My Phobic-fetish, Chapter 1

by Jackie

PREFACE

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I have a medical fetish. I have had it for as long as I can remember (four years old). The physiological response to the fetish changed when I reached puberty. Before that I would get anxious and nervous beyond all reason whenever a medical situation arose. The nervousness continued after sexual maturity, and if that's all it was I suppose it would just be phobia but my body also started to react with something like sexual arousal to a medical appointment.

I suppose that it's already clear that I have no idea what might be the cause of this, but being over fifty I conclude that it will never go away. I don't have the same reaction to dentists, just doctor's and nurses. I think the phobia of my childhood lead to the fetish somehow; but that's an unqualified opinion.

I managed to avoid doctors in general and the dreaded pelvic exam specifically until I was nineteen; in spite of the fact that I was sexually active long before that. Not even the lure of the pill could overcome the phobia.

In the spring of that year I developed some pain and tenderness of my inner labia. I thought that I could also feel some swelling, so I went to my grandmother for advise. My grandmother was my confidant on such things, much more so than my mother (I may tell you why some day). She had a look and told me that I had to go to the doctor. She knew that I didn't like doctors; but then who does? Grandma was not aware of the severity of the problem. I procrastinated another week before I finally made the appointment. Our family doctor at the time was Doctor Blunt. I barely knew him, but I had seen him before.

Sitting in his waiting room, the last time I could recall being there was when I was ten and I had the mumps. I remembered thinking that he was old then and this was almost ten years later. He was a kindly man, a bit portly, with a nice head of silver grey hair.

When I made the appointment and the receptionist asked for the reason; I told her I had a personal problem that I wanted to discuss. I don't know why but I got the impression that she thought that it was about drugs. Anyway when the nurse who was the same vintage as Doctor Blunt called my name, nobody in the office knew why I was there except me.

Missus Mitchell showed me into a vacant exam room and followed me in, closing the door behind her. My respiration had been getting quicker and shallower since I got off the bus on my way there. By the time I was standing in the antiseptic smelling examination room I was almost ready to pass out. My stomach was full of winged creatures, I was sweating, felt nauseous and under it all, behind it or lurking somewhere in there I was getting horny.

"This is an unusual occurrence Jackie ... the last time you were in I seem to remember giving you a lollipop for being such a brave little girl." She was smiling sweetly and almost chuckling at her own quip.

"What brings you in today? Mary's just written personal problem on the appointment form."

My head was spinning so badly that I sat down on one of the two chairs in the room. I will never forget that moment as long as I live. There was panic like I've only experienced maybe half a dozen times in my life. I didn't think I could say it—in fact I didn't think I could say anything. I sat there in the chair wondering what would happen if I just keeled over. The look on my face must have been something to see.

Missus Mitchell's jovial expression turned to one of concern and she sat down in the other chair which had wheels on it. Positioning herself directly in front of me she took hold of my hands. I hadn't realized how badly they were shaking until then.

"Is it a woman's problem?" she asked sympathetically.

I guess in her vast experience she must have seen this kind of stress reaction before. I'm pretty sure she had no idea the extent of neither it, nor the reason behind it at that moment. I was looking down at her holding both of my hands when she said,

"It's OK sweetheart; there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Just tell me what sort of problem you're having."

I looked up into her very kind and understanding hazel eyes but still couldn't speak. The nurse sat there showing amazing patience.

I wanted to run, I wanted to hide, I would have sooner been in hell at that moment, but I knew that I had to get it out somehow—there was simply no other choice.

"I ... I felt a lump ... in, uh ... uh—"

Missus Mitchell's expression turned from sympathy to concern like a light switching off,

"In you breast?"

"No ... uh ... in ... uh—" I knew the clinical terms but they wouldn't come to me at that moment and I didn't want to say pussy so I looked down at my lap hoping she'd get the hint.

"On you vulva?" her voice carried a hint of shock and she blanched which didn't help my anxiety one bit.

We'd been looking each other in the eye; her gaze dipped for a spit second to my crotch when she said the word vulva, but returned immediately.

The nurse smiled reassuringly and her aspect returned to one of supportive sympathy. She squeezed my hands firmly giving them a little shake for emphasis and said,

"Well it's a good thing you noticed it early. That's always important in treating this kind of thing."

