The Physical

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Author's Note:

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Upfront, this story won't be to everyone's tastes. The scope of the audience is probably quite narrow. Just know that going in. That said...

The following is a work of fiction that was inspired and based on true events. In my youth, a version of this actually happened and I've never talked about it with anyone. Writing this story was somewhat therapeutic but also revived memories I'd since forgotten. I've written several drafts of it, trying to capture a dramatization of my feelings in a way that could be conveyed to an audience. As it came to a close, I realized there may be more to flesh out and I might attempt to write at least one more installment based on subsequent and related events. In this story, everyone is 18 years old or older.

Erotica elements that are present are: CFNM, Exhibitionism, Doctor/Medical theme, Mother/son interaction, Physical exam, perhaps others.

Lastly, I edit my own work and make every reasonable effort to catch mistakes. Unfortunately, I don't catch everything and I apologize in advance for such errors - I definitely understand how frustrating it can be to read one.

Again, please understand, this story isn't for everyone. If you continue on, I hope you enjoy.

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The Physical

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My Late Physical Exam - A story from yesteryear about a physical examination.

This story starts at the beginning of my last year of high school; many, many years ago. My family moved to a small, northern town in late summer, just before the start of the school year. It was one of many moves over the course of my academic career and was something I was used to doing. However, this move was fairly disruptive due to the timing of my sports.

While I would have described myself as a mediocre high school athlete, I was skilled enough to play on the varsity teams for my main sports; those being hockey, golf and swimming. The combination kept me busy with something almost all year round. I had just turned eighteen and was one of the oldest in my class. I felt like my experience would have given me a competitive advantage at my old school. My new school was farther north, with a strong hockey culture, and I knew the competition would be fierce. What I didn't realize was how early hockey started at this new school.

I had been at the school for about two weeks when I found out that tryouts were already slated. Documents were handed out at an after school meeting and I quickly learned I was behind the play. Most of what was needed would be easy enough to complete, however, I learned that I needed to have an up-to-date medical release form signed by a doctor. This was something I did not have. Luckily, a friend I'd made told me that his mom worked at the one and only doctor's office in town and said she could help get the forms completed. So I called in thinking that I could just show up and get these papers signed.

Looking back, I was such an idiot because I was surprised to learn that I needed to get an actual physical exam done before they would sign the forms. It made sense after they explained it but it was still irritating to realize the hold up. If this was ever done at my old school, I didn't know about it. Most likely, my mother just submitted my medical records with my applications, or whatever we did, because I don't remember having to deal with this before.

The way I remember the phone call, the doctor's office receptionist said that they didn't have any appointments available within the next week. This was obviously unacceptable to me because I wouldn't be permitted to tryout if I didn't get the forms completed and submitted on time. So I begged and pleaded with the receptionist on the phone, asking if there was anything they could do. To my dismay, she insisted she couldn't help me and half heartedly apologized, seemingly understanding of my situation, but she also didn't sound like she cared much. But before I hung up the phone, I decided to mention my friend's mom and asked if I could speak to her.

She seemed surprised that I knew of her and then told me to hold for a minute. Obviously, I did just that, waiting patiently for a chance at some good news. After a few minutes, she got back on the line and asked if I could come in after school one night; I can't remember the exact day and it doesn't really matter. The relief and gratitude I felt was beyond words and I immediately agreed. All that mattered was being able to play hockey and now I had a chance.

On the day of the appointment, my mom drove me to the clinic well ahead of our appointment time. She wanted to give us plenty of leeway for whatever I would need to do; paperwork and such. And even though we were early, we were the only ones in the office. We filled out the forms together, handed them back to the receptionist, and then waited in the empty reception area to get called in. As it turned out, we were not the last appointment of the day. We were the appointment after that.

To add to the surprises, it also turned out that my friend's mom was the doctor at the clinic, which he never told me. And as a favor, she took an extra appointment that day just so I wouldn't miss the season. This is the kind of thing hockey moms do for each other.

Again, as an idiot teenager, I didn't know or think to ask any of these questions. My poor mother was wonderfully blindsided when she found out the office was staying open extra time on my behalf. She was horribly embarrassed because, in a small town, everyone knows everyone; and everyone knows everything. If you aren't from a small town, I promise this is a fact of life.

As I'm recalling this, I'm laughing a little because I remember the receptionist escorted the last patient out and locked the front door before calling us back. She told me that I needed a chaperone for the exam and asked my mother if she was okay to serve that purpose. My mom didn't miss a beat and agreed immediately contingent upon me being okay with it. The receptionist explained that I didn't really have a choice since all the nurses had left for the day and that only the doctor was attending. I didn't love the idea of my mother being present, but it wasn't any different than any other doctor appointment up to that point. So, we followed the receptionist back with my forms in hand. I was thinking this would be a piece of cake.

The receptionist was clearly displeased with staying late. She rushed us down the hall, took my height and weight, and practically dumped us in the exam room. However, just before we got there, we passed the person who I would later learn was my friend's mom, the doctor. She was working on something at a small desk in the hallway. The moment stands out to me because the receptionist asked if she could leave after she "placed me."

