Appointment #1

It was Emma’s first appointment, and she was not exactly sure what to expect. She signed up to participate in the clinical trial because she was broke, and the job market was miserable. She hoped that no matter how uncomfortable the procedure was, it would be better than going hungry.

The receptionist had explained she would have to disrobe from the waist down, but assured her there was no internal examination required. The study was focused on the strength and growth rates of pubic hair. There would be documenting, collecting a sample, and a simple injection. It would be less than an hour each week, and the compensation would be more than enough to keep food on her table.

Emma sat there on the exam table with a white sheet over her lap, staring at her pants folded on the chair in the corner. It was depressing, but not surprising, that all her recent opportunities for income involved taking her pants off.

There was a courtesy knock, the door opened, and a man in a white coat walked into the exam room. This was not the type of doctor she had been imagining. Instead of tall, fit, and handsome, he was almost the opposite. He was shorter than average, a little on the heavy side, and looked like he was probably bullied as a kid for paying attention in class. She viewed him as yet another random guy who would get to see her naked just because the job “required” it. The feeling of ick was welling up inside her.

“Hi.” He said. “You’re here for the clinical trial?”

“Yes.” She answered quietly. They had not even started and she already felt as helpless as a lab rat.

“Due to the anonymity requirements of the program, we are not allowed to use names.” He explained . “It may sound weird, but you may call me Lab Technician, or LT for short.”

“Ok, LT.” she answered meeky.

“My paperwork does not include your name, so I will refer to you by the last two digits of your participant number which are…” he consulted his paperwork. “…28.”

Twenty eight, she thought to herself. That birthday is still a couple years away.

“Before we begin, I can call in a chaperone to supervise, if you wish. It’s no trouble at all, and does not affect the study or payment in any way. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Uhm,… I don’t know.” She said. She wanted a chaperone, but felt awkward admitting that to the man who was about to see her naked.

“I’ll call one for today, since it’s your first appointment.” LT said, pressing a button on the intercom panel.

“Thank you.” Emma replied, relieved that he chose what she wanted.

The chaperone arrived a few moments later. She was an older woman, somewhere around the age of Emma’s grandmother. She stood quietly, leaned back against the door, and gave a sympathetic smile. She brought a sense of safety to the room, but she also brought a pair of prying eyes.

“For the study, I need to collect 12 of your pubic hairs. I will be using this tool.” He held up what looked like tweezers with a handle and a digital display. On the tray there was a plastic box with 12 individual compartments, similar to a weekly pill box organizer.

“The reason this trial is listed in the category of mild discomfort is because I need to slowly pull the hair out so that the dynamometer can record the force needed to remove the hair fiber from the follicle. It is a way to measure the strength of the root, and the connection from hair to dermis."

He paused for a moment letting her digest this information.

“I know this hurts while it is happening, but just like any hair you have ever plucked, the sting fades away a few seconds later. Then, at the end of the appointment, the last step is a small inter-muscular injection. There have not been any side effects reported from the injection, aside from typical tenderness at the injection site for a couple hours afterwards. Do you have any questions?”

She calmly accepted her fate. She probably had some questions, but none that would change her mind. She just wanted to get it over with, get paid, and get out of there.

“No questions.” She replied.

“Very good.” He said. “You can lie down on the table now, and we will start in the front.”

She stretched out on the table, maintaining the white sheet across her lap. It was her last grasp of modesty before the inevitable exposure. As she lay there, looking up at the ceiling, she wondered to herself, did he say start in the front?

“The hairs need to be collected from three areas. In simple terms, this would be 4 from the front, 4 from between the legs, and 4 from the back.” The technician explained. “Within each area it will be two on the left and two on the right. If you need a break at any time just say so, otherwise this shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.

She took a deep breath and glanced over at the chaperone. The woman had a faint look of sympathy in her smile, but not much more. She had probably seen this happen many times before, and had become desensitized to the patients’ discomfort.

“If you are ready. I will remove the sheet and begin.” He said.

She loosened her grip on the fabric, and moved her hands to her stomach. It was time for her thoughts to retreat back into the safety of her own head and let it all happen.

The technician adjusted the aim of the rolling stand light, and then pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He stepped to the side of the table and pulled the sheet down, folding it across her thighs. Her mid section was now on display to both of himself and the chaperone.

