It was a glorious Northeastern autumn day; the sky was a clear blue with only wisps of cloud for decoration, the air was crisp and the breeze ruffled the leaves in their riot of reds and golds.  All of the shops were selling pumpkin spice everything.  It would have been a perfect day to go for a walk around town, get a coffee, and stroll through the woods sipping it slowly.

It was not a perfect day.  I was thirteen, in the back of my mom’s car, being driven to a doctor’s appointment.  Not even an appointment with my usual doctor, who had treated me since I was a baby, could make me laugh with his terrible jokes even if I was ill, and still always gave me a lollipop from the big jar on his desk regardless of the fact that I was a teenager.  That would have been enough of a downer on a day like this.  But I was ‘a woman’ now – at least according to my mother, my monthly cycles were stubbornly refusing to be regularly monthly or particularly cyclical, and that meant I was off to my first appointment with my mom’s gynaecologist. Now to be my gynaecologist as well, my mom had decided.   

My mom pulled into the parking outside the clinic, and I sulkily climbed out the car.  My mom lowered her window.  “OK, hon! I’m going to go do some stuff in town.  Text me if you want a ride home – I’ll be free to pick you up at five. If you’re done here before that, there’s some shops nearby, or you can get a cab home.”

“You… you’re not coming in with me?”  I honestly wasn’t sure whether I was horrified or relieved.

“Oh, no, dear.  You’ll be fine!  Doctor Hanssen’s lovely. Bye!”  And before I could say anything else, the rising window cut her off from me, and she was peeling out of the car-park.

“...Thanks, mom.”  I flipped the capacious hood of my hoodie up over my head, pulled it down to shade my eyes, stuck my hands in my pockets and slouched into the clinic, and up to the reception desk.  

The receptionist briefly glanced up at me from her computer, “Good afternoon…,” she paused and looked at me more intently, “Um… miss?”  

I couldn’t really fault the faint uncertainty: rail-thin in a baggy hoodie, I might have been a lost teenage boy.  “Uh – hi.  H Watson. I’ve got a three-thirty appointment with Dr Hanssen?”

A rattle of keys. “OK! Got you here.  Have a seat, Miss Watson.  Dr Hanssen’s in room 3, we’ll call you when she’s ready.”

I sat down and stared intently at my phone, not for any particular utility but just to give me something to think about other than where I was.  I was the youngest person in the waiting room by a decade or more, and everyone around me seemed to be not just female but overflowing with femininity.  The mix of different perfumes made me want to sneeze… but I wrestled it down; I felt awkward enough without drawing unnecessary attention.

All too soon, I heard my name called, and I made my way to the consulting room with, I imagined, much the same demeanour as the condemned making their way to the gallows.   I pushed open the door to room 3, and a warm contralto called to me, “Come in, have a seat.”  I stepped into the office.  Dr Hanssen was a generously curvaceous polar bear woman, sat by a desk.  Her office was painted in sea-tones of blue and green, and most of one wall was taken up by a picture of an arctic landscape.  It was all very soothing and I started to relax, before glancing left, where sat The Chair, and the knot of tension in the pit of my stomach immediately returned.   I hastily sat in one of the regular seats and tried to focus on Dr Hanssen.

“Well,” she said, looking me up and down, “You’re definitely Tiffany’s child.”  Much as I might have wished otherwise, I couldn’t deny the family resemblance. “That given, I know the name on your paperwork, but is there anything you’d rather be called?”

“Um, you can call me ‘Hickory’, please.  But don’t tell my mom… she hates it.”
“Hickory.”  I liked the way my name sounded when she said it, warm and maternal. Even my official name never sounded like that when my mom spoke.  “And don’t worry, unless its something that she has to know to make sure you get the right treatment, anything we say in here is just between you and me.  So, you can be honest without worrying about it getting back to her.”

I sat up straighter and my shoulders relaxed a bit; I hadn’t realised I’d been hunching them. “Okay, thanks.”

