Getting Treatment

This story is a work of fiction. Some real institutions are mentioned, but they are used fictitiously. Insofar as the author knows, no real person affiliated with any of those institutions has ever behaved as described in this story. Any similarities between any character in this story and any real person are coincidental and unintended. I encourage comments on this story, both favorable and unfavorable. Thank you for reading.

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I had always had a distrust and, perhaps, fear of doctors. Annual check-up? Not after I was done playing ball in college. I suffered through a lot rather than go to a doctor to seek treatment. However, my problem with my left leg gave me no choice. There were days when I simply could not walk.

I had used modest athletic talent and good grades to get a football scholarship to a school with a great academic reputation. I picked up some muscle and a bit of quickness in college and, thanks to outstanding coaching, was a starter as the blocking tight end my senior year. I had also managed to maintain the good grades. I was never remotely a candidate for the NFL but, I think, playing college ball helped me get into law school. Sadly, an auto accident deprived me of both parents while I was in law school. However, the settlement with the company whose truck killed my parents paid for law school with a bit left over.

I had done well in law school, but my law school wasn't prestigious enough that I could go on to one of the big money law firms in New York, D.C., or Chicago. Thanks to some sympathetic friends of my parents who were politically connected, I was hired to work on the civil side of a county prosecutor's office in Southwestern Ohio, where I was from. The work, advising and representing various county offices, was reasonably interesting. The benefit package was good. The hours were regular. I had plenty of time to work out. I was content.

I had been dating an attractive and ambitious young woman who was an associate attorney at one of the City's big law firms. She dumped me, saying "you're perfectly happy being an Assistant Prosecutor!" I didn't see that as a failing on my part. A couple of months later, I began noticing pain at the top of my left leg when I ran. It wasn't serious and I figured it would improve over time. Wrong.

The pain got so bad that I took a break from running. That didn't help. Within a month, it was painful to walk or even to sit at my desk. In addition to my general aversion to doctors, I was reluctant to see someone about this because the pain was located at the inside top of my thigh, just to the left of my balls. I really didn't want some old guy doctor playing around there.

I realized I had to see someone when I got out of bed one morning. I swung my feet to the floor and tried to stand. The knifing pain just left of my groin was so bad that I collapsed on the floor and barfed.

The County's health insurance required me to see an in-network family practice physician. Of course, I didn't have a doctor. After getting a list from County HR, I called around until I lucked out and found one who had a cancelled appointment late that afternoon. Thankfully, grey-haired Dr. Ralph Peterman kept his hands off my balls. He gave me painkillers and had me undergo an MRI. After seeing the MRI report, he referred me to an orthopedic specialist, Dr. K. Saunders.

A couple of excruciating weeks later, I was sitting in an exam room in a newish, three story office building near the university that housed Saunders & Saunders PSC and a physical therapy facility. An exceptionally beautiful woman walked into the room. She was tall, close to six feet, slender, and had straight brown hair that framed a thin model's face. The obligatory white lab coat she wore didn't allow for conclusions about her figure, but I guessed it was nice from the graceful and confident way she moved. Behind her was a shorter, younger blonde whose light blue scrubs outlined her large breasts and flat stomach. The woman in the white coat said, "Hello Mr. Mueller. I'm Kate Saunders. This is my assistant Terry." Dr. K. Saunders had a dazzling smile.

Dr. Saunders took a complete history of my problem. Unlike the few doctors I'd seen before, she made me think she was actually listening to me. She thought for a couple of minutes after I finished. Then, she said, "I've seen the report from the MRI Dr. Peterman ordered. I think I know what is going on, although I've not treated a condition exactly like this before. I'd like to feel the muscles at the top of your thigh. Would you please take your pants and underwear off and get on the exam table."

"But . . ." I started to say.

Dr. Saunders smiled. "Yes," she said, "you'll be naked from the waist down. I assure you that Terry and I have seen many naked men. This is necessary to confirm my diagnosis." She stopped talking and just looked at me.

"Well, shit," I thought, "this is what I get for seeing a doctor." Still, it hurt just sitting in the chair and I clearly wasn't getting any treatment unless I exposed myself to the two women. I stood up, painfully, and slid off my shoes. Bracing myself against a counter with my left hand, I undid my belt and my trousers with my right. I lowered the zipper until my pants fell to the floor.

