Amys Physical Exam Part 1 - Medical XXX Story

Sign Up Today

I still remember it like it was yesterday. I had applied to go to college, and one item marked on the college's response was "required physical exam." I didn't really know what that meant (I was soo naive!), so I asked my Mom about it.

"Why Amy," she said, "it means you will have to go to the doctor and have him check you over."

On further inspection, I saw that a specific doctor's name was listed on the exam - the college's physician. I called the office and set up the appointment. My girl friends all told me "He'll examine between your legs!" Every time they said that, I turned bright pink. I was terrifically embarrassed at the idea, and I certainly did not want ANY strange man looking at me down there. I voiced my concerns to my Mom, who reassured me, saying, "Don't worry, Amy. The doctor is a professional, and he won't do any more than he has to see that you're in good health."

"Mom is an optimist," I thought to myself. I knew how the boys at school talked. They were always whispering about the girls they thought were pretty, and they talked a lot about "snatch," and "pussy," leaving no doubt about what they meant. I noticed the boys looking at the girls as the girls bent over - some of the girls wore REALLY short skirts so that the boys could see their rears when they leaned over, and those girls liked to know that the boys watched them that way. I always wore "nice" clothes. I liked to have boys look at me (what girl doesn't), but I was always embarrassed when I caught one of them looking up my dress.

This was a long time ago, but the most popular thing that year was flared skirts and button blouses - with stockings and garterbelts. I often wondered why the boys liked to look at us the way they did - I knew WHY, of course - they were boys, we were girls, and they wanted us; but I could never see that much attractive about a girl. I saw them all the time in gym, naked, running through the gym - and I knew that the boys would have done nearly anything to see us that way; but I couldn't understand what they saw that was so interesting. I was soon to learn what boys liked in a way that I never thought possible.

As the day approached, I got more and more apprehensive, but I "buried" it, just choosing to think about something else. The exam was to take place on the college campus (it was about 75 miles away), so I bought a bus ticket for the commuter bus that went between our town and the college's.

I had been briefed over the phone by the school nurse, a Miss Adlequist - she told me, "Amy, you'll really like the doctor, he's very nice; and since you're coming so far, we'll arrange for you to stay here overnight, and you can be on your way in the morning. It was my first time away. It was also pretty traumatic, thinking about that doctor poking around all over me, but I really wanted to go to that school... "Besides," I thought, "it'll probably be fun. I get to play college girl for a day (my bus didn't leave until the following afternoon), watch the boys, and so on." The day finally arrived. I got up, made my bed (Mom made us do that), brushed my teeth, brushed my hair (noting with pleasure that it was getting longer - that was my ambition when I was a youngster - long blonde hair, in a ponytail. The boys always watched "those" girls, and I thought I would get their attention by imitating them).

It was time for me to go to the bus station. Mom drove me in our old station wagon, let me off at the station (things were safer in those days), and drove off. I was overwhelmed by the aloneness of all of this, and a bit hurt that Mom had not even offered to take me. But I determined to take it all in stride, and got on the bus, showing my ticket, purchased two days earlier, with my own money.

The ride took forever. We must have stopped at every town in the WORLD! Finally, the bus pulled up to the college, and about a half-dozen of us got out. I was the only girl. The rest were boys, planning to try out for various sports. I had stayed to myself, not wanting to tell the boys what was going to happen to me (little did I know!), so I had nobody to talk to the whole way. I went to the building Nurse Adlequist had designated, and entered. A sign on the door said "Free College Clinic." The receptionist was a striking brunette, about 21 or so. Her nametag said, "Velva Softitz, RN (Trainee)."

She smiled at me (I thought, "What's that smile mean?") in a knowing way, and handed me a clipboard with a couple of sheets of paper on it. The sheets of paper were a medical questionnaire. "You'll need to fill these out, Amy," she said. "The doctor has your chart, but we need some additional information for the tests we need to do."

"TESTS?" I thought. "WHAT tests???!!" I was truly spooked by this revelation, and almost walked back through the door and called Mom. But I did so want to go to that college. As if sensing my discomfort, the receptionist said, "They're routine. Not to worry." I sat down and began to fill in the blanks. I must have written for about 15 minutes. I had just finished when the receptionist entered the room and called my name - a formality, because I was the only person in the waiting room.

The first stop was the scale (I hate that!) - 140 # (height, 5' 6") - then the exam room. It was like all the doctor's offices I had been in as a child - except for the exam table, which had an ominous-looking pair of posts rising from one end, to which were attached a couple of footrests. I had heard the other girls talk about "pelvic exams," and "putting your feet in the stirrups." Now I understood - or thought I did. The receptionist handed me off to the Nurse, Mrs. Adlequist, who was a chubby redhead about 35 - very professional, all business, but with a nice manner.

"Now, Amy," she said, Doctor wants me to explain the details of what you're here for while I take your vital signs and blood pressure." She continued, "the point of this exam is to determine two things: first, that you're healthy enough to handle the difficulties of college, and then to see if there's anything major that we need to know about while you're here. Doctor will examine all of your major systems - lungs, cardiovascular, muscular, glands, digestive, and reproductive (I shuddered at the word "reproductive" - I knew what THAT meant), and so forth. We'll take a blood sample, a urine specimen, and then that's it."

I could tell there was something she wasn't saying - she was looking at me very strangely, as if to gauge my reactions. But I passed it off as the fears of an overworked teenage girl's mind. She was done with the blood pressure, and gave me the cup and asked me to go pee. I took the cup from her, and went to the bathroom. I closed the door. I dropped my panties, sat down, and reached under myself with the cup and began to pee.

Only then did I look up. Hanging on a hook on the door was the biggest enema bag I had ever seen. I almost choked, nearly dropped the cup, and peed all over my hand. I had received an enema or two from Mom. The feelings were unpleasant, strange, and stimulating. I knew such things were "medical," but that was the LAST thing I expected to see in the bathroom! I couldn't help but look at it. It was red, open at the top, smelled of rubber, and had a long black rubber hose with a clamp near the end. Attached to the black rubber hose was a shorter hose, about 3 feet long, that was as thick as my thumb, and had a hole in the end and on the side near the end.

It looked new, but the bag had recently been used. The bag was wet (apparently had been washed), and little water drops had formed on the bottom, as if it had been dried in haste. I couldn't help but remember the enemas Mom gave me - the little white nozzle sliding into my butt (how would that great big hose feel?? how far would it go in?), the pressure of the water, my moans (and sometimes sobs)as my belly filled, the cramping, and how it hurt at the end, and how the bag never seemed like it would empty (God, that bag on the door was big!), Mom telling me that I had to take it all: everything came back to me in a rush, even though it had been at least four years since she had given me an enema.

All this took less than thirty seconds to think and experience - and the old feelings of stimulation, strangeness, and desire took over. However, I had to get out to the exam room to finish up. I shuddered. I was already frightened, stimulated, almost weak in the knees. And, I noticed, as I wiped myself, I was also "wet." The last time Mom had used the enema bag on me, I had gotten that way - my "organs" had gotten all slick and gooey during and after the enema, and for days after, whenever I thought about it. I didn't think Mom had noticed, and she had never said anything, but I certainly noticed. It felt sort of good, but it was embarrassing - like I was in my period, but the fluid was clear. I wiped it off when it happened, and that felt good, too, but I was NOT about to masturbate (good Catholic girls don't), even though I wanted to.