Perfect Prescription

I got an idea for a story about an "awakening" and decided to try it out.

I'm concerned that it's going to take too long to get to the point for most guys. For what it's worth, though, I can testify that it got me going in spades to write it...by the time I was done, I was ready to have a go with little Miss Melissa myself.

But since I'm sure she's not ready for sex with a woman, I hope some of the guys will be willing to pitch in and help her out. Enjoy!

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The small, nondescript woman stood nervously by her car, waiting for the attendant. It seemed as though he would never get there, and she was afraid that she would be late for her appointment. She shivered, partly from cold and partly from apprehension.

She would never have made this appointment, except that she could no longer put off dealing with her...her problem. She pulled her nondescript coat a little tighter around her and shook her head. She felt like a condemned prisoner awaiting her execution.

Finally the attendant arrived to take her $20. He handed her the parking ticket, said something in heavily accented English and zoomed away in her car.

A quick glance at her phone revealed that she had a few minutes to spare. That was good, she thought, she needed a cigarette. It would help calm her down. She stood outside the medical building, a grey woman in a grey coat on a grey day. She got one of her trusty Newports and lit up, enjoying the deep relaxation of the first hit. Five minutes later, fortified, she headed up to the doctor's office.

It was just out of the elevator on the 11th floor. She found the door with "Dr. Karen Trzetrzelewska, Gynecology and Obstetrics" on it, knocked gently and walked in. The receptionist smiled at her.

"Good morning, I have an appointment for 8:30," she said softly, wanting to drop through the floor with shame. She was sure she would be the talk of the office staff by the time she was done. She could almost hear them smirking about her and her problem already.

The receptionist looked up at the mousy woman standing before her. Her greasy hair was pulled back in an unimaginative way, and her drab clothing hung loosely over her sagging body. She was wearing no makeup, making her face look older than her actual age. "She looks so forlorn," she thought, "I hope the doctor can help her."

The woman checked her list. "Certainly," she said warmly. "I can take you right back, Melissa. Dr. Karen is a little ahead of schedule this morning."

The nurse smiled at Melissa as they walked back to the room. Just before she closed the door she said softly, "Don't worry, honey, Dr. Karen is wonderful and she'll take good care of you. I promise." Then she gently closed the door leaving Melissa alone with her thoughts.

After changing, Melissa sat in the examination room, shivering in her paper robe, and dreading the arrival of the doctor. When the doctor knocked and walked in, the sound made her almost jump off the examining table.

Dr. Karen smiled at her. "My goodness, Melissa, you seem a bit nervous this morning," she said, taking a seat and looking at the chart. Melissa fidgeted as the tall, older woman read the first few pages.

"Yes. So I thought. All of your exams have been in order and you seem to be in good health," Dr. Karen began in her accented English, "so perhaps you will be good enough to tell me how I can help you today." So. The Moment of Truth had arrived.

Melissa took a deep, shuddering breath and began. "Doctor, I have a...a problem..." her voice trailed off. She had practiced this speech in front of the mirror several times, but words would not come.

Dr. Karen simply smiled and waited patiently. "Take your time, Melissa," she said softly.

"I...I...my..." Melissa tried again, haltingly. Finally the words burst out, "I have a terrible itching in my...private area. I know that seems silly, but it's making me crazy. I get these terrible urges to scratch at all times of the day. Doctor, you have to make this stop." She finally stopped, a bit horrified that she had actually divulged her secret.

Dr. Karen Trzetrzelewska had been practicing medicine for almost 40 years, first in her native Poland, still under Communist rule, then, after a harrowing cross-border escape, in the West. She had seen thousands of patients and had amassed great knowledge. More importantly, she had acquired wisdom and insight.

She knew that this kind of problem was common and could have many causes. With women in their mid-30s, however, the psychological aspect could be critical. This was particularly true if they were not having regular relations. She knew that she could prescribe powerful drugs to deaden the nerves in Melissa's vulva, and she had even heard of extreme cases where the nerves were cut surgically. Although these treatments eliminated the itching, they left the patient unable to have a normal sexual life. She immediately ruled them out, and resolved to follow her own instincts.

