Diagnosing a Fetish Ch. 01

"But why..." I struggled to say the word, "Why poop? Out of everything it could have been, why did it have to be so disgusting? I've heard when other couples get bored, they may turn to something like bondage. I don't understand..." I was too defeated even to finish my sentence.

"Truthfully, I don't know," Dr. Morse closed her notebook and set it on her desk, "As I told you, sexuality is a complex subject to understand. Perhaps the freedom of relieving yourself is somehow related to the lack of freedom you had in your relationship. Or, if we look at it another way, maybe it's a way for your mind to escape from your current stressful situation and return to a more child-like state. I can't say for certain."

"Well... how do I get rid of it?" I begged her.

"You don't."

"W-What? What do you mean?" I could hear my voice shaking as the panic set in. The idea that there was no cure was challenging to comprehend. "There's not like, you know, a pill or something?"

"No," her tone was blunt, "But I think you're missing the point here; this isn't something that you cure, nor is it something that you should want to cure."

"That is why I came here!" I couldn't help but raise my voice as I stood from the examination table. In hindsight, it was an overreaction, but I was beyond annoyed, struggling to find help only to be denied treatment at the final stage. The fact that Dr. Morse did not react to my outburst made it worse; it felt like she either wasn't listening or didn't care.

She kept her voice monotone and words precise, "Mallory, I understand why you are upset, but I am trying to help you in the healthiest way possible."

"By not helping me?! When I told Dr. Litvak about this, he called me crazy; I saw his notes! Look through your stupid system; I'm sure they're there," I pointed an accusing figure towards her computer.

"Yes," she sighed, "I already had the chance to go over the files he sent me, and I must admit, I'm not a fan. Unfortunately, his assessment is quite common in our field; calling people crazy is always easier than looking for a solution to their problems. I have different ways of helping. Now," she stood from her chair and placed a hand on my shoulder, directing me back to the examination bench, "Take a seat, and I will do a physical exam. Would you like me to bring in a nurse to ensure nothing inappropriate is taking place, or do you trust me to examine you alone?"

Still a little flustered but ultimately complying, I took a seat on the plush bed and watched as Dr. Morse snapped on a pair of latex gloves. "I-I'm good with you, I guess. I won't have to take off my clothes or anything, right?"

"No, of course not. And I'm glad to hear that you trust me," she smiled before wheeling a cart of implements adjacent to the table. Then, choosing one from the tray, she lifted it to my face, "I'm going to shine a light into your eye, OK? I just want to confirm that your pupil is dilating as it should, don't be afraid."

Dr. Morse wrapped a hand around my waist, pulling me forward on the examination bench. As she directed the elongated flashlight towards my eye, I could feel her breath tickling the top of my ear. It was in no way meant to be intimate, but the warmth of her touch and the closeness brought the feeling, nonetheless. Fortunately, the light in my eye meant I couldn't see her face, but I could still feel mine heating up as I blushed.

After examining the other eye, Dr. Morse gave a quick nod and set the light back on her tray, "Now that that's out of the way, I would appreciate it if you could turn your body so that your back was facing me." I could hear her grabbing something else before I felt the cool metal of what I presumed to be a stethoscope through the back of my shirt. "Breathe in for me," Dr. Morse instructed, "And out."

This repeated twice more, with the doctor moving the stethoscope on each cycle before returning it to the cart. My exhausted brain being overworked to keep my body stationary meant I didn't notice Dr. Morse's hands until they were gripping the undersides of my breasts. I nearly jumped off the examination table in shock before her hands were quickly removed from my body.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," she apologized, taking a step back.

"No, no... it's OK," I took a breath, forcing a chuckle, "You just surprised me is all; you can keep going." The fact that I wanted her to continue because it was turning me on was a disgusting reality that I wished desperately wasn't true. I could control my breathing to prevent myself from hyperventilating, but I couldn't stop the gentle trickle of cream that was slowly running into the gusset of my panties. My jeans would obviously hide any indication of this from Dr. Morse, but my own self-hate was possibly worse than anything she could say.

"If you are sure," she replied quietly.

When Dr. Morse put her hands around my torso the second time, she took more time before touching my chest. I could feel little through my shirt and padded bra, but my body still maintained its aroused state. She was careful to avoid my nipples, only occasionally brushing them as she moved from the bottom of my breasts to the top. I tried to avoid watching her work as much as possible, but I could tell that my medium chest filled her hands nicely from my quick glances. Fortunately, she remained professional and quickly finished the examination, briefly massaging my stomach before removing her hands entirely.

