A Gynecology Exam to Remember

My training to become a Physician’s Assistant included advanced courses in anatomy, physiology, chemistry, bio-chemistry, pharmacology, and even zoology. In addition to these classes were “hands-on” exposures to certain fields of medicine. My emergency medicine rotation involved a semester in an E.R., my pediatrics medicine rotation was spent in a pediatrics’ clinic, and my OB/GYN rotation was spent in a Women’s Health Center. Now as a professional, my examination of a female needs to be without sexual interests, but as a male with a healthy libido, that can sometimes be difficult. Usually, most of the women I see tend to be seniors, or obese, or down-right ugly, but I’ll admit to finding a wet spot on my underwear after performing a breast, pelvic, or rectal exam on a beautiful woman. What follows is an account of an incident involving such a woman, and though I’m not proud of it, I’ll admit to giving into my sexual urges.

I was a student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and working out of one of the clinics there. I had a good relationship with the staff physician, a female, by the name of Dr. McSorley. She was present for most of exams that I performed and was starting to allow me to work independently. On this one particular day, we had quite a few women being seen for annual check-ups and pregnancy follow-ups, and was she unable to follow me as closely as she normally would. She divided the case-load so that we each had roughly the same amount of patients. My first was named Sarah, and she was here for an annual visit.

Upon registering with the receptionist, Sarah was asked if she objected to being examined by a male Physician’s Assistant student. I was standing in the hall down from her when she turned around and looked in my direction. She smiled at me, and I saw her shake her head “no” in response to that obligatory question. I couldn’t help but notice her pretty face, even from that distance. Unlike most of the patients I had seen during this rotation, she was young and apparently in a good physical condition. I immediately looked forward to meeting this woman. She returned to the reception room and waited to be called.

I will admit to going to the break room and straightening my hair, and making sure there was no food between my teeth or boogers in my nose. Feeling prepared, I then went through her medical records and familiarized myself with her history. She was 32 years of age, 5’6’’, and at her last visit, weighed 126 lbs. and had an unremarkable medical history. There was a family history of cervical cancer, so it was recommended she have yearly checkups. I proceeded to the reception room and called out her name. She looked up from a magazine and placed it on the coffee table. Slowly she stood and walked towards me. As I held open the door, she maintained direct eye contact until she passed me, then walked down the hall. Her eyes were a stunning green, obviously with the help of colored contact lenses, and her face was as pretty up-close as it seemed to be from afar. I directed her to the second door on the left and followed her into the room, unable to resist looking at the small butt in her tight jeans . She entered the room and sat at the foot of the examining table, and I on the stool next to a small desk which was mounted to the wall. I introduced myself, and thanked her for allowing me to see her.

“No, thank YOU!” she replied rather flirtatiously. I smiled at her with a slightly cocked head, as if I were waiting for her to finish the statement. But she just smiled, and I felt a little embarrassed. I can flirt with the best of them, but in this setting, I was a little uncomfortable and I think she sensed it. I asked what brought her here, and she replied that it was time for her yearly visit. This type of visit usually includes a breast exam and Papanicolaou (pap) smear (a procedure where cells are removed from the cervix and adjacent areas, and later examined under a microscope, in order to check for cancer). I brought out a gown from a drawer under the examining table and handed it to her, then excused myself to allow her to change.

After a few minutes, I returned to her room, knocked on the door, and asked if she was ready. “Oh, I’m ready,” she replied. I entered to find her sitting on the table, wearing the gown that I had given her, only she was wearing it backwards, with the opening in front, untied. My face obviously showed my surprise, and she smiled a very large grin. At this point in my training, I had probably seen about 40 or 50 women, but none had breasts like she had. I was unable to avoid eye contact with them, and she noticed.

“You like them?…They’re new!” she said with excitement.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“My tits,” she continued, “do you like them?”

She really put me on the spot. I mean, I DID like them. They were nice sized, did not sag at all, and were as tan as the rest of her lean body, but it was rather forward of her to ask.

I stammered. “Um, yes,…where did you get them?” Geesh, as if she bought them from a discount store or something. I was really losing control of this exam. I felt like I had the confidence of Woody Allen. I shook my head, and covered my face with my open hand. She chuckled at me as I sat back on the stool at the foot of the examining table. She told me of the name of the plastic surgeon and the date of the procedure, which I entered into her file.

“Do you want to feel them?” she then asked.

Of course I did, but it would serve no medical purpose, as lumps would not be present with implants, but there are lymph nodes around the breasts which can still develop cancer, so I thought that at least a partial exam would seem appropriate.

I paused and looked at her. She had eyes, artificially green by contacts, which cut through me as though they were real, and implanted tits that stood out at me and begged to be groped. She was fake, yet very appealing. A comparison to a sex android could have been made.

“Go ahead,” she said and smiled, “I know you want to”.

