Cold Brook is a sleepy little village of about 300 people located well north of Utica, New York, and that's where this story is based. It's about an aging doctor names Ulysses Baxter who has been a General Practitioner for the majority of his 69 years in Cold Brook, and while many of his patients have either passed on or started going to big city doctors, Dr. Baxter still has enough clients to make it worthwhile to keep his office open.
Many of those folks are either intensely loyal, set in their ways or unable to travel the considerable distance to Utica and back. Dr. Baxter is also known for being very reasonable regarding payment for his services as well as being willing to accept unconventional ways of paying the bill, like taking eggs, baked goods or other things in lieu of cash.
This story regards those "other things" the kindly and somewhat eccentric took as remuneration for services rendered.
***
Ulysses Baxter sat in the chair that was once used by the woman who acted as a combination nurse practitioner/secretary in his office, back when he had enough patients to justify the expense, looking out through the blinds at the girl who was walking along the shoulder of the road towards his building.
The anticipation made the elderly doctor's heart beat faster, just as it always did when he had a young woman scheduled for an exam. He had very few young patients left these days, as the little village continued to die its slow death much like he himself was, so seeing the teen shuffling closer and chewing her gum just as slow and languidly as she walked, excited him.
Becka Enos must have just been at work, given the way she was still wearing the baggy and shapeless lime green uniform top from the Easy Mart, but while the girl wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer the good doctor gave her credit for having the ambition to walk to and from work every day as well as to his office, considerable distances even in this little hamlet.
"Becka Becka Becka," Ulysses chanted softly as he pulled her file out of the cabinet, the bulky manila folder right between those of her mother Anna and her father Clint - a drunken bum who had taken off a few years back - and the doctor gave the Polaroids inside a brief glance before tucking them back in place and waiting for the door to open.
"Hey Dr. Baxter," the girl chirped as he entered the reception area and closed the door behind her.
"Becka Enos!" Dr Baxter replied with a smile. "My favorite patient."
"You say that to everybody I bet," Becka giggled.
"No Becka. You're special. You're loyal, you and your mother," Ulysses answered, hesitating as he pretended to think about something before continuing. "How is your Mom? I think she's scheduled for an appointment soon too."
"Yeah. She's okay,' Becky replied. "She said she would settle up with you then for my check-up."
"I'm not worried honey," Dr. Baxter said, well aware when her mother was coming in, and the elderly doctor made a mental note to make sure he had enough Viagra for this busy time. "Let's step back into the torture chamber."
He followed the gangly girl into the back office, noting that even the over-sized uniform top couldn't mask her pear shaped body, and as he closed the door behind them he cleared his throat and said,"Becka?"
"Oh. The gum," the teen said as she took the tissue from the doctor and wadded it up.
"Shouldn't chew gum," he noted.
"It's sugarless," the girl responded with a smile, exposing a smile that, while the teeth that made it could have been whiter and straighter, was intact.
"Becka always has an answer," he wryly responded as he grabbed his clipboard. "Let's see how much you've grown since last time. Hop on the scale."
"Can I take some stuff off first?"
"Afraid you'll weigh too much?" Dr. Baxter asked as she kicked off her shoes. "Go ahead."
"Gonna come off anyway," Becky noted correctly as she undid her jeans and pulled them down legs that were long and slender although not very shapely, and after she kicked them off she undid her uniform top and peeled it off before stepping on the scale.
"Let's see," Dr. Baxter mused aloud as he took his time lowering the metal bar to the top of her head, gently resting it on her dark brown curls. "You're 5'9". Grew a half inch since last time. Still sprouting like a weed."
As his wrinkled hand grabbed the pen and made the notation he tried to subtly rearrange himself while realizing that he wouldn't have needed medication to get hard with Becka here, because while she was no raving beauty she was young and rather cute in her own way.
"Almost 19," Dr. Baxter mentioned. "Getting to be an old lady. No college?"
"Gotta finish high school first," Becka grimaced before explaining that she was taking English over again so she could get a real high school diploma at the yearly ceremony come spring, even if she would be a year late.
"Good girl," Dr. Baxter said as his eyes strayed down the lanky teen's body which was now clad only in bra and panties, and those undergarments were rather sad looking and in disrepair.
The bra wasn't hers since it swam on her with the cups sort of caved in a bit on her modest chest, but the doctor stifled a grin when he realized it sure wasn't a hand-me-down from her mother, whose breasts were like watermelons.
Becka's panties seemed to fit but there was a little discoloration in the front and there was a tear at the top where the cotton was separating from the elastic. That rip exposed some brown curls in the gap although there was also plenty of pubic hair peeking out of the sides and top of the panties as well.
"Becka weighs one forty one," he announced after sliding the bar along, but after she groaned he said, "Let's call it 140."
"Thanks but I'm still fat," Becka answered.
"You're fine dear," Dr. Baxter said, noting the little swell of belly and her butt was where the weight was. "You're a healthy farm girl."
Becka shrugged as she stepped down, self-consciously trying to poke the pubic hair back under the elastic when she saw where the doctor's eyes were.
"Let's check the blood pressure honey," Dr. Baxter said as he led the girl over to the machine, and after Becka sat down he joined her, placing her elbow on the shelf and wrapping the band around her bicep.
"Relax," Dr. Baxter said as he coaxed her arm outward, the back of his fingers brushing against the hair that sprouted out of Becka's cavernous armpit.
Becka only blushed slightly, unlike previous times when she had turned a bright red at the contact. The doctor said nothing, having learned in previous visits that her mother forbid Becka to shave her underarms in fear that her daughter would become as hairy as she herself did as a result of using a razor.
Dr. Baxter had said nothing to the girl to debunk her mother's wacky old wives tale because he found hairy woman exciting, and it was clear that not shaving had done nothing to keep the teen from having armpits as bushy as any he had ever seen of either gender.
"Mom still not letting you shave?" he asked while pumping up the sleeve.
"I'm 18 so I can do what I want. I just don't,"
Becka informed him.
"Good for you. No reason to," Dr. Baxter told her while taking the readings, winking when adding, "Besides, some men like natural women."