"He put things inside me, took pieces out of me, and made me come back for more."
Two hundred dollars an hour to let medical students practice intimate examinations on my body. For a grad student drowning in debt, it sounded like easy money. I could handle a little awkwardness. A little exposure. A little cold metal between my legs.
I wasn't prepared for Dr. Mark Nethery. Silver-haired. Steady hands. The kind of physician who watches your face while his fingers are inside you—not to check if you're comfortable, but to see exactly how you respond. He noticed things about my body I didn't know myself. Called me "exceptionally suited" for his advanced modules. Said I stayed present when other patients dissociate.
I should have stopped signing the consent forms. Should have stopped spreading my legs every time he told me to. Should have stopped craving the way he looked at me like he already owned what he was examining.