A female receptionist gets to play nurse on a patient – part 1

My desk is layered with paper. Unopened mail forms a
mountain in one corner. Rejected insurance claims forms
a smaller mountain – more like a hill – in the opposite
corner. Between is a low valley of checks and billing
statements. For the last two hours I’ve been trying to
finish entering the week’s payments into the computer,
but I keep getting interrupted by nurses, patients, and
phone calls. It looks like it is going to be one of those
late nights again. I figure I have about three hours
worth of work to finish up. It’s an hour before my
supposed quitting time.

I glance out through a small window to see a near-empty
waiting room. Only two patients remain. One of them, I
already know, will be quick. She is a 16-year old girl
who bashfully asked upon her arrival if the Doctor was
female. This tells me that she wants a boob job. She will
go in, whine about her life being miserable because she’s
got a flat chest, and then Doctor Polichvich will give it
to her polite but straight.

The second patient will be quick too. She’s back for a
follow-up. The woman received breast reduction surgery
two weeks ago, and she is back for the standard two-week
follow-up appointment. Follow-ups take only a few minutes
– assuming the Doctor does not discover an infection or
other complication.

I work as a receptionist in a Doctor’s office. Most
people think a receptionist just calls out your name when
your turn comes up to see the doctor. Actually, it
carries a lot more responsibility than that, especially
when you work in a small, private practice like I do. I
also carry the responsibility for the medical files,
billings, schedule, and answering the phone – plus I call
out the name of the occasional patient when their turn
comes up to see the doctor.

I work for Doctor Susan Polichvich. Her specialty is
reduction mammaplasty – which means she’s essentially
boob doctor to you and me. She specializes in breast
reduction and enlargement surgery, and that is how I
first met her. Not for a boob job like the 16-year old in
the waiting room, but just the opposite. I walked into
her office about two months ago to ask about breast
reduction surgery.

I am cursed – or blessed, depending on who you ask – with
a set of double-D tits. I loved them when I was younger.
I found a big set of tits were terrific when I wanted to
get noticed or have a conversation with the most gorgeous
stud in the room. They still work wonders, but as I got
older my priorities matured. Often, I found my tits
caught me the wrong kind of man. And then there is all
that weight on my chest, plus the way the bra straps
chaff my shoulders. So, on a whim one afternoon as I was
driving home from my last day of work, I stopped to ask
about getting them pared down to size.

She gave it to me polite but straight, just like she will
do for the 16-year old. First, there are medical dangers.
Breast surgery is a relatively simple operation, but
putting someone under the knife always involves risk.
Second, there is cost. Doctor Polichvich is cheap, and
she charges $2,000 a pair. Third, virtually no insurance
covers the expense. Unless a medical need exists – like
breast cancer, for example – insurance companies don’t
pay for cosmetic procedures. That was the real clincher
for me, the cost, especially just after I was laid off my
job as a receptionist in a dentist’s office.

I was ready to leave dejected, but not quite. “In every
cloud,” as my Grandmother always used to say, “there’s a
silver lining.” Sometime during my conversation in Doctor
Polichvich’s office, I mentioned that my now former
employer retired and I just lost my job. He let me go
home early on my last day, and that is why I had time to
stop by and do a little “boob shopping.” Lucky for me,
Doctor Polichvich just happened to be looking for
replacement receptionist for her own practice. Her
receptionist gave a two-week notice just one week before.
Polichvich needed a replacement, but she had been too
busy to advertise or to interview. She asked if I wanted
the job on the spot.

* * * *

“Next patient Martha,” One of the nurses pokes her head
in through the doorway.

“Lucy!” I stand to call the 16-year old. “The doctor will
see you now. If you still want to go in?”

She takes a deep breath and nods to me.

I take the clipboard with her chart – which isn’t much of
a chart because it’s her first and probably only visit –
and show her the exam room.

“I’m going to see the female doctor, right?” She
questions nervously.

“We have only one doctor here,” I explain. “And yes, she
is still female. Just try to relax. She’s real nice.”

“Do I need to undress or anything?”

“Not yet,” I tell her. “A nurse will be with you shortly.
She’ll ask some basic medical questions, and then she’ll
let you know if you need to get undressed or not.”

The young girl gives me a nervous nod.

I hang her chart on a hook beside the door, and do a
quick change of the sign to say, “occupied.”

One down; one to go. Maybe I can get out earlier than I
think. I take a quick glance into the waiting room to see
the follow-up patient still waiting. I had hoped she
maybe got tired of waiting and decided to leave, but no
such luck. At least nobody else joined her. We sometimes
get surprise patients at the end of the day. I hate it
when patients think they can stroll in right at 5:00 PM
and expect to see the doctor. The sign on the door says
we close at 5:00 PM. That means everyone in the office is
supposed to leave at five, not that the last appointment
is at five.

