Chapter 1

PREFACE

I wanted to tell you about a fantasy of mine regarding doctors and medical examinations. As I was deciding where to start; should it be in the first person or the third person; would I tell it as myself or create a character; I realized that the fantasy wouldn't really make sense without knowing where it came from. So, although I never intended to write an autobiography, the first chapter of this story is a small peek into my life.

I think a lot of writers begin by writing about themselves. I avoided doing it up until recently.

My debut as a character in An Evening with My Sister-in-Law seemed to go OK, so I wrote another staring me. Both of those stories are true and I don't intend to become a fictional character (although there's a piece of me in all of them). I think this story is much more revealing than the single events described by the other experiences that I've shared because it covers such a deeply held and enigmatic part of my sexuality.

It's a little scary for me, but at the same time thrilling.

I want to warn you from the outset that some will find the later part of the first chapter disappointing. I could easily have made it hot but it then it wouldn't have been factual. If you skip the last part you'll still be able to enjoy chapter two but without some of the understanding I'm intending to convey.

Jackie

I have a medical fetish. I have had it for as long as I can remember (four years old). The physiological response to the fetish changed when I reached puberty. Before that I would get anxious and nervous beyond all reason whenever a medical situation arose. The nervousness continued after sexual maturity, and if that's all it was I suppose it would just be phobia but my body also started to react with something like sexual arousal to a medical appointment.

I suppose that it's already clear that I have no idea what might be the cause of this, but being over fifty I conclude that it will never go away. I don't have the same reaction to dentists, just doctor's and nurses. I think the phobia of my childhood lead to the fetish somehow; but that's an unqualified opinion.

I managed to avoid doctors in general and the dreaded pelvic exam specifically until I was nineteen; in spite of the fact that I was sexually active long before that. Not even the lure of the pill could overcome the phobia.

In the spring of that year I developed some pain and tenderness of my inner labia. I thought that I could also feel some swelling, so I went to my grandmother for advise. My grandmother was my confidant on such things, much more so than my mother (I may tell you why some day). She had a look and told me that I had to go to the doctor. She knew that I didn't like doctors; but then who does? Grandma was not aware of the severity of the problem. I procrastinated another week before I finally made the appointment. Our family doctor at the time was Doctor Blunt. I barely knew him, but I had seen him before.

Sitting in his waiting room, the last time I could recall being there was when I was ten and I had the mumps. I remembered thinking that he was old then and this was almost ten years later. He was a kindly man, a bit portly, with a nice head of silver grey hair.

When I made the appointment and the receptionist asked for the reason; I told her I had a personal problem that I wanted to discuss. I don't know why but I got the impression that she thought that it was about drugs. Anyway when the nurse who was the same vintage as Doctor Blunt called my name, nobody in the office knew why I was there except me.

Missus Mitchell showed me into a vacant exam room and followed me in, closing the door behind her. My respiration had been getting quicker and shallower since I got off the bus on my way there. By the time I was standing in the antiseptic smelling examination room I was almost ready to pass out. My stomach was full of winged creatures, I was sweating, felt nauseous and under it all, behind it or lurking somewhere in there I was getting horny.

"This is an unusual occurrence Jackie ... the last time you were in I seem to remember giving you a lollipop for being such a brave little girl." She was smiling sweetly and almost chuckling at her own quip.

"What brings you in today? Mary's just written personal problem on the appointment form."

My head was spinning so badly that I sat down on one of the two chairs in the room. I will never forget that moment as long as I live. There was panic like I've only experienced maybe half a dozen times in my life. I didn't think I could say it—in fact I didn't think I could say anything. I sat there in the chair wondering what would happen if I just keeled over. The look on my face must have been something to see.

Missus Mitchell's jovial expression turned to one of concern and she sat down in the other chair which had wheels on it. Positioning herself directly in front of me she took hold of my hands. I hadn't realized how badly they were shaking until then.

"Is it a woman's problem?" she asked sympathetically.

I guess in her vast experience she must have seen this kind of stress reaction before. I'm pretty sure she had no idea the extent of neither it, nor the reason behind it at that moment. I was looking down at her holding both of my hands when she said,

"It's OK sweetheart; there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Just tell me what sort of problem you're having."

I looked up into her very kind and understanding hazel eyes but still couldn't speak. The nurse sat there showing amazing patience.

I wanted to run, I wanted to hide, I would have sooner been in hell at that moment, but I knew that I had to get it out somehow—there was simply no other choice.

"I ... I felt a lump ... in, uh ... uh—"

Missus Mitchell's expression turned from sympathy to concern like a light switching off,

"In you breast?"

