Several days had passed since that afternoon at the clinic, but Sofia's problems were not over.

Although the enema had finally helped her to empty her bowels, a new discomfort had developed in the following days.

The burning sensation when she peed, the constant feeling of not being able to completely empty her bladder, and that twinge of pain made her suspect that she had cystitis.

It was probably due to the public toilets at the campsite, which were often crowded and not perfectly hygienic, but deep down she couldn't help wondering if her habit, which had started after that visit, of insistently seeking solitary pleasure that surprised her at the most unexpected times, had also contributed.

The cystitis was not constant, some days it seemed to subside, others it became sharp, especially when coinciding with her menstrual cycle, which, given her young age, was always a little irregular. This fluctuation in symptoms wore her down, because it forced her to live with a discomfort that was intertwined with thoughts and desires that she did not even want to admit to herself.

Every time she passed the campsite clinic, she felt a certain hesitation. Returning to the doctor seemed inevitable, she had to get treatment, she couldn't stand that burning sensation for long. Yet, mixed with this necessity, another more secret and unconfessable motivation crept in. The very idea of feeling those hands on her young body again made her blush and tremble. She tried to convince herself that it was only a health issue, but inside she clearly felt that there was something else: a part of her body and mind seemed to desire that situation, almost eagerly awaiting the chance to relive it.

It was during a casual chat with two women she met on the beach that Sofia learned more about the campsite doctor. One of them, talking about the facilities, mentioned him casually: "Ah, yes... Dr. Moretti is here every summer, but the rest of the year he works at the hospital in Grosseto. He's a highly respected gynecologist and even specializes in urology. In short, he's someone who really knows his stuff."

Those words struck Sofia like a small twist in the plot. Until then, she had thought of him only as the "camp doctor," a temporary service figure, useful for emergencies or temporary ailments. But imagining him in a large hospital, with specific expertise in the fields that concerned her, changed everything. It was no coincidence that he was the one who had examined her the first time, it was almost as if fate had chosen the most suitable person for her.

The more she dwelled on that coincidence, the more it began to feel like a sign. The thought that he wasn’t just any doctor, but a specialist accustomed to dealing with women’s most intimate disorders, both soothed her and deeply unsettled her. On one hand, a quiet confidence grew within her—the sense that she could finally face her cystitis with someone truly skilled. On the other, the memory of their first appointment crept back in, carrying with it the unsettling awareness that placing herself in his care again would mean yielding once more to his hands, to his control.

And so, after days of hesitation, of whispered excuses to herself, and moments when desire surged almost against her will, Sofia decided to return to that office.

That morning, after making an excuse to leave her friends and grandparents, as she walked back to the clinic, she felt even more vulnerable than the first time. There was no longer the urgency to get rid of her constipation, but a more intimate problem, more difficult to confess, and which embarrassed her even more.

When the girl arrived at the clinic, the doctor couldn't hide a flash of surprise in his eyes. He never expected to see her again so soon. For a moment, the silence between them seemed to stretch out, as if each were remembering that particular visit that had put them both in a delicate situation. Then, in a calm voice, the doctor invited her to sit down, as if to reassure her with his composure.

Sofia, sitting at that desk again, lowered her gaze. Her heart was beating fast, not only because of the shame of having to explain her symptoms, but also because of that mixture of fear and excitement that she now recognized and that confused her. She had to speak, describe the problem, but every word seemed too personal.

She took a deep breath, trying to gather the courage she needed. Then, in a low, uncertain voice, she began to speak.

“Well… you see, doctor… I’m sorry to bother you again, but… I don’t feel well—again.”

The words came out haltingly, as though each syllable carried its own weight, and the faintly plaintive tone of her voice betrayed just how fragile she felt in that moment.

As she waited for him to respond, she became aware of a strange sensation creeping over her. It felt like reliving the previous visit, but under a different light: déjà vu washed over her, bringing back the memory of his gestures, that examination table, that cabinet filled with instruments. If she could have, she would have run away without looking back. But she was already there, seated in front of him, with no way out.

The doctor studied her carefully, with that professional calm that could almost feel intrusive. His steady gaze travelled over Sofia from head to toe before returning to her eyes. Then he asked his first question.

“Come on, Sofia,” he said gently. “Tell me what’s wrong. Are you constipated again?”

he young woman lowered her gaze again, her cheeks burning.

“Um… no, doctor. This time it’s different. You see… after my period, as the days went by, I started feeling discomfort when I urinate. I thought it would go away on its own, but instead it’s getting worse… now it’s turned into an almost unbearable burning sensation.”

She paused briefly, gripping the edge of the chair as if to steady herself, then added in a barely audible voice,

“Please… prescribe me something.”