Trying to push the elastic waistband of my boxers down with only one hand was a bigger challenge than I expected. Dr. Saunders said, "Terry, will you please help Mr. Mueller get his underwear off." With a smile, the sexy young blonde stepped in front of me, put a hand at each of my hips, and swiftly pushed my boxers down below my knees.

I don't have an extraordinarily long dick. However, what girlfriends have told me and what I sort of noticed myself in locker rooms is that my dick is thicker, has a larger diameter, than a lot of guys. As my boxers fell to my ankles, Terry said, "Oh my!"

"Terry, please help Mr. Mueller onto the table," Dr. Saunders said. To me, she said, "Mr. Mueller, you have no reason to be ashamed of people seeing your naked body. You are a well-built man." With an arm around my shirttails, Terry helped me step onto a low stool and then sit on the exam table. "Please lie back and spread your legs," Dr. Saunders said. After a moment of hesitation, I did. Dr. Saunders said, "Terry would you please hold Mr. Mueller's penis and testicles to his right?"

"Gladly," Terry replied. I felt her soft warm hands gently grasp my dick and balls and move them away from my left thigh. Dr. Saunders probed with her fingers at the very top of my thigh. I was beginning to like this trip to the doctor when Dr. Saunders pushed at a different spot on the top of my thigh. She didn't push hard, but the pain caused me to yelp and my body jerked, causing my dick to slide a little in Terry's hand.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Saunders said. "I need to probe this area a bit further. It will probably hurt some more. Terry, please keep him out of my way." I felt Terry's hand on my dick tighten although, thankfully, she kept a loose hold on my balls. Dr. Saunders probed some more. It hurt. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.

Although it seemed like forever, it probably only took Dr. Saunders a few seconds to finish her examination. I was still lying on my back, with tears in my eyes, when she finished. "Painful?" Dr. Saunders asked. I nodded. "Terry, please get him something." Terry left the room but returned in a couple of minutes. She showed the pills in her hand to Dr. Saunders. Dr. Saunders asked me "you didn't drive yourself here, did you?" I shook my head. "Good," she said. "Take this." Terry handed me two pills and then a paper cup of water.

"You have an unusual muscle spasm," Dr. Saunders said. "Typically, a muscle spasm lasts a relatively short period of time and the question for us is what caused the spasm and how do we prevent a recurrence. In your case, the spasm has not relaxed but has gotten tighter and appears to be inducing spasm in surrounding muscles. We'll have to identify the cause. The first step is to relax the spasm and heal any damage resulting from it. I'm going to prescribe a muscle relaxant. I can't make it too powerful or you'd not be able to take care of yourself. I want you to get physical therapy, stretching exercises, strengthening that part of your body, and some massage. I want the therapist to study how you move to see if we can figure out what caused this. You can go anywhere you wish for the therapy. It will be easier for me if you use our physical therapy here. I know our therapists so their observations will have more meaning to me, and I talk with them daily."

After four days on the meds, I could walk relatively pain free. That was good because I was due for my first physical therapy session. I in the physical therapy waiting room when a low, sexy female voice called, "Mr. Mueller?" I looked up. I had thought Dr. Saunders was a beautiful woman and that her assistant was sexy. The woman coming towards me as I slowly stood made the Doctor and her assistant seem plain by comparison.

April Webb was my therapist. April explained that she would be working with me throughout my therapy. I had no complaint about that. April was late 20s, just a few years younger than me. She was about 5'8" with copper-colored hair. Her face showed a few freckles. She had prominent check bones, a strong chin, a wide smile, and two large green eyes that seemed to draw you in. Her top and yoga pants outlined an athletic figure. Our relationship would, of course, be strictly professional; but I was looking forward to getting to know April Webb a little.

April put me through a course of stretching exercises followed by some, to me rather odd, resistance exercises for my legs. I had to do this therapy with April three times a week. As we worked together, I discovered that April was bright, observant, kind, and funny. She had a gift for making you feel like you were the most important person in her world. I became very attracted to April. I began thinking she was attracted to me but dismissed that as self-delusion. She just had a good manner with patients. Besides, a woman as gorgeous as April, with her personality, was undoubtedly taken.

