Crossing Texas – Chapter Eleven
“Mistress Sara, I can’t do this. Please, please, let’s not do this. You could talk with Amanda, reason with her. Tell her how I’ve worked hard all week. I would feel so foolish in a doctor’s office.” Traffic was light as Sara drove towards the city.
“Pamela! I’m not your mother! If you think you could have changed Amanda’s mind, you should have done it before we left. I surely cannot. I know Mandy. But if this upsets you so much, I’ll pull over right now and let you out. But be willing to accept the consequences. And quit whining!”
“I’m sorry, Mistress. But I just don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Well, I’d suggest you just get this over with. Quit complaining. Act like a man with a spine, Pamela.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I replied uneasily as Sara pulled the car into a nondescript suburban office complex.
“Grab your purse, Pamela, and let’s go. Amanda will be upset if you miss your appointment!”
I followed Sara into the building. We went to Room 11. The sign on the door listed several physicians. Sara double-checked the paper Amanda had given her.
“OK, Pamela, your appointment is with Doctor Jenson.” I nervously took a seat in the waiting room while Sara went to the front desk. I was unable to overhear the brief conversation Sara had with the receptionist. I felt a grave sense of apprehension. Until now, my punishment had been confined to the Paradise View and my trip to Mervyns. I had come to feel secure at the motel; it was like a large closet where I could hide from the world. But here I had no such security. I was a man, and while I had been largely able to hide that fact from guests at the motel, here it was impossible to maintain my disguise. One thing I had come to realize during the past week: it was far better if others viewed me as a woman rather than as a man dressed as a woman.
“You’re in luck, Pamela, the nurse is ready for you,” Sara said as she approached me, then whispered, “and Pamela, I told them that you are my niece, since you need a relative accompanying you. And Amanda is your mom. So from now on call me “auntie”, and drop the mistress stuff. Got it?”
I was shocked. How could Sara be my aunt? She was only a year older than I.
She grasped my hand and led me through a door to an examination room.
A nurse was already waiting there. She was a young woman about my age, wore no wedding ring and was somewhat overweight, with a cheerful, girlish demeanor. She wore a pale pink nurses uniform, with slacks. In fact, I realized with considerable embarrassment, so far I was the only person wearing a dress or skirt.
“Good afternoon, Pamela, my name is Janet,” she said as she sat at a small desk. Sara sat in the only other chair in the room.
“Please have a seat on the examining table.” I did as told, and thus I was sitting up much higher than either Janet or Sara. Sara continued talking, occasionally writing notes on a printout which lay on the desk.
“So,” Janet continued, “your mother, Amanda, set up this appointment for you. She mentioned that you were too shy to make the appointment for yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
“Well, Pamela, you shouldn’t be embarrassed. Not at all. I’d like to thank your aunt for coming here with you,” Janet said, nodding towards Sara, who was watching this in what seemed disbelief.
“The process is simple. First, I must ask you a few mandatory questions, then we measure and record your statistics – height, weight, and so on – and then Doctor Jenkins will visit with you. Do you have any questions?”
“No, ma’am,” I said, although in fact I had many but was afraid to ask.
“Great! Then let’s get started,” she said, smiling. Janet’s first questions were innocuous: name, address, prior illnesses, and so on.
“Now,” she continued, turning to the next page of the questionnaire, “we have a few more, ah, personal questions to ask you. Let’s see., Pamela.., at what age did you first menstruate?”
“I’m sorry?” I replied, confused.
“Your period, Pamela. When did you have your first period?”
“Well., I haven’t had a., period, ma’am.” I blushed with embarrassment.
“I realize these questions may be embarrassing, Pamela,” Janet said, noticing my reddened face, “particularly to a girl with your, ah., history, for lack of a better word. But it’s required I ask these questions of all patients. Just answer honestly, dear.”
I glanced towards Sara for help, but she just sat, staring, apparently amazed at what I would do.
“Oh, yes ma’am. I ‘m sorry, ma’am. No, I haven’t had a period, yet.”
“So you haven’t menstruated?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Have you had any children, Pamela?”
“Do I have children,” I asked, unsure of the question.
“Have you given birth, Pamela. Are you a mother?”
“No ma’am.”
“And are you pregnant, Pamela?”
“No ma’am,” I replied softly, “I’m not pregnant.”
“But maybe someday, my dear niece,” Sara joked, apparently trying to relieve my tension.
“One never knows,” Janet laughed.
“Science can do wonders these days.” Now, let’s see, next question: Pamela, are you sexually active?”
