Futanari Dreams

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

She's trembling so hard that she cannot hold the pen. It writhes in her fingers like it's alive, scratching the virgin paper, twisting her name into a mocking scrawl.

"This is ridiculous," she thinks to herself. "There's nothing wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with this. Why can't I make my fingers move?"

Her fingers are moving, but not in the way she wants. After an agonizing minute, HARPER GREEN is written atop the patient form with all the artistry of a clumsy kindergartner.

With a huff, Harper sets the clipboard aside. The receptionist behind the front desk, a heavyset woman in her late forties, smiles sweetly at the girl and asks if she's done.

"N-no," Harper stammers. "I'm sorry, I..." Words fail her. She swallows, tries again, and chokes. With burning cheeks and hotter eyes, she grabs her purse and scurries out of the office. She ignores the sweet cry of concern from the receptionist and the curious glances of the other girls in the waiting room. She ignores, too, the hammering of her heart. Harper's pretty sure it's impossible to have a heart attack at 21, but if not she'd prefer to die outside.

When she bursts out the front doors of the clinic her face is wet and her breath tears out her throat in ragged gasps. Stomach clenches, the parking lot swirls around her. She feels like she's gone one too many times round the Tilt-A-Whirl. If only she knew which direction the ground was, then she could throw up safely. She reels, scared and alone--and then more scared to realize she is alone-

Until she feels the hand at her back.

It touches her, suddenly but softly, bracing her against her impending fall. Another hand grasps her gingerly by her forearm. Harper snaps to, her vertigo slightly dispelled, and stares up into a fiercely beautiful face.

The woman must have been standing outside the door to reach her so quickly, or else she just appeared out of thin air. From the enigmatic smile on her rescuer's ruby lips, Harper's not ruling out the latter. The woman's skin is remarkably clear, freshly exfoliated and with very little makeup; her nose is small and turned up with the most delicate and commanding twist. Harper can't tell how much of her eyebrows are real, but they are dark and bold and pointed at the ends. Clear, rimless glasses frame the most striking feature in her oval face: Cinnamon eyes, so bright they sparkle. In the morning's light they appear faintly red, a match for her full, smiling lips.

"You okay now, honey?" she asks. Her voice matches her smile. Low and smooth, it eases round Harper's ears with an effortless friendliness. It reattaches her feet to the ground and gently nudges the last of her dizzy anxiety away.

"I'm fine, really," says Harper. "I just...I got so nervous in there, and..." Words fail her again, but the woman's firm hands give her a reassuring squeeze. Swallowing, the muscles in her throat relax and she lets out a sigh. "I've never done this before," she finishes lamely.

The woman's smile downshifts from its enigmatic brilliance to a softer, compassionate grin. "What, you're not thrilled at the prospect of some stranger poking around in your hoo-ha?"

Harper indulges her with a miserable chuckle. "I know, right? Everyone else must be lining up for the fun."

The woman shakes her head in affectionate commiseration. Her hair is dark, a milk chocolate mix between chestnut and black and done up in a Dutch braid. Her hands are still holding Harper up...but she's surprised to realize she likes that. The firmness of the woman's fingers, the warmth in her palms, helps to balance out the feeling of weightless frailty that's floating in Harper's gut. And this older woman (younger than any of the clinic's staff, Harper thinks, but she must be in her late twenties or early thirties) seems content to hold her until Harper tells her not to. It's at this point that Harper realizes the woman is wearing a white coat with a bronze name tag over her breast. It reads DR. EVELYN AVERY.

"You--you work here!" Harper squeaks.

The woman, Dr. Avery, quickly glances over each shoulder and in a breathless whisper warns Harper, "Don't say it so loud! If they find me out here they're going to make me go back inside and attend to my patients!" She grins at Harper until the girl is giggling in her grasp.

There is a confidence in everything the woman does, Harper realizes. It makes her feel like she's been dropped onto a stage with an actress that will never let her fail. Even in a wet parking lot at ten in the morning, gray clouds just barely rolling back from a cold sun, she feels surrounded by a friendly crowd.

In reality, it's just Dr. Avery's smile that makes her feel warm and protected.