I sit back down to try to finish entering the checks into
the computer. Most offices would hire a consultant to do
this, but Doctor Polichvich can’t afford one. She refuses
to “use my talent as a plastic surgeon to cater
exclusively to the rich,” as she puts it. That’s part of
the reason she located her office in what I call the
underprivileged side of town. We sit in a strip mall with
a liquor store on one side and a donut shop on the other.
I don’t know how many square feet we occupy, but I can
say the waiting room sits just 6 patients and we have
only 2 exam rooms. The dentist I used to work for had
more space than this.

As for my own office, it isn’t much either. I long ago
concluded the builders must have added it as an
afterthought. The walls form a triangle with my desk
parked tight up against one wall, the door to the exam
rooms occupies the second, and a small window looking out
into the waiting room sits in the third. I have to always
keep an eye out into the waiting room to make sure no
inebriated liquor store customer walks in by mistake.

“Excuse me,” A deep, masculine voice interrupts my
progress. “I hope you can help me.”

I glance at the clock on the computer. “4:45 PM” “Another
last minute customer,” I think silently to myself, but
then realize the voice comes from a man.

And what a man! I look over to see a set of deep blue
eyes glair down at me from the open window. He looks
gorgeous, a beautiful smile centered on a handsome face.
On his head sits a mop of long, blond hair. His chin
supports a cute dimple in the center. And those blue
eyes! I can’t get over those deep, blue eyes!

“I sure hope I can,” I answer more assertively than I
should. “I mean yes, are you here to pick someone up?”

The words sound strange coming out of my lips. I hope he
is here to pick me up, but then I think of the 16-year
old I just showed inside. If this is her boyfriend, a
boob job might very well be worth the expense.

“No, actually I’m here to see the doctor,” He corrects
me.

“Oh! Then you must be an acquaintance,” I conclude. I
wonder if he is her new boyfriend. Susan – I mean Doctor
Polichvich – never told me about this one!

“No, no acquaintance,” He corrects my assumption. “I’ve
never met her before. I’m here as a patient.”

This confuses me. A male patient to see a boob doctor? It
doesn’t make sense. There actually is such a thing as
breast reduction surgery for a man. The medical term is
Gynecomastia, but this man is obviously in no need of
Gynecomastia. He already has the perfect body. I’ve been
working for Susan six weeks now, and this is her first
male patient.

“Excuse me,” I lower my voice to speak more discretely.
“I don’t think you understand. You see, Doctor Polichvich
is a plastic surgeon who specializes in the female
breast. You know, like breast enlargement, reduction, or
plastic surgery after a mastectomy. This is her
outpatient office.”

He smiles back at me. It is a beautiful smile. I only
wished it belonged to a brighter guy. But then I suppose
he doesn’t need to be bright, not with his good looks and
all. I hear men talk about dizzy blonds. I think this
must be the equivalent in the male variety.

“I’m well aware of the Doctor’s specialty,” He lowers his
voice to match my own. He has a sexy, quite voice, one of
those voices that sounds like a whisper but remains
perfectly clear. “Actually, that’s exactly why I am here.
I work at a club two blocks down the street,” He motions
in the general direction. “I drive by her sign all the
time on my way to work. I always found it tempting, so
today I left early to stop by.”

He leaves me thoroughly confused. He wants an appointment
with a doctor that works on boobs, but he is most
obviously a man. He sounds intelligent, yet he makes
ridiculous requests. I start to wonder if the guy might
not be all there – I mean, in the head.

“Please,” He almost pleads. “I just want a word with her.
Don’t worry, it’s got nothing to do with my breasts or
the breast of anyone else. I am just hoping she might
point me in the right direction.”

“Um, I don’t know,” I stumble, not knowing what to say.
“We close at five, you know, and the Doctor normally
refuses appointments after four-forty unless it’s
important.”

“I can return next week,” He offers. “How about next
Friday? I prefer as late in the day as possible. I start
work at seven.”

The last thing I want is for this nut case to return –
well, let me put that a different way. Actually, I want
this hunk of a man to return again and again, but it’s
just that nothing he says makes sense. What kind of job
only starts at seven at night? And he says he works two
blocks up the street. The only businesses two blocks up
the street are an adult video store and a strip joint. I
wonder if he might be one of those sleazebags who hangs
out at X-rated attractions. He certainly doesn’t look
like your typical sleazebag, but then I start to think
maybe he is a pimp.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “None of this makes sense!
Doctor Polichvich is busy with real patients. If you want
to see a doctor, you really need to go to your own
physician or you can always stop by County Hospital.”

A look of disappointment comes over his face. I worry I
might have upset him. Even worse, I worry he might be a
little crazy and maybe I just pushed him over the edge.

“I really am sorry,” I try to console.

