textfiles/sex/EROTICA/P/physical.txt

Copyright © 1997 Amy and Larry,  ALL Rights Reserved

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author.  This story may be freely
distributed with this notice attached.  The author may be contacted
through mrdouble@airmail.net.


Brought to Mr Double by Krieg Lite <critic@anon.nymserver.com>.








A manuscript of this story was found in a bottle floating in the
Atlantic off the coast of Newfoundland.  It was transcribed verbatim as
follows:

This story contains an account of sexual play between an adult human
male and multiple teenage females and is intended for mature audiences.
Others should skip to the next posting in the news group. Anyone reading
this document while legally underage will be sent to timeout to the full
extent of the law. So there. All standard disclaimers apply.

This is a rewrite of an original story by Amy.
It is being posted here in this form with her permission

--------------------------------------------------

The Physicals 
by Amy and Larry

    It had been a long, tough, frustrating job, but I had wrapped it
up ahead of schedule and under budget, with a tidy little bonus in my
pocket to show for it. It was time for a quiet little evening of getting
pleasantly sloshed and listening to some bar music, and I was breaking
in a new place. An acquaintance had suggested that I might find Harry's
Place to my liking, and so far her suggestion was pretty well on target.
It was small, dark, with three guys splitting duties on bass, guitar,
piano, drums and sax, and a generally appreciative crowd. The secondary
smoke worriers would have collapsed within seconds of walking in the
place, but I thought it had atmosphere. The bartender had earned himself
an early tip by asking the right question when I sat at the end of the
bar and ordered a martini. Or rather by not asking the wrong question.
His winning line was "Olive or twist?" which was ok. If he had hit me
with the ugly "Vodka or gin?" I would have changed my order to a Wild
Turkey and water. A martini is a drink; a vodka martini is a different
drink. A bartender that doesn't understand that simple little basic
can't be trusted to make either.

    I had actually been one of the early arrivals, hitting the seat
before eight thirty, but the place started filling up pretty quickly.
Besides the groups at the tiny tables, there was a couple sitting at the
opposite end of the bar from me, and a guy sitting between us with a
couple of stools between him and me. As the martinis started to gain
momentum the guy and I struck up an off-and-on conversation. Turned out
he was a doctor. I thought when he confessed to it, that I was glad that
he wasn't my doctor. The idea of a guy I'm trusting with my bod sitting
in a gin mill getting plastered wasn't appealing. Then I happened to
think that my doctor could well be doing the same thing in a bar
somewhere else while we talked and I'd never know about it. That thought
somehow struck me as funny, and put me in an even better mood. My new
buddy's mood, though,  kept getting worse as the night went on. As his
words became more slurred they also became more frequent. Turned out his
problem was the usual one: sex. "I just can't get my wife to fuck the
way I want her to," he confided tactfully.

    "But Doc," I said, "in your job you see naked women all the
time. Doesn't that turn you on and make it better?" He shook his head
violently back and forth in denial. Seems his wife was a lovely girl who
thought sex was a wonderful thing as long as conditions were just right,
which would sometimes happen as much as twice a year. He said that in
fact he did have a lot of beautiful patients. Beautiful, sensuous
patients. Beautiful, sensuous, wonderful patients who turned him on no
end. Who turned him on no end, then sent him home to his wife who turned
him on even more, but wouldn't give any up. Which was why he was sitting
here packing in the JD Black.

    "And you know," he went on, "I contribute to the community, and
I get screwed there, too. I mean I don't get screwed there, too. Well,
you know what I mean. Like tomorrow. You know what I'm going to be doing
tomorrow? I, John R. Martin, MD, am going to be giving physical exams to
a group of high school students. And you know what that group is? A
bunch of cheerleaders. That's right. You got it. The junior varsity
cheerleaders over in some noname high school over in Westchester have to
have physicals before they can show their twats to their horny fans. And
I, John R. Martin, MD, have been selected to perform that onerous task.
And after a full day of lusting over teenage ass, I'm going to go home
and my lovely wife is going to shoot me down cold."

