CFNM: A Love Story

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Late, late, late," muttered Tim as he stumbled out of the overcrowded bus. It was his first day of law school and he'd already found a way to screw it up.

For an intelligent, reasonably successful young man, Tim Lawson was remarkably downcast in disposition. Law school, he thought, was an excellent opportunity to "make it," but also a uniquely American way to strangle oneself with a rope of unforgivable debt. What if he didn't graduate? What if he couldn't find a job upon graduation. Worse yet, what if the only job he could find was at an amateurishness small shop run by second-rate drunks -- men like his father. And here he was on his first day, late already.

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Stepping out of the shower, water dripping from her dark black hair onto her petite shoulders and her pert b-cups -- the smell of her coconut shampoo wafting from her scalp -- Veronica leisurely made her way into the hallway of her Pinterest-y apartment. She was in her last year of medical school.

Like her parents, Veronica was going to become a doctor, had always wanted to become a doctor and felt little trepidation about what the future held for her: a lucrative dermatology practice in a tony enclave of New York that her aging parents all but promised to hand over to her upon graduation. A nice house. Top-of-the-line car, and a wardrobe of her choosing. If there was any aspect of her life that made Veronica anxious it was the prospect of selecting a partner.

Indeed, it seemed, to her, like nothing more than a process of selection. Veronica could have any man she desired; she was attractive, wealthy, accomplished, and friendly, if a bit shy. Still, the prospect of forming a relationship with another person -- shaping him and being shaped by him as their lives moved together towards completion -- baffled and bothered her. It was not like selecting a college or a medical school. There were no hard credentials, no tangible GPAs and MCATs. Just a wide open swath of humanity from which she was expected to select her other half.

She quickly dried her hair, tossed on a effortlessly stylish outfit and sauntered off to the clinic.

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The first class went ok for Tim. The second one, Constitutional Law, well that seemed like it could be a challenge. And everyone seemed so sharp, so put together. Tim now regretted having chosen his usual outfit of t-shirt, jeans, and leather boots.

He meandered down to the cafe in the basement of the law center to grab a mid-morning tea. As he walked down the stairs, eyes glued to the transfixing glow of his iPhone, he saw an email come in from Health Services: "Deadline for First Year Physical Forms: This Friday!"

"Shit, shit, shit," thought Tim. He had totally planned to get those forms in, but had -- well, he wasn't exactly sure where he got off track. There was no way he was going to get those forms in now, and with the amount of reading already piling up from his first two classes the prospect of getting a physical and submitting the completed forms seemed improbable.

Well, what was the worst that could happen anyway? It's probably only some bureaucratic bullshit anyway. He had come here to study law -- the most strenuous activity he would complete would be carrying a heavy textbook or raising his hand in class -- what did he need a physical for anyway.

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"Hey, Vern, I know you want to be a dermatologist and all -- shit, I guess I would too, with all its glamour. If I had the grades you do I'd probably do the same," laughed Cindy, Veronica's best friend and classmate.

The two had met at the small liberal arts college, where both were pre-med. Cindy, with her Jen Selter-esque ass had been a standout sprinter on the school track team. She was not a particularly pretty girl, but her shapely posterior coupled with the aggressive streak that had made her a successful college athlete, wrought a great deal of success in the dating arena.

"But if you're not too busy tomorrow, Vern, you should really stop by the university clinic and help with the general practitioner exams."

"Cind, why would I want more med school on top of the stuff I already have to do. Besides, tomorrow's Friday -- you know what that means," said Veronica with a major smirk.

"Yeah, Vern, you're gonna study in all night so you can 'go wild' on Saturday, I know, I know," laughed Cindy.

"But seriously, you should come by," she continued, "You wouldn't believe the hot guys that come in for exams. No? Ok, enjoy studying, but I'm gonna be playing with some embarrassed boys' dicks and assholes. And they're young too -- some of them are freshman undergrads. Just like the ones we used to suck and fuck, Vern." She let that hang in the air for a moment. "Trust me on this."

The novelty of Cidy's proposition did sound appealing, but Veronica had her reservations. She'd given physicals before, but there were always so many people in the room -- the instructor, other students -- she never felt comfortable taking, shall we say, extra liberties with the patients. It was always by the book, and as far as Veronica was concerned, the book was quite boring.

