Sensuous

12 April — Monday

I now have this little folder three inches square with pills inside arranged in a series of concentric circles. Five days after my next period starts I am to begin taking them, taking one each morning until they rim out, then getting the prescription refilled.

Dr. Carmine Pecora is small and slender and looks sort of like a fag, but I don’t suppose many fags become gynecologists. I would suspect the reverse might be true, that many gynecologists might become fags, perhaps out of a growing disaffection for the female apparatus. It must do odd things to a man to look at cunts day in and day out, all of them cunts at which one looks in a purely professional capacity, and an unhealthy proportion of them diseased or otherwise imperfect cunts at that.

Kept worrying I’d get hot while he examined me, or embarrassed, or something. Surprised myself. No reaction at all. He had his nurse stay in the room while he examined me. One of the homeliest young women I have ever met in my life. God dealt her bad cards to begin with, but she isn’t helping herself any by letting her moustache grow and by refusing to pluck the long black hairs from her two moles, one on her chin, one alongside her fat and large-pored nose. Some moles are called beauty marks. Hers will never be so described.

Also, she’s fat.

Probably about my age, but she looks years older than me. Easily.

I suppose it’s a character fault, but it’s one I can’t help: I never feel prettier than I do upon seeing a really ugly girl.