Doctor: Is there any chance you could be pregnant?
Me: Definitely not.
Doctor (fishing): Not having sex? Not having sex with guys, or...?
Me (resisting the urge to launch into a lecture about how some men don't have the anatomy to get me pregnant, and some women do have said anatomy, and that even with people with said anatomy, there's a lot you can do sexually that will not make a baby): Um... Well... Just... Not having the kind of sex that can get me pregnant.
Someone asking me if there's a chance I could be pregnant is like someone asking me if I've visited Mars. I've been sexually active since I was sixteen, and at this point in my life, I'm having sex with people with parts that could get me knocked up. But within my own mind, I still don't connect sex with reproduction at all. I think this is particularly because the majority of the sex I have is just, well, not wont to get me pregnant; but I also think this is one of the side affects of growing up queer in San Francisco. Sex equals babies? Naw -- sex equals fun, lots of careful planning equals babies!
(You can find more of Gina's writing at her blog, Queershoulder.)