The sign read 'smile if you're not wearing any underwear'. Funny for a split second until you realize you're looking at the ceiling, feet in stirrups with an unfamiliar head between your legs. Feeling vulnerable and exposed yet wondering how you compare to all the others they've seen or whether they've stopped 'seeing' in that way. Thinking of times you've wanted to stand out but right now wanting be ordinary, normal . . . what is normal anyway? The coldness of a foreign object, the turning of a screw. Draped, scraped, making polite conversation, one eye on the door as you plan your escape.