Judy’s Visit to the Student Clinic

It all started my freshman year. One of the regular
yearly rituals of my sorority involved the need for
some sleeping pills, and it was the practice to send
the freshmen to obtain them. So I went to the student
health center and told the triage nurse that I was
having trouble sleeping that I needed a prescription
for some good strong pills. She sent me to a little
room down the hall past the bathroom and the school’s
pharmacy, which was conveniently right inside the
health center.

A few minutes later, a nurse came in. Her name tag
said, “Pamela.” She handed me a hospital gown and told
me to put it on. I said “why do I need to wear this?”
and she replied that it was policy to give full
examinations when anybody came in requesting something
like this, because of the large number of false reports
and pills being dispensed to kids who don’t really need
them and such. She said that if I would cooperate there
shouldn’t be any problems.

She could tell I was somewhat embarrassed to get
undressed in front of her, so she said, “I’ll step out
for a minute while you change. And don’t worry, you can
leave your socks and your underwear on.”

Well, the thing was, I wasn’t wearing either socks -or-
underwear. The socks part you probably don’t care
about, but the underwear! I used to like to go to class
wearing nothing under my jeans, so I could cross my
legs back and forth during class and feel them ride up.
Yes, I was a naughty little virgin freshman girl!

Again I protested that this had nothing to do with lack
of sleep, but I was way, way too embarrassed to tell
her why I really didn’t want to take off my clothes.
She said again that if I wanted my prescription I had
better cooperate. I think she could tell that I wasn’t
been 100% honest.

So she left the room, and I slowly took off my clothes
and put them in a neatly folded pile in the corner,
next to my shoes. The hospital gown was a thin paper
affair that barely came down far enough to cover my
private parts in the front or my bottom in the back.
Worse, it was simply split down the back and the two
sides didn’t have any ties to hold them together and
didn’t really overlap.

I stood in front of the mirror and looked over my
shoulder, and there was my poor bare bottom clearly
visible! The only way to keep them together would be to
reach back there and hold them. I still remember how it
felt standing there in that cold little room, my bare
feet on the clean cold floor, the cold official-
smelling air rushing up through the bottom of the gown
past my thighs and my tight, tight belly. I had a knot
in my stomach, I was so nervous.

My only hope was that she just wouldn’t need to get
behind me. I sat down on a metal examination table, and
crossed my fingers that she wouldn’t make me get up. I
could feel the cold table on my bottom and the backs of
my thighs. I had goosebumps.

After what seemed like a very long wait, Pamela
returned. She told me to stand up and follow her so she
could weigh me and check my height. “Follow you where?”
I demanded to know.

“Right out in the hallway,” she said.

to be continued: At 12:40 AM, Anonymous said: Sorry for
the interruption. I’m a new mom now and I had to go do
a quick feeding. Boy, are my nipples sore! Anyway,
where was I.

“Pamela” directed out the door and down the brightly
lit hallway. I really wished she would go first so she
wouldn’t be looking at me, but she insisted that I
first. I kept my right hand behind my back at all
times, clasping that hospital gown together as tight as
I could. I hoped she would assume that I was just being
modest about her seeing my panties! We passed several
people in the hallway and I hoped they didn’t notice
anything unusual either.

The scales turned out to be near the pharmacy, across
the hall from where you had to wait to get your drugs.
There were several students of both sexes waiting
there, all fully clothed and her I was parading past
them mostly naked, with only the grip of my hand
preventing them from seeing my bare bottom.

It was a standard medical scale with counterweights and
a built-in measuring stick for taking your height.
There was a mirror there, too, and I could see that I
was red in the face with embarrassment. Pamela said she
liked to do both height and weight at the same time.

“Stand up straight,” she commanded. “Hands by your
side.”

“Why?” I pleaded?

“So I can get an accurate measure of your height! It’s
our standard policy,” she said.

“But.. all these people! You can’t make me!”

“Look, do you want to get your prescription or not?
Yes? Then do it!”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and let go of the
hospital gown and left my arms hang at my sides. I
could feel a draft of air against my bottom and my
back.

“I see,” Pamela mumbled.

I knew that she knew my secret now. I just hoped that
she was standing between me and the other patients, so
that nobody else could see me. I told myself that she
was, that she was protecting me now that she knew how
naked and vulnerable I was.

It seemed like it took an eternity for her to write
down my height, then fumble with the little weights and
then write that down. “Done,” she said.

Time to go back into the room, at last! I grabbed the
back of that gown even tighter than before! When I
opened my eyes the first thing I saw was that I was no
longer red in the face, I was now pale with fear.

I still don’t know how much the other people saw. I
couldn’t bring myself to even look in their direction,
to see if I could tell if they were looking or had been
looking at me.

Back in the room, she told me to sit on the table
again. She did the usual stick-out-your tongue stuff,
and checked my reflexes with a rubber mallet. Then she
listened to my heart with a stethoscope. She reached
right down the front of my gown to put that cold metal
thing just above my left breast, and that’s when I
looked down and realized my nipples were hard as a
rock! I’m sure she saw them too.

Then she said, “Stand up, I’m going to take your
temperature.” She went over to a cabinet and got out a
thermometer.

“Why do I need to stand up?” I asked, my voice still
shaky from the ordeal in the hallway.

“Because, dear, this is a rectal thermometer. It’s more
accurate.”

“Is that your standard policy too?” I asked, half
joking.

Dead seriously, she said, “It is for *you*!”

to be continued again…

At 3:38 AM, Anonymous said: Hi, it’s me “Judy.” I’m
back, finally! My husband walked in and saw what I was
writing about, and you can probably guess what he
wanted to do! Back to the story.

