Late for the Doctor

Author's note: Stories of embarrassed naked females (ENF) at the doctor's office are legion, and I love them all. Here, in a tribute to this genre, I've combined my favorite elements with a gentle and loving spin. I am captivated by the "doctors are people, too" theme and this story plays with the speculation: you meet a hot guy at a party but then the next morning he's your doctor and you have to strip for him. Like most of my stories, this builds slowly, so I hope you can enjoy it in a relaxed mood. There is embarrassment, reluctance, nudity, and groping, but no sex.

*****

"You are late, ladies," a serious voice said. A serious voice from a good looking, dark-skinned young man sporting a long-tailed lab coat, with a stethoscope draped around his neck. Neatly pressed trousers falling to the midline of polished black dress shoes completed the picture. An angled clipboard at chest level and his upright stance with a foot out to the side, tapping, signaled impatience.

Michelle had walked through the big glass door first, and I was right behind, peering over her shoulder, still rubbing my eyes from being asleep only moments ago. It was sparkling early on a fall Saturday morning and the lobby was empty, as the clinic hadn't opened yet. We had arranged to be there at 7:20 am. It was now a few minutes past eight o'clock, which was the specific problem highlighted by the young man at that moment.

Michelle continued into the lobby and I moved up next to her, the door swinging shut behind us. I took a good look at the doctor who we had arranged to meet outside of normal operating hours.

"I am so sorry," Michelle had already started to gush. "We had, well, just about everything go wrong this morning. Didn't we, Beth?" She looked over to me, in a plea for emotional support.

I didn't respond. I was staring with my mouth open in great surprise at the young man in the lab coat.

"Eric? It's Beth. From Wednesday night." He didn't react. "Jeng's party?"

He looked away from Michelle and over to me. His face softened.

"Beth?" He looked down. "You're Beth Richards? Oh, ... I didn't know that you were this Beth." He paused, indicating his clipboard. "You are well, then? Getting ready for school now? It makes sense, then, why you are here. I didn't put two and two together."

"Yes, that must be me," I said, pointing to his notes. It was a pleasure to see Eric again, but in this context it was completely unexpected. "I didn't have any idea you were a doctor!"

Eric smiled, but only briefly. He did seem to be a serious young man. "Yes, here I am Dr. Champion. I'm an intern. In general medicine. But you can call me Eric." He looked over to Michelle who was watching this exchange with great interest. Then back at me with a faintly devious expression playing on his lips. "Or you can call me 'sir' if you want," he added.

My eyes opened wide and I instantly blushed.

I have to back up in my story to explain at once Dr. Champion's comment and my reaction.

I had just moved into McGovern this week, the large freshman dorm on the north side of campus. One of my friends, well, really a friend of my new roommate Sally, threw an off-campus party Wednesday night. It was a welcome change from the stress of packing all morning for my first year at college, followed by a long drive with the parents, and then lugging all my crap up four flights of stairs from the crowded loading dock at the opposite side of the dorm. It was late afternoon and I was taking a needed break on my new—and too firm—college twin bed, when Sally started talking up this party to her new hallmates with an enthusiasm that couldn't be ignored.

It turned out, to my pleasure, that there were a number of attractive guys at the party, many of them upperclassmen or even graduate students. I'm pretty shy in general, but something about the release from my life at home with the family, aided by two or three drinks too many, and soon I loosened up and became an enthusiastic member of the evening's social interactions. I was finally here, in college, and reveling in being part of a new community, with rules much more lax than those enforced on Connelly Street in Morgantown, West Virginia.

I ran to the kitchen to peruse the food offerings, and once there I started goofing around with Sally. Being the uninhibited girl that she is—and I saw more evidence of that as the year went on—she brought up all manner of topics with me, I think many of them just to shock what she correctly guessed was her very sheltered roommate. One topic was bondage and submission-domination. Spankings and whips and balls in your mouth and other wild things like that. I hadn't heard of half of this before this moment, and I have to admit that in my alcohol-fueled state, I was curious, and uninhibited, at least on my scale, and I drew the discussion out of her.