    I sat there trying to count how many martinis I had had, and figure
whether there was some magic number of martinis that would put the kind
of ideas in my head that I was getting. Finally, I said the hell with
it. "Doc, we just might be able to do a little business."

    He looked confused, but interested. Then he said warily, "What
kind of business is it that you think we might be able to do?" He looked
proud of himself for getting that sentence out without stumbling.

    "If you had the opportunity to pick a woman to spend a little
time with, say a day or two, what would be your dearest dream?" I felt a
little proud myself to get that one out, to tell the truth.

    "I like blonds. Angie's a blond. Angie's my wife, you know.
She's blond. And sophisticated, you know. I mean I like sophisticated,
not that Angie's sophisticated. Well, she is a little I guess, but I
think mainly she's just stuck up. And hard-bodied. I mean I like
hard-bodied, not that Angie's hard-bodied, but she is. God is she. She
works out and plays tennis and shit, and she has a build. Wish I could
use it a little. Anyway, what do you have in mind?" I think that it was
starting to dawn on him what I had in mind.

    "Well, Doc, I've got some friends who might be able to take care
of you tonight, and tomorrow for that matter. If you had to, could you
convince your wife you might not be able to make it home for a couple of
days?" I was watching his eyes, and I was pretty sure I had him.

    "Hell, yes, I can. She wouldn't give a shit, anyway." I could
see the wheels turning, and they were starting to hum nicely.

    "Tell you what. Let me call a couple of friends, and if I can
find somebody to take care of you, I'll do the physicals for you
tomorrow."

    He broke into a broad grin. "Yeah, I bet you would. Really think
you could pull it off?"

    "Yeah, I think I can." Really, I thought I could. I'd done similar
things before, and anyway, it was worth a shot. "You game?"

    "Hell, yes! Why not? Make your damn calls. Let's go for it."

    I called the bartender over and asked if I could use the phone.
He reached beneath the bar and pulled out a phone and plunked it down.
"Local only, ok?"

    It was local. I dialed a number from memory. I didn't know what
the doc thought of that, if anything, but I had a memory for numbers I
could use for party tricks. A familiar voice answered. "Hey, Holly.
Jerry Cohen. You gonna be free for tonight and tomorrow?"

    "This for you or for a friend, Jer?"

    "For a friend this time, Holly. Nice guy. On me."

    "I'd like to, Jer. Really I would, but I'm kinda tied up tonight.
Maybe tomorrow?"

    "Nah, Holly. Gotta be tonight. Don't worry about it. I'll catch
ya later, ok?"

    "Sure, Jer. Great talkin' to ya. Really. Don't be a stranger,
ok?"

    "Hey! You know me! I'll be around." I made a kissing sound in
the mouthpiece, pressed the button, waited for another dial tone and
pushed numbers  again. The phone rang several times this time before I
heard another familiar voice.

    "Hello, Terri. This is Nick Conti. How have you been?" I saw
some wrinkles start to appear in the brow of Dr. John R. Martin.

    "Nicky!!! God, where have you been?"

    "You know me, Terri. Listen, I got a favor to ask. A friend of
mine is looking for a date for tonight and tomorrow. Think you could
help him out?"

    " 'Speak for yourself, John'...Yeah, sure, hon. You know you can
always count on me if I'm free. You gonna bring him by or want me to
pick him up."

    I glanced over at the doc, made a quick assessment of his driving
ability and put my hand over the phone. "You're not planning on going
anywhere special tonight, are you? Why don't we have Terri pick you up
and she can bring you back to get your car whenever you're ready."

    He looked at me curiously and said, "What did you say your name
was?" I reached in my pocket and flipped him my card, the one that said
Edward A. Miller, Attorney. As he tried to focus on it, I turned back to
the phone and told Terri where we were.

    She said that we should meet her out front since she would never
be able to find a parking place, and I agreed. She asked if half an hour
was ok, and I said it was. If it was anybody but Terri I would have said
that there was no way she would make it in half an hour, but this was
Terri.

    The doc looked up at me, then back at the card. "You're a lawyer?" I
could see the wheels turning in a different direction.

    "Yeah, but not that kind of lawyer," I answered, and winked.

