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From: Krieg Lite <critic@anon.nymserver.com>
Subject: The Physicals (Mf+ teen) by Amy and Larry 0/1


A manuscript of this story was found in a bottle floating in the
Atlantic off the coast of Newfoundland.  It was transcribed verbatim as
follows:

This story contains an account of sexual play between an adult human
male and multiple teenage females and is intended for mature audiences.
Others should skip to the next posting in the news group. Anyone reading
this document while legally underage will be sent to timeout to the full
extent of the law. So there. All standard disclaimers apply.

This is a rewrite of an original story by Amy.
It is being posted here in this form with her permission

--------------------------------------------------

The Physicals 
by Amy and Larry

    It had been a long, tough, frustrating job, but I had wrapped it
up ahead of schedule and under budget, with a tidy little bonus in my
pocket to show for it. It was time for a quiet little evening of getting
pleasantly sloshed and listening to some bar music, and I was breaking
in a new place. An acquaintance had suggested that I might find Harry's
Place to my liking, and so far her suggestion was pretty well on target.
It was small, dark, with three guys splitting duties on bass, guitar,
piano, drums and sax, and a generally appreciative crowd. The secondary
smoke worriers would have collapsed within seconds of walking in the
place, but I thought it had atmosphere. The bartender had earned himself
an early tip by asking the right question when I sat at the end of the
bar and ordered a martini. Or rather by not asking the wrong question.
His winning line was "Olive or twist?" which was ok. If he had hit me
with the ugly "Vodka or gin?" I would have changed my order to a Wild
Turkey and water. A martini is a drink; a vodka martini is a different
drink. A bartender that doesn't understand that simple little basic
can't be trusted to make either.

    I had actually been one of the early arrivals, hitting the seat
before eight thirty, but the place started filling up pretty quickly.
Besides the groups at the tiny tables, there was a couple sitting at the
opposite end of the bar from me, and a guy sitting between us with a
couple of stools between him and me. As the martinis started to gain
momentum the guy and I struck up an off-and-on conversation. Turned out
he was a doctor. I thought when he confessed to it, that I was glad that
he wasn't my doctor. The idea of a guy I'm trusting with my bod sitting
in a gin mill getting plastered wasn't appealing. Then I happened to
think that my doctor could well be doing the same thing in a bar
somewhere else while we talked and I'd never know about it. That thought
somehow struck me as funny, and put me in an even better mood. My new
buddy's mood, though,  kept getting worse as the night went on. As his
words became more slurred they also became more frequent. Turned out his
problem was the usual one: sex. "I just can't get my wife to fuck the
way I want her to," he confided tactfully.

    "But Doc," I said, "in your job you see naked women all the
time. Doesn't that turn you on and make it better?" He shook his head
violently back and forth in denial. Seems his wife was a lovely girl who
thought sex was a wonderful thing as long as conditions were just right,
which would sometimes happen as much as twice a year. He said that in
fact he did have a lot of beautiful patients. Beautiful, sensuous
patients. Beautiful, sensuous, wonderful patients who turned him on no
end. Who turned him on no end, then sent him home to his wife who turned
him on even more, but wouldn't give any up. Which was why he was sitting
here packing in the JD Black.

    "And you know," he went on, "I contribute to the community, and
I get screwed there, too. I mean I don't get screwed there, too. Well,
you know what I mean. Like tomorrow. You know what I'm going to be doing
tomorrow? I, John R. Martin, MD, am going to be giving physical exams to
a group of high school students. And you know what that group is? A
bunch of cheerleaders. That's right. You got it. The junior varsity
cheerleaders over in some noname high school over in Westchester have to
have physicals before they can show their twats to their horny fans. And
I, John R. Martin, MD, have been selected to perform that onerous task.
And after a full day of lusting over teenage ass, I'm going to go home
and my lovely wife is going to shoot me down cold."

    I sat there trying to count how many martinis I had had, and figure
whether there was some magic number of martinis that would put the kind
of ideas in my head that I was getting. Finally, I said the hell with
it. "Doc, we just might be able to do a little business."

    He looked confused, but interested. Then he said warily, "What
kind of business is it that you think we might be able to do?" He looked
proud of himself for getting that sentence out without stumbling.

    "If you had the opportunity to pick a woman to spend a little
time with, say a day or two, what would be your dearest dream?" I felt a
little proud myself to get that one out, to tell the truth.