“Pamela” had me stand facing the examination table and
lean forward onto it and stick out my rear end. She
also had me spread my legs somewhat, and stand on my
toes. My nervousness increased, but I did what she
said. I know she had just seen my naked bottom in the
hallway, but this pose exposed it even more totally and
I felt even more powerless.

The hospital gown, never attached very firmly to begin
with, fell completely away from everything except my
arms. Part of it got underneath one of my hands and I
nearly slipped on it and fell on my face.

“Alright, take that thing off,” Pamela ordered. “It’s
dangerous. One slip like that with a glass thermometer
inside you, and we’ll have a serious situation on our
hands.”

By this point I was no longer questioning her right to
tell me what to do, and besides it made sense. She
could already see everything, what good was the gown
doing now?

With the gown gone, I stood looking at my bare-chested
reflection in the mirror. My nipples were so taught I
thought they were going to burst. Behind me, I could
see Pamela putting on rubber gloves. I could also hear
the snap of the rubber. I could see her dipping the
first two finger of one hand into some kind of
lubricant. She held up the thermometer and greased it
up too. I was a very large, thick glass thermometer
with a big silvery bulb at the end where the mercury
was. I didn’t think they made them that big.

Pamela was probably saying something, but at this point
I couldn’t even listen. I was too wrapped up in my
disbelief about what was about to happen to me. This…
*thing* was going to be inserted in my… I couldn’t
even think it… back there! This was not acceptable,
but here I was about to accept it! The only thing that
comforted me was the thought that Pamela would not do
anything to hurt me.

For all her sternness, she cared about me and she was
taking care of me; she would protect me just like she
had done in the hallway when she found out I was naked.
I had no real reason to believe this at the time, but
it was the thought I held onto to keep from losing my
mind.

When she used one of her hands to spread my cheeks
apart back there, it was the first time she had touched
me. In spite of the gloves her hand seemed warm and
caring, and I almost welcomed it. Almost! She used the
other hand to lubricate right around my hole, and then,
and then she put her finger inside me to lubricate
there.

OMFG! Her fingers were… there! I had been invaded. I
had lost some sort of battle, suffering total defeat. I
gave in to the advance of her finger, and relaxed the
tightness to let her in.

And it was just beginning! Then the thermometer went
in, and it was cold. It was hard. In spite of the work
she had done to lubricate and relax me, that thing hurt
a little. Mostly it was annoying, but in the sense that
being tickle tortured is annoying! My gut instinct was
to reject it out of my body, to flex my muscles and
crush its flimsy glass bulb to pieces. But I knew I
couldn’t do that. I had to stand there and tolerate it,
until she could get a good reading of my temperature.

Pamela kept the thermometer inside of me just long
enough but no longer. Just long enough for every last
shred of my resistance to it and to her power over me
to fade away. Gone were my pride, my dignity, replaced
by… trust and dependence on this woman I barely knew.
What was left of me suddenly felt more free and
relieved than I had felt in a long time.

Then it was over. She pulled it out, snapped off the
gloves, and wrote down my perfectly normal temperature.

“You can put your clothes back on now,” she said. “The
doctor is just going to write you your prescription and
send you on your way. But do me two favors if you want
to get your drugs.”

“One, leave your shoes off. The doctor likes to examine
the female patients’ feet even if it has nothing to do
with what they are in here for. If he tickles you,
laugh!”

At 3:57 AM, Anonymous said: Oops, last time I promise!

I wasn’t listening to Pamela, I was silently
masturbating. I just couldn’t help myself. I didn’t
care that I was doing it in front of her. Once she
noticed what I was doing, she waited patiently for me
to finish without saying anything about it.

As soon as I was done, she asked me, “Judy, when was
your last bowel movement?”

“Uh, yesterday,” I said absent-mindedly. I honestly
couldn’t remember. I was always so irregular back then.

“I don’t believe you. It’s been a week at least. I can
tell, I just saw you. You need to be cleaned out in
there. Would you like to ask the doctor if I could give
you an enema?”

“The doctor is a man, right?” I said. “I don’t think I
could talk to a man about that right now. Can’t you
just do it without asking him?”

“Sorry, not here I can’t.” She wrote something on a bit
of paper and put it in my purse. “Use this address and
phone number if you decide you want me to give you an
enema without anyone else knowing.”

“What is that, a different doctor’s office or
something?”

“No, it’s my apartment, silly!” She almost blushed. For
the first time, as I was finally getting dressed, I
really looked at Pamela and realized that she was
pretty young herself and quite pretty. I noticed she
was wearing those nurse’s clogs with the open back,
leaving her ankles and heels exposed except for her
thing white stockings, and I wondered if she knew about
the doctor’s foot fetish from experience.

“One more thing you need to do for me, honey, she said,
or I’ll make sure you never get those pills. I know
what you’re doing. You girls pull this stunt every
year. I had to do it too, you know,” she said as she
pulled a sorority ring – from the same sorority as me!
– out of her pocket and put it on her finger.

“But I and all the other girls they send in her at
least had the common sense to wear a nice clean pair of
cotton panties! You were a special treat!,” she said,
patting me gently on my now fully clothed bottom.

“You need to promise me that you aren’t going to take
any of those pills yourself. I don’t want anything to
happen to you.”

“I promise,” I said, and I meant it.

“Let me ask you something now,” I said. “Do you do that
thermometer thing every year or was that just for me?”

“Never before. But it wasn’t just for you, it was for
me!,” she said. “I told you, you’re special. Get used
to it!”

And that’s the end of the beginning. After that, my
adventures continued. I did take up Pamela on her enema
offer, but I eventually decided that I wasn’t really a
lesbian. I wanted to find a guy who loved my rear end
as much as I did, and it turned out to not be that hard
of a thing to find. Eventually I met one that I liked
enough to marry.

But all of those are different stories. This one is
over. Thanks for listening.