Sensing the trepidation in her friend's face, Cindy, ventured a key detail: "The exams are conducted in groups of two -- two students, one patient -- and I know Doctor Bazzaz well enough that I can get her to pair us up..."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Vern, really. The two of us. A naked guy. And the room all to ourselves," Replied Cindy with a wink.

"Ok, I guess I'll see you then. Text me the time, ok?"

"Ok," said Cindy as she walked down the hall, her thick ass swaying from side to side.

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Friday

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lawson, you missed your appointment," said the nonplused nurse to a very harried looking Tim.

"There's simply no way to get this physical form completed today," she continued in a tone somewhere between "I don't care" and "Go fuck yourself, you disorganized prick."

Speechless, Tim shuffled to the side of the nurses station, pulled out his phone and stared down blankly, scrolling through the news.

An attempt to appraise his situation, but if he was being honest with himself, he was just trying to hold back tears. As Tim had recently learned, completion of the physical exam form by the school's appointed deadline was not merely a matter of administrative housekeeping -- in fact, his continued enrolment in law school was contingent upon it.

From what he could remember from the last few hours spent madly dashing about campus trying to wrangle some means of either completing the form or obtaining an extension, it seemed that neither was possible. A matter of "public health" he had been told by one official. A violation of US Federal Student loans, said another.

It didn't take a soon-to-be lawyer to realize the gravity of his situation: he was fucked.

Just then he felt a firm hand grasp his bicep. He nearly dropped his phone in dismay as he turned and saw the hand's owner: Cindy Eastman.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he thought. "This fucking girl. This fucking stalker-y, agressive, won't take no for an answer, she-rapist -- what the fuck was she doing here?"

"What are you up too, Tim?" asked a backpack clad Cindy, a smile of surprise and delight wrapped around her face.

A rash of heat danced around Tim's body -- that hot, sick feeling of flashing lights in the rearview mirror.

Still waiting for a response, Cindy withdrew her pale hand from his bicep and crossed her arms in a mock show of discontent.

"I... I ... I... Need to form a fill out -- I need to ... to ... fill out a form, stuttered Tim.

Her smile made Tim uneasy -- reminded him of the handful of times he'd drunkenly made out with her in college. The sensations of digging his hands into her unyieldingly firm ass moved to the fore of his brain. But beneath it rushed an underlying wave of shame -- a recollection of waking up wondering why he made out with such a homely girl. And so publicly, too.

She had grown into her body since graduation. Her once impossibly broad shoulders had been softened by the life of post-collegiate athletics. Her face seemed more feminine now.

There had never been anything glaringly wrong with Cindy's appearance, and she had certainly improved in the last few years, but for some reason Tim was still put off by the straight haired brunette. Perhaps it was the discomforting smile.

"You seem flustered," ventured Cindy, drawing an air of compassion he had never known her to posses.

"Yeah," said Tim, making eye contact with her for the first time, "I kind of fucked up..."

"Well, I'm sure it's no big deal, we handle stuff like that here all the time. Here, let me take a look."

Reluctantly, Tim handed her the form. It had become wrinkled and marred with the anxious sweat of his palms. Grasping it in her hands Cindy pulled the sheets tight, lessening the wrinkles and took a look: "Law School Physical Exam (Male)," it read.

Flipping through the three pages, Cindy found what was essentially a perfunctory exam -- it didn't even require the patient to remove his pants, let alone his underwear. On clinic duty she'd seen guys disgruntled at the prospect of a complete physical exam. In truth, she reveled in their discomfort. But this -- this was nothing.

"Well, it all seems pretty standard, Tim. I don't understand why you're so frazzled," she said, handing back the form.

Tim almost laughed at the thought of her bafflement. "Frazzled?" Why was he "frazzled?" "Oh, only because he was about to be kicked out of law school before his first week. Because he was about to throw away $35,000 in non-refundable tuition. Because he was about to be kicked of the the path to becoming the only profession he ever imagined enjoying. All because he didn't fill out a fucking form by a fucking arbitrary deadline. Fuck."

Downcast, Tim muddled his way through an explanation of his predicament. It all sounded so fantastically kafkaesque as he explained it.

"So now it looks like ... yeah," he drew a deep breath, "I'm getting the boot," he finished with a pathetic attempt at levity.