“Why, no., no I’m not.”
“You don’t have a boyfriend, Pamela?”
“No ma’am”.
“Have you had intercourse within the past three months?”
“Do you mean., like, with a man?”
“Yes, silly girl! With a man.” Janet giggled.
“I mean, Pamela, has a man had intercourse with you. I mean, has a man taken you like a woman?”
“No ma’am,” I replied, ever more embarrassed.
“Final question, Pamela. Do you masturbate, and if so, how often?”
“But,” I stammered, wishing I were dead, “why do you need to know that?”
“Oh Pamela, you are shy, aren’t you! It’s important so that when Doctor Jenkins examines your vagina, she will properly be able to measure it.”
“But, you know., I don’t really have a vagina.”
“As I said earlier, Pamela, these are important questions which must be asked of all our patients. I realize they may not exactly apply to you, given your, ah, plumbing, but please understand, you are the first girl with your., situation., that’s ever been here. We surely can’t change all our forms just for you, can we?”
Sara spoke up, “Pamela masturbates. Almost every day. She told me so. End of discussion.”
“Thank you, ” said Janet, grateful to end this line of questioning. Now Pamela, I’ll give you an initial physical and then we’ll get your height and weight. Now take your clothes off, please.”
“My dress, ma’am,” I asked hopefully.
“Yes miss, your dress. Also your bra, panties, pantyhose., everything.”
“May I wear a gown, ma’am? Please.”
“Later, Pamela, but not yet. Now hurry. I have other patients to attend to.”
Sara was frowning at me, as if to add her “Hurry up” to Janet’s. While I began undressing, Sara chatted with the nurse. I reached back and, with some difficulty, was able to undo the buttons to my dress, then carefully slipped it off me. Next I removed my lacy white slip. The girls chatted as if I were not present, but I couldn’t help but notice that they were both watching me, a young man, standing before them wearing a bra, panty girdle, and pantyhose.
“So, does your niece do her own shopping,” asked Janet.
Oh sure, she enjoys it just like any other girl. You know, she bought that cute dress just last Monday at Mervyns’ Juniors department.”
“The Juniors department? I wish I could shop there,” Janet added.
Before long I was completely, utterly naked, crowded in the tiny examination room with two young ladies.
“Very good, Pamela,” Janet said. Her voice wavered; clearly she was a bit flustered to see my male anatomy.
“My, you do keep your fingernails and toenails looking pretty. You are a pretty girl, you know,” she continued, apparently trying to put me at ease.
Carefully she checked my arms for needle tracks, my body for rashes, my ears and my eyes.
“At this point, I would normally check your vagina, Pamela, but I see you have a slight problem in that area,” she said, giggling nervously.
“Yes ma’am,” I agreed as she used her gloved hand to raise and lower my penis and balls. I doubt she even knew what she was looking for. Having been so tightly constricted by the girdle, my private parts had shrunk to a miniscule size.
“Very good, Pamela, now say goodbye to your aunt.” Janet turned to Sara and said, “Pamela should be finished here within another thirty minutes. You may sit in the waiting room, and I’ll send her out when we’re done.”
“Pamela,” Janet continued, “please slip your shoes on and follow me.”
“But ma’am, I can’t go out like this!”
“Oh, miss, don’t be so shy. We only employ women here, and all our patients are female, so you should feel comfortable. After all, you are a girl deep inside. That is why you are here, isn’t it? Now come on, Pamela. I’ve got to treat you just like every other girl!”
Thus it was that I followed Janet into the hallway, naked except for my high heels, my nails all painted bright red, my face made up and my hair styled, looking almost female except for my flat chest and flaccid cock. Sara, looking astonished, followed us out the door, then turned and walked to the waiting room.
The scale was set right in the middle of the hallway, central to the office and to the six or seven examination rooms. Janet had me stand on the scale as she carefully measured my weight. I tried to cover my genitals with my hands. Two other nurses approached; they wore uniforms identical to Janet’s.
“Hi!” said Janet to the two nurses.
“Pamela, I’d like to introduce you to Kim and Mary. On a later visit one of them may be assisting you.”
“Hello Kim. Hello Mary,” I said weakly. Kim was a very pretty, petite, oriental girl, while Mary was blond and tall. They were young, maybe younger than me. Both were smiling at me or at my predicament.
“Hi, Pamela,” exclaimed Kim.
“It’s so very nice to meet you. My, your shoes are so pretty! Where did you get them?”
“Thank you, Kim,” I stuttered.