"Well, Melissa, we will address this, and I think we will solve the problem. Let's start with a brief exam, shall we? Just lay back and put your feet up as normal, please."

The doctor made a brief but thorough exam, seeing exactly what she expected to see. "I don't think we need an internal examination today," she continued, "you can sit up again."

The doctor asked Melissa many questions about various kinds of soaps and lotions she might be using, ruling out allergic reactions. Finally, she got to more difficult questions.

"So. There seems to be no reason for an allergic cause. Let us examine further, " Dr. Karen said slowly, "So. Melissa, are you sexually active?"

Melissa's eyes got huge and a horrified look came over her face. "Oh, Dr. Karen, do you mean...um...active with a man?" She shook her head vigorously. "No, I would never. I mean, I'm not married, so that would be...no...I don't...I mean...I never have. I swear." Then she thought she realized the import of the doctor's question. Melissa gasped and continued.

"Oh my God, doctor. No. Absolutely not. There's no way that I could have any...any of those...those awful diseases..." she said firmly. Then a distressed look came over her. "Or is there?" she added meekly.

Dr. Karen took another glance at the chart. Date of birth: May 27, 1977. Age: 35. She had seen how tense Melissa became at even the thought of sexual activity. And the physical exam. Of course. It all made sense. Now...what to do about it? The doctor considered the best course of action.

Making her decision, Dr. Karen said softly, "Melissa, wait here just a moment. I'll be right back with a prescription for you, ok? I think I know how to clear this up. You may get dressed." Melissa smiled shyly and nodded. When the doctor returned, Melissa was fully dressed.

"Ok," Dr. Karen began, showing Melissa a jar of cream. "This salve should clear up your problem in a few weeks, I think. The important thing, though, it that it must be properly applied." She looked directly at Melissa. "I repeat. The application is critical. You must follow my instructions exactly. Do you understand?" Melissa nodded meekly.

"Good," continued the doctor. "Now. You will apply this three times in the day. First application will be when you wake in the morning. It will be best to do this before you get out of bed. Second time will be immediately when you arrive home from your work. What time is that? Six o'clock? Perfect. Final application will be just before you sleep, again best if you do this in bed.

"I make you this chart, please look with me. First week: morning application, five minutes; 6:00 application, five minutes; bedtime application 10 minutes. Second week: 10 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes. Third week: 15, 15 and 30. Is this clear?" Again, Melissa nodded.

"Now. Method of application. You should use your hands only—no implements or towels. Just your hand. For the first two weeks, you will massage the cream into the labia majora and the mons pubis. Do you know what this means?" Melissa shook her head. This was getting complicated. Dr. Karen took a small chart out of her drawer. It had a picture of the female genitalia on it.

"So," she continued, "Massage here—outer labia," she instructed, putting a check mark with her pen, "and upward to here," she continued, circling the mons Veneris. "You should massage this area—the mons—firmly." Melissa again nodded, her attention fully focused.

"For the third week, you will continue to massage this area, but will also spend time massaging the inner labia. Here," she explained, again making a mark on the diagram.

Melissa nodded. "I understand, doctor. I'm pretty sure I can do this."

"I'm sure you can, Melissa," the doctor said kindly, patting her arm. "Please call if you have any questions or problems. And we will make a follow-up appointment for three weeks to see how our treatment is working. Alright?" Melissa smiled and nodded, shaking the doctor's hand. She left and headed off to work, feeling like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When she returned home that evening, she called and ordered some Chinese take-out. When she went into her bag to find her wallet, she saw the cream and her instruction sheet. She had some time before her food arrived so she figured that she'd get her task completed.

She changed into her sweat suit, then went into the bathroom and carefully washed her hands. She arranged the instructions on the bathroom counter and pulled down her sweat pants, exposing herself. Taking a small amount of cream onto her fingers, she began gently massaging her labia on the right side. She had never touched herself "down there" except to wash, but since she was following the instructions of a health-care professional she felt comfortable.