I wish I could describe the doctor as smoking hot, but the truth is that I don't remember noticing anything particularly remarkable about her in that moment. She was wearing a run of the mill white doctor's lab coat over everyday clothes that conservatively concealed her lean frame. The outfit wasn't anything fancy or noteworthy. Her hair was a rich dark brown, almost black, and was pulled back in a short ponytail. Thick framed plastic glasses, the type that seem to be trendy today, rounded out the motif of a medical professional. Perhaps, if I had met such a middle aged woman today, I would have found her to be sexy. However, at the time, she wasn't even a blip on my radar.

We were barely in the exam room before the receptionist quickly instructed me to strip down to my underwear and said the doctor would be right with us. Then, she hastily closed the door and left. We never saw her again. It felt somewhat awkward in front of my mom, we looked at each other momentarily. But I quickly took action, doing my best to act mature and follow the instructions. I disrobed and neatly folded my clothes on the empty chair adjacent to the one my mother was sitting on. Then, wearing only my white briefs, I hopped up on the exam table and waited for the doctor to come in. Mom held onto my forms for me.

We didn't have to wait long, which I learned is one of the benefits of being scheduled after the very last patient of the day. My friend's mom knocked softly on the door and let herself in without waiting for an answer. She introduced herself to me and my mother, and then made her way over to the little desk in the room. As she crossed between my mother and me, she removed her white coat and hung it next to the desk and then comfortably took a seat on the little rolling stool.

Her disposition was warm and inviting. She had a natural aura about her that was disarming; perhaps landing somewhere between maternal and informal professional. I felt immediately comfortable with her and our dialogue flowed naturally. At least at first.

If there's anything that I remember about her that was sexy in anyway, it was the way she sat on the stool. She parked her seat on it, torso erect, excellent posture, but with her legs spread wide apart. This is why I remember she was wearing pants, because a skirt or dress would have left her exposed. And if she was using the stool for anything, this was how she sat on it every time. I guess it makes sense as it let her scoot around the room effortlessly. She'd stand up every now and then during the exam, but every time she took to the seat, her legs were spread eagle. Seeing a woman straddle something like that was not common place and it certainly aroused my attention.

The first few minutes were filled with general questions she posed to both me and my mother in an effort to get to know us. She made some small talk about hockey and moving and such; I figured my friend told her about my situation. I remember her attitude being cheery and compassionate. My mom repeatedly apologized for the last minute appointment and thanked her for seeing us. She waived it off and held the sort of attitude that "these things happen." And even though we were an extra appointment, she took her time with me as if I were a regularly scheduled patient. Nothing felt rushed or forced.

After the small talk, she asked for my forms and my mother passed them over to her. She took a minute to review them, flipping the pages back and forth a couple times. Then she glanced up at me and said we should get started and that it should be simple enough.

She started by asking me various questions about me and my medical history. I don't remember much about most of the questions except that my mom jumped in to answer questions now and then. However, the one that I remember distinctly was when she asked me if I was sexually active. I paused at the question and looked at her with trepidation. Then my gaze shifted to my mother, who was looking at me attentively and clearly waiting to hear my response. I glanced back at the doctor and then answered, "no." She noticed my clumsy lingering and ask me why I had to think about it.

I explained that I wasn't exactly sure what she meant. She clarified by asking if I was engaged in sexual activity with anyone and then assured me it was okay to discuss it with her. Again, I said, "no," and observed her glance at my mom with a look of skepticism.

It was apparent that she wasn't convinced with my response and she continued to press me a little harder on the issue. She might have asked me if I was sure, or something to that effect, but whichever way the questioning went, she eventually asked if I masturbated. This time my eyes went wide and I caught my breath. Again, I glanced over at my mom who was intently sitting forward in the chair. She sat with her legs crossed, elbow on her knee and her chin supported by her palm. She keenly regarded me and seemed to be smiling ever so slightly.

I was mortified already. And I struggled to process what I was going to do. On the one hand, my natural inclination was to lie and deny it. I didn't want to confess to masturbating in front of my mother. On the other hand, I could already sense that not being truthful would somehow end up worse. With a massive pit in my stomach, I reluctantly confessed. I did my best to avoid eye contact with my mother, I did not want to see her reaction.

In that instant, the room felt stagnant and heavy. I hesitated to look back at the doctor who seemed to be waiting for me to make eye contact again. Once I did, she resumed the line of questioning and asked if masturbating was the reason I paused in answering the question about being sexually active. To which I quietly nodded my head in response, "Yes." I still couldn't look at my mother.

The doctor acknowledged my feelings of embarrassment and reassured me that it was okay to talk about it. She said the typical things about boys my age and it being perfectly normal, nothing to be ashamed of, etc. She made some notes on her clip board while she offered such consolation.

Then, as if it couldn't get more uncomfortable, she looked up at me from her notes and asked me how often I masturbated. I remember being caught completely off guard by this question and didn't know how to answer it. Again, my eyes went wide, but this time I reflexively glanced at my mother who was just smiling at me with an arched eyebrow. I couldn't read her expression but her comfort level with the conversation seemed to be the polar opposite of mine.