“I understand,” He accepts. “But let me first explain.
This is a bit embarrassing, but once I explain my
situation I think you will understand. Could I at least
ask you to carry a message back to the doctor to ask her
if she is willing to see me?”

I remain confused, but nod my head anyway. “I guess so,”
I accept him.

“Good! Then please tell her I only request she point me
in the right direction. I don’t expect her to do the
surgery herself. It’s not her specialty, but I figure her
specialty is closely related. I’m hoping she might at
least be able to provide me enough information to show me
where to go. Maybe she even knows a name?”

I shrug my shoulders. “She might,” I don’t know what else
to say. He hasn’t told me anything yet.

“It’s like this,” He speaks more quietly and his head
almost comes through the window. I smell him, and he
smells good. There’s something about strong, handsome men
that makes them smell good.

“I just logically figured a Doctor who does plastic
surgery to reduce breast sizes in women,” He speaks
shyly. “Well, she might know something about reducing
penis size in a man.”

I think my eyes pop out of my sockets. My jaw most
definitely drops to the floor. I can’t believe what I
have just heard! I wonder if I really heard what I
thought I heard! I think again that he might be a nut
case. And then I wonder if he might be part of some
practical joke. April fool’s Day was over three months
ago. My 28th birthday is approaching, but this is a bit
early for a gag gift.

“Excuse me?” I almost choke on my own words.

He repeats himself, and I hear it again. “I’m here to
hopefully get some information on penis reduction
surgery,” He says.

The gears in my head turn quickly. He said he worked at
the club two blocks down the street. The strip joint
club! And Friday night is Lady’s night – or so I’ve
heard. I never went myself, but I could not help but
overhear a few patients in the waiting room occasionally
joke about the male strippers on Friday nights. Women can
be such sluts when no men are around.

And what he asks actually carries a strong thread of
logic. A doctor trained in breast reduction surgery might
logically know something about penis reduction surgery
too – if there even is such a thing. I never heard of it
myself, but then I’m no doctor. Who knows?

“I understand!” My face must look like it has been
blessed with some cosmic revelation. It takes me a few
seconds to come back down to reality. “Now I understand,
but I’m not sure if the doctor would be willing to see
you or not,” I admit truthfully. “I’ve only just been on
this job for six weeks, and you’re the first patient to
ask such a thing. I used to be a receptionist in a
dentist office, and we never had to worry about things
like this.”

I realize I am rambling. It is what I do when I get
stressed. For some strange reason, I talk when I get
stressed out. Rambling relaxes me, and right now I need a
lot of relaxing. My pulse races. I think my hands shake.
It is a good thing I am already sitting, else I probably
would have fallen over.

“Anyway,” I force myself to shut up. “I’ll go ask her.”

He looks pleased. He gives me his great big smile again.
His teeth are so white they sparkle. And those eyes!

“That’s all I ask.” He turns back into the waiting room,
giving me a view of his entire body and of his behind.
This is the first time I get a view of his entire body.
He is a big man – in more ways than he just pointed out.
A muscle shirt shows off his bulging biceps. Tight shorts
display a tight ass. I figure he must weigh in at about
250 pounds, and I bet there isn’t an ounce of fat on him.

* * * * *

I have trouble getting up from my desk. My legs feel
numb. My heart continues to race. I need time, time to
think. I feel as if I just saw a ghost.

“Did I really hear what I thought I heard?” I ask myself.
“Did a fabulously handsome man just ask me about reducing
the size of his penis?”

I know what this means, of course. A male stripper
wanting his dick pared down to size can only mean one
thing! It is obvious! He must really be hung! I naturally
want to know how hung, and then I remember the strip
joint. I make a promise to myself to visit next week. I
will sneak my way into a seat in the back corner so he
won’t notice, and then I will check out his size.

Doctor Polichvich and the young girl come out of the exam
room just as I step out of my office.

“What about those pills they show on those commercials?”
The young girl cries.

“Bogus, I’m afraid,” Susan wraps a consoling arm around
her. “They’re just specialty formulated vitamins. You can
try them if you want. They won’t do any harm. But it’s
cheaper if you just eat healthy and take standard vitamin
supplements.”

I silently point to my office, not wanting to interrupt
but needing to get her attention.

Polichvich nods.

“There’s no charge because I really didn’t do anything,”
She continues to console the young girl. “Come back if
you need to talk.”

I duck back into my office as Doctor Polichvich bids the
young girl goodbye and gives her a few pointers. She
hands over a pamphlet hanging on the wall that has the
numbers for various support groups and the suicide
prevention hotline – just in case.

“You need me?” She pokes in her head a minute later.

“Close the door,” I tell her. “I need to talk to you
about a request of a walk-in.”

