An Appointment With Doctor Fisher

Sunlight glimmers through the tree canopies as I descend the winding footpath to the doctor's surgery. Pausing for a moment, I close my eyes to take in the ambience of birdsong and rustling leaves; it feels good to be out of the city with all its noise and bustle. Senses reattuned, I let the path draw me deeper into the wood until the foliage parts before me to reveal my destination. The glass and pre-weathered steel of the surgery is held within an ivy embrace and guarded by a garrison of oaks. The glazed vestibule is open beckoning me inside.

With an automatic door closing behind me with a mechanical whirr, I enter a spotless reception hosting the lush foliage of a green wall on one side. The trickle of an irrigation system can be heard above the low hum of the air-conditioning. With no queue, in fact, the room is empty, I approach the young receptionist who is sitting at her desk wearing a crisp white blouse. After giving her my details, she asks me to fill out a form, which I quickly do, and she directs me towards a side room.

"Please take your clothes off and put this gown on", she said, looking me up and down, "all your clothes, please."

"Er."

"It's ok, I'll keep this room locked while you're having your appointment."

Handing me the gown, she promptly leaves with the tap-tap of her heels echoing down the corridor behind her. The gown feels like paper and has the weight of gossamer. My eyes glance around the room but it only looks back indifferently. Sighing, and keeping my back to the door, which has no lock, I take off my clothes, place them neatly on the bench, and put on the grown.

Wearing the gown, I head back to the reception. My hands hold the bottom of the gown fast as if it could betray me to the slightest air current.

Without looking up from her computer, the receptionist said, "Please go to room 3. Doctor Fisher will see you there."

Following the featureless corridor, I am drawn deeper into the building. The immaculate vinyl floor feels cool beneath my bare feet. I approach room 3 and pause at the threshold. I take a deep breath, compose myself, and knock.

"Please come in."

Opening the door, I enter a spotless room all off-grey and brilliant white with an examination table to one side. At an uncluttered desk sits Doctor Fisher working at her computer. Her feet, in conservative heels, are tucked neatly together under the desk.

Without looking up, she said, "Please sit and wait a moment."

"Yes, Madam", I said, head half bowed.

The faintest hint of a smile forms on her face, but she does not look up.

I sit down. Doctor Fisher, who is much older than me, at least in her mid-30s, is wearing a knee-length tailored dress, which suits her slim figure. Her raven-black hair is neatly tied behind her lithe back in a ponytail. Sitting at her desk, her posture is upright, her head is level, and her movements are deliberate and unhurried. I patiently wait for her perched forward on my seat as I fidget with my hands.

Ready, she pivots her chair towards me and places her feet down onto the floor in unison. With eyes as green as emeralds, she slowly looks me up and down whilst her well-manicured nails rhythmically tap her desk. Her lips form into a faint smile.

"Good", she said, at last, her tone setting the mood of the room. "Let's begin your medical."

At her own speed, Doctor Fisher performs some routine tests on me: blood pressure, eyes, ears, reflexes, etc. Her manner is kind as if I were her guest. Sitting at her computer, again unhurried, she types my latest results in. Turning in her chair to face me, her movements precise, her feet together, she said evenly, whilst holding my gaze, "Please remove your gown now." Dismissing me to carry out her instructions, she turns back to her computer and resumes typing.

Her words unequivocal, I stand up with a reflex and look around the featureless room for what I know not. An escape? Some reassurance? There is only the ticking of the clock and the tap-tap of her keyboard. Feeling as self-conscious as a teenager, I unfasten my gown with trembling hands. My heart races as if I am wavering before a precipice. Nerves give way to resignation, then surrender. Who knew such a light garment could have such weight? I let my eyes settle onto the middle distance, exhale deeply, and let the gown tumble onto the floor fulfilling her desire.

I stand there naked before her, head half bowed, afraid to meet her gaze and awaiting her instructions. She carries on typing until she is ready and then pivots in her chair to face me again. Her eyes glance down at my genitals hanging between my legs. Her expression is cryptic.

"Good. Now please go and lie on the examination table", she said as she returns to her computer again.

I try to make myself comfortable on the examination table but its plastic is tacky against my skin. Lying there disrobed, a second feels like an hour, and I try to stop my mind from imagining all kinds of wicked scenarios. After what seems like an age, I hear her typing cease, and her chair swings around. Her two heels precisely tap the floor together, and the tap-tap of her heels is like a metronome as she walks to the side of the table. Not daring to move, I lie perfectly still with my arms pressed into my sides. When she arrives, the side of the table makes a slight depression into her flat abdomen.

"Please hold your flaccid penis back."

My mouth opens searching for words but there are none, and my eyes dart around the plain ceiling finding no respite. Her words, calling attention to what is and what is not; a play of difference, have set my mind racing. As I reach for my penis, I feel her gaze burning my loins, and despite myself, I picture being tended to by her hands metronomically, precisely, in her manner, my body under her strict supervision. As if watching myself, my face begins to flush and my heart pounds in my ears, as my loins begin to stir. My penis, in a few heartbeats, is standing straight and tall. I want to melt away into the table in shame. In futility, I try to conceal it with my hand, my eyes darting around the sterile ceiling as if looking for an escape.

Her voice even, "It looks like you're fully erect." Her hand gently takes my wrist and coaxes me to uncover myself for her. "Don't worry, it happens quite a lot." Her words casting a soothing spell over me, I exhale, releasing all tension from my body. I drop my hand limply to my side as I surrender my secrets to her. With nothing to look at on the featureless ceiling, I close my eyes. I hear her breathing, slow and regular, and I feel the warmth from her abdomen against my arm. Her gaze covers me like a tight blanket.