“Now, your mom did fill out some paperwork for you when she made the appointment, but I’m going to check some of the details, alright?”  I made an affirmative noise, and she tapped at the computer on her desk.  “You’re here because your periods are irregular?”  I nodded.  “When was your menarche?”  I paused, uncertain, and she clarified, “Your first period.”   

“About 15 months back. Not long before my twelfth birthday.”  

“Hmm. Alright.  Have you kept a record of when you’ve had them since?”

“Yeah, my mom said it would be a good idea.”  I pulled a folded piece of paper out of my pockets, smoothed it out and passed it over.   Dr Hanssen perused the list of dates, and looked up at me.  “Well, it’s pretty normal for your cycles to be irregular for the first few years, and I’m not seeing anything drastically off what I’d expect here.  If it hasn’t settled by the time you’re fifteen, then I’d start to be concerned.”

“Great, so I can go?”  I gripped the arms of the chair, preparing to launch myself out of the office enthusiastically.

“Not so fast, Hickory.”  Her tone was firm, but a smile danced in the corners of her eyes.  I groaned and sat back into the chair.  “You’re of a good age for your first gynae check-up anyway, and since I’ve managed to get you into my office, it would be remiss of me to let you go without doing one.”  I sighed but nodded my assent.

She checked a few other details, and then a question I’d been dreading, “Are you sexually active? Your mom’s put ‘no’… ?”  She let the question hang in the air.

I blushed fiercely, my ears flushing red,  “I, uh… no. Um, yes?  Er… I am.  Sexually active. Not… like recently!  I mean… Argh.  I’ve had sex!”  I snuck a glance at the doctor.  She didn’t seem cross, but was giving me an appraising stare.

“Given your age, I have to ask… Consensually?”

“I… what? Oh, yes!  Totally.  It was with friends.  Um, a friend.”

“Friends, hmm?” She put a slight teasing emphasis on the plural; “Precocious.”  Her tone was not at all judgemental, if anything, faintly amused.  “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

“No! No, no… no.  No.”

“Glad you’re so certain.  Contraception, same-sex partners or cross-breed?”

“Um. Cross-breed.  Canine.”  I gave her another worried glance; not everyone approved of cross-breed sexual relationships – my parents amongst them, but the doctor remained unfazed.  She did notice my glance though.  

“Hickory – as long as you are healthy, happy and not hurting anyone, I promise you that I do not judge what you are doing or with whom.  A teen getting in some early practice with friends does not even move the weird-o-meter on things I’ve heard.”

I giggled a bit at that, a little of the tension in me unwinding.  I kind of wanted to ask what kind of thing did startle her, but I guessed that her ethics wouldn’t let her tell me.

“Alright, I think that’s all the paperwork.  Time for the physical examination.  Your mom probably told you what it involves,” (she hadn’t) “But just in case: I’ll take your height, weight, and blood pressure.  Then a breast exam, external check of your genitals… and then, I’m afraid that since you are sexually active, I’ll need to do an internal exam as well.”  

I sighed a little: I’d hoped to avoid it, but some reading online had intimated it was coming – I should have known the fun romps with Austin and Josh would come back to bite me somehow; so I just nodded.

“Do you want me to call in a nurse to chaperone?  Given that your mom didn’t come in with you.”

“No, that’s fine.” Being examined by one person was bad enough without adding an audience.

“Alright.  In which case, head over into that corner with the bed, draw the curtain and strip off.  There’s a gown on the bed, and once you’ve got it on, we can get started.”

I obediently curtained myself away in the corner and started to shuck my clothing into a semi-tidy pile.  Dr Hanssen kept the air in her office on the cool side – not unexpected for her breed – and as soon as my top was off my ever-enthusiastic nipples popped prominently into view.    Once I was down to just fur, I picked up the gown from the bed and looked it over.  It wasn’t exactly all-encompassing.  Given my lack of height, it would come down past my knees, but leave my back pretty much open to view.  And then I thought through what was going to be checked, and gave into a sneaking temptation:  “Doctor?”

“Yes, Hickory?”

“If you’re going to be checking my top and, er, bottom halves… Is there any real point to the gown?”