“Do you mean Mrs. Alvery?” She looks out to the reception
area. “Do you think she’s having complications?”

I shake my head. “Not her, the other one.”

Susan looks. “Wow! What a hunk!” She takes in a breath.
“I didn’t even notice him! I must be getting old.”

Susan isn’t that old, maybe in her mid 40s. I can tell
she still has good tastes in men. We don’t often talk to
each other about our private lives, but I know from the
two nurses that she’s twice divorced and currently lives
with a guy.

“He’s an even bigger hunk than you think,” I urge her to
sit on the folding chair that suddenly appears from
behind the door as it closes. I don’t want him to see us
talking.

“You have me interested!” She laughs. “But what on Earth
are you talking about?”

I suddenly find myself at a loss for words. How should I
say it? How should I phrase his question? My naturally
gabby personality goes away and leaves me embarrassed.

“Well?” Susan prods. “I have one patient in back and
another in front!”

“Actually,” I correct her. “You have two patients waiting
in front, provided you care to talk to him.”

“What about?” She questions. “Is he growing boobs or
something?” She laughs, but I fail to see the humor.

“I told him I would pass on his question,” I begin shyly.
“But it’s kind of embarrassing just to ask it.”

Susan seems to understand my reluctance. She sits back in
the chair and waits. I suppose this is the same way she
has to treat a lot of her young patients when they are
too embarrassed to ask about breast reduction or
enhancement surgery. She must simply wait until they are
ready.

“The guy might be a little crazy,” I first give my
personal opinion. “Or maybe this is all part of some
elaborate joke. I don’t know! I just know that he asked
me to pass on a question and ask if you would be willing
to see him.”

Susan nods without talking.

“It’s like this,” I give it to her straight. “The guy is
interested in a reduction, but not to his boobs.”

She returns a look of confusion. I hoped my hint would be
sufficient for her to understand, but apparently not.

“What I’m talking about,” I lean over and almost whisper
into her ear. “He asked about reducing the length of his
penis.”

I do not see her reaction. I am leaned over too close to
her face to see it, but I hear it. I think she stopped
breathing. Maybe her heart started racing like mine.

“Interesting!” She quickly recovers. “Very interesting!”

“He knows it’s not your specialty,” I revert into my
rambling mode. “But he logically figures you can maybe
send him where to go. He asked if he could like maybe
talk to you a few minutes. Maybe you could give him some
suggestions or the names of some doctors. Maybe you know
some fellow plastic surgeon who might be able to help.”

Susan nods while I ramble on. She leans back in the
chair, looks up to the ceiling, and seems to think. I
don’t know if she hears me.

“It appears as though I would be a fool not to see him,”
She concludes after I finish. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

She smiles, and I know what she means.

“Yes,” I agree. “I wouldn’t mind seeing him too!”

She laughs at this remark. “Then tell him he can come in,
but he will have to wait until my other patients are
through. Treat him just like any other patient. Start
setting up a chart on him. Get all his personal
information. Ask for his name, address, allergies,
medications, phone number…”

She needs not go on.

“And one more thing,” Susan pauses at the door. “Ask him
his length and how much he wants it shortened.”

She says this professionally, with no emotion. I do not
even realize the impact of her words until she turns the
corner and disappears.

“And set up Mrs. Alvery in Exam One,” She yells from down
the hall.

My mind reverts back to my job. I open the window, call
for Mrs. Alvery, and lead her back to Exam Room Number
One. One of the nurses takes over and the other prepares
to leave. I go back to my desk and start a new chart.

“Excuse me,” I call out the window to the weightlifter
sitting in the undersized chair. “I’m afraid I don’t know
your name.”

“Jonathan,” He stands up to join me at the window.
“Jonathan Demetres.”

He looks just as good from the front as he does from
behind. Broad shoulders show off a hard chest. His blond
hair makes him look German or maybe Swiss, but his last
name sounds Russian. I can’t help but fantasize him as a
soldier of fortune sneaking across a boarder with a
machine gun slug across one arm and a grenade launcher on
the other. I only wished I was dressed better to meet
him, like perhaps in a low cut blouse to draw his
attention to my ample cleavage. Instead, I must talk to
him while wearing a standard issue white uniform the same
as what the doctor and the two nurses must wear.

“The doctor agreed to talk to you,” I inform him as soon
as he is near enough. “I spoke with her, and she says she
will see you as soon as she is done with her scheduled
patients.”

“Great!” He gives me that wonderful smile again. “It will
be about a fifteen minute wait. She’s already got two
other patients in back.”

“No problem,” He is very accommodating. “Actually, I
figured I would have to wait a lot longer.”

“And while you wait, I have a couple of standard
questions that I have to ask all first time patients,” I
chime in. “I know you just want to talk to her, but I
still have to ask you a bunch of stuff about allergies,
allergic reactions, current medications, etcetera. It’s
the rule.”

