So what are you here for?

With the exception of running into and ex while makeup-less and wearing a t-shirt only just worthy of the gym, there is no social situation more mortifying than a visit to the GUM clinic.

During my time at University I lived with five young, beautiful and very sexually active ladies, which consequently resulted in a number of delightful trips to the local hospital to have our female parts inspected.

Now let’s not beat around the bush here (see what I did there?) - being stirruped up in a cold, sterile room with a blinding spotlight directed at your unwaxed nether-regions is never going to be a pleasant experience. But the actual act of being examined is not the uncomfortable part (unless, as my friend Betty discovered, you had a marathon sex session the previous night. In which case having a clamp inserted into certain delicate areas, and then expanded, is about as fun as sticking needles in your eyes). The discomfort lies more in the awful vulnerability of the situation - spread eagled in broad daylight and facing the entrance to the room which 9 out of 10 times has no lock on the door. Heaven help any poor soul who mistakes it for the ladies' loo. Or the men's come to think of it. That would definately cause some pretty permanent scarring.

However, it’s not this alfresco situation which upsets me the most. Neither is it the terrifying clamping instrument, the hideous tub of lube next to the sink, or even the fact that it’s usually a man doing the examining. No, the part of the experience which horrifies me to my very core every single time is when the doctor, whose head has disappeared somewhere between your straddled thighs at this point, asks “So, what are you studying at University?” WHAT!? YOUR HEAD IS IN MY VAGINA! The last thing I want to do is discuss my studies! I don’t know if you’re familiar with these sort of social rules, but once someone has had a visual on your genitalia, it generally negates the need for small talk. Oh the humiliation.

And incase this isn't torture enough, there are also the questions. The embarrassing, intrusive questions – to which the nurse is supposed to remain impartial, but you can just see the judgement in her eyes as she scribbles down your answers…

1. How many sexual partners have you had? (“Um, in the past month? How about just a ball-part figure?”)

2. Do you use protection during intercourse? (“Absolutely. Always. Well, usually. Most of the time. Unless I’ve been drinking. Or sleeping.”)

3. Have you had anal sex? (“Only by accident”)

I will always remember the first time they asked me if I had ever slept with a black man. My sheer horror at this seemingly blatant racism must have been evident, because the nurse hurriedly went on to explain the rationale behind her question.

Unfortunately, this was not the only horror I had to endure before that first visit was over. As we left the hospital feeling suitably violated, Betty sighed “Well, that’s one job done. And we got a free pack of condoms into the bargain.” I stopped. Turned to her. “One pack?” I asked, “She gave me two!” Fantastic, I’m glad I’m giving off the right impression.

What's girth got to do with it?

I have a question. If God designed us to procreate, why does he make it so damn hard? There's a fine line between satisfying and terrifying in the penis-size department, and a man who will fit you perfectly is increasingly hard to find.

A guy could be funny, driven, great with your friends and so pretty it hurts….but all of this just won't compensate if you have to spend the next two days confined to the loo in cystitis hell, making your friends bring you food and drag the TV into the hallway so that you don’t die of boredom.

So my question is, why? Why is it that a man and a woman can be perfectly suited emotionally, but a complete mis-match physically? I like to think of it like the tale of Goldilocks - that perhaps it’s God’s way of encouraging women to sleep in as many beds as it takes for us to find one that is “just right”.

However, without disrespecting his fine work - because there are a number of excellent penises out there - I can’t help but wonder whether God was a tad over-ambitious on the odd occasion. According to the Guinness Book of Records, the largest recorded human penis was 18 inches long. 18 INCHES!? That’s the length of my arm. It is also, incidentally, the average distance from your brain to your heart, which according to some Christians means that it’s also the distance from Earth to Heaven. Now, I’m sorry to disagree with such spirituality, but there is NOTHING heavenly about an 18inch penis attempting to penetrate an average-sized housing facility.

But we can hardly blame men for being overly-endowed, as it really isn't their fault. Unfortunately, this does not help us much. In fact, it leaves us with really no choice - when faced with a particularly daunting erection - but to moan, gasp, writhe around in pleasure and pretend that we are having the time of our lives…anything to make him come as quickly as humanly possible and end the whole sorry affair. Of course there are alternatives, but I'd imagine a blow job would be even more of a strain, and I'm not sure that “you're not bringing that thing anywhere near me” would go down quite so well.