    He giggled conspiratorially and pitched the card back to me. "Honor
among thieves," he said profoundly. I had no idea what he meant, and I
doubt if he did either, but as long as he was happy I was happy. He slid
over to the stool next to me and pulled out a note pad. "Here's what you
have to do tomorrow." As he talked, he made notes, and his handwriting
was legible enough that I began to doubt that he was a real doctor. But
maybe it was just because he was drunk. He went into great detail about
the procedures for the exams, and I had to admit that it looked like he
really wanted me to do a good job. I was beginning to respect the guy a
little more, but then I decided that I was just drunk, too. I glanced at
my watch and motioned toward the door. He tore off the pages from his
notebook, folded them over, and stuffed them in my shirt pocket.

    "One thing, John," I said. "This is on me, but feel free to tip
if you think you want to. Terri won't mind either way." He nodded
carefully.

    We stood up and walked to the door silently. As we stepped outside,
a powder blue Bimmer pulled up and double-parked right in front of the
door. The driver popped open the door and came around the front of the
car to greet us. As she cleared the front fender, John mumbled under his
breath, "Holy Shit!" I grinned. That was a typical reaction to Terri.
She stepped sharply up to us, said "Hi, Nicky," and pulled my head down
and let her lips brush my cheek.

    "Hi, Terri. This is John Martin. John, Terri Anderson." Terri
extended her hand, and John nearly collapsed as he shakily took it in
his.

    "Nice to meet you, John. Have you been waiting long?"

    John earned himself a couple of major points in my eyes when he
replied, "All my life, Terri." Not bad for a drunk. Didn't think he had
it in him. I glanced over at him, and he looked stone-cold sober. Shock
will do that sometimes. Wouldn't last long though.

    Terri laughed musically and asked if John needed to get anything
from his car. He said that as a matter of fact he did, if she didn't
mind waiting. He walked just a couple of parking spots away and opened
the door on a Pontiac. I didn't think doctors drove Pontiacs. You live,
you learn. He fumbled around in the back seat and came back carrying a
black bag and a white lab coat. I saw him drop something in his pocket,
and figured that it was either recreational or resuscitative. What the
hell, he was a doctor. When he came back he handed me the coat and bag
and said, "You'll need these. I'll get them back from you in a day or
two. Just act like you know what you are doing."

    Terri watched the exchange with a strange look in her eye, then
shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and whispered, "Nicky, Nicky,
Nicky...." Then she put her arm through John's, said "Let's party...,"
walked him to her car, stuffed him in the passenger's seat, got in
herself, and drove smoothly away. I walked off to hail a cab, whistling
a happy tune.

    The next morning, I got up early to make the drive to Westchester by
7:30AM, the time the day's activities were to commence. I pulled up in
front of the school, parked my Caddy in a visitor's slot and walked
through the front door, carrying the doc's black bag and wearing a white
lab coat (not the doc's, though). I told the receptionist that I would
like to see the principal and that I would be taking Dr. Martin's place
today, and was more than mildly surprised when she said brightly, "Oh,
yes. Dr. Martin called earlier to explain that you would be filling in
for him, Dr. Miller." Dr. Martin was a surprising guy. I wouldn't have
thought that he would be in any shape to make early phone calls.
Unfortunately I didn't have any cards with the Edward Miller name that
had an "M.D." on them, so I would just have to do without. The
receptionist ushered me into the principal's office and told me that he
would be with me very shortly. And he was.

    The principal was a youngish ruddy guy with thinning red hair
who looked more like a used car salesman than an academic, but then
appearances could be deceiving as I well knew. He made some small talk
about how much they appreciated Dr. Martin, and how much they
appreciated my being willing to come in on such short notice to fill in.
"Can't even get my teachers to do that," he added, and I nodded
understandingly. I told him that I had always been involved in sports in
high school myself and knew how much it meant to the guys, and that I
wouldn't want anybody to miss out on the fun of playing varsity
football, just because a doctor couldn't make a schedule. "Yeah, well.
Doc Martin got the last of the football team last week. 'Fraid you're
gonna have to do the JV cheerleaders this week." He gave me a wink and a
nudge, and I gave him a cold stare. I wondered if maybe he wasn't a used
car salesman after all. When he got my reaction, he was all business. He
picked up a folder from his desk and handed it to me, saying that it had
all of the necessary forms, including the applications the girls had
filled out, then he escorted me down to an office off the gym where the
examinations would take place. He left me there, saying that the girls
would be there at eight o'clock, and walked off. I thought that he was
more than a little envious.