The last words came out strangled by embarrassment. Talking about such an intimate problem with a man, and with this doctor who evoked such confusing memories, made her feel exposed as never before.

The doctor remained silent for a few moments, as if reflecting on Sofia's words. Then he picked up a notepad and, in a firm but gentle tone, began to ask her questions that took her by surprise.

“Tell me, Sofia… is your menstrual cycle regular? Aside from this time, do you often experience delays or early periods?”

Sofia turned pale. What kind of questions was he asking her?

"Um... sometimes, yes... it's never very regular," she replied, shrugging her shoulders and looking down.

The doctor nodded, jotting something down. "Good. And when you have your period, what kind of protection do you use? Pads, tampons, or something else?"

Sofia bit her lip, feeling her face flush. She had never talked about these things with a man before, let alone a doctor she knew all too well. "I use... almost always regular pads... external ones."

I see. Do you change them frequently? About how many hours apart?” he pressed, his voice neutral, as if he were asking something perfectly ordinary.

She clasped her hands on her knees. "Um... every three or four hours... it depends..."

"What about your underwear? Do you prefer synthetic briefs, perhaps coloured, or cotton underwear?"

Sofia looked up suddenly, incredulous. "What...? But..."

The doctor smiled slightly to reassure her. "It's not a strange question, believe me. The use of synthetic fabrics, especially dark or very tight ones, can cause irritation and infections. Traditional white cotton panties are better, washed thoroughly and changed often. It's one of the first rules of intimate hygiene."

Sofia swallowed hard, nodding without being able to reply. She felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into embarrassment, as if she were confessing secrets that were too personal.

"One more thing..." continued the doctor, looking up at her slightly. "Recently, apart from your period, have you noticed if certain habits may have made the situation worse? For example... intimate relations, or frequent stimulation?"

Those words struck her like a bolt of lightning. She remained motionless, unable to respond. Her ears were ringing, her face was burning, as if he had read her most hidden thoughts.

The doctor showed no sign of judgment, only expectation. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. It's important to understand the causes, Sofia."

She lowered her gaze, staring at a spot on the floor, and whispered, "Maybe... yes."

Each new question seemed to uncover another layer of her intimacy. Sofia felt exposed without even having to undress: her face burning, her clammy hands clasped together, her breathing becoming short at times. She struggled to answer, but every word felt like a confession. She never imagined she would have to discuss the colour of her underwear or her private habits with this man.

The more she talked, the more uncomfortable she felt, and at the same time, a more subtle, indefinable feeling crept in.

The doctor, for his part, maintained a calm and professional expression. He nodded, took notes, and after a few seconds of silence, he reorganized his thoughts.

"Sofia, what you're describing sounds like cystitis, most likely linked to several factors: poor hygiene in public bathrooms, prolonged use of sanitary pads during your period, and, from what you're telling me, some intimate habits that may have contributed. It's nothing serious, but it's important to take action early to prevent it from getting worse."

She nodded, trying to mask her agitation with a composed expression, without quite succeeding.

The doctor put down his pen and looked at her with reassuring seriousness.

"To be sure, however, it is not enough to rely solely on the description of the symptoms. An objective examination is necessary to see if there are signs of inflammation and to determine the most appropriate treatment.

Those words left her taken aback. She had entered the clinic almost certain she’d be out in a few minutes, prescription in hand, maybe an antibiotic to take. Instead, the prospect of an examination made her stomach tighten.

“Doctor…” she murmured, her fingers fidgeting on the edge of the chair. “Isn’t there a way… I mean, couldn’t I try a treatment first? Maybe something mild…” She was trying to buy time, to avoid what she already sensed would be an embarrassing situation.

The doctor looked at her for a moment, not harshly but with the calm certainty of someone who knew he couldn’t give in. “I understand your hesitation, but believe me: without an examination, we risk missing important details. I don’t want to frighten you, but it’s the only reliable way to understand what’s really going on.”

Sofia nodded, feeling her cheeks burn. A shiver ran down her spine: she wasn't prepared for this, or at least she wanted to believe she wasn't. In reality, over the previous nights, she had already imagined the possibility of returning to that examination table several times. She had thought about it almost reluctantly, as a thought to be dismissed immediately, yet it remained there, insistent, tormenting her.

Now that the moment was becoming a reality, she felt the two opposing forces fighting inside her.

Her heart was pounding, she swallowed slowly, and with a hesitant, almost broken voice, she could only say:

"All right... if it's really necessary."

Her words sounded like surrender, but inside Sofia still didn't know if she was giving in more to the need to heal or to the hidden desire to relive those feelings she had already experienced in that doctor's office