He nods.

I sit down at my computer and go down the list. I get
his name, address, telephone number, occupation…”

“Construction manager and part time male stripper,” I
think I hit the delete key a dozen times to type in his 7
words. I already knew the answer, but actually hearing a
guy admit that he’s a male stripper is kind-of erotic.

“Allergies?”

“None.”

“Allergic reactions?”

“None.”

“Any prescriptions or any other medications you are
currently taking?

“Just vitamins.”

“Any diseases or conditions you want the Doctor to know
about?”

“Nothing.”

All in all, he looks to be in perfect medical health, but
then I could have determined that by just looking at him.

Finally, I get to the bottom of the form where it asks
for “Other pertinent information?” I think about Susan’s
last instruction and wonder if she was serious.

“There’s one other thing Doctor Polichvich wanted me to
ask you,” I turn to face him, which I immediately regret.
As soon as I see his face, I get embarrassed. I think my
face turns bright red.

“It’s kind of an embarrassing thing to ask,” I take a
deep breath and start up again, this time without
looking. I keep my eyes on the computer screen. “The
thing is, if you were a woman, Doctor Polichvich would
want to know your cup size and what you want to change it
to.”

“Flaccid and full?” He replies without hesitation. He
immediately understands, and unlike me is embarrassed at
all – but then I suppose that’s from working in a male
strip joint. I mean, if I stripped off my top to a room
of strangers every night, I suppose I wouldn’t be
embarrassed at telling a man my cup size either.

As for his question, I’m not sure of the answer. Susan
wasn’t specific, but I know the question I want him to
answer.

“Full,” I take a gulp and look at him. “Twelve inches.”

My legs go numb again. I can’t move. This incredible hunk
of a man just told me that he has a 12-inch cock. My God!
What a whopper! I never knew they could grow so big. I
type something into the computer, but it is nonsense. A
lucky thing he can’t read the screen from where he stands
– I hope.

“And I’m interested in paring it down to nine.”

Nine inches! Even a 9-inch long cock is huge. The biggest
I ever experienced was seven, and that was a plastic
dildo. I can’t imagine what it would be like to take a
real live 9-inch cock deep inside me, much less twelve.

“Is there anything else Nurse?”

I realize he talks to me. I remain frozen in place,
unable to move. I type more nonsense into the computer.

“No!” I answer almost in a shrill. “I mean, no, nothing
else. We’re done. You can go back and take a seat for
now.”

He backs away and leaves me to my own thoughts. I need to
be left alone. I need to think. I need to calm down. My
heart races and my hands shake, and they do so even more
than before. I find myself unable to remember the
location of the letters on the keyboard.

And then I wonder if he noticed. “Did he notice my
amazement?” I ask myself. “Did he hear my gasp when he
said his length?” I figure I must have turned red with
embarrassment. My body nearly drips with sweat.

I stand up to get a drink of water. I go to the small
bathroom, splash my whole face with water. I try to calm
down, but the only thing I can think about is the 12-
inches. At that length, he would extend upward beyond his
stomach. I look in the mirror at my own tummy, and I try
to picture how far his 12-inches would extend inside me.
I try to measure it out with my hand and nearly come up
to my chest. “My God!” I think to myself. “His dick would
practically go up my throat.”

It takes a few minutes before I am able to return to my
desk and finish the last line on the form. “Current
length,” I type. “12-inches. Desired Length: 9-inches.”

It looks strange, but I type it out anyway. I print out
the results and attach it to a clipboard.

He still sits in the waiting room. I glance over to
check, but try not to look. I want to make sure he didn’t
leave my life, but he still sits waiting.

I try to go back to the billing statements but have a
hard time concentrating. All I can think about is him. I
can’t believe such a good-looking guy and such a big dick
sits so close to me. I feel this tremendous desire to
call all my girlfriends and tell them to quick come over.
I will tell them later, of course, but they won’t believe
me. I also feel a desire to call Bob, my boyfriend. Well,
he’s not my boyfriend any more. We broke up a few months
ago, but I sure would like to use his dick tonight. I
feel a tremendous desire to call him over to my apartment
and ask him to screw my brains out. I’m in need of a good
fuck. I have a long session planned with my dildo this
evening. I wish I had it with me right now.

“Goodnight Dawn,” I hear from behind me. “See you bright
and early Monday morning.”

“Have a good weekend,” I tell Betty, one of the two
nurses. She leaves right at 5:00. The higher paid nurses
get to leave on time and the poor receptionist has to
stay until the work is done, but on this night I do not
mind.

I turn back to my work but only think about his cock. I
type $112.12 into the spreadsheet by mistake. I can’t get
the number 12 out of my mind.

