Patient Intake

Note: Some of this is definitely borrowed/inspired by Madgod's thread in "CFNM/ENM Adventure"

Graduation should feel like a victory. Instead, you spend the next two months sending out applications and trying not to think about moving back home. Then an offer comes through: excellent pay, the industry you wanted, a start date six weeks away.

You book a month in Europe before anyone can change their mind.

When you get back, your inbox holds a string of increasingly urgent messages. Before your first day, you need a physical and a drug test. While you were abroad, you missed every reminder. Now you have two days.

After a frantic morning of calls, you find exactly one opening. The clinic is on the campus of a women's university and has only recently begun accepting male patients. Its reviews are excellent, though almost all of them predate the change.

You book it. You don't care about the reviews. You care that the receptionist says "we can fit you in tomorrow at 10:40" and you nearly kiss your phone.

---

The morning of your appointment, your suitcase is still open on the bedroom floor and your laundry basket is full. You find a clean shirt and trousers, then spend a minute searching for underwear before giving up. The appointment is in forty minutes. You pull on your trousers, check that you have your ID, and leave.

---

You arrive at the clinic, walking through the women's college campus in the summer. The quad is nearly empty, the sun is hot on the back of your neck, and the emptiness should make you feel better. It doesn't. You are the only man you can see for a hundred yards in any direction, and even without a soul watching, you feel watched.

You enter the single-floor clinic and see three college-aged women in the waiting area. They look up at once, as if your entrance had a sound cue: three heads lifting from three phones in perfect unison, their eyes finding you at the threshold and then doing that quick up-down assessment girls do in packs. One of them—blonde, cut-off shorts, legs crossed at the ankle—leans toward the girl next to her and whispers something behind two fingers. The third bites her lip and doesn't look away.

Your ears go warm. You make for the reception desk like a man crossing a room full of landmines.

"Hi!" The pretty Latina nurse says cheerily as you reach the counter. Her name tag reads GABRIELA, RN, with a small heart sticker half-peeling off the corner. "You must be John!"

"Yes, that's me." You hand over your ID. Her fingers brush yours as she takes it, and she holds your gaze a second too long while the computer hums.

"Thank you!" she says, eyes on her screen filling out your information. "My name is Gabriela Martinez, but you can call me Gabi." She types something, then looks up at you with a grin. "You know, you're like the fourth guy we've ever had in here? No pressure. What's your blood type, by the way?"

You tell her. Fourth guy. Ever. The unease passes through you like turbulence on a plane that levels out before you can worry about it.

"Perfect, I have you checked in for your employment physical," she says, tapping a few final keys on her monitor. "We're running a bit ahead of schedule. Why don't you head straight to Prep Room Three? It's just through that door and to the left. You can leave your street clothes in there, and I'll be right behind you with your intake clipboard to finish up."

You nod and head toward the door she pointed to—which, you realize to your mild discomfort, sits directly in the line of sight of the waiting area chairs. As you reach for the handle, you hear the blonde in the cut-off shorts murmur to her friends, just loud enough to carry, "Okay, suddenly I’m a big fan of the new co-ed policy." A quiet ripple of laughter follows your back into the hallway.