The sullen schoolgirl and the short-tempered woman in my examination room were unmistakably mother and daughter. Although one was only thirteen years old and the other well into her thirties, the lustrous dark hair, the arrogant cheekbones, and the full pouty lips they shared paired them so clearly that I would have been certain of their relationship even if I hadn't already known them both for years.
The Dormonds had been friends of my family for nearly a decade. We lived in the same neighborhood, we moved in the same social circles, and we were frequent guests at each other's home.
Maggie Dormand, mother of two, was an ambitious corporate lawyer, in great shape, and a seriously hot little bitch. She was always very pleasant with my wife and me, and was quite a charming hostess, but I also knew her to be a stern, impatient and seemingly unsympathetic parent to her daughters. I had often fantasized about fucking her, but she had never indicated the slightest interest in return, through either flirtatious word or deed.
Jennifer Dormand, her eldest daughter, was a seventh grader at St. Andrew's Episcopal, and a good friend of my own daughter Cheryl, her classmate. A late bloomer, her menarche had only set in a few months ago, according to the file in my hand and my own professional memory. The loose white blouse of her uniform completely obscured her tiny breasts, and her pleated blue plaid skirt swung easily around her slim, boyish hips.
"Thanks, Greg, for fitting us into your schedule. The nurse at the school had me called out of a very important meeting for this, so I assumed it was pretty serious." The last phrase was punctuated with a pointed glance at her daughter, who nervously looked away.
"Not a problem, Maggie. I'm always available to you and your family, and as you say, it sounds important. What seems to be the trouble today?"
"You're too kind, Greg – I know that you're as busy as I am. My goodness, I know you normally close the office at noon on Wednesdays! Your entire staff has already left, so I really appreciate your keeping the office open for us. Jenny, don't waste his time – tell Dr. Fenton what's the matter."
"Um, well, at first my stomach really hurt. It was bothering me in English class, so I went to the nurse's office, and then I felt really sick, like I had to throw up. And I felt dizzy, too. So they called Mom. But I think I just need to go home and lay down for a while; I really don't feel that sick, Dr. Fenton."
"You'd better be sick, young lady!" her mother interjected. "They hauled me out of a merger conference, one that I arranged. Simmons is still at the meeting, taking all the credit. If you're not really sick, I need to get back there right now, and I'll deal with you later!"
"No, I still feel sick, Mom. Really sick. I just don't want to waste Dr. Fenton's time. Or your time, Mom."
At this point, I had the situation completely sized up. Jenny probably had a math test or something this afternoon, and had hoped to dodge it by playing sick. Where she had miscalculated was in expecting the school nurse to call her indulgent, henpecked father, rather than her domineering and severe mother.
I could expose her, for which she would face certain, and perhaps excessive, punishment. Or I could try to salvage something from the situation by preventing a ballistic episode on the part of Maggie Dormand. I knew from my association with the family, and second-hand from my daughter Cheryl, that when crossed, Maggie meted out harsh discipline for relatively minor infractions. On one occasion, if I recalled correctly, Jenny and her younger sister had been grounded for three months for letting a pot boil over on the stove.
I really am a pretty compassionate guy, and knowing, as I did, that malingering was a common, and hardly sinister, tactic of young girls, I would have tried to do something to soften the consequences in any case. However, there was something else about this particular situation that had my mind working in overdrive – something more that I'm afraid I must disclose.
It hadn't three weeks earlier when Jenny had been at my house, with her parents and younger sister, for a Sunday barbecue. She and my own daughter, Cheryl, had immediately changed into cute little one-piece swimsuits and hit the pool.
At first it had amused me to discover my fifteen-year-old son, Danny, casting furtive glances at young Jenny cavorting in the pool. "You could do worse, my boy," I chuckled to myself as I manned the grill, enjoying the spectacle of the lad trying to pretend he was still just as indifferent to our guest as he had always been.
Apparently Jenny had grown up some in my son's eyes.