I pause to think about how long it must be when flaccid.
A 12-inch hard-on must translate into something like a 6
or 9-inch softy. I mean, the thing must extend a third
way down to his knees!

I pause again to think about its girth. I wonder how wide
it must be. A long cock logically requires a wide
support, or so I would think. I suppose it could be long
and skinny, but probably not. I figure longer cocks must
also be wider cocks.

“She say how long?”

I jump at the words.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jonathan
apologizes. He stands at the open window. “I’m not in any
hurry or anything, but it just looks like you’re closing
up.”

“We close at five, but don’t worry,” I assure him. “The
Doctor will still see you. The nurses are always in a
rush to get out of here on Friday nights.”

“Except you,” He looks at my desk. “You look like a
dedicated nurse who stays all hours.”

I’m tempted to tell him that I am no nurse; just a
receptionist, but I figure it doesn’t matter.

“Somebody’s got to get the work done,” I tell him.
“Besides, I don’t have any real plans for tonight
anyway.” I contemplate the plans I have for my dildo
right after I say this.

“Alone on a Friday night,” He consoles me. “I figure a
cute little thing like you would have a date every night
of the week.”

I think I blush with embarrassment at the compliment,
especially considering the source. I can’t believe I’m
doing this, having a conversation with a handsome stud
with a 12-inch dick – or at least that’s according to
him. I have a disturbing thought: How do I know he isn’t
exaggerating? I mean, every guy likes to exaggerate about
his size. I don’t think many would take the time and
trouble to go to a doctor and risk embarrassment just to
exaggerate his size, but you never know. In Jonathan’s
case, I think he tells the truth. Besides, even if he
exaggerates by only 1 or 2 inches like most guys do, he’s
still plenty long.”

“You can always come over to the club later,” He
suggests.

I think I blush even more. “Sorry, but I’m not into that
sort of thing.”

He laughs. “That’s what they all say, but every girl
enjoys a good strip show.” He pauses and then adds. “At
least after they get a look at me.”

I believe him!

“You ever been to a male strip joint?” He asks.

I shrug my shoulders. “Sort of.”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of?'”

“I’ve never been to a club,” I explain. “But I’ve seen
male strippers before, like at bachlorette parties, you
know?”

“Boy do I know!” He rolls his eyes. “I used to do those
things myself, but not any more. Too dangerous with all
those drunk and horny woman around. They get one look at
me and… Well, they nearly raped me a few times!”

A shiver goes through my body as I think about this. I
wonder how “nearly” they got. I wouldn’t mind raping him
myself.

“Sorry if this embarrasses you,” He must notice my
reaction. “Maybe I should just go back and sit down.”

“No,” I don’t want him to leave. “I was just thinking
back to the bachlorette party.” I lie. I find myself
actually enjoying our conversation and want him stay, and
it’s not just because of his long dong – at least I don’t
think so. I think it’s because I’m getting used to him.
He’s a good conversationalist. He actually seems to be an
intelligent, nice guy – or maybe it is just because of
his long dong.

“I suppose a Nurse doesn’t need to go to strip joints,”
He thankfully decides to stay. “You see nudity all the
time in the office.”

I laugh. “I suppose that could be part of it.” I notice
he again mistakes me for a nurse, but again, I don’t
bother to correct him.

“Sort of like a male gynecologist going to a strip
joint,” He comments. “The guy probably gets sick of
looking at it after a while.

I laugh some more. He’s actually quite funny.

“That might be true,” I decide to tell him about me not
being a nurse. “But I should probably tell you that I’m
not…”

Doctor Polichvich cuts me off in mid-sentence.

“Mrs. Alvery is done,” I hear the Doctor behind me. I
never heard her approach. I wonder how much of our
conversation she overheard, and I especially wonder if
she heard the part about me being a nurse.

“She’s getting dressed right now and will be out in a
minute.”

Susan hands me the clipboard and chart, which I take to
be filed. Meanwhile, Jonathan backs away and now sits
down.

“That him?” She takes a quick glance out the window.

“Sure is!” I tell her.

“Very nice,” She takes an interest. “Very nice indeed.
And did you ask him?”

I know exactly what she wants to know.

“Under the comments section,” I hand her his chart; the
chart I printed out earlier.

“Really!” She takes one look at the paper and then
another look back out to the waiting room.

“At least that’s what he said.”

“No wonder you were talking to him. Got a date yet?”

I grow red with embarrassment.

Susan smiles and then proceeds to call him in. “Mr.
Demetres,” She opens the door to the waiting room and
speaks to the patient directly. She never does this with
any of her regular patients. “I am ready to see you now,
if you would like to come in?”

“Thank you very much,” I notice Doctor Polichvich even
holds the door open for him. “I hope this isn’t too much
of a bother for you. Martha already told me that you
usually close at five.”