When she applied for the study, a requirement before starting was that her pubic hair had to be a minimum of a quarter of an inch long. This had caused her to laugh, as she hadn’t shaved in years. She had, what she and her friends often joked about as, an old growth forest down there. Now she lay there with her full bush in front of two strangers, waiting for it to be plucked.

With his left hand, the technician wiped across her mound, pushing most of her hair to one side. With the other hand he selected a hair with the tweezer tool, and began to pull. The motion took about 5 seconds. As he pulled up on the hair, the skin below lifted. The delicate flesh formed a little cone shape, stretching upward, holding onto the root of that hair as long as it could.

She felt the pin point sting of the hair being pulled. Her mind started chasing the numbers up the pain scale. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,…

“aaaaahhhAAAAA…FUCK!” She hissed through her teeth just as the hair pulled free. The sting shot through her like an electric shock. Her hands clenched at her shirt. She rolled her head around as she processed the pain, and the knowledge that there were 11 more to do. She felt bad for cursing in front of the chaperone, and avoided eye contact with her. As soon as the hair was removed the technician moved his free hand over the spot. He pressed his fingers to the area and wiggled them side to side. It was a common technique for distracting attention away from surface pain like that. How effective it was might be debatable, but the gesture was certainly appreciated. He held that hand in place while he deposited the first hair into compartment number one and closed the lid.

“I’ve been told the first one hurts the most.” The technician said in an effort to comfort her. “Your body will start to produce endorphins and adrenaline, which should reduce the level of pain as we go.”

She doubted that he knew how her body felt. He had never had someone rip the hairs from his crotch. She did some deep breathing, trying to ignore him, and brace herself for the next one.

“Shall I continue?” He asked.

She calmed her breathing and replied “OK.” She just wanted to get through it.

He swiped his left hand across her mons again, applying a gentle pressure with his palm to hold most of the hair to one side. He selected a target and began slowly pulling the hair up, just as before. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…

“SHIT!!!” She blurted out when the hair finally ripped free. Her arm muscles twitched, as the sting shot through her mons pubis, making the whole area feel extra alive and bright. He followed with the same press and wiggle to mask the pain. She heard the lid of the second compartment click closed.

She flopped her head to the side, hoping a change of view would distract her thoughts. All she saw was the stare from the chaperone. The hint of sympathy had been replaced with an air of disappointment. It was embarrassing to be swearing in front of someone who could be her grandmother. Having the chaperone see her in this condition, and reacting this way, brought up a sense of shame. She knew the chaperone was there for her safety, but the judgment and disappointment that came with it was humiliating.

The technician repeated the process along the other side of her mons, and again she instinctively voiced her displeasure with the sensations.

After the first 4 hairs had been collected the technician covered her back up with the sheet, and clicked a few buttons on the tool. He made some notes on the paper. This gave her a moment to gather her thoughts.

“The next 4 need to come from either side of your vulva. It will be just outside of your labia.” He explained. “You have a choice of position. While on your back, you can pull your knees up to your chest and hold them there with your arms. Or you can slide down to this end of the table and I can extend the stirrups.”

She thought for a moment. Not so much about which position to choose, but more about the fact that he was going to repeating the plucking process in her most private area.

“If you choose to hold your knees up to your chest I need you to promise to hold them tight, not let go, and not kick me.” His attempt at levity was not met with laughter, but the issue of holding still was quite valid. Based on her reactions so far she was not certain she could control herself. She also didn’t like the idea of helping him do this more than necessary. As much as she hated stirrups she knew that was the safer way to go.

“I guess the stirrups are OK.” Emma said reluctantly.

“All right.” He replied.

He moved to the end of the table, slid the stirrups out, and lifted them into position. With the sight of those dreaded things sticking up, she scooted herself down the end of the table between them. She lifted her legs up, placed her feet into the cradle, and made one last effort to get all the way to the edge of the table. She never liked it when the doctor asked to scoot down more.

The sheet slid down her thighs and gathered at her lap. She put her hands on the sheet and held it in place. During her yearly exams, the doctor usually draped the sheet over her knees, forming a tent. Emma didn’t liked that at all. She had trust issues, and disliked the whole visual barrier. With the sheet in her lap she was able to see him working, and keep an eye on progress.