She was so perceptive. I stood, and slowly approached her as she sat on the edge of the examining table. I stood directly in front of her, and as I moved in, she spread her legs so that I could get closer. I glanced down at her lap, and as I should have expected, it had no hair. Shit, I love a bald pussy. It was as if she knew. I could have, and should have, walked around to her side, but this was getting intense, and lust was starting to impair my better judgment. I pulled my attention from her lap and began the breast exam as I would with any other breast, and started by palpating (feeling) the lateral group of axillary lymph nodes (under her arm pits) and slowly worked in towards the breast. I could feel where the implant started, and at that point, began to palpate the corresponding side under the opposite arm, when she interrupted me.

“No, not like THAT,” she said, “Don’t you want to FEEL my tits?”

I did want to, and I weakened. It’s not often that a woman begs a guy to play with her tits, so I cupped one in my hand. In felt firm, and warm, and smooth…not unlike any other PERFECT breast that I have never had in my hand.

“You may squeeze it,” she said.

What the hell, I already had it in my hand, so I squeezed. Somehow, I rationalized this to be an exam of sorts. I figured that I ought to know what implants felt like just in case…well, I don’t know why, but I squeezed it just the same.

She continued, “There are two of them, you know”.

So I played with them both, simultaneously. And I loved it. In an attempt to further my medical knowledge, I asked if she gained pleasure from tactile stimulation.

“If you’re asking if this feels good, it does, very good, in fact.” She cocked her head and smiled, then glanced down at the erection that was appearing through my scrubs. “How about you, how do they feel to you?”

Slightly embarrassed, I looked down at my growing bulge, smiled, and admitted that they did feel good. I stepped back from her and walked toward the desk. I needed to regain my composure and made like I was re-reading her chart. Even if there was something there that I hadn’t already have read, I would not have been able to concentrate on it. I was not in the frame of mind to do anything but play with those hooters some more, but I managed to fight off those urges, and suggested we start the pelvic exam.

“Can we do the rectal exam first?” she asked, as she turned over on to her stomach and raised her knees up to her side, bringing her ass high into the air, then pulled the gown up over it.

Generally, rectal exams are performed on males to palpate the prostate gland. In women, it is possible to palpate the cervix through the anterior rectal wall, but since a pelvic exam was going to be performed, it really wasn’t necessary. Looking down at her, with her smooth, round, tight ass sticking up, I figured I could check for colorectal cancer, or something. I put a disposable latex glove on my right hand and with the left hand, gently retracted her buttocks and visualized the perianal and saccrococcygeal areas. The anal tissues were pink, moist and hairless, and she was without hemorrhoids, lumps, ulcers, or rashes. I lubricated the index finger of my gloved hand and had her “bear down.” I placed my finger just inside the sphincter, and as she relaxed, I entered her anal canal and inserted my finger in the direction of her umbilicus. With the penetration of my digit, she slowly began to rock back and forth, resulting a slight pumping action of my finger in her rectum. I looked around the room as if to see Alan Fundt with a hidden camera, or perhaps I was being tested by some credentialling board or something. Though she was exhibiting highly unusual behaviors, I was enjoying it, and wished we were at my apartment, and not at “work”. I needed to palpate for irregularities or nodules of the rectal wall, and managed to do so as she rocked. Eventually, I slowly withdrew my finger, and checked for stool, mucus, and blood. (There IS a down-side to my job.) Finding none, I removed the glove, and handed her a disposable cloth with which she could wipe off the lubricant. She did so as I washed my hands.

Now I know the appropriate thing to have done was to leave the room and have Doctor McSorley take over. But as I said, lust had influenced my better judgment. Instead, I asked her to lay back on the table and I brought out those wonderful “stirrups”. I attached them to the foot of the table and she immediately put her feet into them. Typically, with the average patient, we need to ask that they scoot their butts towards the foot of the table, thus bending the knees and allowing more room to work. Well, this above-average patient, without any prompting, scooted so far toward me that her entire perineum was right there in my face, and spread her knees wide open, allowing me complete access and a rather stimulating view. She was NOT shy. I reached for a pair of latex gloves.

“Oh, not those,” she said in a disappointing tone.

“Are you allergic to latex?” I asked. I was concerned, since I had just used a latex glove for her rectal exam.

“No,” she relied, “It’s just that they’re so, well, impersonal”.

When you’re in the medical field, and knowing all the blood-borne pathogens that are out there, gloves are automatic, but I’m not an obsessive/compulsive individual. I mean, I don’t always wash my hands after shaking them with someone, and will admit to occasionally not wearing a condom when being intimate. The act of not wearing gloves for a pelvic exam was definitely the crossing-over from a professional contact to sexual one, though. I looked up from between her knees and saw a pouty face, and rationalized that if we were engaging in the sex I wanted to have with her at my apartment, I would not be wearing gloves, so I agreed to her wishes.

I reached down to a drawer on the base of the exam table and retrieved a Pederson speculum. For the males reading this, it is an instrument which allows the viewing of the internal genitalia. There are different sizes of speculum, the smallest fits the virginal female, and larger ones are used with women who have had children. To be perfectly honest, guys, the outside looks better than the inside, though upon viewing the texture of the vaginal walls, it is easy to see why it feels so good when wrapped around a penis. Anyway, I retrieved the instrument, but when I brought it into her view, she sighed.

