Doctor's Virgin (Innocence Book 3)

by Roxeanne Rolling

  “Twenty,” she says.

  I try not to take in a deep breath of air, but I do anyway. My cock is as hard as it’s ever been.

  Twenty fucking years old and seeming more gorgeous every minute.

  “Well,” I say. “This wouldn’t be a proper visit without some sort of cursory physical examination. Do you feel comfortable with me doing that? Just the standard stuff, you know…”

  “Of course,” says Mia, sitting up straight. “As you said, it wouldn’t be a proper visit without one.”

  Do I detect a hint of serious eagerness in her voice?

  “All right,” I say, adjusting the stethoscope that always seems to be wrapped around my neck.

  Fortunately, I’ve been thinking very hard about baseball and other boring, seriously unsexy shit, helping to tame my erection down to something more reasonable and not quite as noticeable.

  “Am I good here?” says Mia, sounding eager to place.

  “It’s great,” I say.

  I stand next to her, close, and she smells wonderful. And it’s not that fake perfume scent that all the nurses have. After all, Mia is allergic to practically everything. There’s no way she could use perfume or even deodorant. But her smell alone, her natural smell, is enough to get my cock growing in my pants again.

  “I’ll start with the lymph nodes,” I say.

  Mia nods.

  I put my hands on her delicate, smooth skin, right onto the lymph nodes around her neck.

  “Sometimes these can be swollen when chronic conditions are present,” I say.

  My mind fixates on the word “swollen,” and my chest brushes up ever so slightly against her pert, swollen breasts.

  “Well these seem normal,” I say, reaching for the sterilized stethoscope around my neck.

  “Aren’t you going to examine the rest of the lymph nodes?” says Mia. “My right armpits been feeling a little funny recently.”

  “So you know something of medicine?” I say, taking an interest. Normally, patients who do their own “research” are something of a liability, but I don’t get that sense from Mia. She’s just a charming, intelligent young woman, an insane erection-causing young woman, I should add.

  “Well,” says Mia. “As you know, my dad’s a doctor, and I’ve been reading a lot, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.”

  I nod, and move my hands under her armpits.

  “It is a little swollen,” I say. “How long has it been like this?”

  “Not too long,” says Mia. “A couple weeks.”

  “I don’t think it has much to do with your main symptoms,” I say. “But one thing that crossed my mind is that you’ve been inside for a long time. Have you been taking…”

  “Vitamin D?” says Mia, interrupting me. “Yup, right over there.” She points to a bookshelf completely filled with prescription bottles and vitamin supplements. “Those are all the things I’ve tried that haven’t helped.”

  She gives me a sad sort of grin.

  “You know,” she says, after a moment. “I think I had some sort of mark on my stomach that I noticed the other day. Maybe it’s part of these allergic reactions.”

  “A mark?” I say. “Is it red, like a rash?”

  “I don’t know how to describe it,” she says. “I’d better show you.”

  I nod.

  She pulls up her t-shirt a little, revealing another piece of her perfect body.

  I can practically feel my heart thumping in my chest.

  I’ve examined hundreds, if not thousands, of women in all states of undress, but I’ve never felt like this, like I might not be able to keep it professional.

  “You know,” she says, looking down at her skin. “I forgot, I guess it’s higher up. I’m going to have to take off my shirt for you to see it. You don’t mind, do you?”

  For a second, I could have sworn that I saw a glint in her eye. A mischievous look, a delicious one.

  She reaches down and grips her shirt. She pulls it up slowly, letting it rest on her breasts, her big sexy bumps of resistance.

  My cock springs to life.

  Her breasts spring out at me. She’s wearing a sexy lace bra, that shows plenty of her gorgeous nubile cleavage.

  Chapter 4

  Mia

  I still can’t get over the fact that this gorgeous doctor is here in my room, standing right next to me.

  And now I’ve pulled my shirt off over my head, and I know it’s not my imagination: he’s glancing quite conspicuously at my breasts.