A considering pause, then, “Most people seem to prefer it… But if you’d be more comfortable without, feel free.”  

I tossed the gown back onto the bed, pulled back the curtain, and stepped bare naked into the centre of the office.  As Dr Hanssen looked me over, a warm glow started to spread through my body.  This… this was the source of the tension I’d been feeling.  It wasn’t that I was scared or embarrassed about being seen naked.  I knew from the last year and a bit that I liked being naked. And more, I really liked being looked at.  Reading about gynecological examinations online in advance of this appointment had given me several nights of intense masturbation as I imagined having my undressed body not just seen but studied in intimate detail.  My hopes had been that the appointment would prove a less erotic experience than my libido had conjured up;  the heat starting to spread through me quashed those hopes firmly   Now I just had to hope that I could get through this without making a spectacle of myself. 

The first part was tame enough, as I hopped on the scales to be weighed and measured, then had the blood pressure cuff put on.  The slow breaths for the blood pressure reading helped too.  But then, ‘The Chair’. 

“Into the chair, please, Hickory.  Don’t worry about the stirrups yet.  Just lie back in the seat, and I’ll check your breasts.”

As I took my seat, I glanced down at the almost unmarred flatness of my chest, from which only my stiffly erect nipples provided a notable deviation.  “What breasts?”    

She snorted slightly with amusement. “While you are, admittedly, on the smaller side… Alright, very small...  the underlying breast tissue has started developing.  And that means they need to be checked out.”  She moved to stand next to me and put her hands on my left tit.  Her paws were large – she could easily have covered my entire chest with both of them – but her touch was incredibly soft and gentle, very different to the enthusiastically pleasurable maulings of the boys in the summer.  As she applied light pressure, I couldn’t quite stifle a moan.  “Discomfort?”

“Uhn… no.  Just, ah, sensitive.”  

“Sensitive. Got it.  Let me know if it hurts at any point.”  As she continued her methodical check, I managed to keep the sounds of my enjoyment suppressed, hands clenched on the arms of the chair; as she finished with a tug on each nipple in turn though, two squeaks of pleasure did escape. The doctor affected not to notice.  “Well, no unusual lumps, bumps or discharge, you’ll be pleased to hear, Hickory.  And apparently no… discomfort.”  I blushed again, tips of my ears burning.  “I’ll give you a leaflet to take home with instructions on how to do a self-exam, if you aren’t already.”  I wasn’t – hadn’t seen the point given the overall lack of breasts – but hey, I supposed it would give me an excuse if my mom ever caught me squeezing my own nipples. “Feet in the stirrups now, please.”

With mingled reluctance and anticipation, I moved to comply.  I could feel dampness on my thighs from my excitement and I could smell the scent of my sex in the air.  I couldn’t imagine that the doctor could possibly miss it, given how much closer she was going to be.  I hooked my feet into the loops and as my legs spread, I could feel my lower lips part.  I was now as much ‘on display’ as I’d ever been, and I knew this was just the beginning.  As the doctor’s gloved fingers spread my labia further apart, I thrust my fist into my mouth, biting down onto my knuckles to try and gag myself.  I managed to keep fairly quiet as she steadily checked me over: running her fingers down each lip, pressing all over gently, but as she did brush against my clit, a whole-body shiver ran through me.

“Everything looks good on the outside, Hickory.  I’m now going to use a speculum to open you up to take a look inside, okay?  I’ll use a small one – it might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt. You let me know if it does.”

“Mmmf.”

Moments later, I could feel hard plastic covered in a cool gel slide into my overheated cunt. Then gentle but persistent pressure started to spread me apart in a way I’d never felt before.  It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was also very… very… stimulating.  By now, I was hyperventilating past my hand and the tip of my tail was twitching across the floor, as I desperately tried to hang on to some semblance of rationality and control.

As the doctor finished with the speculum, and the pressure eased and it began to slide out, I nearly cried at the loss of that feeling, at the fact I’d not yet found release.

“Last bit: I’m going to slide a couple of fingers in you, and press while palpating your tummy.”

