That One Time My Doctor Hit On Me During A Visit

I think it’s safe to say that most girls, even the dirtiest of hippies, want to land themselves a nice, handsome, doctor at some point in life. That’s the ideal goal, right? Long work hours for him, and a big empty mansion to fill with cats for me. Oh, that’s not what every girl dreams of? My bad. How about a house filled with pizza and tacos?

Anyway, I was freshly 18 ready to get my butt to college and experience the real world. I was still a virgin, but that was okay because college was about to happen. And everyone found themselves in college…or so movies had told me. I had just lost 20lbs and boys were finally starting to look at me! I was usually just used to being the ugly sidekick. But not anymore!

Since I was 18 it was time to get rid of my pediatrician and go to a real doctor. Finally, I could get antidepressants! Don’t worry; it would be a few years before I realized I needed them. I just needed vaccinations. No one wants to be the girl with meningitis at the freshman picnic. How uncool.

My mom made me an appointment bright and early to meet my new physician. She had been going to this woman for years and I had heard that was pretty crazy. I was scared to meet her but I was shocked when a five-foot tall swarthy gentleman walked in instead. Let’s call him Nick. Nick was odd and I could see that from the start. First of all he was tiny. And not just like “Oh, that guy is short.” He was petite, like a lady. His hands looked like they belonged on a child. He was fast paced and neurotic, and cute, I guess? I’m pretty sure up until this point I had only had crushes on closeted gay guys. I was that girl.

Nick sat down and quickly began evaluating me. He had a clipboard with about 100 pages worth of things I didn’t care about answering. The first questions were basic.

“How old are you”
“Do you drink?”
“Do you smoke?”
“Are you single?”

Okay, not all of them were basic. I was heavily taken aback. I get it; he has to know if I’m sexually active so he can then awkwardly ask me if I’m using any forms of birth control, including abstinence. But nope, that never happened.

“Um, yes”

No idea why I decided to answer. I guess I liked the attention. Is it a crime to like attention? One time I was called “almost pretty.” In my mind, I deserved this.

“Me too! The biggest problem I have is getting girls to not have sex with me.”

Excuse me. Looking back, I realize how inappropriate this was. I should have run out of the office and demanded all of the money in the world. Maybe then I could have paid for college. But I was young and dumb and I just wanted boys to like me. We’ve all been there. I couldn’t figure out his angle, even though it is very obvious now. Was he trying to be the cool, relatable, doctor? The one you felt like you could say anything around? Did those kinds of doctors even exist? Fun fact: they do not.

I bucked up the courage to add him on Facebook one night while my best friend ate chips by my side at the computer. Where did we figure out his entire name? On my prescription bottles. I was a creep. I still am. I just pick better boys, well, allegedly. The worst part about all of this is that my mother did not disapprove. He was 28; I was a fragile 18. But she wanted what all mothers wanted for their teenagers: a doctor, so she could marry me off and get rid of my dowry. Which just happened to be two cats and a plate of cookies.

It took him months to finally respond to my friend request, but don’t worry. There were plenty of awkward doctors visits in between that time. During one session, he grabbed my wrist and reveled in my tattoo, claiming he had many himself. My tattoo was a shittily drawn ladybug with my grandmother’s birthday on it. Literally a child could have tattooed it. I was 16 and my mother went with me to get it done; it’s a tattoo that no one should ever compliment. Another red flag. Some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten is that red flags throw themselves. These were being shoved down my throat.

Then one fateful night something terrible happened: I got the nudes. They were the most legendary nudes I had ever received, for many reasons. One: because he was my doctor and that just feels like a one in a lifetime experience. Two: because he was five feet tall and easily the tiniest man I had ever seen. But, three: he was…huge. They were horrifying. What he lacked in height he did not lack in, well you know, eggplant size. These are the type of pictures that you show high-school students in order to discourage them from having sex and getting ripped apart in the process. Maybe it was because he was just so tiny in general. I had no remote next to his member to compare it’s size. So who knows, maybe it was just a grand illusion. But it gives me nightmares to this day.

He eventually got fired for being an obviously terrible doctor. I’m not sure he properly treated me for anything in the three years I used him as my physician. I could have died from smallpox and he wouldn’t have noticed. He moved to Florida, where dreams go to die, after to lying to everyone about his mothers alleged brain cancer and just fell into the abyss. I’m not sad about it. I just wish I had realized earlier what a scumbag he was. I know it seems obvious, but when you’re young sometimes you just want to be liked. Maybe one day I’ll date a dentist, maybe a nice paleontologist with a PhD, but no more doctors. I am done.

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If I can't be buried with my dick pics then I don't wanna die.

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