    I opened the folder and started going over the list of girls who
would be getting examined. There were twelve of them in all. As I
started to read the details my erection started to build. Not a good
thing, but unavoidable. I'd just have to keep it in check once the girls
arrived. For the time being I was just going to enjoy the hard-on. Most
of the girls were right around a hundred pounds and from about five even
to five three. Their dental records showed that several of them had
braces, which for some reason sent a little shiver down my spine. They
ranged from fourteen to seventeen, and from Freshman to Junior. The
thought of browsing at will among their naked bodies was getting to me
already. I went over the list, which seemed to be in just the order the
girls had signed up, and had to make a conscious effort not to drool:

    Amy Gallagher, 16
    Ruth Bagby, 17
    Sheri Adams, 15
    Shelly White,14
    Janice Yarber, 15
    Ally Costa, 14
    Jenny Tinsley, 16
    Susan Kane, 16
    Vicki Williams, 16
    Michelle Rowe, 17
    Shawna Thomas, 15
    Elle Michaels, 14

    As I glanced through their files, they seemed a nice enough group.
All very wholesome. All very delicious, too. Delicious and wholesome,
too. Sounded like breakfast cereal.  Made me hungry.

    I quickly glanced over the notes the doc had made for me to confirm
that I knew the agenda. I did. The girls' coach would put them through
some standard stretching and warmup drills, then the tests would begin.
I would check pulse and heartbeat after ten minutes of strenuous
aerobics, then again after a one-mile run. (Timing would be a factor
there, I would have to stagger the girls' start times for the aerobics,
then hope that they didn't cluster up too much during the run.) Once the
preliminaries were out of the way, we would get down to the good stuff.
I would give each girl a very much hands-on physical examination. By the
time I had gone over the notes, I could see the girls gathering in the
gym through the large observation window in the office. I moved back to
the inner office where I would actually do the physicals and checked
over the equipment. It was shabby but serviceable. I went back to the
outer office where I could see and be seen and pretended to look through
their files again. A couple of minutes before eight a fifty-ish woman in
a sweat suit appeared in the gym and began talking to the girls. I
guessed that she was their coach. I guessed wrong.

    I walked out of the office and up to the woman in sweats, stuck
out my hand and said, "Miss Collins?" I figured that doctors didn't have
to bother with petty etiquette rules.

    There was a chorus of giggles from the girls that the woman ignored
as she shook my hand and replied, "No, I'm Laura Jackson, the basketball
coach.  Miss Collins should be here shortly. I just stopped by to chat
with the girls; I keep trying to steal them for my team." There were
more giggles. About this time a door at the far end of the gym opened
and another woman in sweats walked in. If this one was Miss Collins, I
might take up cheerleading myself.

    She glided up to me, thrust out her right hand and said, "I'm
Sue Collins.  You must be Dr. Miller."

    I took her hand, and used all the self-control I could muster to
give it a businesslike shake.  "Yes," I said, "Very nice to meet you." I
had never been more sincere in my life. She was a peaches-and-cream
redhead with emerald green eyes and a tidy body whose perfection
couldn't be masked by the sweat suit. I started to wonder if there
shouldn't be a rule that the coaches had to pass physicals, too. There
was a sly twinkle in her eye that made me think that she knew the effect
she was having on me, and I had the feeling that the lady could probably
handle herself rather well.

    Sue told me that she would take about thirty minutes to let the
girls warm up (I was thinking of her as "Sue" already) and that she
hoped I didn't mind waiting.  "They should have told you to be here at
eight-thirty, and you wouldn't have had to wait," she said in a tone
that told me she had very little use for people who would make such a
mistake.