“I bought my shoes at Mervyns.”
Janet had me step off the scale, and then had Kim and Mary help her take my measurements. It was impossible to be modest, as I was required to put my arms above my head (“like a ballerina,” said Mary), while the girls used a tape measure to carefully measure my waist, hips, underarms, thighs, and even leg length. As this was going on all the other employees, even the receptionist, “just happened” to walk by. Janet introduced me to each, even as I stood with arms above my head, hands together. Each woman smiled at me. I suspected that later on they would be laughing at me as they told their friends or husbands about the sissy patient.
When the three nurses finished measuring me, a middle aged woman approached.
“Hello. I’m doctor Jenkins. You must be Pamela. Follow me, please.”
My high heels clicked loudly as I minced along.
“Most women don’t wear high heels when they come here. Maybe on your next visit you should wear something more comfortable.”
“Yes ma’am,” I replied.
The doctor, Janet, and I entered a larger room. It had an examination table, but also had rows of bright lights and a large amount of expensive-looking camera equipment. First I laid face down on the table, as doctor Jenkins pinched my ass cheeks. Then they had me lie face up, while the doctor pinched and probed my breast area.
“Pamela, your mother says you want to have your breasts surgically enhanced, and would also like fuller, more feminine hips. So, have you considered what size breasts you would like, young lady?”
I was shocked. Sara had thought I would just get a routine physical! I tried to conceal my surprise and my embarrassment.
“Well., no., no I haven’t, ma’am. My mother said that., maybe., you could help me., decide.”
“Tell me, Pamela, did you attend high school as a girl?”
“Why no, ma’am, I didn’t,” I replied.
“Oh. That’s too bad. A girl’s locker room is the best place to observe the spectrum of female breasts. So tell me, miss, other than your breasts, have you ever inspected, closely, first person, any female’s breasts?”
“No, doctor, no., I guess I haven’t,” I replied. I couldn’t but suspect that the stern doctor was just pointing out that I was not manly enough to have been intimate with a girl.
The doctor whispered something to Janet. She left, and soon returned with Kim and Mary. Then all three nurses removed their blouses and bras.
“I’m sure you realize the importance of making a correct decision, young lady. If, for example, you choose very large breasts, you’ll find that your back will suffer and you’ll be forced to wear firm brassieres at all times.
On the other hand, if you choose very small breasts, you may psychologically feel inadequately female. And of course, young lady, you must remember that as you age your breasts will sag. That’s an unfortunate fact for all of us women.”
“Now, Kim wears a B cup, Mary has a C cup, and Janet has a D cup. Notice the difference in the size of each girl’s breasts. Now, in your minds eye, when you picture yourself getting undressed in the evening, which breast size do you see in the mirror, Kim’s, or Mary’s, or Janet’s?”
I was dumbfounded. I’d never imagined myself with breasts, after all. I responded that I saw Janet’s breasts in my mirror, mostly because she’d been nice to me.
“Just as I guessed, young lady, you want large breasts. I suppose that’s understandable. OK, girls, thank you very much for helping this young lady chose her new breasts.” Next, while the nurses dressed, Doctor Jenkins gave me a shot. She told me what it was, but the medical name meant nothing to me, then she left me to the care of the three nurses.
“May I dress now, ma’am,” I asked (pleaded) Janet.
“Not yet, young lady,” she scolded.
“You are just so modest, Pamela.
Really.” Next I was required to pose under the bright lights in various positions, while Janet took a series of photographs. For example, I was required to stand straight, with legs together and hands clasped behind my back; for another shot I had to squat; and for several I had to lie down on a pink blanket, first on my side, then on my back, and then on my belly with my head held by my forearm.
“Why are these necessary,” I protested.
“Don’t fuss, Miss,” Mary said sternly, “you’ll find out later. If you like, we’ll get your aunt in here to hold your hand during the photo session.”
“Oh no, ma’am, please don’t. It’s OK. I won’t complain,” I replied. The last thing I wanted now was Sara witnessing my degradation.
“Just imagine yourself at a beach, wearing a skimpy bikini, showing your body off to all the boys,” Mary said with a sarcastic giggle.
“Could I at least wear panties to cover up my., you know., my “thing”?”
“No, Pamela, you can’t cover up your little wee-wee. Now hush up and let us finish.”
The End of Crossing Texas – Chapter Eleven.
The story originally came from: https://www.dailydiapers.com/content/stories.html
If you want to read more stories about ABDL boys you can find a list here: Diaper Boys – Index