"No ... uh ... in ... uh—" I knew the clinical terms but they wouldn't come to me at that moment and I didn't want to say pussy so I looked down at my lap hoping she'd get the hint.

"On you vulva?" her voice carried a hint of shock and she blanched which didn't help my anxiety one bit.

We'd been looking each other in the eye; her gaze dipped for a spit second to my crotch when she said the word vulva, but returned immediately.

The nurse smiled reassuringly and her aspect returned to one of supportive sympathy. She squeezed my hands firmly giving them a little shake for emphasis and said,

"Well it's a good thing you noticed it early. That's always important in treating this kind of thing."

I don't know what I'd said that made her conclude that I'd noticed it early, I think she was just trying to be positive. Her eyes were so kind and caring that they actually did make me feel better. It was also a relief to have the problem communicated, but the flock of birds still trying to find their way out of my abdomen was just as active as ever.

Missus Mitchell stood up and crossed the small room to a supply cabinet. She took out a faded green drape and set it on the examination table.

"Doctor Blunt will need to do a pelvic examination. You haven't had one before, have you?"

Shaking my head in the negative, I thought I was going to faint or throw up. The room was spinning and at the same time pressure was increasing directly between my legs. It was nearly powerful enough to drown out the fluttering in my tummy. It was my worst nightmare and this is the perplexing part, my most erotic fantasy. Thinking about this very situation had provided the mental image that fueled my most powerful orgasms. I think it was the underlying fear or embarrassment that seemed to elevate my arousal like nothing else did.

Nurse Mitchell was back at my side putting her hand on my shoulder she said,

"Are you sexually active Jackie?"

Even though I knew the question was coming it still hit me like a hammer blow. I looked up at her standing above me and I guess my expression spoke volumes.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I know that's a very personal question but we do need to know in order to accurately diagnose your problem," her voice was empathetic and once again she waited with amazing patience for a response. When I nodded her smile dimmed just a bit.

"With more than one partner?" I nodded again and missus Mitchell wasn't able to prevent the look of disapproval from crossing her face.

In her day I guess nineteen year olds were expected to be virgins. I would later think she needed to get with the times. The summer of love came and went when I was sixteen.

I am not normally shy and not in the least embarrassed or ashamed of my dual sexuality. Over the five previous years I'd had at least ten partners. The number would depend on exactly how far you had to go before defining someone as a sex partner. That's why the overwhelming anxiety I felt in medical situations was so uncharacteristic and disconcerting. In part it was the loss of control but there was something much more to it; something that went back to before I had language to solidify an experience into a memory.

"You'll need to remove everything from the waist down, then lie down on the table and cover yourself with the sheet," she said in a commanding tone that was almost stern.

The spasm in my vagina would probably have been quite pleasurable if it weren't for the trepidation.

Nurse Mitchell was gently stroking my back just below my shoulder. In a softer more empathetic tone she said,

"It's going to be fine honey. Just let the doctor examine you and we'll have this problem cleared up before you know it," and then she left the room.

I sat there for a moment trying to use a breathing relaxation technique that I'd learned. My nightmare—erotic fantasy was minutes away from being fulfilled and my physiological responses were confused. Terror and sexual arousal were inseparably intertwined. I could not tell where one ended and the other began.

I kicked off my sneakers and then standing up, undid my jeans. They were tight enough that it was almost impossible to pull them down without taking my cotton bikinis with them. The garments separated about at my mid thigh and I sat my bare butt back down on the thankfully warm vinyl chair seat. Lifting my leg to pull the denim pant leg over my foot I felt the wet slippery sensation of my labia on the seat of the chair. My heart stood still.

I've often heard and read about women who can tell they're wet immediately. I have to confess that I can't, and most of my girlfriends say the same thing. I know it because I can sense the swollen unusually warm feelings but I can't actually detect the moisture itself—not until it becomes external. The same goes for my clitoris. I don't really feel that it's erect until something touches it. I just feel tightness and sometimes a throbbing sensation right at the top of my vulva.

As I shed my jeans I knew full well that my pussy was in fuck me mode. I was so embarrassed and nervous that I could barely get my panties off because of the shaking. I stuffed my underwear in the back pocket of the jeans and draped them over the chair I'd been sitting on. There was a glistening little spot right at the front of the seat. I grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and wiped away the moisture I'd left.

Sitting up on the crunchy paper covering the table I realized that I would probably leave another mark. I twisted around and lay flat arranging the sheet over my lower body.