    "That's all right," I said.  "Really it is.  There's not much I'd be
doing between eight and eight-thirty anyway, you know."

    "Nevertheless. At any rate, you're here now, and you'll have to
wait.  I have to make sure they don't pull anything. Despite what you
might think about cheerleaders, these girls are really athletes, and
good ones at that. I think I have them all in pretty good shape, but
don't try and do anybody any favors by letting them slip through without
meeting standards.  I don't want them getting hurt."

    "I'll show no mercy," I assured her.

    She had taken on a rather serious look during her previous speech,
and she nodded seriously in acknowledgment of my promise.  Then, as
though someone had flipped a switch, she broke into a bright smile, said
"Thanks!", turned to the girls and started whipping them into shape. She
was half drill-sergeant, half animal trainer, and all business.  And she
knew her business, too.

    The girls were in a variety of outfits: some in cutoffs, some in
spandex, some in a mixture, and a couple were even in their uniforms.
Sue may have been trying to get the girls warmed up, but she was
succeeding in warming me up pretty well, too. The young bodies bounced
and vibrated and stretched and sweated and I tried to keep my admiration
concealed as I continued to shuffle through the papers.  Sue called her
charges by name as she led them through their paces, and I started
trying to match the names on my list to the faces on the girls. There
was an absolutely stunning blonde wearing tight black shorts and a black
bikini top who turned out to be the Amy Gallagher at the top of the
list.  She was sixteen according to the chart, but I could have dressed
her up and passed her for twenty-four at any club in town. She appeared
to be the natural leader of the group as well, though technically the
seventeen year old Ruth Bagby was the head cheerleader.  One of the
younger girls, Ally Costa, was wearing an all-spandex outfit that made
her look like she had violet skin; I made a mental note that she would
be the first one in the back room. As the warmups continued, I put the
rest of the girls in order, saving the delicious Amy Gallagher for last
- for dessert, so to speak.

    After half an hour Sue had all of us thoroughly warmed up, and
she called a halt to the exercises, then walked over to turn the girls
over to me. I told her that I would need to stagger the start times for
their aerobics as well as their run so that I would be able to get
readings from each girl as soon as she had finished.  She nodded
understandingly and asked how much time I needed between girls. I told
her that two minutes would be plenty, and handed her the list I had
drawn up with the order I wanted the girls for their examinations. She
glanced at it, then took a closer look, probably trying to figure out
the pattern.  Then she turned back to the girls and announced that she
was going to start them off two minutes apart for the aerobics but would
only do the first seven and after that Ally, who was first on the list,
would take over and start the others since she would be finished by
them. She went on to assign Amy the duty of starting the girls out on
their run, since she would be running last.  Then she turned back to me
and said that she had to leave, and asked me if I would bring the
completed exams by her office when I was finished.  I assured her that I
would, and she motioned to Ally to start her timed exercises.  Two
minutes later she started the next girl, and so on.

    When Ally finished her ten minutes, she came over to me sweating
heavily, but hardly breathing any harder than when she started. 
Something I could not claim for myself. I wrapped the cuff of the
sphygmomanometer tightly around her arm and began pumping it up as I
pressed a stethoscope over her artery.  This was really a job for a
nurse, not a doctor, but as my arm brushed lightly against her breast I
resigned myself to the degradation.  I marked Ally's numbers down on her
chart, thanked her, and waited for the next girl.

    This phase of the exams went smoothly. I had a chance to lay
hands on the girls to size them up, and after they were checked they
went back to some low-intensity exercises on their own to keep from
tightening up before their runs. Talk about a three-ring circus:
watching one group of girls right in front of me giving it their all,
holding a single girl next to me, and watching another group on the
periphery doing free-forms.

    As I wrapped the cuff on Amy Gallagher's arm, I had a feeling
that the other girls were paying a bit more attention than they had
been, but it might have been my imagination.  By that time my attention
was a little frayed, but it was good enough to tell me that Amy looked
every bit as good up close as she did at a distance.  I may have taken a
bit more time on her blood pressure and pulse than was absolutely
necessary. I considered checking her heartbeat, but decided that it
would be unseemly; I would check all of them after the run. As soon as I
finished with Amy, she spun away and told Ally to take the track, and
the girls wandered out the door to begin their runs.  I followed
nonchalantly, carrying the paperwork.