I don't know what I'd said that made her conclude that I'd noticed it early, I think she was just trying to be positive. Her eyes were so kind and caring that they actually did make me feel better. It was also a relief to have the problem communicated, but the flock of birds still trying to find their way out of my abdomen was just as active as ever.

Missus Mitchell stood up and crossed the small room to a supply cabinet. She took out a faded green drape and set it on the examination table.

"Doctor Blunt will need to do a pelvic examination. You haven't had one before, have you?"

Shaking my head in the negative, I thought I was going to faint or throw up. The room was spinning and at the same time pressure was increasing directly between my legs. It was nearly powerful enough to drown out the fluttering in my tummy. It was my worst nightmare and this is the perplexing part , my most erotic fantasy. Thinking about this very situation had provided the mental image that fueled my most powerful orgasms. I think it was the underlying fear or embarrassment that seemed to elevate my arousal like nothing else did.

Nurse Mitchell was back at my side putting her hand on my shoulder she said,

"Are you sexually active Jackie?"

Even though I knew the question was coming it still hit me like a hammer blow. I looked up at her standing above me and I guess my expression spoke volumes.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I know that's a very personal question but we do need to know in order to accurately diagnose your problem," her voice was empathetic and once again she waited with amazing patience for a response. When I nodded her smile dimmed just a bit.

"With more than one partner?" I nodded again and missus Mitchell wasn't able to prevent the look of disapproval from crossing her face.

In her day I guess nineteen year olds were expected to be virgins. I would later think she needed to get with the times. The summer of love came and went when I was sixteen.

I am not normally shy and not in the least embarrassed or ashamed of my dual sexuality. Over the five previous years I'd had at least ten partners. The number would depend on exactly how far you had to go before defining someone as a sex partner. That's why the overwhelming anxiety I felt in medical situations was so uncharacteristic and disconcerting. In part it was the loss of control but there was something much more to it; something that went back to before I had language to solidify an experience into a memory.

"You'll need to remove everything from the waist down, then lie down on the table and cover yourself with the sheet," she said in a commanding tone that was almost stern.

The spasm in my vagina would probably have been quite pleasurable if it weren't for the trepidation.

Nurse Mitchell was gently stroking my back just below my shoulder. In a softer more empathetic tone she said,

"It's going to be fine honey. Just let the doctor examine you and we'll have this problem cleared up before you know it," and then she left the room.

I sat there for a moment trying to use a breathing relaxation technique that I'd learned. My nightmare—erotic fantasy was minutes away from being fulfilled and my physiological responses were confused. Terror and sexual arousal were inseparably intertwined. I could not tell where one ended and the other began.

I kicked off my sneakers and then standing up, undid my jeans. They were tight enough that it was almost impossible to pull them down without taking my cotton bikinis with them. The garments separated about at my mid thigh and I sat my bare butt back down on the thankfully warm vinyl chair seat. Lifting my leg to pull the denim pant leg over my foot I felt the wet slippery sensation of my labia on the seat of the chair. My heart stood still.

I've often heard and read about women who can tell they're wet immediately. I have to confess that I can't, and most of my girlfriends say the same thing. I know it because I can sense the swollen unusually warm feelings but I can't actually detect the moisture itself—not until it becomes external. The same goes for my clitoris. I don't really feel that it's erect until something touches it. I just feel tightness and sometimes a throbbing sensation right at the top of my vulva.

As I shed my jeans I knew full well that my pussy was in fuck me mode. I was so embarrassed and nervous that I could barely get my panties off because of the shaking. I stuffed my underwear in the back pocket of the jeans and draped them over the chair I'd been sitting on. There was a glistening little spot right at the front of the seat. I grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk and wiped away the moisture I'd left.

Sitting up on the crunchy paper covering the table I realized that I would probably leave another mark. I twisted around and lay flat arranging the sheet over my lower body.

It was probably less than five minutes but at the time it seemed an eternity. Lying there trying to control my breathing and not think about where I was and what was about to happen, I jumped when the tap came on the door.

"Are you ready Jackie?"

"Yeah ... uh, yes," I responded in a hoarse croak.

Nurse Mitchell entered and came over to the table,

"Just relax dear," she counseled and ran her hand over the top of my head.

She asked me to lift a little and raised the head portion of the table a bit.

"You'll be able to see better this way ... if you want to," she informed me the purpose for the adjustment. "Of course you can just close your eyes too ... lots of women do that; or count holes in the ceiling tiles," she said with a slight chuckle.