"You can face forward again," she gave a gentle pat on my upper back. Peeling off her gloves and dropping them into the garbage can by her desk, I watched as Dr. Morse jotted down a couple of notes as she talked, back still turned to me, "I didn't find any lumps, so you don't have to worry about breast cancer. You do have a slight belly, but you are not overweight, and you seem healthy."

"That's good," I replied meekly. I was conscious of my slight weight gain post-divorce, but I guess it was expected. Despite me being the one who wanted to end the marriage, I was still an emotional wreck afterward. The divorce was strange in that way, but I guess spending years of your life with someone will affect you after they're gone, regardless of how shitty they treated you. It was times like these where I was thankful for my high metabolism. With the amount of junk food I was eating and my lack of exercise, a slight belly was more than I could ask for.

"So," Dr. Morse turned to face me, straightening out the wrinkles from her blouse, "That ends the traditional doctor's examination portion of her meeting today. I still have one more test as a psychologist, though, so if you could please stand up and follow me into the next room." Taking off her lab coat and hanging it on a hook in the corner of her office, Dr. Morse pulled a small key from the pocket of her pants and unlocked the door beside her desk.

It was different than the door I came in through, and I originally thought it was just a closet. Following Dr. Morse, however, she turned on a light and revealed a relatively standard bathroom. Other than the stark white walls and drain in the center of the tiled floor, it looked like something that you may find in a modern family's home.

"Take a seat," she joined me in the room, closing the door behind herself.

"Um," I looked a the toilet, "I... I don't really have to go."

"Oh, no," she chuckled, "I meant on the chair." Dr. Morse adjusted the plush leather chair with her foot, pulling it out from beside the sink and moving it forward a few inches so that it was closer to the toilet.

This development only compounded on the already confusing situation I found myself in. However, I was too nervous to say anything or question Dr. Morse, so I sat on the chair without further prompting. Still, I had a strange feeling that I was in trouble for whatever reason. It was akin to being called to the principal's office, but I was in a secret bathroom in a doctor's office this time. Well, secret wasn't the right word, perhaps just very private.

"If you would like to leave at any point, feel free to go out the door we came in; it isn't locked. This can be overwhelming or uncomfortable for most people, so I usually keep it to later sessions, but I feel that it is something you can handle."

The way she worded it made me question whether this was some sort of mind game to trick me into feeling special and therefore wanting to stay more. I didn't know what she was about to do -- theoretically something with the toilet -- but I remained seated. I was curious to see how this played out, and, as much as I didn't want to admit it, being in this bathroom with her was turning me on. I tried to push down this feeling as I had been doing for the past twenty minutes, but there was only so much I could manage.

For her part, I don't think Dr. Morse noticed as she currently had her back to me. I wasn't able to decern what she was doing, but it was quite apparent once her khaki pants hit the floor -- my jaw almost joining them. Stepping out of them left only her black, bikini-cut panties to cover her crotch. Although, these were soon to join her pants as Dr. Morse took a seat on the toilet, pulling her panties to her knees in the same motion.

She seemed to have no modesty as she kept her legs splayed, acting almost as if I wasn't there. I could see her vagina in its entirety from my position, the blonde tuft of hair trimmed just enough to leave her prominent clit exposed. Her labia, too, were visible, the flesh darker than the rest of her skin and framing the wet, pink interior of her vagina. As she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, I snapped to the first spurts of pee that escaped her urethra.

I didn't have to look -- she wasn't making me, but I'm pretty sure she knew I would regardless. As much as I tried to fight it, my eyes were locked on the thin golden trickle that was falling between Dr. Morse's legs. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm as the urine ran out of her. The occasional squint of her eyes indicated when she was voluntarily forcing the liquid out. The feelings that this scene elicited in my body were almost indescribable, but arousal was undoubtedly a driving one.

More than once, I caught myself rubbing my crotch through my pants, eventually having to tightly grip the arms of the leather chair just to keep them away. Still, my gaze never strayed from between Dr. Morse's legs, even as my heart rate increased dramatically and my body began to sweat. It was a primal reaction that could not be controlled even in someone who typically had a significant amount of self restrain. After all, this was the first time seeing genitals other than my own in months -- and the first time seeing another woman's.