    I was actually glad for the temporary separation from the girls.
 I would have a few minutes until Ally finished her mile, and I spent
the time thinking about the pleasures to come. The girls were flying
around the track, as though they were competing for the best time; I was
almost sorry to see Ally come across the finish line for the fourth time
and head back inside.  Almost, but not quite. I beat her to the door,
but followed her through it. She was panting happily as I checked her
bloodpressure, pulse,  and yes, heartbeat.  So was I, but I hoped not
too obviously. When she turned away to head for the showers I was
tempted to slap her on the bottom just like one of the guys, but I
stopped myself and just imagined the feeling. And thought about the
chance I was going to have very soon to explore that taut little body. 
Kid in a candy store? Nah. Better.  Way better.

    The dozen girls came by in a steady stream at their designated
two minute intervals and I fell into a rhythm. A very pleasurable
rhythm. All the time I was measuring the pulses in that sweaty
girl-flesh, I had visions of them in the showers getting ready for their
exams, and of them coming to me to be examined. All of the girls seemed
happy and excited, and in my professional opinion in very good health.
Of course on the critical health question I was ethically bound to
reserve judgment until the exams had been completed. Until very thorough
exams had been very thoroughly completed. I couldn't wait. Finally the
lovely Amy appeared in front of me, and I deliberately slowed my pace.
Because she was worthy of my full attention of course, but most
importantly to prolong the exquisite agony of waiting to start the final
act. By the time Amy headed for the showers it had been well over half
an hour since Ally had left, and she still wasn't back. Then within a
couple of minutes after Amy disappeared through the door, Ally came back
through with two of the other girls. They had all changed out of their
sweaty exercise clothes into more conventional garb, but they looked
just as good as they had before.  A couple of paces into the room, Ally
broke into a trot toward me and came up to ask brightly "Are you going
to do me first, Dr. Miller?"

    I had to bite my tongue, but confirmed that she was indeed first. I
showed her the screen set up in the outer office where she could change
into the examination gown, and told her that as soon as she was ready to
knock on the door to the inner office where I would be waiting. She
grabbed a gown and headed behind the screen, and I walked into the inner
office to prepare myself for the ordeal. In only a few seconds, there
was a knock on the door and when I opened it, Ally bounded in, bare feet
making slapping sounds against the tile floor, hopped up on the table
and sat down. She was wearing her bra and panties under the gown.

    "You are Ally Costa, right?" I asked.  She admitted it. "And you're
fourteen, right?"

    "Yes, but I'll be fifteen in November, so I'm okay for cheerleader
as long as I'm fifteen before December, you know."

    "Cool," I said. "How long have you been wearing braces?"

    "Over a year!" She grimaced.

    "Hey, that's all right. They're kind of cute, you know."

    "Cute!? Yuk! I can't wait to get rid of them. They're a pain."

    "Well, I think they look good on you. Don't be in too much of a
hurry." She grinned, and flashed her braces. "You looked pretty good out
there, Ally. How long have you been working on your moves?"

    "A long time. I used to want to be a gymnast, but I think
cheerleading is more fun."

    "You mean there are more guys on the football team than on the
gym team, right?"

    She flashed another grin. "Yeah."

    "Well, Ally. Let's make sure you're in shape to make the team.
Ready to go?"

    "Yep!"

    "You're going to have to remove your bra and panties, you know.
I understand that you might be a little shy, but we want you to make the
team."

    "Oh, yeah! I forgot!", she said, and slipped her panties down
and dropped them on the floor, dropped the gown to her waist, took off
her bra and dropped it on top of her panties, then pulled the gown back
up.  She forgot? John R. Martin, you old reprobate!

