“No. I’m done with this. You had your exam. You don’t need my blood.”
“Lark, you are not in a spa or on vacation. I’m certain you are aware that this is now your life. Resign yourself quickly. All acquisitions are screened before training, and I will also be giving you regular checkups during your training or when you receive injury.” When I receive injury, not if. This man is dispassionate, as if he were commenting on the weather instead of commenting on my impending brokenness. I feel another surge of anger rush through me, followed by helplessness as my arm is grabbed by a guard while the other holds my body. They took me by surprise before I even thought to fight. I’m going to have to be more alert. This is the second time I was taken unaware.
I kick out at the doctor and am forced down as an arm swings out from the exam table and straps appear. They quickly secure me with my arm out. Glaring at the doctor the entire time he takes my blood, I kick myself again for thinking the table looked safe enough to sit on. The table is sat up after at least six little vials are filled. That’s enough to make me lightheaded since I’m pretty sure it’s been almost a full day since I ate. I can’t be sure without knowing the time, but I’m definitely beyond hungry.
The doctor must notice my situation and hands me a glass of orange juice after releasing my arm. I desperately want it, but after everything else, I’m afraid it’s drugged. With exasperation, the doctor takes a drink, draining a quarter of the glass before offering it again. I guess that’s good enough. I warily take it, and though I want to drain it, I sip at it instead.
“Do you see that your cooperation will be ensured one way or another? Now, time for the questions. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Have you ever been pregnant?”
“That’s not your business.” Yeah, so not answering personal questions. Name, birthday, ect. They can get that from my purse since I’m sure they have it. The rest they can forget.
“I need to know the answers to these questions. Your sexual health is going to be very important to you, very soon.” Again, with the ‘I couldn’t care less’ tone. What is wrong with this man?
“Again, I’m not discussing it. Not your business.”
“Let’s continue, then. We’ll come back to that. How many sexual partners have you had?”
“Are you dense? I’m not answering your questions. It’s not your business.”
He continues with his questions as I continue to refuse to answer. Have you had any STD’s, are you on birth control, do you take regular medications, have you had any injury or surgery to your pelvic area or reproductive organs. The latest, have you had anal sex or multiple partners at one time, makes me worry, yet I answer the same to it all.
“Your refusal to answer isn’t going to help you, and as I see that you are going to be uncooperative, I will give you one chance to undress and put this gown on or the guards will strip you; that is how you will remain until my exam is finished.” Well, finally I get a reaction. Not a good one, but it’s something. I contemplate it. “If you agree to cooperate, I will have the guards stand in the hall for this portion. Your dignity will not remain intact forever, but for now, I can grant you this.” Maybe he’s not completely unfazed. Maybe I can work with this after all. The guards make noises as if to argue against it, but he just glares them into submission.
“I’ll cooperate.” I say it quickly and hope I won’t regret this.
“Very well, you two, wait outside unless I call. I have my call button in case I need assistance.” The guards grumpily leave the room, almost seeming disappointed. Disgusting fuckers.
“I’m not leaving or turning my back on you, put the gown on.” He hands me the usual exam gown and begins putting tools on a tray next to the table. I can’t see what he has around the raised back of it. He’s not directly looking at me, so I tie the gown on over my clothes, then quickly shimmy out from under them while staying covered. When I turn back around, I see the doctor trying to suppress a smile. “I can’t say I’ve quite seen a patient change that way before.”
“I’m not really a patient though, am I? More of a captive.” He nods his head, and I think I briefly see regret in his eyes before they blank again.
“Please get up on the table.” He gives me the standard little square blanket that falsely gives a person a sense of being covered up. I scoot up on pad, little blue pad the table having been laid flat again. Out come the stirrups, and I put my stockinged feet in them. Yes, I left my socks on. It’s not exactly warm in here. “We’ll start at the top and work our way down.” Knowing the drill, I put my arms up, and he proceeds with the breast exam, asking questions here and there. Working his way down, he’s examining my lower abdomen right above my pubic line when he notices my curiosity. “Looking for c-section scars.”
“No, I haven’t been pregnant as far as I know.” I don’t want to give anything up, but I also don’t want to be minutely examined either.
“Feel like answering any more questions?” I snort, and that’s answer enough. Sighing, he moves between my legs. “Scoot down some, I’m sure you’ve done this before.” I comply and immediately feel gloved hands examining my pelvic area.
"When did you decide to get your jollies off by becoming a doctor for a sex trafficking ring?" I'm watching him intently while I make my accusation. He doesn't disappoint when he pales and jerks his hands away. He recovers quickly, glaring at me and handling me a tad rougher than before with his inspection. He pulls my nether lips apart, examining them for what, I don't know. Maybe warts? I think that's a thing. When he manipulates my clit, I jump, cheeks burning in embarrassment. I want to put my legs together, and my knees start to drift closed.
“Please keep them open.”
I hear a click of a lid and then feel a cool wetness that makes me jump again. Fingers enter me, and the doctor proceeds with the internal portion of the pelvic exam. I’m used to women with smaller hands. This man's hands aren’t small, and he’s feeling out every nook and cranny. His fingers push in, reaching as his other hand presses down on the outside. I grimace and make a sound of pain. He immediately looks up at me and does it again. “Does that hurt when I push?”
“No shit, asshole,” I yell at him, bringing my knees come together instantly.
“Does it normally hurt when you get a pelvic exam?” To avoid any more of the pushing, I share enough to satisfy him.
“Yes and no. My gyno tells me I’m more sensitive than others, but that’s not totally uncommon. Mostly, I think it’s the size difference. Most men don’t go digging around and pushing on things with their bigger hands.” He looks surprised for a moment and also concerned. How many women has he examined like this?
“I’m normally a general health physician, but I assure you I am fully trained. I was brought in for you as a special case. I apologize if I was too rough.” He looks angry, but I don’t get the feeling it’s directed at me. “I’ll try to be more careful as I proceed.”
Knowing I'm not getting out of it, I relax my legs out again and feel the cold, odd shape of the speculum enter me. After getting it situated, he clicks it open and starts the scraping. Again, I tense and hiss at the sting. I hate these exams, they always hurt. I see the doctor shake his head. He removes everything, considerately cleaning me up. “I apologize in advance.” I feel a cold liquid at my anus and tense. “Have you ever been penetrated anally?” Of course now I have to answer. Maybe he won’t if I haven’t.
“No.”