Chapter 3

Shay

Maybe it was Circe’s lie that Jayce wanted me to go away that made me make the appointment with my gynecologist.

Possibly it had to do with the way every time he winked; it went straight to my pussy.

Getting aroused has never been a problem.

My first time was in the back of the limo with my date on prom night. Losing my virginity hurt like hell. I expected it from everything I’d heard, though.

Surprise, surprise, my date never called after prom. His loss.

I looked forward to my second sexual experience with my first boyfriend in college a few months later. Only it hurt like hell as well.

I tried two more times before dumping my boyfriend.

Drunk one-night stands didn’t lessen the pain .

Extra-long foreplay never helped.

I even considered that I might be gay. Yet women never turned me on the way a hot guy did.

I know Jayce will never be mine forever, but I won’t be able to resist those chocolate eyes that look into my soul and beg me to let him in.

At thirty-two, I have no idea what it’s like to have toe curling sex. And Jayce has sex practically every night. Even if I suffer through the burning and stabbing, he’s not stupid. His experience won’t appreciate my lack of enthusiasm.

While I know he belongs to someone else who could tick-tock her way into his life at any moment, I’m relenting to the “better to have loved and lost” bull honky than to the wise notion of walking away.

I’ve never even had a pap smear. Yeah, I’m a mess.

I bounce my leg up and down in the ice cold waiting room. Magazines sitting on the coffee table in front of me tempt my impatience. Only my mind cares nothing about who’s cheating on who in Hollywood.

My name is called. I rub my hands up and down my pants to dry them off before following the nurse.

After taking my weight, I’m led to a room. I plop on a chair even though she didn’t mention sitting.

“What brings you in today?” the nurse asks while taking my blood pressure .

I have no intention of spilling my guts twice, so I tell her I’m here for an annual checkup.

She finishes up my vitals, hands me a paper gown, and walks out of the room. She definitely wins no awards for personality.

I slip out of my clothes into the offensive paper gown. I stare at the steel tray with lube, long Q-Tips, and a speculum. My stomach churns. I may just vomit.

Should I tell the doctor what I’ve experienced first or wait because maybe I’m broken, and she’ll notice it right away when she’s down there?

“Good afternoon, Ms. Martin. How are you today?” Dr. Rayne asks the second she walks through the door.

“Considering it hurts to have sex, and I’ve never had that speculum device shoved into my vagina, I’m peachy.” The words vomited from my mouth before I could stop them.

Dr. Rayne rolls the stool over and takes a seat. “Tell me more about this pain during sex.”

I give this stranger my entire sexual history.

The nurse without the bedside manner comes into the room halfway through my nightmare.

My story exhausted me. I’m going to need a nap when I slink from this room.

“Let’s see what’s going on. Put your feet in the stirrups and lay back.” Great, she’s just jumping right in. No sweet talk or anything .

I rest my heels in the holes, and Dr. Rayne lifts the sheets. “I’m going to tell you everything I’m doing before I do it. Okay?”

I nod my head even though she can’t see it from the view she has.

“I’m just going to look first before anything else.”

The gloves snap on her wrist and my spine shivers. “I’m moving your folds with my fingers. I’m not inserting anything yet.

“Hm, I can see your vagina.”

Okay, are you not supposed to see it? I’m afraid to ask and sound like an idiot.

She slides over to look me in the eye. “The top of your vagina is prolapsed. That means it’s sagging and falling into the vaginal canal.

I don’t really understand, but I’m not even sure what to ask. “What causes this?” spills out.

“Pregnancy sometimes, being overweight are a couple causes, but the truth is it could be many things.”

“I’ve never been pregnant or heavy. Is it fixable?”

Dr. Rayne nods her head. “Surgery is an option, but I never like to recommend the knife without trying other less invasive means.”

“Like what?”

“Have you heard of pelvic floor therapy?”

I shake my head.

“Basically, it’s physical therapy that may put your vagina back in place. ”

“And this is why it hurts to have sex?”

“Definitely.” She nods. “I can refer you to someone in the area.”

What the frick? Yep, I’m going to have a potty mouth before this is all said and done. Vagina physical therapy. Is that really a thing?

I barely process the rest of the exam or the many questions about my cycles, my bladder habits, and my bowel movements.

Is there really hope that I could experience pain-free sex?

The possibility of a new beginning shimmers before me, tempting and elusive. My she-devil and she-angel are back on my shoulders for a visit.

A flicker of warmth rises in my chest. A tiny spark of optimism that threatens to grow into something more with my angel igniting the flames of hope.

Only my tiny devil is there reminding me of the what-ifs and memories of past disappointments. Not to mention my future where Jayce is with his fated mate.

I want to embrace this glimmer of hope that he can be the one to rip open my womanhood. To make me scream out his name with orgasm after orgasm while he buries his penis deep inside of me.

But fear wraps around me like a protective cloak, whispering caution in my ear. What if this therapy gives me a love to remember, making it impossible for me to let him go when I no longer have a choice?

I bite my lip while tapping the business card on my chin for the therapist Dr. Rayne gave me. I hold my phone in my other hand, trying to steady my breathing while I’m caught in a delicate balance between wanting to leap forward and holding myself back.

“Yes, call her.” My angel urges.

“I don’t think you should. You’re opening yourself up for more pain.” My devil argues.