Ever since I gave birth to the twins three months ago, my husband, Ryan Wood, hadn't slept with me once. He said I was loose—like a torn sack—and that sleeping with me felt like nothing at all.   He forced me to see his father, Brian Wood, the city's top OB-GYN, for postpartum recovery. I lay on the exam table, legs spread, waiting for the speculum to go in. But what entered my body wasn't cold metal. It was a hot, burning manhood. My mind went blank and my whole body started shaking.   Brian, with gold-rimmed glasses, got emotional and said to me, "You're so perfect. The one who's sick is Ryan. Will you join me to make him wish he were dead?"