    "I like blonds. Angie's a blond. Angie's my wife, you know.
She's blond. And sophisticated, you know. I mean I like sophisticated,
not that Angie's sophisticated. Well, she is a little I guess, but I
think mainly she's just stuck up. And hard-bodied. I mean I like
hard-bodied, not that Angie's hard-bodied, but she is. God is she. She
works out and plays tennis and shit, and she has a build. Wish I could
use it a little. Anyway, what do you have in mind?" I think that it was
starting to dawn on him what I had in mind.

    "Well, Doc, I've got some friends who might be able to take care
of you tonight, and tomorrow for that matter. If you had to, could you
convince your wife you might not be able to make it home for a couple of
days?" I was watching his eyes, and I was pretty sure I had him.

    "Hell, yes, I can. She wouldn't give a shit, anyway." I could
see the wheels turning, and they were starting to hum nicely.

    "Tell you what. Let me call a couple of friends, and if I can
find somebody to take care of you, I'll do the physicals for you
tomorrow."

    He broke into a broad grin. "Yeah, I bet you would. Really think
you could pull it off?"

    "Yeah, I think I can." Really, I thought I could. I'd done similar
things before, and anyway, it was worth a shot. "You game?"

    "Hell, yes! Why not? Make your damn calls. Let's go for it."

    I called the bartender over and asked if I could use the phone.
He reached beneath the bar and pulled out a phone and plunked it down.
"Local only, ok?"

    It was local. I dialed a number from memory. I didn't know what
the doc thought of that, if anything, but I had a memory for numbers I
could use for party tricks. A familiar voice answered. "Hey, Holly.
Jerry Cohen. You gonna be free for tonight and tomorrow?"

    "This for you or for a friend, Jer?"

    "For a friend this time, Holly. Nice guy. On me."

    "I'd like to, Jer. Really I would, but I'm kinda tied up tonight.
Maybe tomorrow?"

    "Nah, Holly. Gotta be tonight. Don't worry about it. I'll catch
ya later, ok?"

    "Sure, Jer. Great talkin' to ya. Really. Don't be a stranger,
ok?"

    "Hey! You know me! I'll be around." I made a kissing sound in
the mouthpiece, pressed the button, waited for another dial tone and
pushed numbers  again. The phone rang several times this time before I
heard another familiar voice.

    "Hello, Terri. This is Nick Conti. How have you been?" I saw
some wrinkles start to appear in the brow of Dr. John R. Martin.

    "Nicky!!! God, where have you been?"

    "You know me, Terri. Listen, I got a favor to ask. A friend of
mine is looking for a date for tonight and tomorrow. Think you could
help him out?"

    " 'Speak for yourself, John'...Yeah, sure, hon. You know you can
always count on me if I'm free. You gonna bring him by or want me to
pick him up."

    I glanced over at the doc, made a quick assessment of his driving
ability and put my hand over the phone. "You're not planning on going
anywhere special tonight, are you? Why don't we have Terri pick you up
and she can bring you back to get your car whenever you're ready."

    He looked at me curiously and said, "What did you say your name
was?" I reached in my pocket and flipped him my card, the one that said
Edward A. Miller, Attorney. As he tried to focus on it, I turned back to
the phone and told Terri where we were.

    She said that we should meet her out front since she would never
be able to find a parking place, and I agreed. She asked if half an hour
was ok, and I said it was. If it was anybody but Terri I would have said
that there was no way she would make it in half an hour, but this was
Terri.

    The doc looked up at me, then back at the card. "You're a lawyer?" I
could see the wheels turning in a different direction.

    "Yeah, but not that kind of lawyer," I answered, and winked.

    He giggled conspiratorially and pitched the card back to me. "Honor
among thieves,Ó he said profoundly. I had no idea what he meant, and I
doubt if he did either, but as long as he was happy I was happy. He slid
over to the stool next to me and pulled out a note pad. "Here's what you
have to do tomorrow." As he talked, he made notes, and his handwriting
was legible enough that I began to doubt that he was a real doctor. But
maybe it was just because he was drunk. He went into great detail about
the procedures for the exams, and I had to admit that it looked like he
really wanted me to do a good job. I was beginning to respect the guy a
little more, but then I decided that I was just drunk, too. I glanced at
my watch and motioned toward the door. He tore off the pages from his
notebook, folded them over, and stuffed them in my shirt pocket.

    "One thing, John," I said. "This is on me, but feel free to tip
if you think you want to. Terri won't mind either way." He nodded
carefully.

