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I re-entered the room, and found the doctor standing there. He was an older man, large. He wore a smile like it was part of him, and reached out for my hand as I entered the room. Not the most propitious time for a meeting. My right hand held the "pee cup," and I realized I hadn’t washed. I immediately blushed, and he smiled even more, and said, "That’s all right, Amy. A urine fetish is one thing I DON’T have."

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.

Dr. Ben strode into the room, smiling. "And how are you now, Amy??" He asked.

I choked out: "O-okay."

"All right, young lady, time for the rest of your exam. Lie down on your back, legs together." He helped me up on the table, and then stood at my head. "Put your arms over your head, Amy," he said.

As I did so he began to feel the glands under my arms and down the sides of my breasts, palpating to see if there was any swelling. "All right, put your arms at your sides, Amy," he said, and as I did so, he lowered the gown so that he could see my breasts.

I watched him peering at me ("I wouldn’t even let Sammy Boyle look at me like that!" I thought, randomly); he felt my left breast all around the outside; then the gland on the inside; then the nipple. Next he did the right breast. I was unaccountably getting wet. I hoped he would start his pelvic exam with plenty of lubricant - I was certainly producing enough!

"All right, Amy, I see that Nurse didn’t take your temperature," Dr. Ben said, stepping over to the counter beside the exam table and removing a thermometer. Then he bent down and picked up a jar of…VASELINE! I thought, "OH. MY. GOD. This Doctor is going to take my temperature in my bottom." I was mortified.

"Bottoms up, Amy," the Doctor intoned, helping me turn over on my belly and lifting at my hips to show me what he wanted. I have to tell you, I was too embarrassed to even speak - besides, it was all happening so fast I didn’t have time to protest. I stuck my bottom in the air (and saw Dr. Ben’s satisfied smile). I watched in horror as he twirled the thermometer in the Vaseline, put it against my poor bottom hole, and pushed. It went in.

Easily. "AAAaagghh!" I gasped, unable to stop myself.

The thermometer kept going in. It was cold. I could feel it poking into the "stuff" inside me - the fecal matter, which Dr. Ben would certainly see when he removed the thermometer. He held the thermometer in me with one hand, which he rested on my vaginal opening, touching me casually (but not so casually, actually), occasionally twirling the thermometer in me. I laid there choking with embarrassment and lust, exposed to this man who now had laid all my secrets bare (or so I thought), bottom skyward, nearly dripping wet with excitement. He left the thermometer in a long time.

I was embarrassed. Stimulated. Wet. Scared (what could be next?). "All right, Amy, that’s enough time with that thermometer in you - Oh oh! What’s this on the thermometer? He held the thermometer down to my face (remember, I was still in the "bottoms up" position). It was covered with fecal matter.

"We’ll have to do something about this, Amy. I can’t let you go home like this. We would be responsible if we sent you home constipated like this." I almost started to cry with the humiliation.

"But let’s finish the exam before we treat you for the constipation. Turn over on your back, and put your feet in the stirrups." I complied. By this time, I was so utterly humiliated and cowed that I could do nothing else. I felt Dr. Ben’s hands on my pubic area, moving up my belly, palpating the organs inside. "All right, Amy, scoot down to the foot of the table. Set your bottom just at the end of the exam table. That’s right (I scooted down). Now let’s adjust these stirrups" (farther apart, further in, so that my thighs were held wide, and my knees almost on my chest. I was totally exposed - even more than just a moment ago - at least then, my knees had been relatively close together. Now my legs were spread, my knees were on my chest.).

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