It was probably less than five minutes but at the time it seemed an eternity. Lying there trying to control my breathing and not think about where I was and what was about to happen, I jumped when the tap came on the door.

"Are you ready Jackie?"

"Yeah ... uh, yes," I responded in a hoarse croak.

Nurse Mitchell entered and came over to the table,

"Just relax dear," she counseled and ran her hand over the top of my head.

She asked me to lift a little and raised the head portion of the table a bit.

"You'll be able to see better this way ... if you want to," she informed me the purpose for the adjustment. "Of course you can just close your eyes too ... lots of women do that; or count holes in the ceiling tiles," she said with a slight chuckle.

Then she moved toward the foot of the table and added,

"The important thing is that you relax and let the doctor do his work."

When Nurse Mitchell deployed the metal arms that held the stirrups; the metallic clunk as they locked into place sent a small vibration through the table and into my back. I nearly squealed at the sound and some incoherent part of my brain wondered if it was like the sound a person being hanged hears when the trap door opens—the last sound they'll ever hear.

I felt missus Mitchell take a hold of my left foot and calf and carefully place it in the metal bracket that had a sock over it. I realized that I'd been told to remove everything from the waist down but that I was still wearing my white ankle socks. The nurse made no mention of it so I assumed that it was OK. She repeated the process with my other foot. Standing at the end of the table she said,

"Now I need you to scoot down the table until you feel my hand touch your bottom."

'Touch my bottom! I may explode.'

I gripped the sides of the table for leverage and it was actually sort of calming to have something to do. Rocking my hips and pulling with my arms I moved down and down and down; I was starting to think that there was no end. How far could I actually go? Finally I felt the lightest of touches on my left cheek and the nurse announced her approval,

"Great ... that's good sweetheart. Doctor Blunt promised he'd be here in just a minute."

As she spoke she arranged the sheet over my up raised knees so that it covered my midriff right up to where my T shirt ended and draped over my knees all the way down to my feet.

"Are you OK ... not too cold?" she asked and touched the bare flesh of my upper arm below the sleeve of my top.

I hadn't been thinking about it but when I felt the warmth of her hand I suddenly broke out in goose bumps. It was at that same moment that it registered that my nipples were hard. I didn't think that physiological response was due to the cold either.

The low steady throb from my girlhood had become like the norm. I was, at least for the moment, less conscious of it than of the extremely nervous stomach that regularly bordered on nausea. I prayed that I wouldn't throw up.

Doctor Blunt entered the room without announcing himself.

He came to the side of the table and smiled down at me,

"Well, well Miss Welsh it's been quite a while, hasn't it?"

I wasn't sure what he meant or what I was supposed to say. Seeing him there in his long buttoned white coat with the light blue shirt and dark stripped tie showing between the lapels I was suddenly jolted back to the gravity of my situation.

My legs were beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable but that wasn't really a problem. What was embarrassing me to the point of tears was the fact that, now that he was in the room, my coochie had really started to pound and I was afraid I was going to loose control of my breathing again.

"Missus Mitchell has told me about your concern so now I'm going to just take a quick peek ... OK?"

My mind was screaming NO it's not OK but I had gotten this far, which was no small feat. I took a deep breath and nodded.

"Good girl," he said patting my shoulder. I could have taken it as condescension but I was much too nervous and sexually aroused to have those kinds of thoughts until afterward.

The doctor turned to the counter and washed his hands. The nurse stood beside me looking down with what I presume was her most reassuring smile. I saw him snap on the latex gloves and move to the end of the table. Nurse Mitchell in a maneuver that she must have performed thousands of times pinched the sheet between her fingers somewhere near the top of my shin and lifted the drape back. The sheet folded neatly and perfectly across my abdomen just above my thighs. I found myself looking down between my bra supported breasts, between my practically vertical thighs and calves at the doctor directly between my widely spread legs.

My doctor had donned reading glasses that sat near the end of his nose. I couldn't see much below that because my boobs were in the way. Years later I would remember seeing the upper half of the silver haired doctor's head between my legs and think about how few times I was ever in that extremely compromised position with a bra on.

He slid the goose necked lamp beside him into position and my vulva was illuminated like a stage performer. I was craning my neck to watch when out of nowhere the nurse slipped a small pillow under my head.

I was looking into the heart of darkness. My greatest fear, my most erotic fantasy, my nightmare and my fetish were all happening down there—how could I not watch.

I had used a mirror to look at my sex in its aroused state before so I had a clear picture of what Doctor Blunt was seeing. I was sure that the very experienced fifty-something year old physician would recognize my excited state. There was of course nothing that I could do about it.