It was only when Dr. Morse's stream came to an end that she looked up. Her gaze was in my direction, but I could tell from her glossy eyes that it was just into empty space and not at me directly. Then, after a long sigh, she seemingly snapped back to reality to grab a square of toilet paper from the roll to the left of the toilet. Like everything else I had seen her do, Dr. Morse's wiping routine was delicate but calculated, folding over the paper once before gently dabbing at her slit.

When the paper was soaked yellow, she dropped into the water and tore off another. After a few vertical wipes, she confirmed all her urine was removed with a final square of toilet paper. I could tell from my seat that this one remained clean after its use. Although, after a quick look from Dr. Morse to confirm this, it too was dropped into the toilet. Finished, she stood from the toilet and pulled up her panties.

I was left dumbfounded and unable to move as she picked up her pants and put them back on. I was still aroused. So much so that I was worried the sheer amount of cream leaking from my pussy was making a visible patch through my jeans. Dr. Morse, on the other hand, acted as if all of this was normal. She flushed the toilet before walking to the sink and washing her hands, drying them on a hand towel before addressing me.

"Well, that is all for now. Please follow me back to the examination room."

I couldn't make eye contact as I walked past her, my deep shape and arousal leaving my gaze focussed on my feet. This didn't change when I took my seat back on the examination table; I watched Dr. Morse put on her lab coat and lock the door, but as soon as she turned around, I was back to looking at my shoes.

Dr. Morse cleared her throat, "Are you, by any chance, sexually interested in women?"

This woman was consistently able to throw me off guard. If I wasn't already beyond confused, the lack of any discussion regarding what had just occurred in the bathroom and, of course, that question did me no favors. The fact that I had just watched her urinate and she wasn't going to so much as mention it was almost unbearable. Now I had to find some way to let her down easy. "No, I- Um... I'm straight. I'm sorry I... I don't want to hurt your feelings. You seem... you know, like a nice lady," I stumbled over my words.

"Oh? OH!" Dr. Morse chuckled, "Sorry, I can see where the misunderstanding occurred. That was me asking you on a date or anything. You think for psychological expert specializing in fetish-based problems I would be able to recognize and avoid these situations." She continued chuckling as she went to her desk, my curiosity getting the better of me as I looked up to see her rummaging through a small drawer. "No, I was asking because of this," she held up a small flash drive.

"What is that?"

"I guess you could think of it as homework," she navigated around her cart of tools to put it into my outstretched hand, "I know you said you aren't attracted to women, but I think I'm still going to give it to you. Use it or don't; it's up to you."

"Can you tell me what's on it?"

"I find it works better if you go in with an open mind."

It was the answer I had come to expect from Dr. Morse. For someone who continuously said she wanted me to feel comfortable, there was a lot of information that she continuously withheld. Still, I took the memory stick and shoved it into the pocket of my jeans.

Gathering a pile of paper from her desk and tapping it into a clean stack, Dr. Morse turned to face me, "That is all for today. Would you be open to the same time next week?"

"N-Next week?" I stuttered, "I'm sorry but... my insurance... the switch from my joint coverage with Dave is still going through, so I can't... y'know, I don't have any money right now; I used the rest of it today for this meeting. And since I'm not working right now... I think it would have to be at least a month or two until I could afford to come back."

At this, Dr. Morse's face contorted into one deep in thought, "That is unfortunate; I think we can make a lot of headway with your case, but large delays between meetings can result in heavy setbacks." I watched as she fidgeted with her pen, tapping it against her papers while she tried to think of a solution, "What if I were to personally cover your next few sessions? Just until you get proper insurance, of course."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking me; I'm suggesting it," she smiled warmly, "Trust me, it's no bother at all. I want to help you in every way I can, and if that means I have to miss out on some profit, I will. After all, I didn't go into this business to become rich."

I chewed on my fingernail as I considered her proposition, "And you're sure you're OK with it?"

"Positive."

"OK," I picked up my bag from the ground, "I guess I will see you next week."

"Perfect," she led me to the door, "Do you know how to get back to the lobby?"

I peeked my head out of the door to try and get my bearings, "Um, yeah." Turning right, I began walking down the carpeted hall before a hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"Don't forget about your homework," Dr. Morse whispered into my ear.

"Right, yeah," I felt the memory stick through my pocket. When she let go of me, I continued forward, too nervous to turn around and get one final look at the woman. My head was still left spinning, wondering what the purpose of watching her go to the washroom was only to not discuss it at all. Strangely, though, I did leave the doctor's office feeling a little better that day.