    We stood up and walked to the door silently. As we stepped outside,
a powder blue Bimmer pulled up and double-parked right in front of the
door. The driver popped open the door and came around the front of the
car to greet us. As she cleared the front fender, John mumbled under his
breath, "Holy Shit!" I grinned. That was a typical reaction to Terri.
She stepped sharply up to us, said "Hi, Nicky," and pulled my head down
and let her lips brush my cheek.

    "Hi, Terri. This is John Martin. John, Terri Anderson." Terri
extended her hand, and John nearly collapsed as he shakily took it in
his.

    "Nice to meet you, John. Have you been waiting long?"

    John earned himself a couple of major points in my eyes when he
replied, "All my life, Terri." Not bad for a drunk. Didn't think he had
it in him. I glanced over at him, and he looked stone-cold sober. Shock
will do that sometimes. Wouldn't last long though.

    Terri laughed musically and asked if John needed to get anything
from his car. He said that as a matter of fact he did, if she didn't
mind waiting. He walked just a couple of parking spots away and opened
the door on a Pontiac. I didn't think doctors drove Pontiacs. You live,
you learn. He fumbled around in the back seat and came back carrying a
black bag and a white lab coat. I saw him drop something in his pocket,
and figured that it was either recreational or resuscitative. What the
hell, he was a doctor. When he came back he handed me the coat and bag
and said, "You'll need these. I'll get them back from you in a day or
two. Just act like you know what you are doing."

    Terri watched the exchange with a strange look in her eye, then
shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and whispered, "Nicky, Nicky,
Nicky...." Then she put her arm through John's, said "Let's party...,"
walked him to her car, stuffed him in the passenger's seat, got in
herself, and drove smoothly away. I walked off to hail a cab, whistling
a happy tune.

    The next morning, I got up early to make the drive to Westchester by
7:30AM, the time the day's activities were to commence. I pulled up in
front of the school, parked my Caddy in a visitor's slot and walked
through the front door, carrying the doc's black bag and wearing a white
lab coat (not the doc's, though). I told the receptionist that I would
like to see the principal and that I would be taking Dr. Martin's place
today, and was more than mildly surprised when she said brightly, "Oh,
yes. Dr. Martin called earlier to explain that you would be filling in
for him, Dr. Miller." Dr. Martin was a surprising guy. I wouldn't have
thought that he would be in any shape to make early phone calls.
Unfortunately I didn't have any cards with the Edward Miller name that
had an "M.D." on them, so I would just have to do without. The
receptionist ushered me into the principal's office and told me that he
would be with me very shortly. And he was.

    The principal was a youngish ruddy guy with thinning red hair
who looked more like a used car salesman than an academic, but then
appearances could be deceiving as I well knew. He made some small talk
about how much they appreciated Dr. Martin, and how much they
appreciated my being willing to come in on such short notice to fill in.
"Can't even get my teachers to do that," he added, and I nodded
understandingly. I told him that I had always been involved in sports in
high school myself and knew how much it meant to the guys, and that I
wouldn't want anybody to miss out on the fun of playing varsity
football, just because a doctor couldn't make a schedule. "Yeah, well.
Doc Martin got the last of the football team last week. 'Fraid you're
gonna have to do the JV cheerleaders this week." He gave me a wink and a
nudge, and I gave him a cold stare. I wondered if maybe he wasn't a used
car salesman after all. When he got my reaction, he was all business. He
picked up a folder from his desk and handed it to me, saying that it had
all of the necessary forms, including the applications the girls had
filled out, then he escorted me down to an office off the gym where the
examinations would take place. He left me there, saying that the girls
would be there at eight o'clock, and walked off. I thought that he was
more than a little envious.

    I opened the folder and started going over the list of girls who
would be getting examined. There were twelve of them in all. As I
started to read the details my erection started to build. Not a good
thing, but unavoidable. I'd just have to keep it in check once the girls
arrived. For the time being I was just going to enjoy the hard-on. Most
of the girls were right around a hundred pounds and from about five even
to five three. Their dental records showed that several of them had
braces, which for some reason sent a little shiver down my spine. They
ranged from fourteen to seventeen, and from Freshman to Junior. The
thought of browsing at will among their naked bodies was getting to me
already. I went over the list, which seemed to be in just the order the
girls had signed up, and had to make a conscious effort not to drool:

    Amy Gallagher, 16 Ruth Bagby, 17 Sheri Adams, 15 Shelly White,
14 Janice Yarber, 15 Ally Costa, 14 Jenny Tinsley, 16 Susan Kane, 16
Vicki Williams, 16 Michelle Rowe, 17 Shawna Thomas, 15 Elle Michaels, 14

    As I glanced through their files, they seemed a nice enough group.
All very wholesome. All very delicious, too. Delicious and wholesome,
too. Sounded like breakfast cereal.  Made me hungry.