"Bullshit," said, Cindy. "I work in the clinic here part-time" she said gesturing to her backpack. "I can get this taken care of right away."

"Really?"

"Yeah, not a problem, let me just go talk to my clinical instructor."

"Wow. Wh... wh..." uttered a very surprised but nonetheless enthused Tim.

"Don't worry about it, Tim. What are friends for, right?" smirked Cindy with an overly touchy slap on the back.

There it was again. That smile. That creepy, knowing smile. It seemed to Tim as if Cindy -- despite the casual attitude and earnest desire to help -- knew something that he did not. Something important.

----------

"Why are you wearing scrubs, Cindy?" asked Tim as he saw Cindy open the door leading from the waiting room to the partitioned row of exam rooms.

She walked towards him and leaned down, her eyes level with his as he sat in the waiting room chair directly adjacent to the door, and with that same devious smile, she responded: "Why wouldn't I be? I work here, remember, silly?"

"Yeah, yeah, but, uh..." said Tim searchingly, "I thought you were like a, uh... uh. I don't know ... an administrative assistant or some side job."

"Don't be ridiculous, Tim," I'm a med student, right? And this is the university hospital, right? This is where we do our clinical hours. It's not all boring classroom time like it is for you law students," explained Cindy with a laugh.

Before a baffled Tim could respond, Cindy abruptly turned on her heel and headed towards the exam rooms.

"Follow me, Tim. We'll take great care of you," hollered Cindy as her bodatious ass, swung from side to side, stretching her mint green scrubs to their absolute limit.

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"We? Thought Tim as he stared, transfixed on Cindy's ass. "Her and who else?" He wondered.

Whatever. This day had just gotten a lot better. And while he may have to put up with Cindy for a few minutes, at least he was gonna get this form completed. And not getting kicked out of law school -- pretty great, right?

And, despite past misgivings about Cindy, she didn't seem so bad. Assertive? Sure. Aggressive, even? Yeah, but at least she was putting her efforts to good use and she genuinely seemed to want to help him out of this awful predicament. And that shame about getting with an ugly girl? Overblown -- Cindy didn't have that magnetism of attraction but, seeing her now, she was by no stretch ugly.

Tim followed Cindy as she opened the door to the last exam room in the hall, the only room neither on the left nor the right side of the building, but on the far, exterior wall.

As he walked into the small room, he noticed the Ritter 404 exam table angled out from the far left corner of the room, and in the near left corner a woman sitting on a wheelie stool, texting on her phone.

It was Veronica. Little Veronica from college -- the girl he had made-out with a couple times as a freshman and then nevermore. The girl he wished he had fucked and dated and then fucked some more. A munchkin of a woman and the single biggest regret of his brief life.

"Vern, we have a patient," announced Cindy as the two entered the room. Veronica looked up from her phone in disbelief as she saw her friend accompanying Tim Lawson through the door. She and Tim locked eyes, but neither of them said anything. Clearly the two recognized each other.

"Alright, Vern, Tim here needs a physical exam for law school," said Cindy looking mischievously down at her friend. "You remember Tim from college, right?" she asked as she gave Tim a light push towards Veronica.

Veronica and Tim meekly nodded at each other, but neither said anything, each wondering what the other thought.

In truth, Veronica had more than remembered Tim. In fact, she had often thought of him, a passing fancy, often wondering why the charming yet awkward cutie had never taken their relationship further than a few makeout sessions. She'd heard rumors of other girls, that he fucked around, yet whenever she saw him around campus, it was by himself studying in the library of hanging out with his gaggle of goofy male friends. She'd even wondered if he was perhaps gay.

"Let's give Tim a moment to change into this gown," said Cindy as she handed him a well-worn blue cotton johnny. Veronica stood and shuffled past Tim, her face inches from his chest. She could feel the heat of his body and the scent of his cologne rising through the thin cotton fabric of his t-shirt.

Before she exited the room, Veronica turned to Tim uttered the first words she'd spoken to him in years: "Take everything off, except your underwear."

Her clinical intonation belied the sexual spark felt by both of them as soon as the words escaped her satin lips.

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"He won't know the difference, I swear, Vern."

"Yeah but look at the form he gave you, it's the most rudimentary exam. It's 'do you have a pulse? Ok, great. Have a nice day.' There's know way he won't figure it out," quietly protested Veronica as the two nursing students milled about in the hall waiting for Tim to change.