“No problem at all,” She winks at me. “My only problem is
that the other two nurses need to leave at 5:00, so I
will require Nurse Martha to assist me.”

She winks at me behind his back, so he doesn’t see. I
distinctly notice her use of the title “Nurse.”
Obviously, she overheard our conversation. I don’t know
what to do.

“Go with Jonathan into Exam Two,” Susan comes to my
rescue. “Show him the room. I will join you in a minute,
just as soon as I show Mrs. Alvery to the door.”

I automatically get up. I still don’t know what to do,
but I know how to follow orders.

“This way,” I walk past him to open the door to the
second examination room. Normally, this is as far as I
go. I lead patients to the room and then allow the nurses
take over. But for this patient…

“She seems kind-of strict,” Jonathan comments as I follow
him inside. “Must be difficult to work for.”

“Not really,” I defend the doctor. “Actually, she’s quite
nice after you get to know her.”

We talk for the few minutes it takes for Susan to finish
up with Mrs. Alvery. She seems to be taking an abnormally
long time, but I don’t mind. I like talking to Jonathan.
Besides, it gives me the opportunity to take the
occasional glance at his crotch. It looks more swollen
than most men, but it’s hard to tell.

He sits down on the examination table. I remain standing
and try to look busy by going through some of the
overhead cabinets. I have no idea what I’m doing. I just
try to make it look like I am a nurse doing a routine
check to make sure everything is in its proper place.

“I’m a little nervous,” He admits. “I don’t know what to
expect. I’ve never been to a woman doctor before.”

“That shouldn’t make any difference,” I tell him, feeling
a little nervous myself. “A doctor is a doctor.”

“I know,” He agrees. “I guess I’m just a little worried
she might want to examine me and ask me to undress.”

I hope she does, but I keep the thought to myself. “I
assume she just wants to talk to you.”

“That’s what I figured,” This seems to relieve him. “But
then why did she ask you to join us?”

I turn to face him. “Actually,” I decide to be honest.
“That’s a good question. I’ve been wondering the same
thing myself.”

Just then, Susan enters.

“I forgot to introduce myself earlier,” She holds out her
hand. “I’m Doctor Polichvich and I understand you are
Jonathan Demetres.”

They shake.

“I hope you don’t mind if Nurse Martha joins us,” She
glances at me. “She’s new and you are an usual case.
I hope I can use this as a teaching opportunity.”

“Not at all,” Jonathan accepts. “I was just telling
Martha that I’m a bit nervous. I think it might actually
calm me down if she stays.”

He smiles at me.

I try to smile back.

“Now there’s absolutely nothing to be nervous about,”
Susan wheels out a short stool. She sits and wheels it
over closer to him. “Now, I understand you want to
enquire about penis reduction surgery.”

“Does such a thing even exist?” He quickly asks.

“Of course,” Susan answers. “You ever hear of sex change
operations? They can make it shorter or even take it
completely off if you want.”

Jonathan laughs. “Oh no! I don’t want to go that far!”

Susan laughs along with him. “I didn’t think so, but I
must warn you that the operation is very rare. And the
more rare the operation, the more risk it entails. No
operation is completely risk free, and there’s always
some danger.”

Jonathan nods.

“And it is also expensive and only a few doctors are
capable of performing such an operation,” She goes on. “I
can give you some names and references, but first I’d
like to ask some question. I’d like to know exactly why
you want this surgery? I mean most men would do most
anything to get it lengthened.”

“Lots of reasons,” He quickly answers. “I suspect it’s
not much different than a woman blessed with big boobs.
It’s very desirable at first, but as I’ve gotten
older…”

I notice him glance at me as he says this. I wonder if it
is a random glance or if he notices my big chest. In
either case, I know exactly what he means.

“Basically, let me just say that mine is a little too
big,” He goes on. “It’s gotten me a lot of attention over
the years. It certainly brings in big tips at the club,
especially when you’re the star attraction,” He speaks
proudly. “But I think I’m ready for something a little
shorter.”

“Exactly how short?”

“Well,” Jonathan thinks. “The way I figure it, most women
are accustomed to 6-inch cocks and they think 7 or 8-
inches is a lucky catch, so I figure 9 would be just
about right.”

Susan thinks about it too. “That’s logical. What do you
say Martha?”

I think my heart skips a beat at the sound of my name. So
far I’ve been a passive observer; observing mostly his
crotch. I realize Susan wants me to express my opinion.
“Um, yea, I guess so,” I answer shyly. I feel embarrassed
at having to give my opinion on male cock size.

“And there’s a second reason why I would like it
shortened too,” Jonathan rescues me – but only
temporarily. “This is a little more personal, but I want
it for better sex.”

“Better sex?” Susan sits up. “Why do you say that?”

“Because some women can’t take 12-inches,” He explains.