He sat down on a lower stool and positioned himself between her feet, with the rolling tray to one side.

“Are you ready to continue?” He asked.

“Ok.” She answered.

With his empty hand he pressed his open palm to her vulva, and pushed it all to one side. This stretched out the skin between her thigh and her labia. While it felt like a lot of contact, it also felt like she was somewhat covered. His hand was still and firm, holding her stable. He selected a hair on the outside of her labia, and began to pull. The skin below rose up with it, until it reached its limit.

“FUUU…!” she gasped through her clenched teeth. The pain in this area seemed brighter, and more pointed. The sting radiated out through her vulva, awakening all her nerves. Again he moved a finger to cover the spot, and pressed against her flesh as a distraction. It was the only part of the process that seemed less medical, and more patient comforting. It was the sort of thing an esthetician would do after yanking the wax strip off. The wiggle side to side was a part of the distraction technique, but in this very private location it stirred some unintended, rather personal feelings. He deposited the hair in the container and returned for the next one. Again he placed his palm over her center and drifted it all to the side. The next hair was a little lower, and possibly a little finer. She could not see the location, and knew his open hand was covering most of her, but the pull from this one felt almost as if it was coming right out of the center of her vagina. She knew this made no sense, but there was no way to argue with the sensation. Her muscles inside contracted in response to the growing sting.

“AAAiiiieeee..!” she squealed, grasping for any way to respond that would free her feelings. She clenched her fists on her stomach and panted a bit, hoping more air would help.

“We’re half way through. You're doing a great job.” He said. He removed his palm from her and gave her a moment. “Would you like to pause for a bit, or should we press on?” He asked.

She felt more exposed when he removed his palm. As much as she hated to say it she asked him to continue.

He applied his open palm to her center again and drifted her vulva to the other side. He pulled one from the upper area first, and then back down closer to her opening. Even though he was covering her opening, it still felt like her insides were the target of the attack. Her muscles involuntarily clenched as he pulled, as if they were trying to withdraw the hair back inside. Again, the tweezers prevailed, leaving her breathless and dazed. The technician placed the hair in the container and then stepped back.

“We are down to the last four.” The technician announced. “These four are from the back, so I will need you to change positions one last time.” He stored the stirrups away after she removed her legs from them.

“I need you to turn over, onto your hands and knees.” He instructed.

She awkwardly maneuvered herself on the narrow table. The crinkly paper did not cooperate well, and it took many small adjustments to position herself as he had instructed. This felt so humiliating. Balancing on her hands and knees like this, naked from the waist down, with an audience of two people watching her struggle. She felt like a farm animal on display.

“You may want to spread your knees a bit for better stability.” He suggested.

She rocked side to side and separated her knees on the table. He was right, it did feel more stable, but it also felt more exposed. This last position was even more embarrassing for some reason because she was looking the other way. She was just giving up access to her private area and not even able to watch or monitor the situation. She was truly a lab specimen.

The invasion of privacy was also completely different. Spreading her legs involved the exposing of her genitals, showing her sexual area usually reserved for a lover. It is where personal pleasure and sexuality was focused. Being on hands and knees and exposing her ass was far more embarrassing and filled with shame. Back there was the dirty area. Well, sometimes dirty, and stinky, and not supposed to visited by anyone. She could only imaging the potentially gross and ugly site of having to look at a stranger’s bottom.

The chaperone shuffled her feet as she adjusted her stance, but Emma did not look at her. No expression or eye contact would be able to make this any easier. She was beginning to regret asking for the chaperone. At this point it was just adding to the embarrassment.

The technician placed his open palm on her cheek, and using his thumb he pulled open her butt crack. The first hair was on the left side, just above her anus. The pulling of the hair began, and the sting grew and grew just like before. She could feel both her pelvic muscles and her anal sphincter contracting in response. It was a desperate attempt at mitigating the pain, and it did not help in the slightest. With her hands flat against the table, the tips of her fingers dug into the paper.

“FUUuuu…!” She uttered, unable to control herself. She heard the chaperone quietly clear her throat, but Emma did not turn their head. These disapproving noises were so obnoxious. She can just fuck off, Emma thought to herself.