  And I can see his raging hard cock in his pants.

  He’s not awkward in the slightest, like that guy in my first semester.

  Sure, he’s wearing a surgical mask, and wrapped in some ridiculous plastic wrap that keeps me from going into anaphylactic shock, or passing out. But, still… under all that, he’s gorgeous.

  “I never knew doctors had tattoos,” I say, noticing for the first time a tattoo on the inside of his bicep as his shirt rides up.

  “We’re humans too,” he says, his voice deep, rich, and impossibly sexy.

  Does that have another meaning? He’s a human, too, in that he has human urges?

  “I can see that,” I say, trying to make an innuendo about his raging hard cock.

  But I’m just a young girl essentially, after all, and I’m not sure I even really know how to make innuendo. I’m not just out of practice when it comes to flirting, I’ve almost never done it. After all, in high school, I ignored everyone’s advances. It wasn’t until college I started trying to flirt, and I still cringe when I think of some of the awkward exchanges I had at the ends of the college lectures. One time, I went up to a boy I thought was cute, said “It’s Tom, right?” Because I’m pretty sure I had heard someone say that before. He gave me a look like he thought I was a double headed alien, and nodded his head. I freaked out, and simply ran out of the room.

  I can tell that he’s trying to remain professional, but I keep catching him staring at my breasts.

  “You’re a very beautiful young woman,” says Liam. “It’s a shame you’re stuck inside all the time.”

  His voice is rich, like some kind of smoked honey. Does that product even exist? If not, someone should make it.

  “I don’t get a lot of visitors,” I say, letting my voice sort of trail off.

  His head is near me, right up against my face.

  His body is like a presence that I can viscerally feel. My own body’s responding, but right now I don’t care in the least bit that my rock hard nipples are going to be completely visible in this lacy bra.

  (No, it’s not an accident that I’m wearing my one sexy bra, rather than the rather plain ones I normally wear.)

  For a second, I think he’s going to move his mask away from his face.

  In this moment, I don’t care if it makes me pass out. Fuck, it would be worth it, just to see his face in person, just to feel his lips against mine.

  My cell phone rings.

  “It’s my dad,” I say.

  Liam doesn’t say anything, but he takes a respectful step back.

  I see him glancing at my breasts. There’s no way he could miss my nipples.

  I pull my shirt down as I answer the phone, unable to think of any plausible reason that I should keep my shirt up, exposing my breasts to Liam, even though I desperately want to show him a lot more.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say, picking up the phone.

  I don’t take my eyes off Liam, who’s taking notes on his pad.

  “How’s the appointment going so far?” says my dad. “Liam’s been up there for a while, and your mother and I were just wondering how it’s going. Has he thought of anything?”

  I feel a pang of regret. I feel so badly for my parents, especially my mother. It’s been hard for them to watch their only daughter drop out of school and shut herself up in her room, apparently never to come out again. The atmosphere in the house has become tense and painful to experience. My mother hasn’t come into my room in the last w
eek, saying that she’s feeling a little sick, and doesn’t want to risk spreading anything to me, but I know that it’s simply become too painful for her to see me like this.

  “It’s going great,” I say. “I think Liam’s found something. He won’t tell me what it is yet.”

  Liam gives me a wild-eyed look, mouthing “What?” at me.

  But I just can’t disappoint my parents more. False hope is better than no hope.

  “Tell Liam I’ll be waiting for him when he comes out,” says my dad.

  I hang up.

  “Why did you tell them that?” says Liam.

  He doesn’t seem mad, but for a second I’m worried I’ve ruined whatever spark I might have imagined between us.

  There’s a knock on the door.

  “Everything OK in there?” comes my dad’s voice.

  “I just talked to you on the phone,” I call back.

  “I just wanted to make sure,” says my dad.

  Liam grins at me. “He’s probably worried I’m putting the moves on you,” he says in a low voice to me, so that only I can hear. “I don’t have the best reputation with women. Well, I’d better get going.”