Then she moved toward the foot of the table and added,

"The important thing is that you relax and let the doctor do his work."

When Nurse Mitchell deployed the metal arms that held the stirrups; the metallic clunk as they locked into place sent a small vibration through the table and into my back. I nearly squealed at the sound and some incoherent part of my brain wondered if it was like the sound a person being hanged hears when the trap door opens—the last sound they'll ever hear.

I felt missus Mitchell take a hold of my left foot and calf and carefully place it in the metal bracket that had a sock over it. I realized that I'd been told to remove everything from the waist down but that I was still wearing my white ankle socks. The nurse made no mention of it so I assumed that it was OK. She repeated the process with my other foot. Standing at the end of the table she said,

"Now I need you to scoot down the table until you feel my hand touch your bottom."

'Touch my bottom! I may explode.'

I gripped the sides of the table for leverage and it was actually sort of calming to have something to do. Rocking my hips and pulling with my arms I moved down and down and down; I was starting to think that there was no end. How far could I actually go? Finally I felt the lightest of touches on my left cheek and the nurse announced her approval,

"Great ... that's good sweetheart. Doctor Blunt promised he'd be here in just a minute."

As she spoke she arranged the sheet over my up raised knees so that it covered my midriff right up to where my T shirt ended and draped over my knees all the way down to my feet.

"Are you OK ... not too cold?" she asked and touched the bare flesh of my upper arm below the sleeve of my top.

I hadn't been thinking about it but when I felt the warmth of her hand I suddenly broke out in goose bumps. It was at that same moment that it registered that my nipples were hard. I didn't think that physiological response was due to the cold either.

The low steady throb from my girlhood had become like the norm. I was, at least for the moment, less conscious of it than of the extremely nervous stomach that regularly bordered on nausea. I prayed that I wouldn't throw up.

Doctor Blunt entered the room without announcing himself.

He came to the side of the table and smiled down at me,

"Well, well Miss Welsh it's been quite a while, hasn't it?"

I wasn't sure what he meant or what I was supposed to say. Seeing him there in his long buttoned white coat with the light blue shirt and dark stripped tie showing between the lapels I was suddenly jolted back to the gravity of my situation.

My legs were beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable but that wasn't really a problem. What was embarrassing me to the point of tears was the fact that, now that he was in the room, my coochie had really started to pound and I was afraid I was going to loose control of my breathing again.

"Missus Mitchell has told me about your concern so now I'm going to just take a quick peek ... OK?"

My mind was screaming NO it's not OK but I had gotten this far, which was no small feat. I took a deep breath and nodded.

"Good girl," he said patting my shoulder. I could have taken it as condescension but I was much too nervous and sexually aroused to have those kinds of thoughts until afterward.

The doctor turned to the counter and washed his hands. The nurse stood beside me looking down with what I presume was her most reassuring smile. I saw him snap on the latex gloves and move to the end of the table. Nurse Mitchell in a maneuver that she must have performed thousands of times pinched the sheet between her fingers somewhere near the top of my shin and lifted the drape back. The sheet folded neatly and perfectly across my abdomen just above my thighs. I found myself looking down between my bra supported breasts, between my practically vertical thighs and calves at the doctor directly between my widely spread legs.

My doctor had donned reading glasses that sat near the end of his nose. I couldn't see much below that because my boobs were in the way. Years later I would remember seeing the upper half of the silver haired doctor's head between my legs and think about how few times I was ever in that extremely compromised position with a bra on.

He slid the goose necked lamp beside him into position and my vulva was illuminated like a stage performer. I was craning my neck to watch when out of nowhere the nurse slipped a small pillow under my head.

I was looking into the heart of darkness. My greatest fear, my most erotic fantasy, my nightmare and my fetish were all happening down there—how could I not watch.

I had used a mirror to look at my sex in its aroused state before so I had a clear picture of what Doctor Blunt was seeing. I was sure that the very experienced fifty-something year old physician would recognize my excited state. There was of course nothing that I could do about it.

"I think I see the problem," he said only seconds later. "I'm going to have to touch you to confirm it ... so just relax ... take a nice deep breath for me—"

As he said this I felt the back of his right gloved hand brush my upper thigh. I would learn later on that the contact with my leg was deliberate so that the first touch I felt was not on my genitals.

