Into the Womb by Wolfgang Wright
It was a friend who’d first told me about them. He’d already gone to one and said it was one of the most profound experiences of his life, right up there with his first acid trip and the time he went sky diving and his main parachute didn’t open—comparisons which didn’t exactly sell me on the idea, nor did his claim that it felt like being back in the womb, because how the hell would he know? How would anyone? None of us have been in a womb since just before we were born. And even if it did feel like that, I wasn’t sure that that was something I wanted to experience again, because by all accounts I came screaming out of my own mother’s womb, and ever since I’ve been trying to get as far away from it as possible. I also wasn’t too keen about getting naked at someone’s workplace. Yes, I know, I go to the gym three, four times a week and strip down before I enter the shower or sit in the sauna, but what my friend was describing sounded more like going to the hospital. Or maybe it sounded that way because that’s where most births take place, or because the employees at womberies wear the same scrubs as nurses do—regardless, I wasn’t interested, and I told my friend as much, and after repeating myself about fifteen more times, he finally shut up about it.
It was only when they came out with the newer model with the redesigned exterior that I began having second thoughts, because unlike the old wombs, which looked like you were stepping into a closet, the two-point-ohs had been fashioned to look like giant vaginas—and that appealed to me, because I like vaginas, and what’s more, I like entering them. Still, it wasn’t until that same friend gave me a voucher for my birthday and filled me in about all the new features they’d added, like an umbilical cord which, just like the real thing, attached to your belly button and provided you with the sensation of receiving nourishment, that I finally caved and made an appointment. Not that I was expecting much, certainly nothing mind-blowing, but with my curiosity piqued and all expenses paid, I figured I had nothing to lose.
My midwife’s name was Mary, and as soon as I walked through the door she did everything within her power to make me feel welcome. She took me on a tour of the wombery and answered all my questions, making sure that I understood the options available to me once I was inside. I’ll admit that when she led me into the staging room and I first came face-to-face with the giant vagina I was a little intimidated, mostly because of the clitoris—though I wish all of them were that easy to find, the thought of having to pleasure one threw me off my game; but once the lights were dimmed and the pleasing hum of the womb began to echo in front of me, my composure returned, and without hesitation I dropped my complimentary robe and crawled inside.
It took a moment or two to get used to the darkness, but once I’d situated myself into the fetal position and the inner membrane began to encircle me in its warm embrace, I was thankful I’d come here. Even better was when the amniotic fluid began to fill in around me, which made me feel like I was floating in a vast ocean of heavenly goo. My friend had told me that what he liked most was how the womb made him feel safer than he’d ever felt before, and though that was certainly a part of it, I’d have to say that my own experience was even more remarkable, because for the first time in my life, I felt loved.
When I was finally expelled from the womb with a hefty push, and had showered and dressed, I immediately went up to the front desk and made another appointment, and I’ve been going once a month ever since. Honestly, if I could go more I would, but between the expense of it and the difficulty of getting in—womberies are becoming more and more popular by the day—I’m just grateful I’m able to go at all. The good news is they’re coming out with a home version in another year or so, which should drive down some of the traffic—and who knows, if I can afford it, maybe I’ll get one for myself. I’ve already started cutting back on wine and eating out, just in case, and if I have to, I might sell my car. The real issue is where to put it, as it’s already rather cramped in my apartment. But the way I see it, it’s worth it, because, really, in a perfect world, everyone would have a womb of their own to crawl into.
Wolfgang Wright is the author of the comic novel Me and Gepe and various short works scattered across the ether. He doesn't tolerate gluten so well, quite enjoys watching British panel shows, and devotes a little time each day to contemplating the Tao. He lives in North Dakota.
Posted on November 29th 2023