I also occasionally cast my own gaze on the object of his studied inattention. From the looks of things, Jenny had indeed grown up a bit. Tiny breasts poked out through last-year's suit, where none had been before. Her hips showed the earliest signs of their inevitable maturation. And of course it had long been apparent that her face would be a break hearts aplenty.
When she got out of the pool and began to dry herself off, I noticed how perfect her little ass looked encased in the tight wet suit. Maybe it was the beer I'd been drinking, but at that moment my mind wandered in a terribly unprofessional direction, recollecting her most recent visit to my office.
On that occasion, she had just had her first period, so I had decided to give her a full check-up. In the process I had, of course, examined her hairless genitals and pubescent pelvis, and nothing untoward had then entered my mind. As I now watched her towel off, however, the images returned unbidden, and I felt my cock shift in my shorts as I recalled her tidy little pouch, her fat labia, and her intact hymen.
I was shocked at myself. I had been examining patients for years, and had only once or twice been professionally distracted by an attractive woman. To appreciate the private charms of a patient in such circumstances was grossly unprofessional. But to become aroused at the memory of a thirteen-year old girl's awakening sexuality was downright depraved. I shook my head to clear the wicked thought. Imagine such a thing!
I suddenly envied my son very much. He was young enough to sample such fresh wares, if not eventually from Jenny Dormand, then at least from someone similarly ripe. Those days were long behind me now. Oh, youth really is wasted on the young!
My respiration shortened. So here was young Jenny Dormand, three weeks after that poolside temptation, pretending to be sick and quite concerned that her mother might discover the deception. I could betray her, or I could play along with her and help her out. Playing along certainly necessitated at least an examination.
"Well, Jenny, why don't you strip down to your skivvies and let's have a look, okay?"
Her eyes widened in alarm. No, I'm sure she had no idea that my prick was gaining weight as I looked at her; her concern was more probably based on my inevitable discovery of her ruse, and the consequent punishment her mother was sure to inflict. Nonetheless, she slowly unbuttoned and removed her blouse, and began to unzip her skirt.
"Hurry up, Jenny! The sooner Dr. Fenton checks you out, the sooner we can get you feeling better, and the sooner I can get back to the office."
At her mother's outburst, Jenny hastened her efforts, and soon stood before me in a training bra and white cotton panties.
I caught my breath. Before me stood heartache personified.
Her big brown eyes seemed too large for her adorable, pixie-like face, framed as it was in her dark silky tresses. Her hair was cut just above her training bra, which was hardly necessary to support her nascent young breasts, but which under the circumstances quickened my blood with its suggestion of innocence. Her belly was smooth and perfectly flat, her precious little navel situated just a couple of inches above the gap behind the tight waistband of her panties stretching between her protruding hip bones. The soft white cotton swept down tautly across her immature mons, actually separating her labia and defining her juvenile cleft before giving way to the coltish magnificence of her bare schoolgirl legs. She had removed her loafers, but her white socks still hung loosely around her ankles.
"Please," I choked out, patting the examination table, "sit up here."
She climbed up, sitting on the padded table with her back to her mother, who had already abdicated responsibility to me completely, electing to delve into some work on her laptop computer. Perfect.
"Lay back, please," I said gently, my hand resting on the young teen's bare shoulder. She reclined with the top of her head towards her mother's seat. Her legs were slightly parted, and they were bent at the knees, dangling off the end of the table. I laid my palm on her tummy, mastered my voice, and began my examination.
"Jenny, you said your belly hurt. Is it a sharp, stabbing pain, or a dull, throbbing pain?"
She looked confused, her scheme clearly not prepared with such details. Her eyes darted "up", towards where her mother sat behind her head, but of course she was out of the young girl's sight in this position. "Um, a little of both, I guess."
"Hmmm," I replied ominously. "Does it hurt here?" I asked, pressing gently on the left side of her abdomen.
"And here?" pressing on the right.
"Yeah, there too." My thoughtful silence was underscored by the clacking of Maggie Dormond's laptop keyboard.
Finally, I asked, "Jenny, when was your last period?"
.... There is more of this story ...