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“Alright,” she said after four or five more taps. “Go ahead and get on the scale for me.”
She noted my weight, took my temperature, had me sit on the exam chair with its crinkly paper cover so that she could read my blood pressure.
“I’ll let the doctor know you’re ready,” she told me, and left the room.
Shelly and I sat in uncomfortable silence for about five minutes. A couple of times I thought she might be about to say something—with my eyes on my hands, curled atop the blue fabric of the shapeless gown, I could see her shift in her chair out of the corner of my eye. Once she cleared her throat and I felt sure she might even be getting ready to apologize, but nothing else emerged. On my side, I had a zillion questions, but I didn’t know how to put them into words. Plus, they were all mortifying, and I had no intention of asking Shelly any of them and giving her the satisfaction of having satisfied my curiosity.
A knock came at the door, and the door opened, almost simultaneously with the knock. The doctor came in, a middle-aged man with silver at the temples of his dark brown hair. Nurse Cathy came in after him, pushing a wheeled tray with stuff on top that looked very medical and thus naturally scary. I recognized a clear plastic speculum, which the nurse unwrapped as the doctor pulled on blue latex gloves.
“Grace,” he said, in a voice that I could tell he intended to sound reassuring though really he couldn’t keep the brusqueness out of it, “I’m Doctor Simmons.”
He picked up something from the tray and started to put it on his head. He clicked something on it, and a bright light came on, held on the doctor’s forehead by an elastic band.
“Let’s have you go ahead and sit back in the chair. Cathy, could you get the stirrups into position?”
I had forgotten about that part—repressed it in my memory, I felt certain, from my first gynecological appointment. As the doctor wheeled a stool over from underneath the counter, Nurse Cathy pulled the horrid metal knee stirrups out from the sides of the exam chair.
I stayed frozen in place, seated on the edge of the chair.
“Grace, dear,” the nurse said, her voice impatient despite the dear. “Please do what Doctor Simmons asked.”
“She’s a little… dreamy,” Shelly said, an apologetic tone in her words. I blinked. It didn’t really represent a defense of my failure to obey as much as a relatively harmless explanation for it, but my foster mother seemed to care how I came across.
“Dreamy?” the doctor asked, his patience clearly already worn thin. “Or is she just badly behaved? Grace, we can restrain you if we have to.”
That idea sent a jolt through my nervous system, and the effect of it down below my tummy troubled me so much that I complied simply to avoid even thinking about the possibility of ‘restraint.’ I pushed backwards on the paper and reclined against the back of the chair.
“There we go,” the nurse said, instantly taking hold of my right leg and swinging it up and over into the stirrup. I bit my lip to keep from protesting, feeling panic rise in my chest.
“Just breathe easily,” Doctor Simmons instructed. “Nice and deep, in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
I looked up at him, to find his eyes locked on my face and his expression mild, as if by complying I had won him over to my side at least a little. To my confusion, I suddenly felt a sort of answering mildness—a pathetic eagerness to please, even. I took a deep breath, through my nostrils as he had instructed, and let it out slowly through my pursed lips.
“Good girl,” the doctor said, nodding. “We’ll get this over with nice and quick.”
Nurse Cathy put my other knee in its stirrup. The doctor sat on his stool. It happened so quickly I barely had time to yell inwardly at myself for once again responding to good girl like a puppy who’s been punished with a rolled-up newspaper and then forgiven with a scratch behind the ears.
That reaction, though, gave way instantly to the all-over blush that accompanied the doctor fixing his attention between my knees and his nurse smearing lube over the beak of the speculum before she handed it to him.
“We’re going to take a look at your hymen first, Grace,” he told me. “We just want to be sure that when the time comes with your first accepted suitor, he’ll be able to penetrate you without too much discomfort for either of you.”
CHAPTER 14
Grace
“Looks like someone learned a lesson recently,” Doctor Simmons said, leaning in closer.
“Last night,” Nurse Cathy confirmed.
“Jake is pretty thorough, isn’t he?” the doctor asked, turning to look at Shelly for a moment.
“He sure is,” Shelly replied in a quiet voice. I couldn’t look at any of them. I kept my attention focused on the fabric of the gown, how it had bunched up at my waist when the nurse had raised and spread my knees to give Doctor Simmons easy access to my most intimate places.
As I felt the speculum touch my pussy, the sense of detached observation I had experienced in the Carpenters’ living room took hold of me. I looked down at Doctor Simmons as he peered intently at the private places between my thighs and my bottom cheeks. He could see the cleft of my pussy and the tiny button of my anus, but I couldn’t. I felt as if I had somehow entrusted my body to him and Nurse Cathy, whose attention was also fixed down there, watching the doctor work.
My brow creased hard as I remembered Jake, the night before, telling Shelly that her pussy belonged to him, and Shelly asking him to fuck his pussy. A shudder ran through my whole body and, to my horror, I felt my vagina clench, just as the beak of the speculum started to open me up. I bit my lip hard, desperate not to make a sound, but the jolt of arousal proved too strong; I heard a little whine come through my nose.
It got much worse, though. The nurse made a tsking sound with her tongue against her teeth, as if she couldn’t resist the reflexive disapproval such a wayward pussy provoked in her.
