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Subject: {ASSM} A Surprise for Sophie
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Date: Sun, 08 Apr 2007 14:10:01 -0400
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Semi-realistic Medical erotica - F/F



                                       A  SURPRISE  FOR  SOPHIE


In the European country in which Sophie lived, the standard practice
was, a school medical inspection every three years, starting from, and
concurrent with, one's beginning at infant school aged five. She had
got used to this "ritual" at her schools (from age seven, girls-only):
a couple of rooms in the school temporarily given over to use for the
medicals (one as a changing room, one where the business itself took
place). At the ages of five, eight, and eleven, it had been very much
the same. Undressing, from the start, except for panties; then into
the exam room, to be attended to by the doctor (usually female) and a
nurse or aide who was there mainly to take notes.

Height and weight were measured, and temperature taken (orally). Eyes,
ears, throat and teeth checked, then heart and lungs "done" with
stethoscope front and back. Sophie was told to walk up and down the
room, for evaluation of gait and posture, and then to bend over while
the doctor ran a hand along her spine. Upright again, her stomach was
briefly felt, with the doctor's hand going just a little way below the
waistband of her panties; hand then run down each leg, top to bottom -
and that was it: she was told to go back into the other room and get
dressed. To her relief, panties stayed on throughout: she had heard
second-hand from peers, about disagreeable down-or-off pants
experiences at their family doctors'. Sophie did not find school
medicals particularly enjoyable, but thus far, she had found nothing
in them to give great cause for worry.

A few months past Sophie's fourteenth birthday, medical time came
round again. It started out as she'd become accustomed to: in the
changing-room, strip to her panties. Changes, not altogether welcome,
from three years previously: in the intervening time she'd acquired
(small and unexciting) breasts, and a bra to go with them - bra had to
be discarded and put on the bench in the changing-room with the rest
of her clothes, and she waited, very conscious of her bare bosom,
until her summons into the adjoining room, for things properly to
begin.

Sophie, clad in pants only, went through the door. The aide present
there, she recognised from previous inspections; the doctor, she'd
never met before. Doctor was a formidable-looking lady - shortish, but
square and stocky and muscular, with a face which wouldn't have been
inappropriate for  a bulldog - "police matron" was the expression
which came unbidden to Sophie's mind.

Rather to Sophie's consternation - her first impression of the doctor,
notwithstanding --  said lady started off by interrogating her about
her periods - something which had not yet been on the scene, at her
medical three years previously. Brought up to be polite and
deferential, Sophie obediently answered the embarrassing enquiries:
including, assuring the doctor that her mother had fully informed her
- theory and practice - about sanitary protection. "Down below" was
plainly the scene, today: the doctor continued with disquietingly
intimate questions about bladder and bowel events. More than a little
taken aback, Sophie nonetheless replied in docile fashion: everything
on that scene was, to her perception, normal - she wee'd maybe half a
dozen times a day, and the business went extremely well, no difficulty
or discomfort. And the great majority of the time, she did "number
two's" in the morning - plenty came out, usually with no difficulty,
and generally that was it for the next twenty-four hours. On the
surface, she was giving perfectly-civil answers; a little way
underneath, she felt unspeakably humiliated about being questioned
over such very intimate things, standing here in such a vulnerable
condition - naked except for her panties (she was glad that, she not
being a very early developer - to date, she'd never had a boyfriend -
all her panties were of the "sensible, solid and substantial" variety:
sexy and skimpy ones had not seemed, so far, to be relevant).
Nonetheless, Sophie felt that she was probably blushing scarlet over
the whole of her body.

"Right," said the doctor, "let's take a look at you." Initially,
things were the same as accustomed at previous times: height, weight,
and temperature. Then the doctor said, "I need to check your blood
pressure." A totally new thing for Sophie: she was told to sit on the
chair which was there in the room, and she had the rubber cuff put
round her upper arm, and tightened, and kept there for the minute or
so which was needed. "That looks fine," said the doctor. She then
proceeded - once again, the reassuringly familiar - to do "eyes-ears-
throat-teeth". "Stand up, please," she said; and produced her
stethoscope, plugged in the earpieces, and did Sophie's heart and
lungs, front and back, requesting "take deep breaths, please." The
last time this had happened, three years ago, Sophie had been totally
flat-chested: she found it a bothersome new thing, that being
"stethed" in front, involved breasts getting in the way and having to
be moved out of same; it was a relief when it came time for her to
turn round and have the instrument applied to her back, which part of
her was happily the same as it had been for her, aged eleven.

"Turn back round," said the doctor; and then, rather oddly, "I need to
check out what you've newly got in front." And she went on to do just
that: with both hands, felt around first Sophie's right breast, then
her left one - finishing on each, with an almost-painful squeeze of
the nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Sophie wanted to die from
shame. "All seems well here," said the doctor - "any problems with
your breasts? Any discomfort?"  Only what you've just caused, Sophie
wanted to say; but she was a good and polite girl, and just replied,
"no, everything's been going well."