The technician selected the next hair, this time just lower than her anus. The pain was sharper, and more pointed, like a splinter being bumped just before removal. She gritted her teeth and waited the slow 5 seconds until the hair came free.

The technician moved his hand to the other cheek. With his thumb to the outside, he gently squeezed her cheek to help open up access to that area. It was down to the last two hairs, and it couldn’t come a moment too soon. He plucked one and set it in the container.

“OK, we’re down to the last one.” He said. Her eyes were watering, and she closed them tight. She was almost done, and then she would be able to leave. He took hold of the last hair and slowly pulled it away from her, until it popped free. She let out a huge breath.

“Good job.” He said, putting the last hair into the container. “Now hold right there, I’ll get the injection ready, and then we’ll be all done.

She hung her head down, blindly waiting for the final step to happen. Being on her hands and knees, with her bare ass in the air, reminded her of the way judges evaluate show dogs up on tables. It was objectifying, and made her feel powerless. She wanted to be far away from here. She could hear him writing on the paper, and then clinking items on the tray. The fussing seemed to go on forever, then she heard the all too familiar flicking of the syringe to get the air bubbles out. She felt the cooling of the alcohol wipe as he polished the target spot on her butt cheek. He set his free hand on her buttocks to steady her, and then dropped the needle into her flesh.

Normally an injection deep into her butt cheek would have been a very unpleasant event, but given all the exposure and pain she had just experienced, it was comparatively mild. This was also the last thing she had to endure at the appointment, so in a way it signified the end of this whole ordeal. She felt the metal needle push inside her, invading her body. He pushed the plunger, forcing the fluid into her muscle fibers, and then the needle slid out the same way it had entered. Finally, it was over.

The technician clicked the protective cover over the needle, and then applied a bandaid to the injection site. In a silly way, it made her feel young again, like having a parent put a bandaid on her boo-boo.

“We are all done.” He announced.

She rocked back onto her lower legs, dropping her ass down from the eye level of the others in the room. She shuffled her knees, returned to a sitting position on the table, and pulled the white sheet back into her lap.

“We will leave you alone to get dressed. I will be back in two minutes with the exit paperwork.” He said. He opened the door and he left with the chaperone.

She was finally alone in the exam room. It was a relief for it to be all over. As bad as the individual moments had been, the whole thing took less than 15 minutes, and the sting was already gone. There was only a lingering raw feeling, a brightness that called her attention to those private areas. It wasn’t so much a pain, but a lively presence.

She hopped down off the table and got dressed. She first retrieved her panties from the front pocket of her jeans and pulled them on, then pulled up the jeans themselves. It felt good to be covered again. Civilized. She could now rejoin society, and try to forget about this whole ordeal. She sat on the chair, waiting for LT to return, and her opportunity to leave.

He knocked, and then entered the exam room, handing her a copy of the paper work.

“Alright, 28. We have you scheduled for next week, same day, same time.” He said. “If you need to shift a day early or a day late you can call the office and reschedule. Any more than a day and the trial will have to be ended. I’ll remind you, there is the weekly compensation after each visit, and then the additional larger payment at the successful completion of the full 10 weeks. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on that final payment.”

“Thanks.” She replied. “ I will do my best to make it all the way through.”

“Submit this paper to the receptionist at the front desk for your payment.” He said. “Have a good rest of your day.”

As she walked out of the room, Emma took one last look at the plastic container that held her 12 pubic hairs. She stopped at the reception desk to collect her compensation, and then left the clinic.

As she walked to the bus stop she wondered who was going to receive her samples, and what sort of experiments they were going to do with them. She imagined some weirdo in a laboratory, opening the container, studying her hairs, and trying to guess what sort of woman they came from.

After her shift at the restaurant, Emma went home and showered. Washing off the ugly world helped her to reset. She peeled the bandaid off her buttcheek and dropped it into the waist basket. The idea of a bandaid for a simple shot seemed sort of silly. It was probably more of a mental help than a physical one. It was a minor act of compassion. The hot water of the shower helped her to relax.

Once in bed Emma used the TV to unwind and take her mind off things. Sometimes Emma would slide a hand down between her legs and play. It was a brief moment in her otherwise hectic day, when she was able to find a little joy in her life. As she touched herself she couldn’t block out the memories of pain and embarrassment from the appointment. That ordeal had affected her more than she had realized.