“Yurr,” was my incoherent reply.  I was getting very mixed messages: what was left of my reason needed her to finish, but my body – which was gaining the upper-hand – needed her to finish me off.  As her fingers slipped inside me, my body won the majority vote;  her fingers reached their full depth inside me and as they curled upwards slightly, the dam broke and my orgasm flooded over me.  I let out a wail only slightly stifled by my hand, my toes curled so hard that my feet cramped, and my whole body spasmed around her fingers.

Dr Hanssen just waited patiently, her fingers still buried inside me, until I stopped twitching.  “Done?”  I let out a mortified little squeak.  “Then I’ll try and finish up quickly.”  True to her word, she did not take long, pressing my tummy in a few places while pushing upwards from below, and then sliding her hand out of my drenched passage.    “I’ll give you a moment to catch your breath.”
When my ragged breathing had slowed a little, words tumbled out of me: “I am so, so sorry…,” but she cut me off.

“Hickory – it’s alright.  It’s a perfectly normal reaction.  It’s not common, but you are far from the first person to have an orgasm in that chair, and you’re not going to be the last.”

I sat up a little, taking my feet out of the stirrups.  “R-really?”

“Really truly.”

“I’m not… weird?”

“Well, you’re a horny teenager, and that’s about as far from weird as you get.  I’m not qualified to judge any other forms of weird based on this exam.”  She smiled at me, and I managed to find a smile back. “I will say that if this turns out to be normal for you, it’s probably best if you consider a chaperone for any future exams… just to avoid any misunderstandings.”  I could see her point.  “On the plus side, you’re probably not going to be one of the patients I need to send a dozen reminder letters to before they make an appointment.”  That got a little giggle out of me.  “There you go.”  She passed me some paper towels.  “Stay sitting until your legs stop shaking, then you can clean up and then get dressed behind the curtain, before we finish up your paperwork.”  She sat down at her desk again, giving me a moment before I did hop down and drew the curtain back round me, to mop up and dress.

As I was pulling my pants back on, I heard the doctor’s desk phone beep, the sound of her picking up the handset, and then her side of a conversation. I slowed my dressing so as not to interrupt. “Hanssen…. What? OK. Put him through. … Karl?….  What!? No. No. You promised!…  Well, what am I supposed to do?… Dammit Karl. …  Fine.”  And a click.   I took a cautious peek around the curtain.  Dr Hanssen was sat at her desk, one paw gripping her muzzle, the other drumming fingers on her desk.  I cleared my throat cautiously, and as she looked up to see me, an expression of sudden hope dawned on her face.

“Hickory!  Great.  Come, sit down. Sorry for the interruption there.  Anyway, two things – the first is that I’m going to give you a prescription for contraceptive pills.  They should help regulate your cycle, and – the bit you don’t have to tell your mother – they’ll give you some protection if you decide to start experimenting with rat boys. Although if you do,” she gave me a stern look, “You should also use condoms. Which is true of any breed of boy – there’s plenty of STIs that are cross-breed.”  I nodded meekly.  “The second one is… not medical. The phone call was my ex-husband telling me that he can’t take my daughter tonight. Which he was supposed to, because I’ve got an important work event.  I already know my regular babysitter’s fully booked – which is the only reason I’d asked him to help.  But I remember your mother mentioning you’d started babysitting occasionally?”  Her voice had a desperate overtone to it.

“Yeah, sure.  How old’s your daughter and how long do you need me for?”  

“Eleven. She’ll almost certainly pout that you’re only a few years older than her – but they’re an important few years.  And… would you be alright to stay the full night? If you can be at mine at five thirty this evening, I can drop you back home in the morning.”

“No problem.” I already knew I had no plans for the evening other than homework, and my mom approved of me babysitting: she considered it a ‘proper activity’ for a girl.  I took my usual overnight rate, mentally knocked a bit off as a ‘I came all over your hand’ discount, and quoted her the resulting figure.

“You’re a lifesaver, Hickory.”  She passed me three pieces of paper:  “The first one’s your prescription. Second is the leaflet on breast self-exams. The last one’s my address.  I’ll see you soon.”