Relief was found, that the next parts of the exam were mostly, what
Sophie had been used to from previous ones; walk "there and back
again", and bend over, to have her spine checked - though an unwelcome
new thing, in contrast to three years previously, was that when she
bent over, her breasts - small and insignificant though she felt them
to be - dangled down most rudely in front of her, and seemed to make
themselves embarrassingly-prominent-to-the-very-max, to the limits of
their capacity. I resent getting babyfeeders, thought Sophie, if
they're going to take on this sort of malignant life of their own, and
do their utmost to make life wretched for their owner.

Next, once more, the accustomed - stand up straight, and the doctor
felt her stomach, fingers going briefly underneath pants-waistband.
"All seems fine here," the doctor said. She went on to feel Sophie's
thighs, knees, and calves - once again, nothing new. Then, with
shocking suddenness, the world changed. Without a word of explanation,
the doctor put a hand at each side of the waistband of Sophie's
panties, and pulled them right down, well below her knees. Sophie was
horrified - of all the unexpected, awful things... she had always
enjoyed excellent health, and her only experiences to date of "medical
de-pantying", had been a few precautionary injections in the bottom...
the doctor ran her fingers through Sophie's, so far sparse, pubic hair
(in the changing room for compulsory games, Sophie had observed
friends and acquaintances growing more luxuriant pubes-crops, and had
felt envious - if this thing has to happen, she'd thought, it'd be
nice for it to happen plentifully). "Just checking how you're
developing," the doctor said. She went on to lay a finger along
Sophie's vulval slit, but - thank God for small mercies, Sophie
thought - no more than that, in respect of "front bottom". It wasn't
finished, though; the doctor went round to the other side of her, and
said, "bend over, please". This is a nightmare, thought Sophie, and
I'd like to wake up, very soon. Her wish wasn't granted, and she bent
over - naked except for panties down to her calves. The doctor pulled
Sophie's buttocks apart, and looked intently up her bottom-hole: God,
thought Sophie, let her not put her finger up there, and I'll go to
church every Sunday for the rest of my life. The Almighty plainly
granted her request; the inspection was only visual, and shortly
after, the doctor said, "that's fine - you've been very good about all
of this - we're finished, you can go back into the next room and get
dressed." Sophie pulled her panties back up, said "thank you" to the
doctor - God knows what for, but she'd been brought up to be courteous
- and retreated into the dressing-room and got back into the rest of
her clothes.

Subsequently comparing notes with her best friend Greta - whose
experience with the age-14 school medical had been identical with her
own - Sophie came to the conclusion that reaching puberty was, in
various ways, a very mixed blessing. Greta's contributions to the
"knowledge pool" intensified this impression of Sophie's, in hearts
and spades. Sophie was an only child; Greta had a by-some-years older
sister, very willing (whether from kindness, or cruelty, or some of
both) to share her experiences with her sibling. Sophie listened open-
mouthed to Greta's recounting of what girls from their late teens on,
could expect at the doctor's.

"You know something?" said Sophie.

"What?" said Greta.

"That story about the boy who never grew up - Peter Pan..."

"Yes?"

"I wish I could be like him."

For the next three years, Sophie and Greta - and many of their peers -
worried, in the light of how their "age-fourteen-medical" had been,
about how their "age-seventeen-medical" would be: logic foretold, as
bad, and likely - in the light of the things which girls discover year
by year - worse still.  As often in life, what happens, confounds
logic. When the girls' numbers, age seventeen-odd, were called, it
turned out that their school medicals were mostly a re-run of how
they'd been when the subjects were aged eleven. Questions concerning
menstruation, were asked; otherwise, embarrassment at the medical was
minimal. The in-front stethoscope job was a bit awkward, in view of
the "victims" now having breasts - otherwise, it was no problem.
Breasts were assessed visually only; and later on, no pants-dropping-
or-removing, was required. A lot of the girls had been psyched-up to
expect extreme and over-the-top indecency; the way things actually
fell out, "the far side" involved anticlimax, both positive and
negative.

Sophie and Greta and friends never got to the bottom of whether, at
their age-fourteen-medicals, it was official policy to make those
ones, unusually thorough and no-holds-barred; or whether the lady
doctor conducting those exams (who was never encountered either
previously, or after) was "on the level" but was sincerely impelled to
be more thorough  than others given the same task; or whether she was
mixing pleasure with business, in a less-than-totally-Hippocratic way.

At all events, "age seventeen" proved only to be a short-duration
respite. A year or so later, at the commencement of Sophie's
university course, she truly discovered what clinical humiliation was
all about; but that's for another time.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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