It’s a trip that I have been waiting to make for a very long time, but haven’t had the guts to do it. Today I am swallowing my pride and doing it, regardless of what anxiety I may be feeling. The doctors waiting office is welcoming and the seats are relatively comfortable. But I just can’t shake my fears.
“Next” the nurse calls as she opens the waiting room doors. The nurse is a plain woman. Average in every way. Her height is about 5’5, she has a medium build, medium breast size and her personality is about as plain as her looks. She neither smiles nor makes conversation as she takes my weight, height, and blood pressure.
She drops my dressing gown onto the exam table. Advising me to remove everything but panties and to put the gown on backward so it opens in the front. She swiftly shuts the door and the silence is nearly deafening.
I change quickly. The room is extremely cold as I strip out of my sweater and jeans and fold them on a waiting chair, discretely placing my bra between the 2 so it is not sitting out inappropriately.
The examine table is just as cold as the room. My flesh is broken out in goose pimples and the dressing gown is nearly transparent it is so thin. I sit, alone, my ankles crossed and my arms crossed across my front in an attempt to stay warm.
The waiting seems eternal, even though i know it’s only a few minutes. When the plastic surgeon enters some of my anxieties are relieved. He is a handsome man, in his younger 40’s, who obviously takes care of himself. His head is totally shaved and he has a warm and comforting smile.
“Hello, what can I help you with today?”
He asks, shaking my hand and flipping through my medical chart.
I feel the tears start to well in my eyes. This is my no means easy for me.
“I just wanted to get a bid on how much it would take to fix me.”
He stops and looks up at me, seeing me try to blink away the tears, grasping my dressing gown closed and avoiding eye contact.
“Hey now,” He coos, coming over and placing a hand on my shoulder. “I am sure it is not as bad as all that. How about you tell me what you don’t like about yourself and we take a look?”
The examination table is at a reclining position and I lean back, blinking away the last of my tears (I hope) and try to catch my breath.
“Well, I hate the stretch marks on my breasts. I have tried everything on them and nothing helps. I was wondering how laser surgery would help?”
He quickly parts the gown in the front and my breasts pop out to him. The room is so cold that my nipples look like little pink pencil erasers. Even more embarrassment sets in as he starts to examine my breasts.
“Sorry, it’s really cold in here.” I stutter, despite the fact that I can feel myself starting to sweat.
He laughs softly.
“It’s ok. A natural human response. You’re right. The room is pretty cold. That’s my fault; I tend to run a little on the warm side.”
He is right. His hands are very hot against my skin. I can feel my nipples soften as he cups my breasts, feeling their light weight and checking my skin.
“Have you considered implants at all?”
He inquires softly, still examining me.
“Yes, but I don’t like the feeling of them.”
He looks up at me with a little bit of surprise apparent on his face.
“Have you had a consultation and felt some of the silicone and saline inserts before?”
“Oh no, I felt them on another woman once. I haven’t been able to be with a woman who has them since.”
Suddenly, I realize what I just said and feel my eyes grow wide.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I saw on your chart that you were married and I thought I saw a males name in your spouse listing, I must have mis-red.”
“No, I am married, I just…” I stumble on, just digging myself in deeper.
He is looking at me with an eyebrow raised. Knowing that there will be no sneaky way to get out of this, at least not with my brains current anxiety riddled state, I bluntly answer,
“Well, I guess that answers my question! It isn’t a big deal either way. I just asked because sometimes adding a small implant can help fill the breast back out and makes the depth of stretch marks less noticeable. With how old the stretch marks are and your skin pigment, I am not sure how effective laser surgery will be.”
I can feel the tears start to well up in my eyes again and take a deep breath so a sob doesn’t escape me.
He looks up at me again; I can barely see him through the blur of tears.
“Why does it bother you so much?” he asks
“It’s just so damned UGLY”
I spat as a tear rolls down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away with the back of my hand and lean my head up for the rest of the tears to drain.
We sit with a moment of silence. I am pulled back into the moment of things when I realize he is still cupping my breasts in his hot hands.
I look down at him and he meets my eyes.
“Are you ok? Do you want to stop the exam?”
I shake my head no and he manipulates my breasts a bit more, dragging his fingers down to feel the depth of the stretch marks and squeezing gently to feel how much firmness I have lost from nursing my children
“Ok, what else are you concerned about?”
“Well, I have more stretch marks on my thighs.”