During the last session of my second week of therapy, April said, "now that we have you loosened up a bit, Dr. Saunders wants to start massage therapy on the area of the spasm."

"Who does that?" I asked.

April smiled. "I do," she said, "I'm also a licensed massage therapist."

Given where the spasm was located, that brought me up short. April read my concern in my face. "You can wear a jock strap if you like," she said.

"I didn't bring one," I replied. I typically wore compression shorts.

April's smile broadened. "In that case," she said, "I guess I'll get to see that bulge in your shorts uncovered." That was unnerving but, as we continued through the session, I also found myself excited at the idea of exposing myself to April. Was I a weirdo?

When the main part of the session was over, April told me to take a shower. "Dry yourself off well. Just wrap a towel around yourself. I'll be waiting here in the hall."

I did as I was told. It was a little scary, and exciting, to step from the locker room into the hallway wearing just a towel. I followed April down the hall. Of course, twice as we were walking, we met other women who worked at the facility. Both times, the other woman looked at me and smiled. "I think you're becoming popular here," April quipped.

At the far end of the hall, April pushed open a door and held it. I walked into a small room with the lights set low. In the center of the room was a massage table with a sheet covering it. April came in behind me and closed the door. "Ok, Peter," she said, "time to lose the towel."

I paused for a second, then untied my towel and tossed it on a low cabinet against the wall. April looked at me for a moment. "Damn, Peter," she said, "I should have made you walk down here nude. Sheila and Carrie would have fallen in love. You have a great body."

"Thanks," I said. I'd never really thought about a guy as having a great-looking body.

"Ok," April said, "lie down on your back." Once I had done that, April looked down at me. With a slight smile, she said, "for me to access the site of the spasm, I'm going to have to hold your, uh," April said, nodding her heads towards my dick. "Is that ok?"

Something in April's tone made me relax and feel more confident. "Yeah," I said, "I'm ok with a beautiful woman holding my dick."

"Beautiful woman?" April said. We looked in each other's eyes for a long moment. Something passed between us that got me thinking maybe April did like me. Finally, April grinned and said, "if you're lobbying for a happy ending, I can't do that, at least not on company time."

April's massage focused entirely on the area I had injured. Unlike Dr. Saunders' probing, April inflicted no pain at all. Of course, having her hold my dick was also nice. After half an hour, April stopped and said, "that will do it." She paused and added, "when we've got more time, maybe I can give you a full massage."

"On or off company time?" I asked.

April giggled. "We can negotiate that," she replied.

Once I was consistently pain free, April put me on a treadmill to assess whether my running stride may have contributed to my problem. April kept me there about twenty minutes, having me run at every pace from a jog to a sprint. When I got off, she asked "have you always run like that?"

"Yeah," I said.

"And you played football through college?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

"I'm surprised it took you this long to have a serious problem," April said. "Your stride sucks. Maybe we should have you swim for your aerobic workout. Bring swim trunks for our next session."

"Damn," I said, "I haven't swum in years."

April smiled and said teasingly, "so, I'll have to give you swim lessons?"

At our next therapy session, April had me put on swim trunks. I hadn't known there was a 25-meter pool in the basement of the building. April took me there and said, "stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes."

April came back into the pool area several minutes later and my jaw almost dropped. She had changed into a dark green one-piece swimsuit that perfectly set off her copper hair. It fit her tightly enough that April's nipples were clearly outlined. The suit was cut high on her hips, which served to direct my eyes to the small bit of dark green material between her thighs. In short, April looked sexy as hell.

April had me swim a couple of laps freestyle while she watched. She liked my swimming technique more than my running technique. However, she still had corrections. Having April standing next to me in the water touching my arms and legs to show the movements she wanted me to make, in that suit, was exciting.

I had two months of therapy with April. That included more swimming and several more massages. There had been a definite rapport between us since the first massage. However, things had not gotten any more intimate. I was afraid to be the aggressor out of fear I was misinterpreting the situation.