The circuitous path of the conversation escapes me, somehow dipping into medical fetishes, but at one point, Sally managed to goad me into a louder than appropriate response that went something like, "Yes, doctor, please I'd like another spanking, a hard one, sir!" right as a fantastic looking guy sauntered into the kitchen towards us. His eyes went wide open along with his mouth as he took in this scene of a gentle, somewhat short but pretty woman asking to be spanked. He just smiled and didn't say anything as he purposefully reached for the cheese plate. I turned beet red and looked down at my drink, which I proceeded to gulp down, rapidly. I hadn't been that embarrassed in years.

However, the party went well after that incident, considering. The attractive young man was of course this very same Dr. Eric Champion, medical intern, that was standing in front of us now, but his credentials were entirely unknown to me at the time. He politely fetched us more drinks and we snitched food from the party trays queued on the kitchen counters to be deployed to the party in the rest of the house. Sally's nonstop stream of gibberish helped smooth things over, and the three of us talked for an hour, standing right there in the tight spot in the kitchen as partygoers will do, like blood vessels stuck in a clogged artery, nobody willing to interrupt the momentum of the conversation to suggest moving somewhere more comfortable. Overall, it was a marvelous time.

It is strange that Eric made no mention of being a doctor that night. Perhaps he wanted to keep it under the table, so he wouldn't have seemed to brag. Or maybe it was my embarrassing comment that he didn't want to reference, for my benefit. We talked about State College, PA, what to do in the town, weather, life at school. He had attended as an undergrad and so we made small talk about Penn State. He was clearly older than me and possibly out of my league, but he was awfully dashing and I had clung to a hope of seeing him again. I thought about him laying in my hard bed that night and the next as I lay in bed, picturing his dark, serious face and his strong arms holding me tight.

It was right after that party, back in the dorms, that Michelle found out she needed the physical form for the tennis club. She hadn't bothered to read about it in the multiple information packets sent over the summer, whereas I had sifted through the details numerous times. Tennis was our passion and we had played every spare moment in high school. We didn't play at a high enough level for varsity, but it had been our plan to join the club team and then attempt to break in as walk-ons during the season. It was bad odds, a crazy long shot even, but it had been our dream for years.

But like in all good things, there had to be a hassle. In this case, it was the club coach, an old biddie who in the first meeting demanded that we have our paperwork 100% complete by the Saturday morning 9 o'clock sharp practice, or no club for us this season. I was frustrated why she had to be such a stickler for perfection in following the rules, and wouldn't bend an inch.

That's how we ended up at the clinic on our Saturday morning instead of sleeping in at McGovern. I thought I was all set with those stupid forms. I hate getting medicals and had very purposefully gone to my own doctor back at home, this nice middle aged woman who had seen my sister and me since birth. But when I got back from that first practice, I ransacked my whole dorm room and couldn't find my forms anywhere. I even phoned my parents to see if they could find them and send them to me, but no luck. So I joined Michelle in cursing the coach and we tried to figure out what we should do next.

The only plan we could think of was to go in Friday morning to the campus clinic, where we wasted a couple hours of waiting on stand by, in case someone missed their appointment and a slot opened up. But nothing doing. We both had to run to a mandatory freshman orientation that afternoon, and by the time I got back to the clinic Michelle met me in the lobby. Nothing available the rest of that day. But, in a snatch of victory from the jaws of defeat, she had sweet talked a receptionist into finding us a doctor who was willing to meet us Saturday morning before the clinic opened. We figured that was our last chance for our college tennis dreams, so we toasted to our future pro tennis careers later that night.

But then, in some sort of karmic fate, Michelle overslept and Sally accidentally unplugged my clock when she was moving in some of her things late Friday night. It wasn't until about 7:50 am that I woke up and panicked, running to get Michelle from her room all the way across McGovern. We ran over to the clinic as fast as we could, fortunately also on the north side of campus. So here we were, supplicants to a good-looking but annoyed young doctor peering at us over his clipboard.

He looked up at the clock and back to us. "The sticky note I got from Bev said you need these forms in by 9 this morning, right?" We nodded. I knew the deadline was in fact even tighter, so that we could have time to run over to the courts. "There's barely time for one of you." He looked around at the empty lobby. "No other doctors are here." He pointed his finger at the two of us, alternating. "Do you want to flip a coin, or Ro Sham Bo or something?"

