Sex Stories

I could tell he knew what I was thinking: “I can’t shake hands with this doctor with piss on my hand!” He patted me on the shoulder, and led me to the exam table, pulling out a “step” so I could get up easier. I sat on the edge of the table, and he looked in my ears, in my mouth, palpated the glands in my neck, looked in my eyes, wrote. He talked as he wrote, discussing my plans (accounting or technical writing), talking about the college (wonderful place!!). He had me unbutton my blouse, and listened to my heart (from the front), and my lungs (from the back). I was getting relieved. This wasn’t too bad!

Then he said: “Amy, you’ll find a hospital gown behind the screen over there (gesturing to his right); I want you to disrobe completely, and put that on. I’ll be back in just a few minutes to complete my examination.”

I swallowed, my Adam’s apple as big as a baseball in my throat, and whispered, “OK.” The doctor went out. I concentrated on the floor as I removed my bra (all the girls thought I had nice breasts, I thought, looking down at myself). My nipples stuck out. It was cold in the room. I put the hospital gown on, and then I unzipped my skirt, removed my garterbelt, stockings, panties (I removed that last item with a real twinge of apprehension).

As I removed my clothes, I found myself idly listening to the sounds coming through the ventilator. I could hear faint sounds coming through the ventilation system. They sounded like…like ..whimpering! I strained, putting my ear up to the ventilator. I heard, “Oh, doctor, please!! It’s too much!! OoooOOHH!! AAaahaahhhHH! OMIGOD!”

And then, (the doctor’s voice) “It’ll be OK, Pammy. This is well within your capacity. Just try to relax. Here, let me stop the flow for a sec.” (silence, then gasps) “All right, Pammy, let’s finish up. I’ll elevate the bag a little so it flows in quicker. That way it won’t be as long till we’re done – and when we’re done, you can get up right away. You don’t have to hold it.”

Silence for a moment. Then whimpering and whining: “Doctor, pleeeaaasssee! I just can’t take anymore!” Then OOOooooHHHAAAaahhh!! OH! GOD!”

“That’s right, Pammy, almost done now.” The next sounds I heard were not really sounds of pain, but grunts and moans, rhythmic in nature. I know now that they were “sex sounds.” Even then, I instinctively knew that “Pammy” was not altogether hurting – some of the sounds I was hearing were pleasure-sounds. These sounds, and all the others, drained away gradually. I sat down on the chair behind the screen, my face flaming, breathing in gasps, clenching my hands. My underarms were drenched. What if the doctor found I was constipated? (I often was, a fact I carefully hid from Mom – and this particular day was one of my worst in ages) What would he do?? I could feel the wetness spreading between my lower lips, threatening the chair underneath. I stood up. It wouldn’t do to have a wet spot on the doctor’s chair, I thought to myself. I completed getting ready for the doctor, fluffed my hair, shook my ponytail, and stepped out from behind the screen with a shudder.

I stepped over to the exam table, shaking my ponytail nervously from side to side. Nobody was in the room. I sat down on the table, feeling the paper they used to protect the surface of the exam table on my bare bottom. I shuddered. A tear escaped from the corner of my eye, as I thought what might be next for me.