About once or twice a month I meet up with my daughter for a lunch date. She ran a family practice office in a doctor's building just three blocks from where I worked. I was very proud of her, having graduated in the top 5% of medical school, and successfully operating her own practice in the same city that I worked in.

I waited only a few minutes before Sarah called me into her office; she seemed swamped with work and I offered to graciously bow out. She wanted me to wait a bit longer after she took care of some business. I agreed and wandered into the adjoining patient's room. Her door was open and I watched in admiration as she busied herself around her desk while carrying on a conversation with me and her phone call.

It was not hard to notice what a beautiful young woman she had grown into, even surpassing her mother's beauty at a similar age. I marvelled at her long, athletic legs, her trim figure, and ample bosom. What secrets lay within the folds of her official white coat? I smiled at my own male hormonal responses; Sarah was my baby girl.

When the conversation went beyond ten minutes, I once again offered to leave, saying that I needed to see Dr. Kildare anyway. She frowned and quickly ended the call.

"What is it, Dad?" she asked.

"It's nothing, honey. I just wanted him to look at something for me."

She sighed once, put on her glasses business-like, and strode over to me. She stood close and I could smell her perfume. "Dad, I may be your daughter, but I am a highly trained physician. If you have a problem with anything you can tell me about it."

I winced nervously. "Well, it's sort of a male matter. Kind of private, dear."

She smiled knowingly. "Can't even tell you how many of those I see a week."

I was startled at her forwrdness. "Sarah--"

"Come on, Dad. Tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help; save you a doctor's visit. It ain't free you know."

I could barely meet her gaze; it was such a touchy subject. "I might need to see a urologist. A specialist. You don't specialize in that, do you?"

She sighed again. "Daddy, do I have to call in the nurse to hold you down? Tell me what's wrong and let me take a look."

Finally, I capitulated to her insistence. I sat down on the table and told her about burning sensations when I urinated sometimes. She listened intently and nodded occasionally. Then she moved her stool closer and sat before me.

"Okay. Let's have a look." Just like that. That simple. She waited. I redenned.

"But, Sarah. You're my daughter."

"Jesus, Dad. Get off it. I'm a real doctor."

How could I argue? I had always pushed her to be the best, be the most professional. How could I now refuse her at the peak of her powers? I undid my belt and unzipped my fly. Then I pushed down my briefs and my penis flopped out. She scooted her stool closer and I had to look away because I got a dangerous glimpse of her cleavage. She wore a tight fitting tank top and skirt underneath her doctor's coat and her milky flesh was tantalizing visible for dirty old men. I looked away nervously, but I knew that reaction was not long in coming.

Then I felt her warm hands tentatively touching, probing, moving me this way and that. She brought her face so dangerously close. When I stole a glance to look down at her she was smiling.

"What is it?"

"Oh nothing. I mean..." she seemed to be stuttering. "It may be just an infection or acute inflammation. Nothing some antibiotics couldn't cure."