    I quickly glanced over the notes the doc had made for me to confirm
that I knew the agenda. I did. The girls' coach would put them through
some standard stretching and warmup drills, then the tests would begin.
I would check pulse and heartbeat after ten minutes of strenuous
aerobics, then again after a one-mile run. (Timing would be a factor
there, I would have to stagger the girls' start times for the aerobics,
then hope that they didn't cluster up too much during the run.) Once the
preliminaries were out of the way, we would get down to the good stuff.
I would give each girl a very much hands-on physical examination. By the
time I had gone over the notes, I could see the girls gathering in the
gym through the large observation window in the office. I moved back to
the inner office where I would actually do the physicals and checked
over the equipment. It was shabby but serviceable. I went back to the
outer office where I could see and be seen and pretended to look through
their files again. A couple of minutes before eight a fifty-ish woman in
a sweat suit appeared in the gym and began talking to the girls. I
guessed that she was their coach. I guessed wrong.

    I walked out of the office and up to the woman in sweats, stuck
out my hand and said, "Miss Collins?" I figured that doctors didn't have
to bother with petty etiquette rules.

    There was a chorus of giggles from the girls that the woman ignored
as she shook my hand and replied, "No, I'm Laura Jackson, the basketball
coach.  Miss Collins should be here shortly. I just stopped by to chat
with the girls; I keep trying to steal them for my team." There were
more giggles. About this time a door at the far end of the gym opened
and another woman in sweats walked in. If this one was Miss Collins, I
might take up cheerleading myself.

    She glided up to me, thrust out her right hand and said, "I'm
Sue Collins.  You must be Dr. Miller."

    I took her hand, and used all the self-control I could muster to
give it a businesslike shake.  "Yes," I said, "Very nice to meet you." I
had never been more sincere in my life. She was a peaches-and-cream
redhead with emerald green eyes and a tidy body whose perfection
couldn{t be masked by the sweat suit. I started to wonder if there
shouldn{t be a rule that the coaches had to pass physicals, too. There
was a sly twinkle in her eye that made me think that she knew the effect
she was having on me, and I had the feeling that the lady could probably
handle herself rather well.

    Sue told me that she would take about thirty minutes to let the
girls warm up (I was thinking of her as ÒSueÓ already) and that she
hoped I didn{t mind waiting.  ÒThey should have told you to be here at
eight-thirty, and you wouldn{t have had to wait,Ó she said in a tone
that told me she had very little use for people who would make such a
mistake.

    ÒThat{s all right,Ó I said.  ÒReally it is.  There{s not much I{d be
doing between eight and eight-thirty anyway, you know.Ó

    ÒNevertheless. At any rate, you{re here now, and you{ll have to
wait.  I have to make sure they don{t pull anything. Despite what you
might think about cheerleaders, these girls are really athletes, and
good ones at that. I think I have them all in pretty good shape, but
don{t try and do anybody any favors by letting them slip through without
meeting standards.  I don{t want them getting hurt.Ó

    ÒI{ll show no mercy,Ó I assured her.

    She had taken on a rather serious look during her previous speech,
and she nodded seriously in acknowledgment of my promise.  Then, as
though someone had flipped a switch, she broke into a bright smile, said
ÒThanks!Ó, turned to the girls and started whipping them into shape. She
was half drill-sergeant, half animal trainer, and all business.  And she
knew her business, too.

    The girls were in a variety of outfits: some in cutoffs, some in
spandex, some in a mixture, and a couple were even in their uniforms.
Sue may have been trying to get the girls warmed up, but she was
succeeding in warming me up pretty well, too. The young bodies bounced
and vibrated and stretched and sweated and I tried to keep my admiration
concealed as I continued to shuffle through the papers.  Sue called her
charges by name as she led them through their paces, and I started
trying to match the names on my list to the faces on the girls. There
was an absolutely stunning blonde wearing tight black shorts and a black
bikini top who turned out to be the Amy Gallagher at the top of the
list.  She was sixteen according to the chart, but I could have dressed
her up and passed her for twenty-four at any club in town. She appeared
to be the natural leader of the group as well, though technically the
seventeen year old Ruth Bagby was the head cheerleader.  One of the
younger girls, Ally Costa, was wearing an allÐspandex outfit that made
her look like she had violet skin; I made a mental note that she would
be the first one in the back room. As the warmups continued, I put the
rest of the girls in order, saving the delicious Amy Gallagher for last

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