Psycho at the Gyno - Part 3

In an earlier episode (August 14), I had gotten undressed in an unlocked room and hidden my clothes. And, we continue...

Eventually done with the clothes arranging, I decide to get myself in position on the table. I pick up the blankette, which is about the size of an average bath towel at maximum and sit down on the crinkly paper that runs from the front to the back of the examination table. Of course with the shortness of my gown, there’s crinkly white paper to buttock contact. The crinkling potato chip bag sound makes me hungry for junk food, while the sight of my huge thighs simultaneously makes me vow never to eat again.

I feel a cool breeze across my backside, and realize that while the gownie closed almost completely when I was standing up, when I sit down, the gownie spreads wide and my crack is now bared.

But, it’s OK that my gownie has failed me. That’s what the blankette is for.

I look again at the tiny piece of paper folded in quarters that they dare to call a blanket. (Good thing they don’t hand these out in Antarctica!) I unfold it and discover that the blankette is the same thickness as the gownie. It’s an onionskin thickness, see-through—OK maybe slightly opaque—piece of paper. What world do they live in where this is an acceptable covering?

But, it’s what I have, and I have to work with what I have. So I unfold it and drape it across my thighs.

Now my private parts are covered by the combination of gownie and blankette. Nice and tidy. I smile. Ahhh, I made it.

The table has been angled so that when I lay down, my head is pointed toward the door. So, sitting up, my back side is in plain view of anyone entering.

I think gynecologists have their tables angled toward the door on purpose to see your butt crack.

But, hey, I say, let’s be positive. The blankette does cover up my thighs. I can kind of see through it, but it’s a little warmer than full nakedness. I’ll just wrap it more securely around my backside.

I tuck the tiny rectangle around my buttocks. But I find, (hunh!) the thing barely wraps around the side of my hips.

Something has to be wrong. I don’t think I unfolded it all the way. I hold the blankette up in front of me and pull at the edges, seeing if it will expand further. Instead of expanding, when I pull at the elderly-person-skin thin blankette, it gets a tear at the bottom.

Great! Now not only is my blankette see-through, thin, and inadequately sized, but it has a tear.


Well, again, I just have to make due with what I have. It will work. With a look of steely determination, I drape it across my thighs.

And find that the tear goes right up the middle, exposing my hoochiemama.

Fantastic! You know, when rips like this happen on one of those shows where a plane crash-lands on a deserted island or a boat sinks and survivors have to swim to the island, sure, their clothes rip. But they rip in all the right places! The seductively-placed tears only improve the outfit. They only make the poor shipwrecked woman—who, of course, is beautiful, tanned, and toned—more gorgeous.

Can that happen to me? Can my rip make me look better? Nope. My rip has to expose the one side of me that wasn’t already exposed!

Well, maybe being paper-thin as it is, I can glue it back together with my spit. Wow! I found an advantage to its thinness. Maybe if I moisten the edges and then press them together, using my spit as glue, with a little compression? Yes, that’s it! That’s how people make paper, right? A little pulp, a little liquid. This is going to work!

I drool a little on the fingers of my right hand and quickly rub the glob along the right edge of the tear. I lick the fingers of my left hand a moment and rub my spit along the left edge. Then I hold the moistened paper together for a little while, and let go. Ta-da! Paper!

Now I’ll just put the blankette around me again.

But, the blankette surgery doesn’t hold. And now I have a blankette that’s paper-thin, see-through, ripped in front exposing my winkie, and has a tear that’s damp along the edges. Wonderful! What is the doctor going to think?

I’ll just explain, “Doctor, I ripped it, and then practiced the ancient-art of papermaking using my saliva.” Perfectly rational. I’m sure she’ll understand.

Maybe if I tuck the rip between my thighs it will hide the tear. I try it.

That’s good. Can’t see it. Looks like the blankette accidentally got wedged between my thighs.

Bad news is now it’s pulling the blankette toward the front of my body more, which means additional crack is showing. But that’s OK; we had that showing anyway. What’s a little more glowing white exposed butt skin? Then again, with the harsh fluorescent light and my pasty complexion, I could blind someone.

Oh, well, at least I’ve got the moist part hidden. One problem solved before the timer goes off, the doctor walks in, and I look like I’ve lost my mind.

Of course, the blankette paper tends to straighten out. So, about every ten seconds I have to reach around my backside and retuck the blankette under my buttocks so that at least the maximum possible portion of my butt is hidden. Annoying. But, it occupies me while I wait.

Unfortunately I’ve forgotten to wear socks. They’re the one piece of clothing that you’re actually allowed to have on your body during the examination. Socks are a great article of clothing for the gynecologist. Except trouser socks or knee highs. They make you look like some disheveled old man who should be wearing a white tank top, boxers, and man-slippers to complete the outfit. Plus, when you remove them, they leave the most unattractive ring around your leg where they’ve gripped your skin to keep their limp, thin and usually saggy material from shooting down to your ankles.

My sock of choice for the gynecologist (when I remember) is a sporty anklet with a well-known sports clothing manufacturer logo emblazoned. It makes you look young and physically active. Then when the doctor asks the inevitable, “Have you been exercising?,” you can say, “Well, of course. Look at my socks.”

I’m finally settled. Alright, I made it! The umpire crosses his arms, fans them out, and yells, “Safe!”

To be continued...

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