Several different sets of fingers had caressed and stimulated my pussy before; except for me washing, always with the same intention. The feel of the latex made it different but no less thrilling. The doctor's fingers captured my engorged right inner labia and squeezed it. The best way that I can describe the pain is that it was like when you have a canker in your mouth. It was sharp but sort of hollow—if you know what I mean.

I moaned as he continued to palpate my slippery wing. The pain shot into my clit and for a second I thought I was going to loose it. Gritting my teeth I felt the tear of shame roll down my cheek into my ear.

Nurse Mitchell was watching my face as intently as her boss was observing my cookie.

"Deep breaths sweetheart ... it'll all be over soon," she reassured me stroking my hair.

Doctor Blunt was feeling the other side of my labia, the side that didn't hurt, and warm waves were passing over me. I closed my eyes tight and fought the urge to move my hips. Suddenly his fingers were gone. When I opened my eyes he was standing peeling off the exam gloves.

"Miss Welsh you have a labial cyst. Don't worry because they're almost invariably benign but it will need to be excised."

The churning in my belly nearly drown out his words. I heard him but my mind was unable to make sense of what he was saying.

"Betty, go and call Barry Tomlin's office and find out how quickly he can fit Miss Welsh in for a consultation."

I looked from the doctor to the nurse. Her expression reflected surprise.

"Go ahead," he reissued the order. "I'll help Miss Welsh down from the table."

Missus Mitchell had a look of concern on her face and looked from the doctor to me, but said nothing. She hurried out of the room like a woman on a mission.

My mind wasn't clear. Everything since the stirrups had clunked into place had a surreal quality to it. I think it was because I had fantasized about it so much that now it was actually happening I couldn't separate my fetish driven erotic dreams from reality.

When the door closed I looked back at my doctor and was surprised to see him sit back down on the low stool.

"I just need to check one other thing ... and then we're done," he informed me.

"I'm going to need to touch you again," he warned.

I felt the hairs on the back of his hand touch my thigh, then his finger tip was gently tracing the edge of my swollen lip moving up very slowly toward the hood. My clit throbbed intensely. I couldn't remember when I'd been so conscious of how hard it was.

The doctor's finger was moving up the other labia approaching the apex again. I felt like my love button was in a vise.

"The only thing that might complicate the excision would be if it is too close to your clitoris," he said and his voice seemed softer, more breathy than it had before.

"Take some nice deep breaths for me while I check to see how close it is."

Now his finger was actually on the outer edge of the hood and he was gently pulling it up and sort of to the side. Somewhere deep in my mind I knew that my pleasure center had slipped out from under its protective cover but the physical sensation was so overpowering that the thought didn't actually take root until almost an hour later.

Doctor Blunt cleared his throat a couple of times. I had more than enough sexual experience to recognize what the intense build up of heat and pressure in my tummy meant.

Suddenly he stood up and came very quickly to the side of the table. He lifted my feet out of the stirrups and gently set each leg down over hanging the end. I don't even know when or how he raised that little drop leaf at the foot but he had. The doctor put his hand under my back and assisted me into a sitting position. I noticed that his face was quite flushed when he said,

"You can get dressed now ... then I need to speak with you in the office as soon as you're ready."

It wasn't far to the examination room door but I was still amazed by how fast Doctor Blunt made it out of there.

My pussy was one giant cramp. I also realized that my nipples were as hard as they'd ever been. I mashed my breasts through my top and bra trying to soften the almost painful nipple erections. It wasn't a good idea because that sent a pleasure pulse directly to my yearning clit. I wanted so badly to stroke it, to finish the job, but I was afraid.

'What if one of them comes back ... how embarrassing would it be to get caught masturbating in the doctor's examination room.'

I got off the table and managed to get my panties and jeans back on in spite of shaky legs and hands. I was proud of myself. Now that the physical stimulation had stopped I was able to push my arousal into the background. I did have some experience doing that since I was turned-on by someone or something about half the time. I promised myself the treat of reliving the whole experience as soon as I got home—reliving it with me playing all three roles.

The door to Doctor Blunt's office was open and I tapped the door frame just to get his attention. The way he looked at me gave me a shiver.

"Sit down, sit down Miss Welsh ... I need to explain my findings and what, in my opinion, needs to happen next."

I took a seat beside his desk. The sight of the starched white coat started my stomach churning again. This feeling didn't seem to have a sexual component to it but my needs from a few minutes ago had not been met. I had to fight off the image of his face framed by my bare thighs.

