I walk into the consulting room. Nothing major, just a quick check-up. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.
The lights are too bright. The room smells like antiseptic, like every other doctor's room ever. Clean but... sharp. I hate that smell. I sit on the edge of the table, and the paper under me crackles way too loudly. My palms are already sweating, which is ridiculous; he's not even here yet.
The door opens. Dr. Evans comes in dressed in his neatly pressed white coat. His expression is stereotypical--blank, but sort of polite. Behind him? Trainees file in. Five of them. Three guys, two girls, all in matching scrubs, holding clipboards and pretending not to stare too hard.
"These are my trainees," Dr. Evans says. "They're here to observe a full examination. You'll be their subject today."
Wait--full? My stomach does this little drop. Like when you miss a step on the stairs. I nod. Stupid. But what am I supposed to say? 'No'? Make a fuss? It's a free clinic and I don't have spare change lying around.
I swallow and try not to look at any of them. My throat's suddenly dry.
"Remove all your clothing," he says, already half turned away. Tone flat and detached. He nods toward a gown folded on the exam bed. "Put that on."
He starts talking to the students immediately, something about protocol, barely audible. Like I'm not standing right here, peeling myself out of my clothes behind a short privacy screen. Privacy screen my ass, it's barely tall enough and doesn't cover mid-thigh down.
Blouse first. Then the bra. I hesitate at my skirt, but there's no real pause. What's the point? I just get on with it. Panties last. The air hits me cold, and I swear I can feel every damn eye in the room on me.
Five of them. Just standing there, watching. Clipboards held like props, not shields.
I grab the gown and fumble it on, arms through the wrong holes first, then redoing it. It's thin. Paper-thin. Doesn't even close properly in the back. I sit back down with my hands in my lap, knees together. The paper under me crackles again.
Dr. Evans walks over, pulling on gloves. Snap. That sharp latex sound. He doesn't look at me, not really.
"We'll start with the breast exam," he says, pushing me back into the bed with gentle intent. Without waiting, he unties the gown and just pulls it down. My breasts are out, just like that. A fresh wave of cold hits me first, then the heat, rushing up the back of my neck.
My nipples are already hard. Probably the cold, but I know what it looks like.
The students step closer.
His hands are professional. That's the worst part. No hesitation, no second glances. Just fingers pressing, shifting, assessing. "Note the tissue consistency," he says. Like I'm a sample. A diagram.
Then: "You may examine her now."
I freeze.
The first guy steps forward. No name. Just hands. Too rough, no warning. He grabs more than he examines. I flinch.
"Gently!" Dr. Evans barks. "Precision, not force."
The guy laughs under his breath and softens his grip. Barely. His fingers stay longer than they should.
The next is a girl. Her hands are lighter. More careful. But one finger brushes my nipple--slow, deliberate. She doesn't look at me. None of them do.
I glance up. One of the other guys is shifting awkwardly. There's tension at the front of his pants. He's not hiding it.
My face burns. I try to keep still, but I feel them seeing me--all of me. And I can't unread the hunger in some of their eyes.
Dr. Evans pulls the gown off entirely and drapes it over the clothes hanger. "It's unnecessary," he says. "They need full visibility for learning."
I'm naked now. Totally bare. Lying back on the exam bed, my skin prickling like it's screaming. I can't look up. I won't. But I feel them--all their eyes digging into me.
He steps closer. Gloves still on. That snap from earlier still echoes in my head. "Pelvic exam next," he says, loud and flat. He parts my thighs with a smooth, practiced motion, no hesitation and lifts my legs into the stirrups.
The students shuffle in. Too close. Shoes squeak on the floor. I catch the girls shifting, their thighs brushing together, restless. My stomach twists so hard I might puke.
Dr. Evans slides a finger down me--down there. Quick. Cold. He holds it up, wet and shiny under the lights. "Observe the natural lubrication... the arousal indicators," he says, like it's nothing. Like I'm not dying inside. Arousal? No. That's not--I can't--
"You may assess," he says. And before I can even think, one of the guys dives in. His fingers shove deep in. I gasp--loud, stupid--and my whole body jerks.
"Careful!" Dr. Evans snaps. "This isn't a game! Feel, don't maul!" The guy, grinning like an asshole, pulls his finger out and tries again, gentler but twice. "Is he trying to stimulate me? Oh God, I groan, way too loud.
Another one steps up. Spreads me wider than he needs to. "She's soaked," he mutters, low but clear. My chest tightens. I want to melt into the exam bed and disappear.
The girls move in now. One pries me open with her fingers. She whispers, "Look at that clit," to the others. Right in front of me. Jeez, I'm right here.
My face is burning. Hotter than before. I glance up--can't help it--and see one of the guys adjusting himself. Pants tight. Obvious. He doesn't care who notices.
Dr. Evans picks up the speculum. He inserts it with a steady hand and God, it's freezing, and I nearly jump off the table. He cranks it open. I feel it stretch me wide. "Full view of the cervix," he says, flicking on a light. They're all staring right into my private of parts.
He nods. "Assess internally." The male student from earlier slips fingers in beside the speculum, too rough again. I flinch, hard. "Enough!" Dr. Evans cuts in. "Controlled movements only."
Too late. I clench. I can't stop it and they all see. My breath catches, stuck in my throat.
