Playing Doctor With My SistersAs discussed elsewhere on this site, I underwent a series of rather humiliating school physicals during my elementary years, each of which left a lasting impression on my personality. My two sisters experienced the same examinations, often comparing notes when we got home from school. From grades one to three, we were only required to stripp down to our panties, but around the fourth grade, nude examinations were introduced following a well-documented “health scare” in our local district.
Like many kids our age, we started incorporating medical elements into our playtime, influenced by what we’d each undergone at the school clinic. At first, we played hospital fully clothed, alternating between doctor, nurse and patient. After a while, however, we settled down into more specific roles, in which I was usually the subject of the examination.
I should stress that the play-acting started out completely innocent; we were just three little girls dressing up in the rumpus room with a plastic medical kit. Sometimes we’d remove our t-shirts while the “doctor” checked our breathing, but that was about as far as it went for a while. All of that changed one Saturday afternoon when we decided to re-enact one of our recent school physicals.
As mentioned above, I almost always played the patient, and it was around this time the game began to take on sexual undertones for me. While I was only about nine years old and understood none of the emotions I felt, I gradually developed a deep sense of anticipation whenever we went downstairs to set up the "clinic". The "sc
Having established a basic routine, the game always started with me sitting in our makeshift classroom, pretending to read a book. Tanya, my younger sister, would walk into the room wearing an improvised nurse’s uniform, telling me it was time for my check up. At this point, my pulse would slip into overdrive, because I knew from long practice what to expect.
Feeling a vague flutter at the back of my tummy, I would stand up and walk obediently across the floorboards as Tanya ushered me into the "change room". There, she instructed me get ready for my physical:
"Take off your clothes and put them in that basket. The doctor will see you in a minute". Sometimes I’d ask her how much I had to take off, and she’d reply "everything except your panties."
I’m not sure how to describe what I felt at that point. The emotions were so complex, so raw and tangled that I’ve never quite found the words. It usually started with a warm tingling on the nape of my neck, which would suddenly cascade down through my shoulders, thighs and tummy. My hands frequently trembled as I started undoing my dress, sometimes fumbling the buttons. Gooseflesh quivered down my torso, especially around the belly button.
This was usually followed by a jarring sense of dissociation, as if I’d been separated from my own body and was viewing myself from the other side or the room. Everything was played out in high resolution; I could see myself standing by the downstairs window; a petite little girl with long blond pigtails, slowly undressing in a haze of sunlight. The strangest part was – I was fully aware that this was happening to me, not someone else. I was unfastening the bow at the front of my frock, I was sliding the straps lightly down my arms, I was stepping out of the dress to reveal my fresh white underwear.
Mind whirling with conflicting emotions, I dropped the frock into the basket and stood up in my vest and knickers. I knew my forced striptease was nowhere near complete, but I feigned innocence for a few seconds until Tanya ordered me put of my socks and singlet. This was one of most important aspects of the game: the patient could wear nothing but her underpants during the preliminary examination. No excuses, no exceptions.
Shivering with expectation, I removed the offending garments and crossed my palms over my white nylon panties. A mild scarlet tone tinged my features; although my siblings saw me half-undressed every day, I always found this final ritual embarrassing beyond words. It was as though I’d been transported back to the school auditorium, undergoing a naked physical before my entire class. Cheeks flushing cherry red, I dropped my eyes to the floor, waiting for Tanya’s next instructions.
Satisfied with my performance, Tanya took me by the hand and led me into the "examination room", where Lydia, my older sister was seated at a desk with a toy stethoscope around her neck.
“Kristina’s here to see you, Doctor,” Tanya announced, then stood attentively to one side. Adopting an authoritative tone, Lydia called me over to stand by her desk in my prim, white undies. Scanning me up and down with her sharp blue eyes, she asked my full name, marking it off on her non-existent list.
The check-up began with some idle small talk regarding my general health (Lydia did an amazingly good impression of our regular school physician), scribbling notes in an imaginary casebook. A few terse questions later, she would swivel her chair towards me, reaching for the medical kit as she moved. This was the official signal that my examination was about to begin.
The preliminary progressed in a brisk, professional manner as Lydia looked down my throat, listened to my breathing, tapped my chest and inspected my tummy-button. It’s worth mentioning that I had to keep my hands by my sides during this phase, as covering myself up was strictly against the rules. I could only raise my arms if the doctor ordered me to, and even then, I had to keep them over my head until Lydia said otherwise. Any attempts to conceal my flimsy nylon knickers from view would result in a stern rebuke from Nurse Tanya (don’t be silly Kristine – the Doctor’s allowed to see your panties).
Concluding the preliminary, Lydia turned back to her desk, pretending to fill out her medical report. Breathing a carefully sc
Lydia had developed an extremely “hands on” approach to our examinations, twisting and wringing my body out until I was literally gasping for breath. I think this was in caricature of our annual sports physicals; our gymnastics teachers tested our flexibility by bending our spines and stretching our limbs to the limit. Lydia could be every bit as rough, although I doubt she ever acted out of cruelty; it was simply how we’d come to play the game. Strangely enough, these personal violations only increased my excitement.
Once the ritual torment was over, Lydia made another note in her invisible casebook then glanced back in my direction, gesturing towards my underwear.
“OK. You can take your panties off now, Kristy,” she said in an offhand manner, mimicking Dr Roberts’ casual indifference. No matter how many times she said this, I always responded with a gasp of surprise:
“Yes,” Lydia nodded matter-of-factly, “it’s time we checked your pee-pee.”
This was, of course, the climax of the game, the moment I’d been dreading all along. I had no choice in the matter, refusal was totally out of the question. I was the patient, I was the little girl. They were the adults, the grown ups, the ones who gave the orders. I had no option but to obey. I’d seen this coming from the very start, but it never lessened the impact once we arrived at the moment of truth. There was no avoiding the inevitable, I was going to take my panties down, and the doctor was going to look at my pee-pee. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Moaning in quiet humiliation, I hooked my thumbs through my panties, peeling them slowly down my thighs...
To be continued. I hope you enjoyed this little glimpse into my childhood. Please leave a message if I should write the next part of this experience. Yours, Kristy :))