"What you have is an Epidermoid cyst ... it's quite similar to a nasty pimple," he was looking me in the eye but he looked sort of nervous himself.

"This type of cyst isn't dangerous but in your case it is painful. Since it can lead to more serious problems it should be removed." He was searching my face for a reaction but although I was hearing his words the meaning of what he was saying was not really sinking in.

"I have taken the liberty of making an appointment for you with Doctor Tomlin. He is a gynecologist and surgeon."

He handed me a prescription pad page with the gynecologist's name, address, phone number, and the appointment time and date on it. I looked at it and realized that the appointment was for one-thirty tomorrow. It took my breath away.

"If you decide not to keep the appointment call them and let them know. I got you in based on a cancellation so there are lots of women who can fill an empty appointment slot if they know in advance that you're not coming."

I guess the look on my face told the kindly old physician that not much of what he said was going in.

"I know you're a little ... um, worked up right now so if you have any questions when you get home or tomorrow morning just give us a call. Missus Mitchell or I will be glad to answer them."

He stood up, so I did too.

"You should make an appointment in a couple of months for a check up so I can do the breast exam and the PAP smear which should be done annually," he put his hand on my upper arm as he spoke in the manner of a confidant.

As he was speaking his eyes dropped on to my chest. I didn't need to look to see that my high-beams were still on and it was a foolish dream that they weren't making themselves evident through my T shirt and bra. It was as if his eyes had tweaked them and a jolt hit me right between the legs reminding me of the barely restrained need. It also occurred to me that when he'd done the secondary examination, after the nurse left, he hadn't put any gloves on; and he hadn't washed his hands before he left the room. The vision of Doctor Blunt licking my pussy juice off his fingers while stroking his dick caused such a head rush that I had to get out of there.

I just nodded and scurried out of the office.

In the hallway I spied the public washroom and went inside.

'I know you're a little worked up right now' he'd said. 'What the hell did he mean by that?'

In one of the stalls of the vacant washroom I pulled down my jeans and underwear and jilled myself to an explosive climax in less than two minutes. It was the first of many many to come re-living that appointment.

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I kept the appointment with Doctor Tomlin. I was asked when I arrived if I wanted a nurse present during the examination. I said no because I felt like the fewer people in the room while I was in that embarrassing position the better. In all the years I saw him I was never asked that question again.

Doctor Tomlin turned out to be a young and alarmingly handsome man. I was in such a state of arousal by the time he entered the examination room that I'm surprised he didn't need a wet-vac just to see the cyst.

He explained that he could easily remove it in the office if I would just make a follow up appointment. He helped me get my feet out of the stirrups and left.

I was the same sexually charged patient the next week when I reported for the minor surgery. This time there was a nurse present to assist him. It went very well and on his suggestion I made an appointment for three months hence for a full check up. I never saw Doctor Blunt again. Doctor Tomlin became my gynecologist for the next thirty years, until he retired six years or so ago.

Every single time I saw him I was in a pre-orgasmic state. My annual appointments cropped up in the mid to late spring and Doctor Tomlin was an avid boater. He would always enter the examination room and, after making some innocuous comment about the weather (hot, cold, wet, dry) just as an ice breaker, he would tell me about how he was progressing at getting his boat in the water. In fair weather years how he had already gotten it in the water, and then ask me about our boat.

We aren't really boaters—my husband and I—our bow-rider is more a necessity to get to our island cottage. After I'd respond about our boat, usually mentioning that it was necessary transportation to the cottage, he would start asking what I liked about being up there; what I did to pass the time and so on. It was of course all intended to distract me from what he was doing and it did work to a degree. The phobic-fetish was powerful and not that easily defused.

I tried everything to minimize my level of arousal going in. After the first full examination, for the next year's appointment I decided to try to sexually exhaust myself.

A week before the appointment I masturbated constantly and had sex at every opportunity, whether I felt like it or not. My theory was that I'd be so satiated that I wouldn't become aroused. Not only did that not work but it actually made it worse.

My next strategy was to keep the reason for the appointment completely out of my mind. Although there were little cracks with anxiety seeping through I managed to keep my brain thinking that I was going for a hairdresser appointment right up until it was time to take my clothes off.

