Connie Chung story

I was a cool college coed but not that cool. I was still a virgin in the ’60s. I did advance to the so-called heavy petting stage, short of intercourse. I assumed that would come next.


I went to my family doctor to ask for birth-control pills, an IUD or a diaphragm.


His office was in his home, a classic Georgetown 19th-century house, creaky wooden floors with worn velvet Victorian furniture. His office was to the left of the front door, through double doors with glass windowpanes covered with tight curtains. It was a large room divided by a curtain he could draw. Half the room was his office, the other half his examination space.

He drew the curtain, asking me to remove my clothes below the waist while he sat at his desk by the bay window. When I was ready, he came to the examination area and installed stirrups on one end of the cushioned examination table.

Here I was in my 20s and I had never had a gynecological examination. I had never even seen exam stirrups before. It was extremely odd to spread my legs and dig my heels into those cold iron stirrups.


While I stared at the ceiling, his right index finger massaged my clitoris. With his right middle finger inserted in my vagina, he moved both fingers rhythmically. He coached me verbally in a soft voice, “Just breathe. ‘Ah-ah,’ ” mimicking the sound of soft breathing. “You’re doing fine,” he assured me.

Suddenly, to my shock, I had an orgasm for the first time in my life. My body jerked several times. Then he leaned over, kissed me, a peck on my lips, and slipped behind the curtain to his office area.


I don’t remember saying anything to him. I could not even look at him. I quickly dressed and drove home.