"I'm going to let you go now," she says. "Can you promise me to keep your feet?"

Now Harper's not sure. There is a lightness in her stomach unlike the sick ache she felt before. She tells herself it's the rush of emotions she's experienced in so short a time, fear to panic to something like tranquility...but she wonders if it's something about the doctor herself. The woman is beautiful and a little bit silly, but Harper's never felt attraction to a woman before (or at least, never this strongly).

It's a little ridiculous, actually. The whole reason she's at the clinic in the first place is because of a boy...

And anyway, she and the doctor could not be more mismatched. Dr. Avery is tall and brunette, with curves visible even through the white lab coat and a bosom that strains the confines of her elegant blouse. It is a metallic violet, something from Nine West, and her breasts fill it out despite the tight clutch of the jet black bra beneath it. Her pencil skirt is jet black, and her long shapely legs are shrouded in sheer stockings. Harper feels like a little girl by comparison. Her pale skin is marred by freckles that blaze across the bridge of her nose when the sun is at its peak. Her hair is the same brilliant copper as her mother's, though she's always been teased for being a "ginger." Her breasts are high and small, nothing compared to the doctor's ample cleavage. Her thighs are slender and without great definition.

No, even if Harper were bi-curious there would be little she could offer the woman in sapphic delights. "Even if..." Harper muses to herself.

Which she most definitely isn't.

Mostly.

It's confusing.

"I'm still waiting for that promise," Dr. Avery says softly.

Is she blushing? Harper feels like she's blushing. "I'm sorry, Doctor-"

"Eve," says Dr. Avery. "Call me Eve."

"Okay." Harper watches Eve's eyes trace the freckles on her face behind her rimless glasses. She watches too long.

"Honey..."

"Oh!" she exclaims. She takes a quick step back, out from the woman's protective embrace. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm fine. I really am. I think, um, maybe I'll reschedule?"

Eve places her hands on her hips and, with a commanding twist of her lips, tells her no. "You came here for a reason," she adds. "So let me take care of you."

Those red eyes are casting a spell on me, Harper thinks. The truth is, Eve is doing nothing of the sort. There is one magical thing about Dr. Evelyn Avery and it has nothing to do with sorcery or mental manipulation. It's a much more physical bit of magic, but Harper won't learn that until later.

For now, Eve ushers the young woman back inside and asks the sweet and portly receptionist for a fresh patient form. "What's your name, honey?" she asks the girl.

"Harper Green," she replies.

"Miss Green, I would like you to wait in room three for me. Carol?" she asks the receptionist. "Can you reschedule my other appointments for the next hour?"

Carol doesn't like to do this. It's a busy day and there are other women waiting ahead of Harper. "Then give them to Dr. Morton," says Eve in an autocratic tone. "I've checked the lists and it's nothing but pap smears till noon. Surely Bruce can deign to handle that."

Carol murmurs to herself under her breath but does as she's commanded. As Eve guides Harper into an examination room, the young woman feels both giddy and afraid. It's clear that Eve is used to getting what she wants. To be favored like this is thrilling, but it carries with it an uncomfortable pressure. Harper isn't looking forward to explaining her handicap to a woman as bold as this dark-haired sss in white. Still, it takes no more than a warm smile from Eve to reassure her that what they say in this room will be private and professional.

"Would you like some privacy to change into your gown?" the doctor asks. "There's a curtain in the corner, or I can just turn around..."

There's a tingle on Harper's tongue, an eagerness to finish the unspoken joke she can feel crackling in the air. She's willing to bet Eve wanted to say "I promise I won't peek" but abstained out of courtesy to Harper's nerves.

She is nervous, except now she's not shaking. She's not afraid to be bare before a stranger--no, now she's afraid to be bare with this woman. Steely butterflies are beating against her stomach wall because she's unreasonably aroused.

Unreasonably?

Before she can even hint at her confused feelings, the doctor says, "I'll give you a few minutes." And then her long, stockinged legs are stepping out of the office and Harper is left alone, clutching her form, heart beating like a nervous bunny and her thighs buzzing like bees.