  “What about the exam?” I say, realizing that I might be sounding desperate, but not caring. After all, this is the first real human contact I’ve had in a long time… and it’s from the hottest guy I’ve ever met.

  “I think I’ll come up with something,” he says, putting on an optimistic grin. I know that look all too well. That’s what countless doctors before me have told me, and nothing’s ever come from it.

  “OK,” I say, trying to smile. But inside I’m more than disappointed.

  When you’re locked in your room for a year, little things start to take on a much bigger significance.

  As I watch Liam leaving through the door, walking through the folds of thick, clear sterilized plastic that create something of an airlock between my room and the outside, a feeling of complete desperation starts to take hold.

  I want to reach out and grab him, pulling him towards me. I want to rip that mask off and just hold him.

  Of course, I also want him to fuck me with that massive shaft that I saw in his pants earlier, fully erect at the sight of me.

  But I’d settle for just being held, for just feeling his muscles against me, for feeling his bristly coating of stubble scratching my skin.

  “Bye,” I say, my voice impossible to keep from sounding horribly sad.

  “I’ll be back,” says Liam, his voice barely audible now through the mask and the plastic.

  The door shuts behind him, and I can hear him talking to my dad on the other side. I can’t make out what they’re saying—just murmurs of their deep voices.

  They’re discussing me, undoubtedly. For all I know, my worst fears will be confirmed and Liam will just tell my dad he thinks I’m some psychological nut case, just like plenty of the doctors. They always said that when they got fed up themselves and couldn’t come up with a solution. It’s an easy out for them, but it’s not an out for me at all.

  I know I’m not making this up, and it’s not placebo. It’s something real.

  I check my phone, almost frantically grabbing it from my nightstand, anxious for something, for some message from the outside world. Just a simple little message from Shelly would be enough.

  Thankfully, there is a message from Shelly.

  How pathetic is it that I care so much about receiving a little text message that only takes Shelly a couple seconds to write.

  “What’s going on?” is all it says.

  But it almost makes my heart leap. It makes me feel just a little less alone in the world, a little less despairing.

  “You have time to talk?” I write back, adding a couple smiley faces. That’s definitely not representing my current mood, but what the hell, right?

  She doesn’t write back. Instead, she calls me. Time to hide the sadness deep inside me and put on a happy face to accompany my happy phone voice. I realized long ago that even my best friend in the whole world doesn’t want to listen to me talk about how much it sucks being stuck in my room for a year. I’ve got to at least be vaguely entertaining to the extent that I can without any social contact.

  “What’s going on?” says Shelly, sounding breathless. Her breathing is ragged.

  “What are you doing?” I say. “You’re not…?”

  “Oh,” says Shelly, realizing what I think she’s up to (either masturbation or sex… either is likely in Shelly’s case, honestly). “No, no… I’m at the gym. I’m on the treadmill.”

  “Since when do you go on the treadmill? Since when do you exercise?”

  Since college, Shelly’s lived on a steady diet of cheap wine and college boys, with the occasional bit of intense studying thrown in. She’s pretty smart, so she can get away with it, still making dean’s list each semester, no matter how many guys she sleeps with.

  I like to give her a bit of a hard time about it all, but the truth is that I’m insanely jealous of all the action she’s getting… and she knows it, so she doesn’t take my gentle ribbing too hard.

  Does that make me some kind of wannabe slut in training or something, since I really wish I was out there in college making all sorts of mistakes, sleeping with guys that I shouldn’t be? If it does, then fuck it. I’m totally guilty of having a sex drive. That’s not a sin, right? Well, if it is, give me whatever punishment is necessary. There’s almost nothing I regret more in this world than being a virgin.

