The communal cork board. That most old-fashioned of anonymous communication that persisted in the modern world. Whether you were looking for saxophone lessons or begging the community to keep their eyes peeled for a lost cat... this was where the community asked for help. Even those offering help through the board were looking to get paid something for their assistance. It was very much a quid pro quo relationship.
At some point, some enterprising individual had the idea to make shallow cuts into the bottom of a standard sheet of printer paper. This would turn the bottom section of the page into thin ribbons about the size of a fortune in a fortune cookie. The phone number of the person looking or offering help would be printed vertically on each slip. Even before the days of smart phones, nobody was good at memorizing phone numbers.
There was a tear-off flyer just like that on this board, pinned low enough that the ribbons in the bottom rolled in the win like eager waving fingers. Rather than offering dogwalking, car washes or duct cleaning services, this particular flyer was offering something different.
"Want a bigger penis?"
Bee found herself staring at the flyer. Nothing else on the board was remotely this salacious. Any attempt to use this board for prostitution must have been deeply encrypted. Maybe they called themselves 'babysitters' to filter out all but the frustrated married men.
The flyer advertised a quick, painless and injection-free method for increasing penis size. It said the effects might be temporary, but it was shown to be effective in almost all cases. It said to visit such-and-such a place, Monday through Friday between 9 and 5.
Somehow... nobody had taken a single slip from the bottom of this page.
This was on the bulletin board outside the convenience store just off campus, nearest a popular bus stop whose route took them past affordable off-campus rental properties and back into the city. If you wanted to inform the campus at large about your band playing at a coffee shop or your agonizing improv show... this was the place to do it. Even the flyer looking for volunteers for the allergy study had most of its slips taken. Then again, that one did offer free pizza. Hopefully, none of the volunteers were allergic to pizza.
It still puzzled Bee how there had been NO volunteers for a painless procedure to make your dick bigger, on this campus of thousands of dick owners and large dick enthusiasts. Maybe the modern college student was too savvy to fall for an obvious prank. Maybe all the frat boys were throwing off the average penis size. Maybe there was indelible ink on the backside of the number slips, marking anyone who touched them forevermore as a chode.
Bee brought her smart phone out of her purse and slyly took a picture of the flyer. If anyone saw her do this, she'd just say she was taking a picture for the Internet. Why else would she be doing this?
Before she left the area... she got a close-up picture of the address.
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Bee eventually found the location of this doctor's office, a small commercial park on the outskirts of the city. It looked like the sort of place a doctor's office might be... but wouldn't choose to be. A large strip of one-floor brick buildings in an area with low property value, it was surrounded by trucking companies, bank call centers and what was euphemistically called a 'transfer station,' but was really just a junkyard. The bus line out here didn't even connect to the main bus station. It perhaps indicated that those that lived out here never had any business in the big city, for whatever reason.
She stepped in through the main entrance, which was nothing more than a single door propped open with a wooden doorstop to keep it from automatically locking. There was no front desk, just a series of hallways with other doors. She slipped towards the back of the building, passing a few other small businesses and offices before finding the right office at the end of the hall near a fire exit.
There was a single piece of paper affixed to the front of the door with a bit of painter's tape. In big bold letters and a variety of obnoxious fonts, the sign said, "Study for Penis Size Increase Within. Please Come In!" The creator of the sign thankfully had restrained themselves from using any suggestive clipart.
The sign almost stopped Bee from entering. If there was ever a door a man would not want anyone to see them entering, this would be it. She looked around the vicinity to see if there were any cameras on her. She didn't find any. Maybe they were well hidden.
With a deep breath, she turned the doorknob and entered.
Bee entered the smallest waiting room she'd ever been in, smaller than most bedrooms or dorm rooms she'd seen. There was enough room for the receptionist's desk, a couch across from said desk, and a door between the two. That was it. No windows, one old CRT in the corner that wasn't turned on, and a pile of old magazines on the accent table under the television. There wasn't even the obligatory potted plant, that optimistic expression of the continuance and persistence of life. After all... it wouldn't get any sun in here.
The secretary was sat in the wheeled office chair behind the desk, twirling a lock of blonde hair in her fingers. She was looking at her laptop, but slammed it shut as Bee entered the waiting room.
"Hello!" The secretary rose from her seat, hand still on top of her laptop, as if it would jump away if not held in place. "Do you have an appointment to see the doctor?"
Bee tensed. "No, I just saw this flyer..." She showed the secretary the picture on her phone. "Am I in the right place?"
"Yes, you are." The secretary nodded. She spoke in an English accent. This must serve her quite well when talking to people over the phone... but then those people would be deprived at seeing such a lovely woman. She was a classic beauty with long eyelashes visible even behind her glasses, nice pouty lips and a deep line of cleavage running down her shirt from her low-cut blazer. Bee estimated her age to be maybe twenty-five. In reality, not too much older than her, but in the world of college students, where the time between eighteen and twenty-one seemed so large... it could perhaps be called a generational gap.
"Is the doctor in?" Bee asked.
The secretary looked up at the visitor. She was a slender and fair woman with long red hair tucked under a gray toque. She had a hooded sweatshirt and skirt worn over leggings. Her purse was fashionably small, but not obnoxiously so. Unlike other women of her age that had wandered into her office... she did not have a book bag.
"She'll be right with you, but I should warn you..." The secretary warned her. "This is an in-person treatment only. You can't leave here with a pill or anything, so you can't bring it back for your boyfriend."
Bee blushed. "I don't have a boyfriend."
The secretary stared for a moment before the light bulb went off. "Oh! You're a..."
Bee nodded softly.
The secretary got out from behind her desk, nearly sweeping Bee into the next room. "Come on in! The doctor will be with you shortly." She opened the door to the office's sole examination room, a room just as small, with the little paper-covered bench and cabinets undoubtedly filled with medical supplies. The secretary closed the door behind her, leaving Bee in here alone.
She looked around the tiny room. There was a wheeled stool, probably for the doctor to sit on while examining the patient. All the walls that didn't have cabinets were covered with printed diagrams and charts. One was an illustrated diagram of the woman represented as half-skeleton, half-organs. There was a chart about the signs of heatstroke. There was even an eye chart, but no chair to sit in to view it properly. This room was too small to measure eyesight in any meaningful way. What an odd thing to have in here, even if just for decoration.
Bee knew what someone was supposed to do in this situation. She was supposed to undress so the doctor could examine her properly. But she wasn't ready just yet. She took her purse off her shoulder and sat down on the weird stiff paper, waiting patiently for the doctor to appear.
She didn't have to wait that long. The doctor burst into the room, still throwing her doctor's coat over her small black camisole. It was the secretary.
"Hello!" She said, tossing her hair over her shoulders to get it out from under the coat. "I'm Dr. Maddick, but you can please call me Robin. I hate the formality of being called 'Doctor.'"
Bee scanned her up and down. With her light blonde hair, glasses and shockingly fine body, she looked like someone dressed up as a doctor in a porno, without whatever negative connotations that might invoke. Then again, someone like her might struggle to be taken seriously in the male-dominated medical profession. And here was Bee thinking that she might not even be a doctor.
