But things happen! I’d spent a few of my university days summers working with old Doc McNeil in Kilmer, a man who ran a general practice in town as well as being under contract as the M.D. for the University. So when he suddenly died during the last months of my residency I was the first person they contacted.
My mom had happened to get sick that spring and I’d just broken up with a girl from Boston I’d thought I might marry. Six plus years in New York City had somehow dulled the glamour of the world’s greatest city.
And so, surprising even myself, on the spur of the moment I’d accepted the University’s offer. I’d taken their offer of the large house that housed a modern medical clinic on the ground floor and the fifteen hundred feet of living space above. A house that sat almost majestically on the edge of the verdant campus. I’d settled in Kilmer, a town with a population of some three thousand locals that was augmented during school term by the twenty-two hundred students that arrived each fall from all over the country.
And I’d never regretted the decision! So when duty called, even if it meant removing my hands from my granddaughter’s cute tush, I answered the call. Besides, Amanda loved the idea of a trip to the office she’d one day occupy.
Paola and Amanda on the Examination Table
Paola was about twenty, a Summer School student from Italy, here to learn English for six weeks, a dark skinned beauty whose curves seemed to explode from the bright shorts and tank top she was wearing that day. Both of her knees were bleeding, one arm had an angry looking scrape and her cheek had a nasty gash. She was limping and when she turned to sit on my examination table I saw that her pink shorts had a large tear at her right hip. She was a mess. A bicycle fall!
But when she gave me a shy smile and said ‘ciao doctore’ I almost melted. She was gorgeous. Ripe! Youth!
Amanda helped me remove Paola’s top and skirt. Her bra, a frilly, lace trimmed, semi see through piece of material that was severely under engineered for the weight it had to support, had splotches of blood marring its embroidered European design.
“It cost thirty Euros,” the young beauty complained in her delightfully accented English as she examined it, then, without being bidden to, reached behind her back and unclasped the small clip that was all that had been restraining the two magnificent globes that were unleashed and which spilled out in a cascade of flesh.
I’m sure that Paola heard the gulp that I tried to swallow before it escaped, and also caught the un-doctorly, lustful look that flashed momentarily in my eyes. Her shy smile carried a knowing sexuality that confirmed that she was a girl who’d been getting looks like this for years. And enjoying them.
“Will it be okay doctore?” she asked as turned slightly to the right, exposing the side of her left breast, a breast she cupped and lifted, revealing a small scrape that ran just from the edge of her dark aureole down the side of the large, firm , upright orb. Her nipple, a large, dark nub, arching upward and erect, seemed to be ready for takeoff from the aureole it rose from.
Even after more than thirty years of examining patients I wasn’t able to hold back the second small gasp. She smiled shyly. She knew!
Ultimately my granddaughter and I washed her scrapes, disinfected them, put three stitches in her chin and then bandaged her various wounds before we let her go thirty minutes later. I even applied a small Band-Aid to her magnificent breast. My medical professionalism only just prevented me from giving it a ‘get better’ kiss.
I told her I expected her back in a week. A quick kiss on my cheek, a squeeze, a “thank you doctore”, and she was gone.
“Now I know why you took this job,” Amanda accused with a wry smile after our patient had left.
“What?” I asked with a grin. But the truth was, it was examinations like the one I’d just performed, that had kept me happy in Kilmer for some thirty-five years.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh doctooooooorrrrrrrreeeeee!” my granddaughter cooed as she arched her back and pushed her breasts out. Perhaps not Paolian breasts but as I was about to discover they had their own allure.
“There are fringe benefits to every job my dear,” I answered smugly. “Just wait until you have some of our fine male athletes up on your examining table, their firm, muscular bodies bared before you, their youthful excitement at being treated by the beautiful, blond doctor oh so painfully evident.”
“Yuck!” But we were both smiling.
“Alright my dear little grand niece, now it’s your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“When was the last time you said you’d had a full physical?”
“I’m a doctor,” she answered, delaying but not rejecting my offer. During our talk the night before she’d admitted she hadn’t had a real physical in over two years. She’d admitted it in a shy, almost embarrassed way. I hadn’t followed it up at the time.
As for me I hadn’t given Amanda a physical since she was twelve. My daughter and her husband had moved away that year and even though they spent most of their summers at Philips Creek (she and her siblings and her mom anyway) the start of Amanda’s passage through puberty had led them to a new doctor in their new city.
