"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Late, late, late," muttered Tim as he stumbled out of the overcrowded bus. It was his first day of law school and he'd already found a way to screw it up.
For an intelligent, reasonably successful young man, Tim Lawson was remarkably downcast in disposition. Law school, he thought, was an excellent opportunity to "make it," but also a uniquely American way to strangle oneself with a rope of unforgivable debt. What if he didn't graduate? What if he couldn't find a job upon graduation. Worse yet, what if the only job he could find was at an amateurishness small shop run by second-rate drunks -- men like his father. And here he was on his first day, late already.
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Stepping out of the shower, water dripping from her dark black hair onto her petite shoulders and her pert b-cups -- the smell of her coconut shampoo wafting from her scalp -- Veronica leisurely made her way into the hallway of her Pinterest-y apartment. She was in her last year of medical school.
Like her parents, Veronica was going to become a doctor, had always wanted to become a doctor and felt little trepidation about what the future held for her: a lucrative dermatology practice in a tony enclave of New York that her aging parents all but promised to hand over to her upon graduation. A nice house. Top-of-the-line car, and a wardrobe of her choosing. If there was any aspect of her life that made Veronica anxious it was the prospect of selecting a partner.
Indeed, it seemed, to her, like nothing more than a process of selection. Veronica could have any man she desired; she was attractive, wealthy, accomplished, and friendly, if a bit shy. Still, the prospect of forming a relationship with another person -- shaping him and being shaped by him as their lives moved together towards completion -- baffled and bothered her. It was not like selecting a college or a medical school. There were no hard credentials, no tangible GPAs and MCATs. Just a wide open swath of humanity from which she was expected to select her other half.
She quickly dried her hair, tossed on a effortlessly stylish outfit and sauntered off to the clinic.
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The first class went ok for Tim. The second one, Constitutional Law, well that seemed like it could be a challenge. And everyone seemed so sharp, so put together. Tim now regretted having chosen his usual outfit of t-shirt, jeans, and leather boots.
He meandered down to the cafe in the basement of the law center to grab a mid-morning tea. As he walked down the stairs, eyes glued to the transfixing glow of his iPhone, he saw an email come in from Health Services: "Deadline for First Year Physical Forms: This Friday!"
"Shit, shit, shit," thought Tim. He had totally planned to get those forms in, but had -- well, he wasn't exactly sure where he got off track. There was no way he was going to get those forms in now, and with the amount of reading already piling up from his first two classes the prospect of getting a physical and submitting the completed forms seemed improbable.
Well, what was the worst that could happen anyway? It's probably only some bureaucratic bullshit anyway. He had come here to study law -- the most strenuous activity he would complete would be carrying a heavy textbook or raising his hand in class -- what did he need a physical for anyway.
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"Hey, Vern, I know you want to be a dermatologist and all -- shit, I guess I would too, with all its glamour. If I had the grades you do I'd probably do the same," laughed Cindy, Veronica's best friend and classmate.
The two had met at the small liberal arts college, where both were pre-med. Cindy, with her Jen Selter-esque ass had been a standout sprinter on the school track team. She was not a particularly pretty girl, but her shapely posterior coupled with the aggressive streak that had made her a successful college athlete, wrought a great deal of success in the dating arena.
"But if you're not too busy tomorrow, Vern, you should really stop by the university clinic and help with the general practitioner exams."
"Cind, why would I want more med school on top of the stuff I already have to do. Besides, tomorrow's Friday -- you know what that means," said Veronica with a major smirk.
"Yeah, Vern, you're gonna study in all night so you can 'go wild' on Saturday, I know, I know," laughed Cindy.
"But seriously, you should come by," she continued, "You wouldn't believe the hot guys that come in for exams. No? Ok, enjoy studying, but I'm gonna be playing with some embarrassed boys' dicks and assholes. And they're young too -- some of them are freshman undergrads. Just like the ones we used to suck and fuck, Vern." She let that hang in the air for a moment. "Trust me on this."
The novelty of Cidy's proposition did sound appealing, but Veronica had her reservations. She'd given physicals before, but there were always so many people in the room -- the instructor, other students -- she never felt comfortable taking, shall we say, extra liberties with the patients. It was always by the book, and as far as Veronica was concerned, the book was quite boring.
Sensing the trepidation in her friend's face, Cindy, ventured a key detail: "The exams are conducted in groups of two -- two students, one patient -- and I know Doctor Bazzaz well enough that I can get her to pair us up..."
"Really?"
"Yeah, Vern, really. The two of us. A naked guy. And the room all to ourselves," Replied Cindy with a wink.
"Ok, I guess I'll see you then. Text me the time, ok?"
"Ok," said Cindy as she walked down the hall, her thick ass swaying from side to side.
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Friday
"I'm sorry, Mr. Lawson, you missed your appointment," said the nonplused nurse to a very harried looking Tim.
"There's simply no way to get this physical form completed today," she continued in a tone somewhere between "I don't care" and "Go fuck yourself, you disorganized prick."
Speechless, Tim shuffled to the side of the nurses station, pulled out his phone and stared down blankly, scrolling through the news.
An attempt to appraise his situation, but if he was being honest with himself, he was just trying to hold back tears. As Tim had recently learned, completion of the physical exam form by the school's appointed deadline was not merely a matter of administrative housekeeping -- in fact, his continued enrolment in law school was contingent upon it.
From what he could remember from the last few hours spent madly dashing about campus trying to wrangle some means of either completing the form or obtaining an extension, it seemed that neither was possible. A matter of "public health" he had been told by one official. A violation of US Federal Student loans, said another.
It didn't take a soon-to-be lawyer to realize the gravity of his situation: he was fucked.
Just then he felt a firm hand grasp his bicep. He nearly dropped his phone in dismay as he turned and saw the hand's owner: Cindy Eastman.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he thought. "This fucking girl. This fucking stalker-y, agressive, won't take no for an answer, she-rapist -- what the fuck was she doing here?"
"What are you up too, Tim?" asked a backpack clad Cindy, a smile of surprise and delight wrapped around her face.
A rash of heat danced around Tim's body -- that hot, sick feeling of flashing lights in the rearview mirror.
Still waiting for a response, Cindy withdrew her pale hand from his bicep and crossed her arms in a mock show of discontent.
"I... I ... I... Need to form a fill out -- I need to ... to ... fill out a form, stuttered Tim.