It wasn't every day in Cyberdream that you had to go to the doctor, but Nicholas could tell this was one of those times. He didn't feel like himself. For the past week, his energy levels had been fluctuating wildly; sometimes tired, sometimes amped up more than he'd felt in years. His body was aching, he was moody, extremely hungry, and
way
too horny for his own good. He was usually well practiced at exerting his willpower over his baser urges, but this week it was like the feelings he thought he'd put behind him were hammering at the walls of his mind, demanding release. He'd done the responsible thing and made an appointment to see a doctor. If he'd been hit with a digital virus corrupting his code, or worse if there was a problem with his physical body, it was important to get it taken care of right away.
"Mr. Arran, the doctor will see you now."
It was a strange experience, seeing a doctor in the 'Dream. The visit was part stereotypical physical tests and clinical professionalism, part scanning of code by diagnostic programs that had nothing to do with a human body. There were no traditional pathogens in Cyberdream. It could simulate illness, a legacy from its early days as a game one chose to play, rather than a world that all of humanity had to inhabit. But while it was fantastically detailed in its fooling of the senses, there was just no need for people to get the flu. Doctors weren't obsolete, however; there were still potential issues that required medical intervention. Whether it was a mental illness, a genetic anomaly, or a corruption to real image code, life in the 'Dream was no guarantee of perfect health. Nicholas had physical and psychological symptoms, which made him wonder which it was.
"Well, Mr. Arran, your scans have come back, and I think I'm going to have to refer you to a specialist. With the symptoms you've described, and the subroutines that are being accessed by your real image to express them, I believe you have a genetic and hormonal condition for which there's not exactly a standard course of treatment."
"I was afraid it would be something complicated. I guess a quick fix was too much to hope for. What's the condition called? I'd like to do some research on my own, just so I'm prepared."
"Puberty."
"Excuse me? Are you... Are you joking?"
"Not at all, Mr. Arran. Obviously you're familiar with the term, and the condition; after all, you've experienced it before. The symptoms you've told me about line up, and the diagnostic programs are quite clear that your image is running code to represent the gradual physical changes associated with reaching sexual maturity. It doesn't seem to know that it already ran that code and isn't supposed to do so again. This isn't unheard of, it's just rare enough that you'll need to consult a doctor who studies it in particular."
"But I'm in my thirties, isn't that a bit late?"
"True, when this kind of thing happens, it usually happens somewhat earlier in life. Still, cases of a second puberty at thirty-five or even forty aren't entirely unheard of, and the fact that you seem to be one of the rarer cases is further reason I would like you to see a specialist. I don't want you to worry, you're going to be fine. You're not in any particular danger, and this code is entirely safe to run, seeing as it runs on almost everyone once. I'll have the office send your referral over as soon as we've found an available practitioner, and until then I recommend you simply do your best to ignore it. Look at it this way, you've already been through puberty once, so you know what to expect, and you have another two decades of life experience on top, so you can do it better this time."
There wasn't really much choice if he wanted to get treatment, so Nicholas accepted the referral and made an appointment with one Dr. Ratcliffe. It would be a bit of a trip; specialists in conditions like this were few and far between. Three days later, he stepped off a train in Rhode Island and caught a taxi to the medical center where, he hoped, the end to his distracting hormonal issues could be found. He definitely didn't doubt the diagnosis, considering the sexually charged dreams he'd been having. He really was feeling like a teenager again, which might even have been an unexpected but not unwelcome blessing, were he not so alone. As it was, he had presumed that part of his life was effectively over, except that now his body wasn't listening. He had a life, maybe not the one he'd imagined, but as fun as it might sound to see what a man with experience and stability could do with the sex drive he'd had 20 years ago, he should make the rational decision and resolve the problem as soon as possible.
The office was surprisingly comfortable, the decor more reminiscent of what you'd find at a therapist than a physician's or business' office. Nicholas checked in with the receptionist, and before he could find a seat to wait, she pointed to a door and told him he could go in to see the doctor. Come to think of it, he didn't see any other patients, and Dr. Ratcliffe was a specialist in a rare condition, so why would he have needed to wait? The room he entered was a strange mixture of visuals; it was designed to put people at ease, again like a therapist's office, but a high-end workstation and a corner devoted to equipment for deep code scans made a sharp contrast.
Even more surprising was Dr. Ratcliffe herself. She was dressed quite professionally, the long white coat that had long marked physicians worn with the ease of familiarity. Her blond hair was done up in a neat bun, her clothes were fashionable without leaving practicality behind, and Nicholas was fairly certain that her glasses were an affectation meant to give her an air of competence rather than a necessary vision correction. All of that was entirely expected of a specialist physician. Less expected, however, was the figure barely concealed beneath the wardrobe of a medical professional. Her face was gorgeously feminine, with high cheekbones, large blue eyes, a pert nose, lips full and plump. Her blouse stretched over perhaps the largest breasts he'd ever seen, dominating her torso and reaching nearly to her navel even contained as they were by garments made for professionalism. The slim waist just below them made a dramatic contrast with the flare of her hips, which made for a devastating hourglass figure, especially paired with a huge jiggling butt that not even the most practical of slacks could quite hide. She looked more like an adult film star dressed as a doctor, and Nicholas' own body couldn't help but notice, embarrassing him by springing immediately to full erection.
"Come in, Mr. Arran, have a seat. I'm glad you could make it, we have much to discuss. Was your trip too terribly long?"
"I've had worse, and it was for good reason. I certainly hope you can help me get this solved."
"Your case is a most interesting one, Mr. Arran, and I look forward to working with you to manage it."
That didn't sound particularly encouraging. Doctors didn't usually call ailments that they could resolve quickly "interesting". Hopefully there wasn't much bad news. "So you've had a chance to look over my case? I'm not really sure what questions to ask here."