She began to notice that her massage was not entirely unpleasant. Encouraged, she got some more cream and moved to the labia on the left, with the same result. Finally, she took a third portion of cream and began to massage her mons. She felt her whole body relax as a wave of pleasure gently ran through her. With a start, she realized that five minutes had passed. She carefully tucked her materials into her vanity drawer, washed her hands and had her dinner.

After a good dinner and some TV, Melissa found her thoughts turning toward her evening "treatment." Thinking that an early bedtime would be good, she headed into the bathroom and got her cream, placing it carefully on her bedside table. She carefully studied the diagram and refreshed her mind on the instructions. She set her phone for the 10-minute timer, climbed into bed and performed her massage, disappointed that her phone alarm went off so soon.

She awoke the next morning feeling strangely alive, and with a new awareness of her body. She observed that she had foolishly forgotten to put her pants on after her massage the previous night.

"Oh well," she thought philosophically, "I'd just be taking them off now anyway." The idea that she would be purposefully exposing her genitals in bed gave her a little thrill, and she immediately reached over for some cream and eagerly began her treatment.

When her fingers began to stroke her labia, she felt a shiver run through her body. She also noticed that the labia were a bit puffy, as though slightly swollen. Concerned, she explored up onto her mons. No swelling there...perhaps a bit lower...

"Ahh," she gasped aloud as her fingers slipped into her slit. She felt that she was filled with some slimy discharge. Abruptly stopping the massage, she ran into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. No sign of any problems, she thought, gingerly opening herself to inspect more thoroughly. For the first time in her life, she saw her clitoris erect and poking out from beneath its hood.

She hopped into the shower and cleansed herself thoroughly, washing away all of the cream and the unwelcome discharge. When she exited the shower into the warm, steamy bathroom, she was surprised to find her nipples fiercely erect. They had only ever done that when she caught a chill...

For some reason that morning, Melissa spent quite some time choosing her clothes. "How dreary everything looks," she thought. "You can afford some better looking things than these," she told herself. She chose a red V-neck sweater—one that she hadn't worn in years—and a pair of jeans that were just a little too tight. "Well," she thought philosophically, "at least they look like something on me. I can't bear to wear those baggy old things today."

Carrying the clothes out to her bedroom, she rummaged in her dresser and found some lacy underpants, then chose a bra that gently supported her full breasts so they looked natural under the sweater. She hesitated.

"I might jiggle a little in this," she thought, then giggled. "I don't care if my boobs bounce a little. At least I'll look like a woman," she mused, uncharacteristically.

On a whim, she left her hair down. Fussing with it to get it right, she realized, "I need to get my hair cut. Goodness, I've really let myself go to pot lately." As she phoned for an appointment she noticed her lipstick lying on her dresser.

"I haven't used that in ages...oh what the hell," she thought, chuckling to herself, "I might as well go the whole hog today," as she applied a whisper of lipstick.

Riding the metro to work, Melissa looked around. She saw several men staring at her, and she realized that they were watching her boobs as they gently swayed under the sweater in rhythm with the rocking of the train.

The attention embarrassed her slightly, but it also made her feel good. Affirmed, in a way. Powerful. "I could get used to this," she thought. Then she noticed an older man peeping over his newspaper, his gaze locked onto her swaying breasts. He looked like he was in a trance.

"You sick little boy," she thought, "ogling a woman." She watched him as he stared at her breasts, oblivious to everything else around him.

She had heard about what men did to themselves. It was disgusting. Nauseating. But... Her mind wandered and she imagined this man coming home from work and dropping his pants to...service himself. Thinking about the woman—no, the pair of breasts—surely he would call them "tits"—that he saw on the metro. She imagined what that he would look like with his...himself...in his hand...thinking about the...her tits...what would happen when he finally...

"L'Enfant Plaza, transfer point for the blue and yellow lines. Exit on the left," came the voice over the loudspeaker, jarring her back to reality. Melissa rose and headed for the door of the car. She glanced at the trousers of the man who had been staring at her and was aghast to see a large bulge. In spite of her horror, she chuckled to herself, for the first time becoming aware of her power as a woman. "I hope he has a private office," she thought whimsically.