  “Just trying to burn a few calories,” says Shelly. “Trying to get healthy, you know? What’s wrong with that?” She’s still breathing hard. She’s got a good figure, but she’s definitely not in shape in the sense that she probably can’t walk up more than few flights of steps without breathing hard. She’s been known to indulge in the occasional joint here or there, which probably doesn’t help matters.

  I laugh. “Don’t give me that,” I say. “You’re already as thin as a rail where it counts, and thick where you need it. How else would you be able to get all those guys?”

  “Just looking to keep everything in its right place, you know?”

  “Come on,” I say. “You’re the same age as me. Everything’s exactly where it needs to be. What, is there a cute guy at the gym or something?”

  “He’s not just cute, he’s gorgeous.”

  I laugh.

  “So it is a guy after all.”

  “Of course it’s a guy,” says Shelly in a hushed voice. “But I’m at the gym now and I can’t exactly talk about it.”

  “He’s there now? Are you stalking him or something?”

  “Of course not,” hisses Shelly. “And no, he’s not here now. But there are other people around.”

  “Since when did you care if anyone else knew about your plans of sexual conquest?”

  That makes Shelly laugh.

  I can hear something hanging in the background. Her breathing is still heavy, but it starts to subside in intensity a little bit.

  “All right,” she says. “That’s enough of the bike for me.”

  “I’ll let you go then,” I say. “You probably want to hit the showers.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m not using the showers here. They’re gross.”

  “What’s more gross?” I say. “Walking around all sweaty or showering in a locker room with some other people?”

  Shelly laughs. “I’m going to take my chances that I smell nice even when sweating,” she says.

  “So tell me about this guy,” I say. “If you’re in a safe place that you can talk, that is.”

  “I’m just walking through the hallway,” says Shelly. “No one’s around. But he’s fucking gorgeous.”

  “So he’s going to be the lucky next guy?” I say.

  “If everything goes according to plan,” says Shelly. “I’ve started with the suggestive eye contact, and the innuendo laden flirting state is next to come.”

  “I give you two days before he’s in your bed,” I s
ay.

  “What makes you think I’m taking him back to my place? It’s a mess. No, I plan on going right to his apartment with him after the gym and fucking his brains out when we’re both all sweaty.”

  I laugh. “How do you know he doesn’t shower at the gym?”

  “Maybe I’ll invite myself over to his apartment for a shower,” says Shelly. “That ought to cover all my bases.”

  “And it’d be pretty clear what you’re after,” I say.

  “Well that’s the idea, isn’t it?” says Shelly. “So, what’s going on with you? How’s the year of solitude progressing?”

  “Let’s just hope it doesn’t turn into A Hundred Years of Solitude,” I say.

  “You know, that’s a great book,” says Shelly. “There’s this part where a priest drinks chocolate and starts to levitate, and a part where…”

  “I know,” I say, interrupting her. “I’m the one who gave you the book, remember?”

  “Oh yeah. Anyway, what’s going on?”

  “Well,” I say. “Same old same old, I guess. But… another doctor came to see me. An old friend of my dad’s or something…”

  “Sounds exciting,” says Shelly in a deadpan voice.

  “Actually,” I say. “He was… really, really hot. Like movie actor hot. Crazy hot.”

  Shelly giggles. “Sounds like someone’s in love,” she says.

  “I am not,” I say. “Why can’t I say a guy’s hot?”

  “You absolutely can,” says Shelly. “And you can tell me you want to feel his thick shaft in your mouth as he fondles your breasts.”

  I laugh uncomfortably. Unfortunately, I’ve never been as comfortable as Shelly about talking about my own sexual fantasies and desires. That probably has something to do with being a virgin.

  “I’m not going that far…” I say. “I’m just saying he’s cute.”

  “A minute ago you said he was hot. I think you’ve found the guy you want to lose your virginity to and you don’t want to admit it.”

  “Maybe I do,” I say.

  “You do what?” says Shelly, toying with me and my uncomfortable feigns.

  “You know,” I say. “Lose my virginity to him. But… he’s older than me. A friend of my dad’s…”