I slumped my shoulders in disappointment.

"Could you just do us both at once?" Michelle asked, grasping at a straw.

Eric looked skeptical and was about to reply, when she continued, "We're best friends all the way back from elementary school, and we've been playing tennis all that time. We both need to get into the club. There's no way just one of us can go and leave the other behind."

"No," he said slowly. "That isn't allowed. Unless you were related, I guess."

I piped in. "We're basically sisters. We've been together forever."

He put his hand on his chin and looked back at the clock. "That would be bending the rules."

I looked over at Michelle. She was looking as sweet as she could, to sell it to Eric. He looked back to me and his face softened.

"You'd have to promise not to tell anybody. And we'd have to really hustle. They've got a bunch of forms for you." He leafed through some pages on his clipboard. "It's a good thing I started filling out the boilerplate stuff already." I peeked over and saw where he had written his name and the clinic address and school name and stuff like that on the stack of papers. He must have done that this past forty minutes while waiting for us. I felt guilty about that. Michelle gave me a hopeful look.

Then he looked back at me. "There's one other thing, Beth. There are some ethics policies, especially at a college clinic where, as you might guess, it can be a sensitive issue. Our patients aren't supposed to be people that we know socially. I'm supposed to refer you to another doctor in that case."

"Look, forget Wednesday night ever happened. I never met you." I smiled at him and added with a small smirk, "I hope you've already forgotten one part of it, anyway." Michelle cocked her head in puzzlement, like, Beth, whoa! But she hadn't seen the half of it, yet.

Eric was still looking at me, again serious. "You need to be sure, Beth. I have to perform a physical exam for these forms. If a patient already knows the doctor, it can be awkward. Are you okay waiving that policy?"

I squirmed a little. Maybe he was right that this was going to be too weird. Meet a cute guy at a party, then the next day he's poking under your clothes in a doctor's office. But then I looked at Michelle and her pleading expression. Michelle very much wanted to get into the varsity, more than me, in fact, and this was our last chance.

What the hell. We have to get in this club, I thought, or I'll never hear the end of it from Michelle, or from my Mom. I nodded back to Eric.

Eric looked at us and back at the clock and sucked in his breath. "This is really important to you?" Michelle nodded vigorously in response. He let out his breath with his decision. "Okay, then we've really got to hustle." He pointed to the hallway behind the reception and motioned to us in that direction like he was herding us. "Shoot on into room 4. It's got this wide bed we use for the big football guys. I can put you both on there."

We walked real fast down the hallway, almost at a light jog, where I processed what he meant by his last comment. I wondered how weird it was going to be to be on the table next to my childhood friend with this hot guy examining us. But I didn't have time to wonder very long. Eric was right behind, shooing us into the room.

"If we're going to hit this deadline, you're going to have to do as I say, fast. Okay? First is the medical history. Michelle Bachman, right?" he said, pointing at her. He checked his clipboard. "You're going to answer the questions first. And you are Beth Richards, right?" He checked his clipboard as I confirmed. "You go right after. Don't wait for me to repeat the question."

He started the barrage of questions about our age, height, weight—yeah, like we told the truth on that one—family members, diseases, previous surgeries, ache and pains, medications, allergies, and on and on. Doctors always write all this stuff down and I think it just goes in a file cabinet in a dark and dusty room somewhere and nobody ever reads it again.

He had to scribble madly as Michelle and I barked out the answers. We even had a little fun making a game of it, trying to get it done as fast as possible. Michelle and I laughed when I jumped in so fast that I cut off part of her answers.

The questions and answers were routine except when he asked if we were sexually active. Michelle looked at him funny and asked what does that mean, exactly? I guessed she was trying to figure out if her high school boyfriend still counted now that she was at college. I don't think she'd found any action in the week we'd been here yet, at least not that I knew of! He said it's just a standard question, it doesn't mean very much, so Michelle said yes. I thought a second and said, just put down no, as I judged that my summer petting at second and a little bit of third base that one slightly drunk night with Jake Sankowski the gangly trombone player didn't qualify.

