This story contains: first person POV, exhibitionist themes, medical vocab for body parts, embarrassment.
Disclaimer: I am a trans man. If anything comes of fetishize-y to you, that is me sexualizing myself! Helps with self esteem. Also the concept of a full body physical to check on HRT progress is made up for porn purposes lol! And while there's no sex, this is of course exaggerated.
Now, let's be real. This man is certainly not particularly attractive to me. He's probably 60, wears a garish bowtie every day (it's only cute on little kids and Bill Nye, sorry), and has wrinkled sun-damaged skin. But something about medical professionals... it doesn't quite matter what they look like.
I've only been going to doctors appointments alone for a couple years, since I got my drivers license, but I've taken every single opportunity I possibly could to get them to check out what's under the gown. Usually I have to spend a good chunk of time prior to the appointment thinking of an excuse that actually makes sense. But today? Today I get to take it easy. Today I'm getting the full treatment regardless.
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One of the nurses took me back past the front desk and invited me into one of the exam rooms at the end of the hall. She went through the typical tedious processes, asking if my medications were the same, taking my blood pressure and blood oxygen levels, and all that stuff. My heart was pounding and I was breathing hard, but that was mostly just because I was interacting with another human being; social anxiety will do that to a person. But as I sat in the wildly uncomfortable plastic chair next to the door, I felt a warm wetness slowly leaking into my boxers, which I most certainly could not chalk up to anxiety.
The nurse tossed a blue papery medical gown on the exam table.
"Go ahead and get undressed, the doctor will come knock on the door when he's ready for ya," she said, swinging the door closed behind her, I was alone, listening to the hum of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and my heartbeat in my ears. I untied my sneakers first and slipped them off to leave them under the chair. I took off my socks and neatly tucked them in to their respective shoes. I stood up and took my shirt by the hem and pulled it up over my head, shivering as the frigid hospital air touched by bare skin. I let my cargo shorts drop to my feet and neatly folded my clothes, setting them on the chair.
I did my best to tie up the strings at the back of the gown and shakily sat on the edge of the exam table, hyper aware of my damp underwear and the way the cheap fabric brushed my nipples. Realizing my nerves were getting out of control, I took in my surroundings. The room was small, with probably only enough floor space to fit four or five of these tables. The remaining space was filled by the chair, a counter with a sink and some cabinets below, the doctor's fun rolly-chair, the computer, and some miscellaneous medical paraphernalia. The floor was that iconic, blinding white linoleum tile, and the walls were a much less painful eggshell, smattered with some posters talking about patient rights and vaccines and stuff. Above me were two of those rectangular fluorescent light fixtures that gave the room and all its contents an unnatural hue.
Before I ran out of things to observe and was going to have to resort to counting the floor tiles to ground myself, there were three sharp raps at the door.
"I'm all set, come on in!" The 60 year old man with his typical bowtie entered swiftly, holding a clipboard with all my paperwork on it. Thank God for that clipboard, because otherwise I would have to reintroduce myself every time I came here.
"Rowan, how are you?"
"I'm well, thank you."
"Looks like we're gonna do a one-year checkup today, do you have anything else you'd like to address?" He flicked through the packet on his clipboard, not even really looking at me. My heart leaped into my throat. Obviously, I was fully aware of what this appointment would entail before I even got here, but him saying it really set me off. It had finally been about a year since I had started testosterone injections, and we had arranged for him to do a full physical exam to check on my progress.
"Nope, I'm all set." He quickly washed his hands and rolled his chair over beside the table.
"Alright then, son, let's see what we're workin' with. Can you untie the top string of your gown for me?" I kept my eyes locked on the floor and reached around behind me to pull the string loose. The sleeves sagged off my shoulders and the top half of the gown just immediately slumped down onto my lap.
"Very good," he said, and gently felt around my breasts. "No abnormal lumps or textures. Have you noticed any changes in your breasts? Size, firmness, sensitivity?"
"Nah, they've always been this small," I attempted to joke (I'm not good under pressure, leave me alone). I was lucky enough to be blessed with A-cups, small enough to get away with not binding unless I was wearing something fitted.
"I see we've got some hair growth going on, are you noticing this everywhere else?" In the month or two prior, I had finally noticed the smallest bit of chest hair coming in, a light fuzz mostly concentrated right on my sternum between my boobs, but slowly making its way to either side.
"Yeah, this is the newest growth I've seen. Mostly it's been below this that I've had the most progress." I straightened up to show him my belly, where a patch was growing starting at my belly button and trailing down to my pubic hair.
"Very nice, that's what we like to see. You're progressing pretty quickly compared to most guys, but everyone is different. You're looking good and healthy here. You can pull your gown back up and then I'll have you remove your underwear for me, okay?" I shivered and did as he said. He rolled over to the counter and pulled on a pair of latex gloves as I slipped off my boxers. I suddenly felt grateful to be removing them before he looked between my legs, because there was a painfully obvious wet spot at the center. I swiveled around to put my feet in the retractable stirrups that he had pulled out as he rolled back over to the table.
"Alright, let's see." He gently lifted the hem of the gown and I pulled it to bunch it up at my hips so I could see what was going on. He layed a finger on either side of my labia and slightly parted me so he could see all I had to offer.
"I see you've gotten some substantial clitoral enlargement. Have you seen steady growth, or has this been a recent development?" He kept his eyes on my pussy, doing his job. I, on the other hand, was not feeling particularly professional. I could feel my dick getting hard as reality hit me that someone was staring at my bare, exposed pussy, my legs spread wide open.
"Uh, yeah, it started pretty soon after I started and it's just been slowly growing."
"And do you trim your pubic hair, is it naturally longer than this?"
"Ha, oh yeah! I shave every couple weeks. It get's longer than that for sure."
"A lot of guys have trouble with dryness on T, I understand that isn't an issue for you?" My face went hot instantly.
"I guess not," I laughed nervously.
"Have you seen an increase in lubrication since starting T, or no change?" At this point, he was gently feeling around all over the place.
"I think an increase..." I had a heated debate inside my head about whether I should say this given the circumstances. My whore side won. "Day-to-day it's the same as before, but I get a lot wetter during arousal than I ever have before." Of course, I regretted this immediately afterwards, but he didn't seem to care. It is his job, I suppose, and doctors are used to candor.
"That's pretty common as well. Speaking of which, do you notice that your clitoris becomes enlarged at all during arousal? The clitoris isn't too different from the glans of the penis, so it does become erect."
"Uh, yeah, I'm not sure it gets a whole lot bigger, but it definitely gets hard."