Now, it wasn't like the doctor was trying to pry or anything. Her demeanor was completely professional if not a little annoyed that I wasn't overtly transparent about it. Her focus never shifted from me as she waited for my reply. After a patient moment, she offered some suggested answers like, "Once per week? Twice per week? Once per day? More often than that?"

My jaw clenched as it just kept getting worse. I was pretty sure that my mother didn't know my masturbation habits up until that point and now she was going to have some privileged information. The thought of answering this question drew up the pit in my stomach and made my ass clench up. I'd never talked about my sexual activity with anyone before. Literally, no one, and especially not my mom. It felt near impossible to speak, but I swallowed hard and reluctantly replied that I didn't do it every day but it was definitely more often than twice per week.

I couldn't look directly at my mom after answering, and whatever expression she was making was unreadable out of the corner of my eye. The awkwardness was in part that I was humiliated having to answer the questions, but I also wanted to know if she was cool with everything. However, I couldn't bring myself to find out in that moment.

The doctor nodded her head and then asked, in a very clinical manner, if I had any trouble getting erections, if I was able to achieve orgasm, and if I had any questions for her about my sexual health. This was the first time I'd ever had a doctor ask me these types of questions and I grimaced to reply in front of my mom. As far as I knew, every thing was normal and I concisely told her as much. I prayed the conversation would go no further.

The doctor seemed satisfied enough with my responses and she made some notes. Then she offered some advice saying that my masturbation habits were probably of a healthy frequency as long as it wasn't more often than once per day. Apparently, according to her, more often than that could indicate a problem; something like compulsive masturbation. It was at this point that she gave my mom a nod as if to make sure she also understood what healthy masturbation habits should be for her son. Additionally, she also recommended taking breaks from it every now and then. Lastly, she gave me a spiel about condoms and safe sex before she turned her focus back to my mom and asked if she had any questions. I finally was able to look at my mother to see her smiling and shaking her head "no" in a surprisingly nonchalant manner. She seemed amused.

Finally, the doctor was done with her line of questions, and she briefly explained to us that it was time to check me over. She stood up and moved close to me, eye to eye, and looked over my face. Her hands found my jaw and began touching my face, head and neck. I could feel her check my glands and then she tilted my head back while looking over my various orifices. Then, she brought up an illuminated instrument to take a closer look inside my nose, ears and mouth. She checked blood pressure and pressed her stethoscope to my chest and back, listening to my heart and lungs as I took deep breaths. It was all basic and routine stuff. The whole time my mother sat quietly and attentively observed the exam.

Next, she asked me to hop off of the exam table and told me to stand in the middle of the room. Standing in front of me, she told me to follow her movements. She did a series of simple coordination tests which involved me aping her exact movements. The last one was a test of flexibility and she told me to bend over as far as I could and touch my toes. While I was in this position, she told me to hold it so she could check my back. I felt her run her fingertips up my spine before telling me I could stand up.

She returned to her stool and swiveled back to the desk to make some notes. While she was noting things down she continued to speak to my mother and me telling us that she saw no obvious spine curvature or other abnormalities. Without looking my way, she told us it was time to do a check for hernias and examen my testicles.

Before she did anything else, she went on to explain that she would have to touch my private parts for this part of the exam. Now facing my mother, she further explained that normally I would have the option for a male doctor to perform this part, but that it wasn't available today. All the male doctors had left for the day. With that, she asked my mother if she had any objections to her proceeding with checking my genitals. My mother agreed and told her she could proceed.

When she looked to me for consent, I told her I was okay with her doing it, but it couldn't have been further from the truth. I was lying badly and trying to be brave; I didn't actually want her to do it. I have no idea if she could tell, but I have to imagine it was pretty obvious. I didn't want her to see my genitals. However, the real irony was that I would have been significantly more embarrassed to have a male doctor examine me like this. So even though I didn't want her to do it, I somehow felt that a woman would be more sympathetic to my secret situation.

See, the prospect of exposing myself to her or anyone else was something I dreaded in my youth. I was a late bloomer and took a long time to adjust psychologically to the idea of puberty. Throughout my teenage years, the idea of hair anywhere was completely off-putting to me and I consequently kept myself clean shaven. The reality was, my groin was the only place any noticeable hair actually grew and I wanted to keep that area hairless like the rest of my body. Paradoxically, this gave me a sense of personal confidence as I loved the way my bald genitals looked. However, it came at the expense of public confidence; I didn't want anyone to know about it or see it and I strictly maintained my modesty. So, while I liked it that way, I constantly feared being ridiculed for not looking appropriately mature, especially compared to other guys my age.

Sensing my apprehension, she turned her attention to my mother and asked her if we were okay to proceed. My mother seemed to have no problems with anything so far and agreed; she even offered to help if needed. It was one of those "Let me know if there's anything I can do" replies. With my mom's blessing, the doctor turned back to me and instructed me to remove my underwear.

Then, she reached up to the cabinet and retrieved a folded paper sheet. She handed it over to me and told me I could use it to cover myself. While it should have been obvious, I didn't understand what she wanted me to do and I asked for clarification. She tried to explain again, but I still didn't understand. But she seemed a little irritated so I just attempted what I thought she meant.