“Ok, let’s see.”
He opens the lower part of my dressing gown and I part my legs for him, realizing that I am really wearing too small of panties for such an exam. I really was not thinking. They are by no means pretty, just a simple cotton thong, but the fabric is barely covering me up and I am scared that part of my labia may be peeking out.
He goes to work examining my thighs. Again, squeezing them, running his fingers down them to feel the depth. I find myself very glad that I nair-ed my legs recently.
As he examines me, I decide I am going to ask him about the big one. My major surgery that I am so desperate for. I wasn’t sure until now, but I am going to ask.
“I think we are looking at about the same results on these as on your breasts. They are basically the same size and texture.”
I nod. Not able to do anything else.
“Alright. Is that all?”
I shake my head back and forth.
“Ok. This one is even harder for me. I have had consultations for this before. Please be nice, because I am really sensitive about it.”
“Okay, what are we working with?”
“I have really large inner labia that I would like to have removed”
“I am sure they are not as large as you think. You would be surprised how many women come in here asking about this. Let’s just take a look and see.”
I stand up and hook my thumbs into my panties.
“I need to leave the room.” he says as he holds up his hand.
“I don’t care. You are about to look anyway. What is the point in walking outside for 30 seconds?” and continue to pull my panties down before he can object.
My heart is slamming as I sit back down, the freezing room is almost inviting against the heat of my skin. I sit down with my thighs pressed together, still not able to just open them.
My doctor sits back down on his examination stool and rolls forward and puts his hands gently on thighs.
“Just let me know when you are ready.”
Again, I take a deep breath, lean back, and open my legs for the doctor. I can’t make eye contact. I am so embarrassed. I feel him start to examine me. Gently squeezing my labia and pulling on them slightly.
“Can you part them for me?” he asks.
I look up, confused.
“Medical protocol. I should not do it alone in a room with you. I can call in a nurse if you are not comfortable?”
“Oh no. It’s ok. I am comfortable touching myself.”
I blush again, realizing yet again what I said a minute too late.
He smiles at me.
“It’s ok. In my eyes everyone masturbates and anyone who says they don’t is either lying or really missing out.”
I reach down and slip the tip of my middle finger into my vaginal opening and pull my finger upward to part my lips. Out of habit, I pull upward and lightly touch my clit and then remove my hand quickly.
I close my eyes again and he examines me some more. Pushing my labia out, measuring them with his fingers, pressing them together again. He reaches up and pulls my clitoral hood back and then presses it back down. My hips buck gently for a second.
My eyes snap open, “I’m sorry!” I cry.
He laughs again, “It’s ok. Totally normal, biological response. Not your fault. Sorry if I pressed too hard. Do you want to remove any of the clitoral hood also?”
“No. I know that my clit and hood are a little on the large side also, but I actually like that. I want to leave the hood to protect my clit.”
He nods in agreement as he continues manipulating my labia.
With sudden horror I realize that I can feel my labia thickening and my pussy warming up. Oh no. How the hell can I hide something that he is looking straight at?
“Do your labia get in the way during intercourse or masturbation?”
“Sometimes during sex. Not too often during masturbation.”
“Do you generally masturbate internally or externally?”
“It depends on my mood.”
Oh, no. Now I can feel my clit start to get erect. What the hell do I do?
“Do you touch your clitoris directly? Or to either side.”
“Depends on my mood and what I’m doing…” I breathe.
“Can you show me how you usually place your hand when you do so? I don’t want to think about removing skin that is beneficial.”
I drop my hand between my legs and again run my finger from my opening to my clit.
“Sometimes like this…” I say, holding back my hood with my ring and pointer finger and laying my middle finger directly on my clit.
“Or this…” laying all 3 fingers flat on top of my hood, clitoris, and open labia.
“Sometimes this…” lightly grasping my clit through my hood with my thumb and pointer finger and gently stroking it outward.
Crap. My clit is even harder and sticking out from my hood now. My labia are starting to ache. At least they are pressed together to hide any wetness that may be starting.
“What do you do with your labia when you masturbate internally?”
Crap again. My only hope is that he doesn’t notice. I know that is a very slim chance. The man doesn’t have a medical degree for nothing.
I drag my finger upward again, parting my labia and spreading them open with my middle and pointer finger, then I move my finger back down and insert it slightly, curling it and pulling forward toward my pelvic bone. I realize that without thinking I have fallen into my usual masturbatory pose with one hand curled on my chest, the middle finger of one hand in my vagina and the thumb of the same hand resting on my hood.
