Macmystery - DreamWeaver

Part 2 follows here

The Examination

My older sister used to swoon when she would talk about going to her gynecologist appointments. Dr. Simpson had been recently out of his residency. She would gush continuously about his athletic physique, his amazing baritone voice, and the gentle way he would perform his exam. How she wished that he would take advantage of her during those exams, but he was always exemplary in his decorum. Hmph, perhaps he lacked proper motivation.

Today will be my first exam with him. I'm graduating from my pediatrician to real adult status. His waiting room bears none of the bland cookie-cutter sterile décor. Instead, it is a reflection of his success and popularity. The exam room, though still capable of maintaining a sterile environment, has lush accents with nice music piped in to maximize his patient's comfort.

I don't have to pile my clothes on some random chair that who-knows-who has placed theirs, but on a custom rack that is sterilized between each patient with UV light. Clothed only in the hospital gown, I sit on the exam table. The stirrups are swung out of place until needed, so I am comfortable sitting on the edge.

As I remember accompanying Sis to her later appointments, my pulse rises, and I feel changes that are usually reserved for my boyfriend on our after-game car rides. The image of seeing Dr. Simpson for the first time let me realize that Sis had in no way exaggerating. I don't even realize that my hand has settled on my crotch in anticipation, gently rubbing my mound through the gown.

There is a gentle rap on my door and it springs open. He strides in, head down, reviewing my chart. He is just as handsome and muscular as ever, with a hint of gray now spicing up the hair at his temples.

“Ahh, I see that you are Lauren's sister. How is she since she moved to the West coast?” Oh, you remember her, do you? You will remember me more! I think as he approaches my side and I give him a laconic, off-the-cuff answer.

“Do You have any questions before we begin?”

“Umm, only one. Is this your favorite pen?” I ask as I swiftly snatch it from his lab coat. His hand grabs empty air reflexively. His mouth gapes in astonishment as he watches me raise the hem of my gown all the way to just below my breasts, spread my legs and insert the pen in my drenched, wet cunnie. Slipping back in his breast pocket, I proclaim, “It is now." I flip the stirrups into place and place my heels in them.

“Nope, no more questions. I'm ready for the exam.”

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