“Why the sigh?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, “Those things are so cold, and, well, impersonal.”

There was that “impersonal” line again. I asked what she suggested I use to view her cervix.

“Well here, let me open myself up to you,” to which she reached down with both hands and pulled back on her labia. It was inviting, and I had this urge to bury my face in it, but I still had some self control left.

“Well,” I said with a slight chuckle, “that is very, hum, nice of you, but I’m still unable to see anything. I’ll need to use the speculum…sorry. But I’ll warm it up for you.”

“That would be nice,” she replied, “could you use your mouth to warm it?”

This was getting silly. “No,” I said, “I’ll place it under some warm water.” I wheeled the chair over to the sink and ran some warm water over it and I wheeled back between her legs. With my (gasp) bare hand, I inserted two fingers into her vagina to inspect for abnormalities. She was tight, and not surprisingly she moaned with the insertion. I looked up from between her legs and saw that her eyes were closed, and she was massaging her breasts, one in each hand. I watched her for a bit while slowly moving my fingers within her wet vagina. I was enjoying this display, and after about a minute of this, thought it best to continue with the exam. I withdrew my fingers and pressed on the area just below the vagina, which opened it for the insertion of the speculum. With my right hand, I inserted the duck-billed instrument into her vagina, and she gasped.

“I’m sorry, is it still cold?”

“No,” she replied in a voice only slightly louder than a whisper, “It feels good.”

Part of me, the professional part, said that this was getting ridiculous, but the other part of me was getting wet shorts. I thought it best to continue with the exam. I rotated the instruments so that the blades were horizontal to one another, and with every movement of the instrument she let out a faint moan. After full insertion, I slowly squeezed the handle, opening the blades. I visualized the cervix, then locked the speculum in the open position. The cervix was a glistening pink, which is what a healthy cervix should look like. It was round and about an inch in diameter, signs that she probably had not bore any children. There was no evidence of discharge, lacerations, ulcerations, or lesions. I reached over to the desk and retrieved a cotton swab and a small wooden spatula to obtained samples of cells from the endocervical area (the area just inside the cervix), the outer cervix, and the vaginal pool (that area beneath the cervix, adjacent to the vaginal “floor”). I placed the samples on separate slides. I loosened the thumb screw (to unlock the opened blades) and as I was releasing the handle, her hand released a breast and reached down and made contact with her clitoris. Her eyes still closed, and one hand still massaging a breast, she began to masturbate. I could not resist, and began to slowly withdraw and reinsert the stainless steel instrument. After doing this about three times, I slowly squeezed the handles together again, reopening the device, which started her hips to gyrate.

I was trying to understand this woman. Perhaps she was a nymphomaniac, or had emotional disorders, or a low self esteem that causes her to seek validation through sex with health care providers, or maybe she was just horny and wanted me. Her breathing became deeper and quicker, to the point where I feared she may pass out from hyperventilation. I was also speechless, and hornier than hell, so when she reached up and grabbed my hair and pulled my mouth to her clitoris, I did the only thing I could think of. I licked it, and licked it hard and fast. I withdrew the speculum and inserted my finger, deep enough to make contact with the cervix I had just examined. She squeaked as she hyperventilated, and I wondered if she were about to have an asthma attack. She began to pull my face more forcefully into her pubis, and obviously began to climax. I was fearful that she would be heard, but I couldn’t bring myself to take my face out of her genitals. Slowly, she lessened her grip on me, and finally let go of my head. She laid back on the table and her breathing slowed, and she started to giggle. I stood to walk to the mirror, as I was sure I looked rather disheveled. I had to pass her to get to the sink, when suddenly she sat up and asked where I was going. Before I could answer her, she pulled the drawstring on my scrubs, causing them to fall, and exposed my wet bikini underwear. I was in no condition to resist her advances, and stood in front of her and awaited the retribution. She pulled at the front of my shorts and withdrew my erection. She laid back down and rolled on to her side, wrapped her arm around my ass, and pulled me into her mouth. It only took a couple of pumps before I started to cum, and she swallowed every drop.

As the orgasm diminished, I started to think of the potential consequences of this incident. I was unsure of what the woman’s intentions were, or what I should do next. I quickly pulled up my scrubs and retied them, then buttoned my lab coat so that the wet spot would not be noticed. I attempted to make an entry in her chart. “Gives great head,” or “insatiable appetite for sex” did not seem appropriate, but were certainly accurate. I again thanked her for allowing me to perform the examination, and she smiled, and said, “Anytime!”

I left the exam room and looked up and down the hall. Paranoid as hell, I was relieved when the patient left the office, and was as relieved when the day was done. Two months later, I finished my OB/GYN rotation and began a urology stint, and found myself doing digital examinations of prostates, remembering when I was examining a much more pleasurable orifice.