"Okay, done." He looked up at the clock. "8:12. Wow, I think that's the fastest history I've ever taken. Times two!" He nodded to himself like, job well done. Then he tossed the clipboards to the counter and pulled over this blood pressure machine.

"Go ahead and strip down to your underclothes, girls. Please. We'll have to skip the gowns if we're going to make this in time." As he turned back to set up the machine and fill out the forms, Michelle and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows, like, really? We shrugged silently. No turning back now. We pulled off our shirts and pants. In her hurry, Michelle got one pant leg stuck around her tennis shoe, which she hadn't kicked off all the way. She hopped on one leg and fell back against the bed, flopping backwards. I laughed and reached over to pull off her shoe and pants while she lay on her bed giggling.

Playing sports all those years, Michelle and I had seen each other undressed a lot. She's a tall blonde, pretty and slender. Great legs. I am short in comparison—in fact, that alone probably doomed my varsity tennis hopes, although there are a few pros nearly as short as me—and I have more going on in the chest and booty department than Michelle. Eric was working hard enough on the forms that he didn't have time to notice, anyway. We threw our clothes on the chair and jumped back quickly onto the big football-guy table, wearing only our bras and panties. I felt a little giggly, like we were on a sleepover. Except that there was a handsome fellow in the room about to give us a once-over.

We swung our bare legs swung back and forth nervously, hanging off that huge exam table, and smiled when our feet collided, like two little kids playing to pass the time. I took a long look at our smooth olive skin from knees up our athletic quads to the panty lines, then to our tight tummies. Above that the curve of our breasts in and above our bras to our tanned shoulders. I have to admit that it was kind of exciting getting stripped down and showing our stuff. We were two good looking women waiting for examination. But I was also nervous. I was glad Michelle was in the room with me getting the same treatment, for moral support.

Then our young doctor abruptly flipped around from the counter and started the blood pressure sequence on Michelle with his machine. It started puffing away and I waited with my arms covering my chest the best I could without drawing attention to my pose. He turned to me and asked to listen to my chest, so I had to lower my arms out of his way.

The stethoscope was cold. "Sorry," he said, as he pushed it into my flesh. I was wearing a fairly lightweight bra with thin, lacy white shoulder straps, and the generous curves of my breasts were prominently displayed for him. He moved the scope around there and below my bra. He didn't shift the bra around too much except for slipping the scope under the edges to get in further. Then he put the scope on my back and asked me to breathe deeply, which made me uncomfortable because I aware that it made my boobs rise up and down. From where he had leaned in behind me he could have been staring right down my bra but I didn't dare look up to challenge his gaze.

He seemed satisfied, and switched our roles, briskly. He put the blood pressure machine on me, and I watched him work on Michelle with the stethoscope. It was a turn on, I have to admit, the way he paid such careful attention to her, staring at her front and then from behind her while he listened to her heart and lungs. He had beautifully intense eyes. He didn't once look over at me while working on her, so I began to openly gawk at him and at Michelle. Even though her bra was more utilitarian than mine, the curve of her small breasts was sensual, especially when he'd press in the scope to her flesh. And just the idea that I was here, also in my bra and panties, watching this hot guy examine my friend's chest, was getting me going a little.

I saw on the clock that it was only 8:20. I started to think we were going to make this in time, after all. It was amazing we were pulling this off.

Then as we sat side by side on the table, he rapidly checked our eyes, mouth, ears, reflexes, thyroid, hand strength, and some other minor things. Asked us if we had any pains here or there. And I didn't expect this at all, but the mouth exam was a turn on. He grabbed my head firmly by the sides and had me open wide, and poked in there with the stick. Then he tilted my head back with his strong hands—without asking for permission—and told me where to move my tongue and what sounds to say.

It was about this point in the exam I realized with some horror that I was starting to get turned on for real by this guy, and also by the whole experience of him examining us both at once. I say horror, because I didn't know how much further the exam was going to go. Would he get into parts of my body I'd prefer he not explore, for fear of either discovering, or worse, increasing my turn on? I thought vaguely how would a male patient handle this with a pretty female doc, if they started getting an erection during an exam. I smiled to myself at that.