How to Tell Your Gyno You've Been Sleeping Around

Updated: Mar 12, 2019

By Bea Smith

Illustration by Bea Smith (yeah, she's multi-talented)

Bea is the kind of gal to stand on a keg in the backyard of a party and make everyone chant something joyous and completely meaningless, just because she has the power to do so. Here, she created a story about the misadventures at the gynecologist. So it might not quite be a how to, but it might help you relate to your gyno a little better.


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The gyno is a whole new social atmosphere. It’s not the vagina part that gets me. It’s not the rando woman who inserts her fingers into my coin purse, and it’s definitely not the whole her massaging my boobs while staring into my eyes and having a casual conversation with me thing either.


I think it’s the elaborate lie I tell her to ensure she’s not thinking that I’m bopping around town, porking every guy that comes my way. The worst part is, it’s not even the lie that gets me. It’s the interest that she takes in my lie. The questions she asks. The distance I will go to make it seem real. It’s hilarious, really, but it does throw me into the shitter once I hop into my car and think about the fake boyfriend I just made up. Oh wait; I’m a “widow” now. It got that far…it really did this time, didn’t it?


I guess you can call me a hopeless romantic, a bumblebee buzzing around looking for her pollen. It’s tough but it’s good and I’m ready for whatever is coming my way. But this, this is tricky.

“So Phoebe, how many sexual partners have you had in the past year?”


I know she has already documented my answer from our last appointment, so I need to do a brain blast to the past and remember the goddamn number I lied to her about before. I think I was up to that number last May… or was it lower than that? What’s today? Time really flies doesn’t it? You’re fine.


Think about it this way, you had some fun, you seem to be healthy, and NO ONE should make you feel judged for a decision that YOU made.

But I’m still gonna lie. I say a number that was probably two off from the truth. Can’t sweat this though. This is the easy part.


“Oh, so do you have a boyfriend?” The gyno said this in a way where she wanted to see me flinch. She was on to me and I knew now, it was all or nothing.


“Yea, I do, actually.” I could not have sounded more casual. Kudos, Phoebe, you nailed it this time.

My doctor nods her head and smiles. Was that a mischievous smile? I don’t know? She’s a really nice woman. But I won’t break.


“How long have you two been dating?”


Wow, Nicole. You really seem to care. Don’t worry; I’ll give you five stars on Yelp. But for now, take a seat. You’re embarrassing yourself.


“8 months next week. I think I’m going to marry him.”


Damn, you really jumped the gun on that one.


“Wow, do you think you might be rushing into this?” I think she thinks she’s my therapist. She doesn’t have any boundaries. I thought doctors were supposed to be professionals.


“Well, um, no, it’s a long story. We’ve known each other for years. When we were both three years old we told each other we would wait for one another. He moved to South Jersey and I stayed in Northern Jersey. We knew the distance would tear us apart and eventually force one of us to resent the other. He reached out to me again when we were eight years old: the classic note on the pigeon’s toe method. He was smart for his age. That’s what I loved about him.”


She nods her head and spastically wiggles her eyebrows. She seems uncomfortable. Maybe that one went a little too far.


“We were adolescents. We didn’t know what we were doing. Young love…we all want it, but then at some point life rips it away from you and you find yourself wishing it never happened in the first place. Now here I am, pouring my heart out to my gynecologist.”


“Can you put your feet on the holsters and spread your legs for me please, sweetie.” She said. I could hear the condescension.


I shimmy my body down and open up my legs, exposing my bare vagina after I already exposed my bare heart.


She starts poking around on my downstairs.


“You know, when I was your age, I was sleeping around like it was my job. My friends and I would play a game to see who could seduce the hottest guy at the bar. Don’t get me wrong, we always used protection, we played it safe. But it was so liberating to not feel constrained by society because we were females and wanted to have a little fun. I have my regrets and I wish I didn’t bang that one guy with the lip ring, but I’ve learned and I’ve moved on. Don’t feel ashamed for exploring your sexuality and experiencing different things, honey.”


I was speechless and mortified. She caught me in a spider web lie and here I lay, labia majora and minora hanging loose, my gyno slapping me in the face with her cathartic wisdom.


How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?


“So everything look ok down there?” I ask.


She looks up at me with her glasses half way down her nose.


“Yup. Everything looks healthy. I’ll have the receptionist send your pharmacy the prescription refills. “ She says, almost disappointed.


“Thanks! And hey, I hear you with the whole sleeping around thing. Truth is, the guy I was telling you about earlier, passed in a tragic accident on the fourth of July. It was a hit and run…yea, I know, cliché, huh? Anyway, I think I’m finally ready to jump on that horse and ride into the sexual abyss we call lust. Cheers!”


“Alright,” She looks at me with the most concerned face. “Remember to keep it safe.”


“You know what they say, wrap it, don’t slap it!”


“Ok sweetheart, have a great rest of your day and please tell your mother I said hello.” She leaves the room.


I lie back on the chair and think about what just went down.


I need a shot.

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