I think I gasp. Luckily he doesn’t hear me – or maybe he
ignores me.

“Most women can, but it’s difficult,” He continues
without a pause. “It’s a tight fit and I always hit
virgin territory, but most of them can take all of it
just fine.”

The mention of virgin territory sends a shiver up my
spine.

“But the point is that some can’t. Sometimes I’m too
wide. I just can’t open their cunts far enough to
accommodate my size. And sometimes I hurt them because I
go in too deep. Their twats just aren’t deep enough. It
usually happens to the short or the petite ones, you
know, girls sort-of like Martha.”

I gasp at the sound of my name, and then I gasp again at
what he just said about girls like me. I realize my heart
again races, just like it did back in my office when he
first told me his size.

“Excuse my language,” He apologizes. “Maybe I shouldn’t
use the words ‘cunt’ and ‘twat’.”

“That’s perfectly all right,” Susan accepts. “It’s not
exactly the correct medical terminology, but you are in a
Doctor’s office. Use whatever you are comfortable with.”

He nods.

“So what you’re saying,” Susan summarizes. “Is that if
you were suddenly given the opportunity, for example, to
have sex with Martha right now, you may not be able
because of your tremendous size.”

“That’s about right,” He looks at me and nods again. “Her
cunt might be too tight to penetrate or her twat too
shallow for me to screw in my full length.”

I step back to the wall in defense of myself.

“And what makes it especially frustrating,” He continues.
“…Is that I often find myself attracted to shorter
girls. I would really like to get to know someone like
Martha a lot better, but when you’re unable to have sex
it can be a little difficult on the relationship.”

I am about ready to fall over and faint. A cold sweat
hits me in the face. My heart races like I have just run
a mile.

“Your reasoning sounds very logical,” Susan stands up
from her chair. “I can tell you’ve thought a lot about
this.”

“I have!” He agrees.

“Then let’s go on to the second part of the examination,”
She nods. “It just so happens that I’ve had some training
in this area back in medical school. Although I’ve never
performed the operation and I am not qualified to do so,
I would like to take a look for myself to make sure there
aren’t any redeeming features that might prevent you from
having this operation. The nearest facility I am aware of
is in Chicago, and I would hate to send you all the way
to Chicago for nothing.”

He nods. “Sounds reasonable.”

“So if you don’t mind getting undressed and giving your
clothing to Martha,” She smiles at me. “And Martha, if
you could stay with Jonathan and get me when he is
ready.”

I stand in a complete state of shock. Did I hear her
right? Am I imagining things? I feel as though I am in a
dream. According to Susan, I am supposed to stay in the
room while he undresses. I can’t believe this is
happening.

Before I can object, Susan leaves and Jonathan begins to
undress. He starts with his shirt.

“You were right,” He tells me. “She is very nice.”

I realize he refers to Susan, but I quickly forget about
Susan. He takes off his shirt and hands it to me. I am
awestruck. The guy is a complete hunk. His chest looks
hard as a rock. His arms are about as wide as my calves.
He’s got muscle all over. I picture him as one of those
shirtless construction workers spending all day running a
jackhammer.

My head tells me to leave. This doesn’t seem right. I
should not be in the room with a patient when he
undresses, especially a male patient and especially
considering I’m not even a nurse! But another part of me
refuses to go. I know what part speaks loudest. I start
to feel it in my cunt – my tight cunt, if I am to believe
Jonathan.

He removes his shoes and socks next, and then he starts
unbuckling his pants. I accept each item after he removes
it, first holding his shoes in my hands and then
extending my arms so he can deposit his clothing like a
worshipping subject to his queen.

“Where did you work before you worked here?” He attempts
idle conversation.

“A dentist office,” I can hardly speak as I watch his
zipper lower and his slacks split in two.

“I didn’t know that dentists hired nurses,” He says in
surprise. “I thought they used dental hygienists.”

I remember my cover and the lie I told him about being a
nurse. Well, actually, I never did lie to him at all – at
least not yet, but I’m about to. As he pulls down his
pants and displays the sexiest set of black bikini briefs
I have ever seen, I can’t help it. The large bulge in the
center of his briefs forces me.

“Most are, some not,” I lie. “Some dentists like to keep
at least one regular nurse in the office just in case
something unusual…”

I can’t speak. He uncovers it. It hangs down further than
my last boyfriend’s pointed up. The thing looks to be at
least 8-inches long, and it’s still flaccid! I am in dick
heaven. I realize Jonathan didn’t exaggerate. He’s hung
like a horse!

“That makes sense,” He replies as though nothing is out
of the ordinary. “I guess you never know when someone in
the Dentist office might have an allergic reaction or a
heart attack or something.”

“…Or something,” I speak drearily.

He places his black briefs on top of the rest of the
clothing I hold in my hands.

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