That didn't work either. By the time I had the gown on and covered myself with the sheet the phobia-fetish took control with a vengeance. I had no time to prepare or try to calm myself so once again it was worse. I tried a few other things but in the end just decided to go with the flow—so to speak. When my appointment time was coming up and it came to mind I'd often get aroused so I'd just take care of it. Better still I'd get one of my girlfriends or my husband to take care of it.

Despite my level of arousal being obvious to the doctor he never once mentioned anything to me. I was too ashamed to bring it up so for thirty years, once a year, it was like the proverbial elephant in the room.

Doctor Tomlin was extremely thorough, quick and professional. Not once was there even an inkling of impropriety. His distracting small talk, drawing my mind toward my cottage where I was almost always relaxed and happy, was a good ploy. That did not change the fact that immediately following the appointment I had to jill for a long time. I doubt I ever required less than four orgasms before I could calm down.

His retirement created a new problem for me. In some ways I wished the issue of my sexual excitement had been addressed and in others I was glad it hadn't. Now I was about to start with another doctor and open Pandora's Box again.

A girl friend that I've written about—I called her Carly in the story—told me about a woman doctor that she'd been seeing for years. She told me she'd ask about Doctor Huggins taking me on as a patient. She also told me that Brenda Huggins was a lesbian. Since I enjoy dual sexuality the gender of the physician wasn't going to be of any help anyway.

I was impressed with Doctor Huggins right from the start. Brenda, as she suggested I call her, allowed extra time when she did annual physicals to address questions and concerns. Time was added for initial appointments as well to make sure there was adequate opportunity to get acquainted. I had very little experience with different doctors (I'd have had even less if there was anyway to do it) but friends had complained to me that when they saw their doctor they felt like they were on an assembly line. So it was reassuring that Doctor Huggins didn't seem to subscribe to that impersonal approach.

The first appointment I made with her was the last in the day. Her receptionist, Gloria, told me that whenever possible that was the time slot for new patients to be absolutely sure that there would never be a time constraint on the first visit.

We sat and talked for twenty minutes before she showed me into an examination room and instructed me to undress and put on the paper poncho style cover. There was a folded drape on the table for the lower half.

I found our pre examination conversation very calming but as soon as I started to undress I knew I was getting aroused.

Brenda took her time and did a thorough—a very thorough job. When she was finished she said,

"Jackie, if you have a few more minutes I'd like to speak with you in the office after you change."

I was regaining control now that the process was nearly over and already deciding what, if any, toys I might employ in the post exam celebration.

"Sure," I agreed. "I've got all the time in the world."

There was no one left in the medical suite except the doctor and myself. I walked up to her open door; she noticed me right away.

"Sit for a moment if you would." I was starting to get very nervous all over again.

Brenda had been very communicative throughout the examination telling me at each juncture that everything was normal and that she wasn't finding anything to be concerned about so I couldn't fathom what was causing her to be so melodramatic.

"Jackie I couldn't help but notice that you were extremely sexually aroused throughout the entire examination. Is there anything I did that contributed to that?"

I started to cry. I was so ashamed and embarrassed that my vocal chords seized and all I could do was sob.

My new doctor put her hand on my arm and whispered reassuringly,

"It's OK ... it's OK—"

But it wasn't.

"It ... it always happens," I wept. "I can't help it ... I'm so sorry..."

"It's alright Jackie really it is. I won't say that it's common but it's certainly not unheard of ... there's no reason for you to be ashamed of it. We all react differently to different stimuli. Evidently a medical examination is a highly erotic trigger for you."

I was dabbing my eyes with the tissue that I'd plucked from the box on her desk. Her kind conciliatory words were soothing my shame, and I was beginning to get the sobbing under control.

"If that reaction is normal for you then that's fine; I just want to be sure that I'm not doing anything to make your discomfort any worse."

Worse ... better who knows. In my masturbation fantasies, often involving Doctor Blunt and Betty Mitchell, they took it the next step and we actually had sex right there in the examination room. Is that what I wanted to have happen? Did I want the doctor to make me orgasm? I really didn't know. Under the medical fetish, the phobia with its anxiety and fear still lingered.

"Certainly you know that any sexual interaction between a health care provider and their patient is strictly prohibited," she added just in case I had any ideas.

That was five years ago and our relationship—Brenda's and mine—has evolved over that time. I think that's the starting point of the story I originally sat down to write but couldn't without laying a foundation.