Alexander blindfolds me, then guides my hand deep into his jeans, where I grasp an enormous bottle of ibuprofen. I draw in a sharp breath of excitement.
“This Advil might be rapid-release,” he says. “But I’m going to pleasure you all night long.”
He dips each tablet in rich, dark chocolate before placing it in my mouth.
“Here, babe,” he says, his biceps rippling as he grips the Brita pitcher. “You should always drink those with a full glass of water.”
He puts his hands on my lower back and whispers in my ear, “I don’t want to damage your kidneys.” My pulse races at the thought of more medical bills.
I beg for more and Alexander swirls another tablet around in the fondue. He places it lightly on my eager, parting lips, then yanks it back.
“You tease,” I pant.
“Yeah, I just re-read the label and you’re not supposed to have more than six of these in twenty-four hours.”
“I’ve never done this before,” Alexander says. “I’m nervous it won’t be big enough.”
He’s sprawled in front of the roaring fireplace with a faux bearskin rug covering his lower half. I can already spot the telltale bulge.
“I’m sure it’s fine, Alex,” I say, voice dripping with urgency. “Just show me.”
Alexander licks his lips and takes a deep breath.
“Okay. Will this do it for you?”
He throws back the rug to reveal a Target shopping bag between his knees. He reaches into it and slowly extracts a twenty-four-pack of maxi pads.
My jaw drops.
“Are those… super absorbency?”
He blushes deeply.
“Actually, they’re ultra absorbency… is that okay? I know how drenched you get down there.”
He lightly tosses me his package and my eyes go wide.
“I’ve never seen one this big before!” I shout, sprinting to the bathroom.
I rip open Alexander’s package and the pad is everything I wanted: long and thick.
I have no problem taking care of myself when Alexander’s not around, but this time he wants to watch.
“I wanna see how you make yourself feel good,” he says, lighting a scented candle.
My heart beats erratically as he pulls up a Dido playlist on Spotify, and seductively pulls down my XXL University of Oregon sweatpants that I save for extra bloaty days.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Definitely,” he said. “I wanna see how you overstimulate those nerves to prevent pain signals from being sent to your brain.”
I had been worried I might make him insecure, but Alexander was into it; as foreplay, he had googled how a TENS device works.
Alexander lightly caresses the healed laparoscopy scars on my abdomen. “Is this where you like it?”
I nod, pressing the warm sticky pad to my stomach. “And sometimes, I put one pad on the front and the other one on my lower back, depending on where and how much I’m cramping.”
“You naughty girl,” he growls. “How high do you crank it up?”
“All the way, baby. All the way.”
Alexander binds my hands to the headboard with the knotted strings of seven ultra-absorbency tampons. My body is writhing in need of release.
A ding sounds out from the kitchen. He winks at me and says, “I’ll be right back.”
When Alexander struts back into the bedroom, he’s flushed.
“I’ve got a steamy surprise for you,” he says. I’m craving what he has; my body quite literally aches for it.
He grunts as he puts his burden down on me and I sigh in relief.
“How does that feel?” he asks.
“Lower,” I whisper.
“It’s hot. So goddamn hot,” I rasp, wrapping my fingers tight around the headboard.
“Take it off!”
Alexander rips off his NO UTERUS, NO OPINION T-shirt, revealing washboard abs.
“No, this stupid lavender hot pad is legit burning my skin. Take it off!”
I’m nervous; he’s never seen my naked body before, and others haven’t understood me.
My new gynecologist seems great on the surface: in-network, no reviews calling him explicitly misogynistic or news articles about him recording patients with a pen camera. But I’ve been burned before—how will I know if he’s the one?
The door opens and my nipples harden against the scratchy, thin cotton of my hospital gown in anticipation.
“Hello,” he says, in a deep British accent. “I’m Dr. Alexander. I understand you’ve been experiencing debilitating pain and heavy bleeding that lasts for weeks.”
I coyly tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. When it comes out, my voice is deep and sultry.
“Yes, doctor… do you believe me?”
His piercing green eyes lock with mine as the air conditioner blows a few strands of his combover around.
“Yeah, of course I believe you. Let’s talk about pain management and hormonal treatment options.”
We exchange a professional handshake.