I look forward at my doctor and begin to remove my hand so I can close my dressing gown…than I realize a certain bulge in his scrubs. I don’t know what possesses me but I press my finger back in and pull again, keeping a close eye on the bulge in his pants.
He feels my gaze lingering and covers himself with my chart.
“My apologies…” he says, blushing deeply.
“It’s ok,” I reply. “It’s a natural biological response, right?”
He nods softly, again looking back to my vulva. I move my hand out and pet at my pussy. Cupping my labia and squeezing gently, letting my hips grind gently into the heel of my hand.
My doctor is still looking at me in a way that a man has never done before.
I rest myself back on my reclined exam table and cup one of my breasts, feeling my nipple poke into my palm. the other hands I put to work rolling my labia through my fingers before settling my thumb and pointer finger on either side of my clit again and stroking my hood forward and back.
I close my eyes and enjoying my stroking for a couple minutes. Letting my breathing become deeper.
When I open my eyes my doctor has moved to a standing position. His erection is very apparent through the thin scrubs. He takes a couple steps toward me.
“I could lose my license for this…” he breathes.
The idea of the danger sends a small wave of pleasure through my genitals. Closing my eyes again I buck my hips forward to accommodate my searching fingers and slip them into my opening. Savoring my warmth and wetness.
When I open my eyes again he is standing over me and looking at my body.
“Do you have any idea how many women I have seen come in here? How many breasts and vulvas I see? What is it about your body that is driving me so crazy?”
I moan slightly, biting at my lower lip and collecting some more of my juice to use as lubrication for my clit. I pull the rest of my hood back and begin probing with my middle finger, pinching my nipple with the other hand.
“I know why your really here. It’s not because you think you’re ugly. It’s because no one has ever taken the time to tell you how beautiful you really are…” he breathes down at me.
“For the life of me, I do not understand why you women want to cut parts of yourself away. Feel your labia…”
I look up at him
I reach down and grab my source of so much embarrassment and shame, looking up at him.
“Touch them softly, squeeze them softly…do you see how nice that feels? Why do you want to cut that away?”
I am at his will at this point. Whatever assertion I was feeling has drained away. I feel hypnotized by his words.
“As a woman, even a bisexual one, you will never understand how labia like that feel wrapped around your cock. Many men would ignore any scar or stretch mark on your body for a chance to feel it.”
“No men I have met…” I mumble softly.
“Yes, MEN.” he stresses, “you are just too young to appreciate it. You have spent too much time with boys passing their time with porn. Boys that don’t appreciate it.”
I drop my other hand and place one to my dripping slit and the other up to my clit. He turns to watch me up close and his erection brushes my arm through his scrubs. He does not even seem to notice.
“Have you ever REALLY showed someone what you like?”
I shake my head no while I lightly touch at myself.
I don’t need any more encouragement and plunge fingers inside, eagerly pressing at my gspot. The other hand I raise to my mouth where I suck my fingers clean and then lube them up with spit to drop down to my clitoris and start rubbing.
As always, the 2 spots being stimulated is mind blowing. I can barely think about anything else. The feeling of being watched, of being found so attractive is amazing. The doctor never touches me, never tries to penetrate me or kiss me. He just watches with his mouth slightly opened, breathing deeply and adjusting his hard cock here and there.
I have never felt so attractive in my life and vigorously play with myself, for once in my life not ashamed of my large private area or the marks scattering my breasts and thighs.
I feel my orgasm approaching a few times, but slow down when it comes too close. I want this to last, I am fearful to go back to feeling so ugly and unwanted again.
Finally I am at a point of no return and allow myself to release. My back arches, my legs spread wide as I feel my pussy pulsing in hard rhythm. I grit my teeth, trying as hard as I can not to cry out when the wave of pleasure washes over me.
I finish and lay back, my body still twitching with the remaining effects of my orgasm, feeling my wetness soaking through the paper of the exam table.
My doctor stands, adjust his cock so it is trapped behind the waist band of his scrubs and says in all seriousness,
“ma’am. I will be happy to take your money if you insist. However, I suggest you think long and hard about this first.”
I nod, sitting up and closing the dressing gown over my body.
He opens the exam room, looks back, tips me a wink and says loudly,
“Let’s schedule a follow up visit for next month.”
– the end –