My last therapy session with April was the first Friday in May. I was scheduled for an appointment with Dr. Saunders after therapy. As I was leaving to go to the Doctor's office in another part of the building, April said, "Damn. You never got to see the spa. What are you doing tonight Peter?"

When the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen asked what I was doing that night, there was only one possible answer: "I don't have anything planned."

"Great!" April said. "We close at 5:30. Can you be back at 6:30?"

"Sure," I replied.

Dr. Saunders complimented me on how well I did in therapy. "April Webb is outstanding," I said, "all credit goes to her."

Dr. Saunders looked at me for a moment with a slight smile. "April is a very special person," she agreed. She made some notes on my chart and wrote her signature. Closing the chart, she said, "there. You're as good as we can make you. You are discharged as a patient. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Doctor," I said. "In one sense, I'm sad about that. I really came to look forward to coming here to see April and, of course, you."

"Thank you, Peter," Dr. Saunders said. "You never know. You may see us again."

The lights in the physical therapy facility were off and the front door was locked when I came back at 6:30. I knocked and, after a moment, April came to the door, still in the tee shirt and yoga pants she wore for work. She was smiling as she unlocked the door. "I'm so glad you came back," she said.

"You thought I wouldn't?" I asked.

"I was afraid you wouldn't," April replied.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because I wanted you to come here tonight and I'm used to being disappointed," April replied.

"I'll try hard not to disappoint you," I said.

April gave me a hug, our first. Her body felt, well, wonderful. She held me for a moment before saying, "Ok, I'll hold you to that. Now, come on!"

I followed April's perfectly shaped ass, plainly outlined in the yoga pants, through the unlit reception area to the stairs to the basement. At the bottom of the steps, April turned left as we had done when I was going for massage. She stopped at a room I'd never been in and opened the door. There was a slight smell of chlorine. April turned on the lights. We were in a wood paneled room. Set in the center of the floor was a spa or jacuzzi that looked large enough for about four people.

April flipped a switch on the wall and the water started bubbling. "Give it a couple of minutes to warm up," April said. "You can hang your clothes over there," she said, pointing to a row of hooks mounted on the wall. "Nudity is required in the spa. Something about lint clogging up the pump. I'll be back in a minute." With that, April turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

I had gotten so used to being naked around April during my therapy that I didn't think twice about undressing that evening. Nude, I got into the spa. There was a built-in bench I could sit on with the water just below my shoulders.

I sat in the spa by myself facing the door. I'm guessing about five minutes passed before the door opened again. In the doorframe stood the most beautiful sight I have ever seen: April Webb completely nude. The neatly trimmed triangle between her thighs confirmed that she was a natural redhead. Above that was a flat stomach below large, firm breasts which looked completely natural. Her hips flared alluringly but not too wide. Her legs were firm but not overly muscular. Over the course of my therapy I had, naturally, imagined April in the nude. The reality was much nicer than I had imagined.

April was smiling. She stood in the doorframe, letting me look. After a moment, she said, "like I said, nudity is required in the spa; although it isn't coed during business hours."

"April," I stammered, "you are, uh, wow!"

"Thank you," April replied. "You've been nude in front of me so often over the last couple of months that it only seemed fair. Besides, I like being seen with nothing on."

"You should," said. "You are a very beautiful woman clothed but that doesn't begin to compare with your beauty naked."

"You really think I look good naked," April said in a flirting tone. I just nodded. "That's good," she said. "May I sit next to you?" I nodded again.

April got into the spa and sat so that our shoulders, hips, and thighs were touching. She said, "you said that I look better with nothing on. You do too, you know." She sounded so sincere that my ego got a significant boost. Still, I needed to be careful rather than overconfident. I wasn't sure where this was going, but it seemed promising. I didn't want to screw up.

April put a hand gently on my chest. "The other thing is that your body feels so good," she said. She moved her hand down and gently put it around my wrist. "Would you like to feel mine?" April asked. I nodded. She raised my hand to her left breast and held my hand against her. Her breast more than filled my hand. It felt soft and warm and wonderful. We looked in each other's eyes as she held my hand against her. Then, April leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. After a moment, both of our lips parted, and our tongues made contact.