The "ogling" of her breasts continued through the day. In reality, Melissa was getting brief glances of passing interest from men. But from having spent years as a virtual non-entity, even this minimal attention had her feeling like the Whore of Babylon. She continued to find it disconcerting and enjoyable at the same time.

Over the next couple of days, though, Melissa adjusted to it and began to bask in the attention. As she did, she became a bit more forward in her manner. The men in her office seemed to love it, and she was quickly welcomed into the office banter in a way that she never had been before.

As she left work one day, she knew that she needed a cigarette before the metro ride home, so she stopped outside the station for a smoke. She did, however, take care to position herself so that she'd be visible to the maximum number of passers-by. Finally satisfied, she took her Newports out of her bag and selected one, eagerly anticipating the first hit of the relaxing smoke into her body. As she fumbled for her lighter she heard a familiar voice.

"Here, please permit me," said a kindly man's voice. Melissa looked around. It was Richard from the office. He was one of the supervisors and was well-liked for his kindness and competence. He had taken a lighter out and was offering her a light. Melissa delicately put her cigarette between her lips and allowed Richard to light it, gently placing her hand on his to steady the flame. She took a good-sized drag then exhaled slowly, enjoying the feeling of the nicotine rush.

"Thank you very much," she said to Richard. "I didn't know there were men who would still light a lady's cigarette." He chuckled.

"I know," he replied sheepishly tucking the lighter into his pocket, "it seems so old-fashioned nowadays, but...well...I know that you smoke and I've been wanting to find a way to say hello."

Melissa was so startled that she almost dropped her cigarette, she recovered her composure enough to say, "Well, hello, then. And I do appreciate the gesture."

Richard laughed. "You know," he continued, "you've always seemed so aloof at work, but the last week or so you seem to be more alive. I've always thought you had a very vibrant side to you."

They chatted while Melissa smoked. Richard, it turned out, was a non-smoker who was just lurking trying to find an ice-breaker with her. "Trying not to seem like a stalker," he joked.

"Well, I'm glad you finally caught up with me," Melissa said warmly, surprised that those words came out of her mouth. All too soon, she finished her cigarette and they parted, promising each other that they would have to meet for a drink after work one day.

When she arrived home, Melissa's after-work treatment went amazingly well. She found that she was becoming quite skilled at caressing her labia, and had learned to hold off massaging her mons until the last few minutes.

Once she began caressing herself in that area she found that she quickly lost focus. And of course she did not want to compromise the therapeutic benefit of her self-treatment.

She could tell that she was making good progress. The itching was practically gone, and she was feeling better and more alive every day. She absolutely did not want to have a setback. She knew that she must be on guard against neglecting her instructions for a few moments of... Of what? Self-indulgence? Pleasure? Self-pleasure? She quickly put that thought out of her mind.

When it came time for her bedtime therapy, though, she made a decision: her new bedtime routine would be to sleep naked. That would facilitate her night and morning massages, and besides it made her feel...what? Sexy?

"Oh dear, Lord," she thought, "That's all I need...to become some kind of sex fiend."

No, she decided after carefully thinking it through, this was a purely practical decision made solely to facilitate her therapeutic massages.

"Doctor's orders," she reminded herself, taking some cream onto her fingers and beginning the now-familiar routine.

She chuckled at herself as she began to caress her genitals, but found that she quickly drifted into another world. Her mind wandered to the man who had ogled her a few days ago on the metro.

"What is he doing now?" she wondered. She knew. He was lying in bed like she was, with his...his...organ exposed.

She was sure he had one of those disgusting erections like she had seen tenting his trousers. "He probably has his hand wrapped around it," she thought.

She now imagined him with a group of men, surrounding her. They were all naked. Erect. As they pumped themselves, they grunted like animals, disgustingly ogling her body. Slavering over themselves in their lust.

As her as her fingers glided up to her mons and she made circles around her most sensitive area, she imagined Richard pushing his way through the crowd.

Of course he was the largest. He was magnificent. Taking complete charge of the situation he positioned himself near her face, shielding her from the view of everyone but him.