    "Good.  Let's get started. Scoot up a little and lie down so
that your heels are on the table." She followed instructions well.  I
pulled the gown up and felt her thighs. "Seems like pretty good muscle
tone, Ally. Ever get cramps?" She shook her head. "Not after working
out, or maybe sometimes at night?" She again denied it. "OK. Let's lose
this gown. It's going to be in the way for the rest of the exam." She
showed her braces again, crossed her arms in front of her and pulled the
gown off and pitched it at a chair. Now she was lying on her back on the
table, completely naked. The room was cool, and she had some obvious
goose bumps. Her breasts were small, and sported delicate little nipples
which stood proudly erect from the cool air. As the man in charge, I
decided that I would blame arousal rather then the air for her erect
nipples. She had very thin, light pubic hair, but even so it appeared
that she had trimmed it, probably for a summer bikini and now just from
habit. Her labia were very pink and showed no signs of excessive wear
and tear. The exam was off to a good start, but now it was time to get
down to business.

    "I'm going to check your breasts now, Ally. Tell me if you
experience any discomfort." She nodded okay, and I let my hands cover
her breasts with her erect nipples pressing lightly into my palms. "Does
that hurt?" She shook her head. I began massaging her breasts, squeezing
them gently with my fingers and rotating my palms across her nipples.
"Any discomfort there?" She shook her head again, but her lips were
pressed tightly together. Her nipples were getting harder. "You have
nice firm breasts, Ally. As long as you wear a properly fitted bra, you
shouldn't have any problem during your routines. Have you ever had any
problem with pain in your breasts after one of your workouts?" Again she
shook her head, and this time a smothered "No" escaped from between
clenched teeth. "That's good, and what I would expect. If you continue
to take good care of them, you'll have beautiful breasts for a long
time." I continued to work them with my fingers as I talked, and now I
was letting my thumbs flick lightly back and forth across her nipples as
I massaged them. She was lying back now with her eyes closed, breathing
heavily. For a couple of minutes I was silent, but continued to tease
her breasts, gradually slowing down until my hands were still and back
as they started, covering them. "Now I need for you to spread your legs
so I can check your privates, Ally." She immediately opened her legs
without a word to give me access, and I could see that her labia were
now glistening with moisture. I slid one hand down and began to gently
caress her belly, and ran the fingers of the other idly through her
silky pubes.

    "I'm going to have to ask you some personal questions now, Ally.
I need the answers for my evaluation, but they won't be in the report
and neither your parents nor your coach will have access to them."

    She still had her head thrust back hard against the table with
her eyes tightly closed, but she opened her mouth to say "OK" in a husky
voice.

    "Are you a virgin, Ally?"

    She nodded a couple of times and then said, "Yes."

    "Have you ever masturbated before?"

    She came back a little quicker than I expected with "Uh-huh, a
couple of times."

    As I was asking my questions, my fingertip was working up and
down on the outside of her crack, spreading the moisture which was now
flowing freely. "Do you manipulate your breasts as you do it, or just
your pussy? Excuse me, your privates?"

    "Both." She now appeared to be in somewhat greater difficulty.

    "Tell me how you do it, Ally. I need to make sure that you're
doing it right so that you don't hurt yourself."

    In a voice that seemed to come from a great distance, she began
to speak in fragments. She said that sometimes at night after she had
gone to bed she would slip out of her pajamas and lie naked between the
sheets. She would massage her breasts until her nipples were hard, then
roll them between her fingers and pull on them. She would feel herself
getting wet and move one hand down to her pussy (her term) and rub it
while she kept playing with her nipples with the other. "Do you ever put
your finger inside?" I asked.

    "Uh-huh. Sometimes. Most of the time. My friends say that's ok.
It's ok, isn't it?"

    "Sure it's okay. That's as normal as can be. Does it feel better
when you do that?"

    "Uh-huh."

    "Do you ever put more than one finger inside?"

    "No."

    "Why not?"

    "I'm afraid to. Even with one finger it feels tight." For the
first time in a long time she smiled and giggled. "Good, but tight." I
chuckled in appreciation of her humor.

    "Has anyone else ever put a finger in you?"

    She hesitated a second, then said, "Yeah, once."

    "Did that feel good?"

    "Oh, yes! But I didn't do it again, anyway."

    "Has anyone ever put his mouth on your pussy?"

