blind, okay?)
I was instructed to help insert the thing, which I did...quivering...perched on 8 folded white towels...in a cold room...with the lights low...and a gentle humming from the machine next to my head.
Must be a woman designed the thing. Cause it reached the nooks and crannies, y'all.
The head tech (hee) was obviously training the other tech. So my procedure took forever. And I ate it up with relish and mustard. See, they put the probe in, then move it up, and down, and left, and right, out a leeeetle bit...in a LOT more. They were 'looking' for problems. I was aching for pleasure. I found my legs trembling and my thoughts wandering and my breath coming a bit too fast, it was damn hard not to just grab the thing and finish myself off. All I needed was some Barry White, and I wouldda been on the ceiling.
But I was a good girl, I was. And very disappointed when it ended.
I left the procedure all tingly and had to come back to work. My friend, Jim, noticed me as I came in the door with a shitty grin on my face, and he asked, "What did YOU do at lunchtime!" I gave him a quick wink before rounding up my girlfriend posse and detailing every move that damn wand made. 'Cause we girls like to share like dat.
Fast forward to this year.
10 a.m. this morning.
I'm all ready for the Magic Wand. I'm wet with anticipation. I show up early to my appointment, hoping to get more face time with the damn thing. The tech led me into the room. Different lab this time, different tech, different machine.
She did the outer ultrasound. Then she announced, "Okay, time for the internal!"
She left me to undress (I can drop trou in 13 seconds, people), and I used the remaining time to ogle the wand, sitting innocently on the machine next to me. It had a sort of condom over it. It reminded me of Sergei in length, but not width. (You still got that beat by a damn long shot, baby!) The tech reappeared to begin my probe.
She was TOO damn efficient.
No perching on a pile of towels this time, just "feet in the stirrups and scootch yer butt down to the end". She told me to help guide it in. But the magic just wasn't there this time. She was quick, by gum, knew exactly where to go. Not that I didn't enjoy it, understand, I did have a little fantasy about being serviced in a doctor's office by some young eager intern. But before I knew it, she was withdrawing the probe and announcing, "Okay! We're done! Go ahead and get dressed!"
I met with the doctor afterwards, he told me everything looks fine. Which is a relief, from a health point of view.
But I didn't want to tell him, "It's NOT all right, okay? I didn't get off with the wand! Can't I go back in? For five minutes? PLEASE?!?"
I'm back at work. I have no shit-eating grin. And my cube is not exactly conducive to "smoothing my orchid petals". But I'm not sure I can make it through the day without a little...sompin.