"I've done this a bunch of times, trust me, Vern. It's a physiological thing -- some type of Stan Milgram shit. They always go along with it."

"And as long as you've got these on," Cindy continued, pinching a swath of Veronica's light blue scrubs, "they'll do whatever you say."

Veronica nodded in agreement, but her pushy friend could still see hesitation in her face.

"Besides, Vern, we know Tim. He won't say anything. And if he does, I'll just make something up about how he raped me in college and now he's trying to get revenge. People eat that shit up."

"That's fucked, Cindy, and you know it," exclaimed the surprised Veronica. She knew her friend to be persistent, but this was an aspect of Cindy she had never seen, or perhaps cared to have seen. "That's really fucked," muttered Veronica looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody was listening.

"I'm only kidding, Vern," consoled a backpedaling Cindy. "And it won't even come to that. We're just adding a few extra tests."

Veronica still looked uncomfortable with the idea.

"And besides it's good for Tim anyway," continued Cindy. "This way his health really is being examined. Instead of listening to his lungs and passing him along, we'll actually make sure he is healthy."

"Ok ... I guess so."

"And if," Cindy leaned in and lowered her voice, "it means I get to stick my finger in his tight little asshole -- well, fine by me," said Cindy with a smirk.

"What? That's not even a thing, Cindy," said a dismayed Veronica as she pulled back. "Guys don't get that done until they're like 100.

"40."

"No, that's not the point, Cindy. He'll notice. It's totally out of the ordinary. And besides -- why? Why would you want to do...do that?"

"I'm surprised, Vern. You've never fingered a guy's ass?"

"What the fuck? No! Why would I have done that -- and get shit on my finger? No, fuck that, Cindy."

"You've given prostate exams though, right?"

"Yeah to old guys. For class. But it's not like I enjoyed it or got any pleasure out of it," said Veronica, an accusatory tone in her voice. "You really are fucked up, Cind, and I --"

But before she could finish, Cindy began knocking at the door: "Okay, Tim, ready to go?"

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

Before he could respond, the door whirled open and in barged Cindy followed by Veronica.

Tim sat in a chair on the left side of the room, between the exam table and a sink and cabinets that connected with the other wall forming an L-shape. Cindy plopped down on a wheelie stool near the door, set her laptop down on the cabinet top and began clicking around.

This left Veronica to get the only other seat in the room: the wheelie stool that was now directly in front of Tim as he sat in the chair, legs splayed at the knees and crossed at the ankles. As she awkwardly leaned into to roll the stool towards her she couldn't help but notice his bare legs, exposed from the mid-thigh down. And the patch of darkness in between his legs.

They briefly made eye contact as she pulled the stool towards her. Tim noticed the lumps that bulged against her amorphous scrubs as she bent forward: her b-cups. Topped with dark, silver-dollar-sized areolas, if memory served.

She gave a squeamish half smile as she backed away with the stool, almost ramming her ass into Cindy.

With both medical students now set in their places, the power dynamic of the situation made itself felt; a cold clamor ran through Tim's hands.

"Ok, Tim. Questions?," mumbled Veronica, seemingly empowered by the situation,but still with a distinctly hesitant tembre.

"Um... I don't have any... right now?" replied a confused Tim.

"Oh, no -- I mean, like -- now we ask you some," a slightly embarrassed Veronica, "some questions, ok?"

"Are you sexualy active?" interjected a bemused Cindy.

"What? Um... no, not at the moment," replied Tim, caught off guard.

"No shit, Sherlock. I can see your limp dick right now, and it's clearly not having sex" snapped Cindy as she pointed at the gap between Tim's legs. "But seriously Tim," continued Cindy in a suddenly kind demeanor, "no sex for a handsome guy like you?"

"Um, no, yeah, I guess not," replied Tim, his cheeks reddening. "It's just that I don't get out much, yeah..."

"No problem. Not here to judge, just to get some information. But you have been sexualy active in the past? And when was your last sexual encounter?" asked Cindy.

"Well I guess ... hmmm... senior week? Yeah, Senior week."

"Like, in college?" asked a surprised Veronica.

"Yep."

"Well, shit Tim, you need to get laid, man," said Cindy, continuing with the questioning. "And how many partners have you had? Only three? Wow, ok."