A Kellog Serial
"Hello, Doctor Andrews?" her voice quivered anxiously. "This is Amanda Stevens. Do you remember me?"
Indeed, I do, thought Dr. Andrews, as he answered the late night telephone call in his office. It was Wednesday. The day that he closed his office early so that he could catch up on his paperwork, which routinely took all night. Just five years out of completing his residency after an accelerated medical school program, he had been taught well by his professors and mentors, just how dangerous it was to fall behind in his record keeping. The lure of joining an HMO, with its hundreds and perhaps thousands of support personnel, always beckoned the loudest on Wednesday nights.
"Yes, I remember you, Amanda," the doctor said with a large grin, exhaling heavily and leaning way back in his swivel chair. "How could I forget my best patient?" His hand absent-mindedly found its way to his lap and he found himself gently stroking his flaccid cock with his thumb, as he reflected back on the image of Amanda Stevens's pretty face, framed perfectly by her youthful long blonde hair.
She was the real thing, he sighed silently to himself, tight, thin body, perfectly round breasts, flat stomach, firm ass, and long, tapered legs. He was relieved when he finally mustered up the courage to tell her three years ago when she turned sixteen that he couldn't be her doctor anymore. She was no longer in need of a pediatrician. She needed to see a regular internist. He sighed again, a part of him regretting his decision ever since. How he missed seeing her. Amanda's sunny personality always lit up the office and made him forget the mundane aspects of catering to the whims of over-anxious parents.
"How are you doing?" he asked, wondering why she had called him so late at night, and after all those years. He was glad to speak with her again, but he also sensed by her voice that something might be wrong.
"I -- I'm fine, Dr. Andrews," Amanda stammered.
"Good, good. Glad to hear it. To what do I owe the pleasure of your phone call? Checking up on me, again?" Dr. Andrews referred to the way that Amanda used to keep asking him about his own health, and about how he needed to stop working so hard and find a nice girlfriend. At the time, he thought it was cute, and flattering, that she would take such an active interest in his own life, when none of his other patients seemed to think of him as anything other than a dispenser of free medicine samples, otherwise routinely ignoring his sound medical advice.
"Well...," Amanda hesitated. "I have a favor to ask. How long are you going to be in your office?"
"Oh, about another hour or so," he replied. "What's up? Anything wrong?"
"Well, not exactly," she said, exaggerating her words. "It's...it's actually kind of embarrassing to talk about."
"Amanda, I know you. And you know me. We've been friends for a long time, haven't we?" Dr. Andrews said, using his well-practiced bedside manner. "Has it been so long that you can't tell me what's wrong?"
"Well...yeah...I mean...no...I mean....I kinda need to see a doctor, and you're the only one I could think of."
"Good, " Dr. Andrews encouraged. "I'm glad that you thought I could help you. But you know, you really should go see your family doctor, Dr. Zamora, if there's anything troubling you. You know that I can't treat you anymore."
"I knowww..." Amanda said dejectedly. "It's just that...well, I can't explain it right now. Can I just come by your office?"
"Of course," Dr. Andrews said, delighted at the prospect of seeing Amanda again. He had long been wondering how she had turned out after leaving his office. "But if it's an emergency, you should go to the emergency room," he added, instinctively covering his own ass in case it was a real emergency.
"I knowww..." she said again, like a teenager responding to an over-mindful parent. "I'm 19 years old. I'm not stooopid. Well, maybe I am. You'll see when I show you my problem."
"I know, I'm sorry," Dr. Andrews corrected himself. "I just want to make sure that you're alright. Can you make it down to my office okay? Do you remember where my office is?"
"I rememberrrr..." Amanda said in a sing-song voice. "How could I forget it? You used to make me cry."
"I did not!" Dr. Andrews protested in jest.
"You did so!" Amanda interrupted. "I used to hate getting those shots!"
"Yes, but you never cried."
"Not in your office, no," she said, her voice softening. "I didn't want you to see me cry, so I held it in until we got out to the car."
"I remember," he said, his voice softening as well. "You were always so brave." His voice was reflecting true emotion.
"It wasn't bravery," Amanda corrected. "Anyway, I'll be over in about twenty minutes, okay?"
"Okay. Twenty minutes. I'll see you then. Are you okay to drive?"
"I'm fine," she said in an exaggerated tone. "I just need your help with something, okay?"
"Okay, okay," he relented. "I'll see you in twenty minutes." Dr. Andrews hung up the phone and was startled by the realization that he had been stroking himself through the front of his slacks. This is no way to think about a former patient! he scolded himself.
Twenty-five minutes passed, and Dr. Andrews found himself anxiously watching the clock. He wondered where Amanda was, and about why she needed to see him. But mostly he was thinking about how good it would be to see her again, and how grown up she sounded on the telephone.
His wandering thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front office door opening and closing. "Dr. Andrews?" she called out.
"I'm in here!" he called back, a little too eagerly, as he jumped out of his chair, crossing his office floor to meet Amanda in the exterior waiting room. But he barely made it halfway across the room, when Amanda suddenly appeared in his office doorway.
"Hi, Dr. Andrews," Amanda said, holding out her hand. "Good to see you again."