“It’s been awhile,” my granddaughter admitted as she sat facing me on the examination table. There was that hint of nervousness that a male doctor so often hears in a female patient’s voice as she prepares to disrobe. Knowing what she might be feeling, I turned away, her file in my hand, a file that I’d last entered any data into some nine years earlier.
“Why?” I challenged, “You know better, you’re a doctor for crying out loud.”
“He made me feel uncomfortable,” Amanda said to my back. I turned back to see her pushing her shorts down her thighs. Her top had already been removed.
“Here, I’ll hang them,” I offered as I took the shorts from her fingers and grabbed the top. “Your doctor?”
“It was over two years ago. The young doctor at the university. He wasn’t trying to … but I could feel it… that he was excited … and with my legs in the stirrups I felt so vulnerable…” Amanda unclasped her bra as she talked. A second later her panties, soft white and pale blue striped cotton panties, joined her matching bra on the table. Unlike Paola who’d shaved her mound clean, Amanda’s sex was hidden by a perfect triangle of blond curls.
“Didn’t you say something?” You’re training to be a doctor, you should have, was left unsaid but understood by her.
“He was good looking … I was–” She saw that I understood. She’d been excited. A not uncommon occurrence for a female patient while lying on a doctor’s table.
“Well, you’ve certainly grown some,” I said as I motioned Amanda towards the scale. Always tall and lithe, even perhaps skinny as a teen, she was now, at twenty-one, a woman. A beautiful mature woman.
“I haven’t grown as much as Paola,” she complained as she cupped her hands under her breasts. It was said in that teenage girl’s manner, pretending one thing while really hoping to invite a compliment.
I laughed. They may have been smaller than the Italians but my granddaughter’s breasts were perfect! “Yes, I think Paola’s were blessed by the Pope,” I answered with a leer as I measured her height.
“You’re terrible,” she accused.
Her nipples, puffy nipples that rose from small circles of light pink, hardened as I used a tape to measure her various dimensions. I noted down the figures for her chest, her waist and her hips, numbers that just confirmed her hourglass shape.
“You do examine your breasts regularly?” I asked as I used callipers to measure the fat on her underarms, her thighs and her stomach. It wasn’t necessary for someone as fit as Amanda but it was important to establish a baseline for subsequent examinations in the years to come.
She nodded yes as I let her back to the examination table, then, knowing the routine, she lay back as my right hand moved onto her breast. I did the examination quickly, professionally. But we were both nervous, both excited. I wrote a few notes on her examination chart.
It’s very strange for a man, a doctor, to sit between his granddaughters bare legs, her sex open before him. I’ve learned in my thirty some years of doctoring that there’s a level of sexual excitement, of arousal, of fear, in every woman who lies on the back on my examination table, a prisoner to the stirrups that hold her in place.
And while we’ve been trained to ignore it, to instead perform every act and touch in a cold, almost robotic manner, every doctor, somewhere in their psyche, is likewise excited. Who silently thrills to the power of male dominance that course through them. And of course most women can somehow sense their doctor’s arousal.
Women who all their lives have been taught to cover themselves from the eyes of men are forced to lie open before a stranger in this annual or biannual ritual of genital examination. And while I’d say I’ve tried over the years to be the most professional of doctors with my patients, and while I insist that my nurse is always present during these examinations, I’ve still felt the skin of a thousand patients tremble, quiver under my touch. And heard their voices waver and even crack as they attempt to ask their questions while I’m probing with my instruments inside them.
And I’ve enjoyed feeling that quiver of excitement, enjoyed hearing the thin echo of fear in their voices.
My granddaughter is a doctor. She is being trained as I had been. She understood what I was doing, why I was doing it, and why it was important. And yet, as my hands moved to adjust her thighs, I felt that telltale trembling coursing up and down her inner thigh. And smelt her excitement. And noticed her wetness.
Her vagina was open.
And my cock was rock hard.
And yet, as both our bodies were betraying us, we talked, professional observations going back and forth:
“When was your last period?
“How sexually active have you been?
“How many partners?
“Have you performed Oral sex on your partner?
“Are you on birth control pills?
“Does your partner always wear a condom?
“Anal sex?
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