    There was a much longer hesitation, then "Yes, but it wasn't 'his',
it was 'her'. And the finger was a girl, too. Does that mean I'm gay? I
really like boys, but once my friend and I were talking about what we do
to feel good, and we were like showing each other, and she was just
showing me stuff, and..." She began speaking more slowly and haltingly.

    I chuckled again. "Nope. Once again perfectly normal, Ally. Happens
all the time. After all, playing is fun, and it can be a lot safer to
play with girls than boys."

    She thought about that a second, then giggled again. "Yeah, I
guess so, but all the same I don't think I'll do it again with a girl.
God, you know I'm just as wet now as then, anyway."

    "That's the way it's supposed to work, Ally. When you get older
that will make it easier for a penis to slide inside. Mother Nature has
it all planned out. And it works out well for now, too, because I want
to check inside you, and that will make it much easier." I had the
proper tools for the job in the bag, but I figured that I had fingers
for a reason, so with that I bent over until I was staring right at her
pussy, then gently pulled it open with my fingers and began to make a
show of carefully looking inside. "When your friend was giving you a
little mouth action did she do anything with your clitoris, or just lick
you a little?"

    "I don't think she touched my clit...I don't remember for sure,
but I don't think she did."

    "Then she didn't, Ally. If she had, you would have remembered
it. What I've been doing so far feels pretty good, doesn't it?"

    She grinned again, "Oh, yeah..."

    "Well, I haven't touched your clit yet..." With that, I let my
finger slide up to 'the little man in the boat' and began circling
around and around. Ally gave a sharp gasp of surprise and her hips
jumped. "Feel good?" She just moaned in response. I moved my thumb up to
massage her clit, and let my middle finger slide into her up to the
first knuckle. She clamped down on it and began to pulsate. I inserted
my forefinger alongside the other and began to work both fingers deeper
into her. She was writhing back and forth on the table, humping my hand
and driving up into me, moaning voicelessly. "If I kept this up, you
would probably have an orgasm," I said casually. I kept working her clit
for another few seconds, then said, "But I'm here to certify your
condition, not to fingerfuck you, so I'd better stop and finish this
up."

    "No! Please don't stop...  That feels really good.  Don't stop
yet...ok? Just a little more..."

    "Well, I suppose just a little more wouldn't hurt." Her pussy
was beginning to tighten even more, and to squeeze my fingers
rhythmically.

    "I feel funny.... Light... Far away... Oh, God! Something's
happening to me!"

    "I think you're probably having an orgasm, Ally...  Just relax
and enjoy it."

    "Don't stop!  My God!! Don't stop" She was speaking through clenched
teeth now.  She suddenly reached beneath her head and yanked the flat
pillow around and bit into it hard.  She continued to shout and moan,
but now into the pillow to muffle the sound. Then suddenly she shuddered
and relaxed.  She trembled for a few seconds, then gave another mighty
shudder and relaxed again. She pulled the pillow from her mouth, sucked
in a couple of deep breaths, sighed, and asked, "Orgasm?"

    "Yep. I believe it was, Ally. But you'll experience much better
ones as you get older and learn more. And let's face it: fingers are no
substitute for a penis." I smiled smugly.

    "Well, anyway.  You're even better than Janice."

    I mentally went back over the list. "Janice Yarber?" I thought
maybe I'd get the other side of the story later.

    "No, silly! She's another cheerleader. This is a different Janice
altogether. You don't know her. But you are better than she is. Better
than Dr. Martin, too. All he does is talk."

    John R. Martin, you cowardly old reprobate! Perhaps that was unfair,
maybe he was a principled old reprobate. But I'd vote for cowardly. But
he was still my guy.  He got me the job, after all.

    Ally continued to chatter incessantly, but purely out of good
feeling. I assured her that not only had she passed her physical and
qualified to be a cheerleader, but that she was a remarkably attractive
and healthy young lady who had just experienced an orgasm while
retaining an intact hymen and remaining a technical virgin. I put the
examination gown back on her, patted her on the back, and gently moved
her out the door as I asked her to have the next girl come in when she
was ready.

    One down, eleven to go.











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