"I'm going to check your testicles", she said matter-of-factly. "Don't worry, I'll be very gentle."

I feel her well-manicured hand, cool against my scrotum, searching for and clasping around my left ball. I exhale deeply as she takes me into a tender embrace. Enclosed by her, I feel as if floating in the most tranquil lake. My erection dances with each heartbeat as she explores every aspect of my orb as if it were a priceless jewel.

Secured down by her presence towering over me, I try to be as still as a statue. With the lightest touch, her hand moves onto my other ball.

I whimper as, despite her sympathetic touch, she finds a tender spot. My swelling redoubles in response.

"I'm very sorry", she said, stopping for a moment. "I'll be more careful." As her work resumes, I whimper softly, my breathing shallow.

"You're very brave, that testicle is more sensitive", she said as she withdraws her hand, her touch lingering on my silky scrotum.

"Are you sexually active?" she said, apparently indifferent.

"Er, not really. I mean no, Madam."

"Have you had sex?"

"Er, no, not yet anyway, Madam."

"That's ok, you're still young", she said, her voice softening. "Make sure you use protection when you do". I hear the scrape of her heels on the floor as she adjusts her position.

"I need to check your penis", she said, her tone neutral. "Would you like me to wait until it softens?"

With all attention drawn back to my tumescence as if it fills the room, I throb under her gaze, my erection bobbing with each heartbeat. I try to control my breathing.

"Yes, er, please", I manage weakly.

Her heels scrape on the floor again as she adjusts her position. Waiting for me, she stands with her flat abdomen pressed up against the edge of the table and her gaze transferred to the wall. Her expensive nails begin to tap the table metronomically, in her manner.

Her presence above bears upon me as I try to subside myself, but my erection will not yield no matter how hard I try. I slam the back of my head into the pillow in frustration. Beads of sweat form all over my body. "I'm sorry Madam, it's no good", I plead, my body betraying me.

Looking down upon me, she said, "Yes, you're still fully erect", her brow furrowing, "but shall I go ahead anyway?"

I whimper.

"Don't worry", she said, her voice soft.

With her right palm, she carefully brings my erection upright, pointing me at the ceiling, straight and true. With deliberate movements, I feel her left hand clasp around the thick middle of my penis, her cool fingers cascading closed around me. Holding me tight, she eases her hand down towards my base teasing my baby-soft skin back and exposing everything to her gaze. Tight within her hand, my penis, as hard as steel, dances and twitches as if trying to break free. I feel the room's tiniest air currents against my most sensitive skin. I dare not move a muscle. I dare not even breathe.

There is a knock at the door.

"Just a moment", she said.

Reversing her movements with care, she eases her hand back up my shaft closing my baby-soft skin over me. Withdrawing her hands, and with a scrape from her heels, she turns and heads for the door. In timing with the metronomic tap-tap of her heels, my erection dances and twitches.

I am left soaked in sweat and breathing hard. My skin sticks to the table's plastic as if it was covered in wet paint. My erection, richly decorated in blue veins, has never felt so hard, so primed and so dangerous. Lying helplessly on the table, I can only await her return.

Having dismissed the visitor, the tap-tap of Doctor Fisher's heels signals her return. As my engorged penis dances in anticipation, my legs begin to shake. It is like I am being caught in an all-powerful undertow.

Back at my side, in her own time, again she brings my erection upright as she prepares to clasp her hand around the middle of my shaft, but when her hand closes this time I gasp, my head arches back and my toes curl; her grip so tight.

"Please...", I whimper.

Doctor Fisher ignores me. Easing her hand down to reveal me again, I am powerless to stop the undertow from taking me. My body no longer my own, it is as if great waves are breaking over me with froth and foam as I tumble within the swash, over and over, again and again, on and on, pounded and pummelled, dashed and smashed into oblivion, like a piece of flotsam in a thousand-year-storm without end.

As the storm subsides, I come to, as if gifted a second chance at life. I look down, my hips are pumping with abandon against the hand still so tight around me. Rivers of sweat run down my face and chest. Wide-eyed, I gasp for air like a drowning man.

"It's ok, I got most of it with a tissue", she said softly.

As I recognise what has happened, endless apologies tumble from my lips. I beg for her forgiveness.

"Don't worry, as you gain more experience, you'll learn to control it."

With my penis still as hard as steel, her hands meticulously wring every last drop out as I whimper softly.

"Well, I've cleaned you up now and everything is ok, so you can go."

Saying nothing, before walking back to her desk, she caresses my face as I lie spent and exhausted on the table. My eyes beseech her as she withdraws her soft hand. The feeling of her touch lingers. I feel like I could cry. She goes back to her business.

Fully drained, I get up from the sticky table where an ocean of sweat is left in witness to my ordeal. Standing up on unsteady legs, and with trembling hands, I put the gown back on. It clings around my glistening erection like a second skin.

"Thank you, Madam", I said, head bowed, "Again, I'm sorry."

"You're very welcome, and no need to be embarrassed", she said, not looking up from her computer.

My erection barely waning, I double over trying to hide my protuberance as I am drawn back to the reception through the plain corridor. Passing by the reception, which is empty, I find the side room unlocked. I enter and put my clothes back on. Everything is as I left it.

Still semi-erect, but in jeans far less revealing than the medical gown, I head back to the reception and find the young receptionist seated at her desk with Doctor Fisher speaking discreetly into her ear. As I make for the exit, my face still flushed, they both glance up together, their gazes tracking me in unison. Stifled giggles follow me out of the door.