"Excuse me, ma'am," I called out, trying to catch the attention of a nurse who was walking down the brightly lit hospital hallway. She was clutching a thick medical file tightly against her chest.
At the sound of my voice, she stopped in her tracks and turned in my direction. "How can I help you?"
"Please, I'm looking for Doctor Lucian's office." I quickly replied.
She glanced at me, her eyes lingering for a brief second before she asked, "Do you have an appointment with him, or are you just randomly looking for him?"
"I have an appointment with him." I answered, my hands nervously pulling at the hem of my shirt. "Please, where is his office?"
"Follow me." She turned without another word, and I followed her, matching her brisk pace down the long corridor lined with closed doors and framed medical certificates.
My name is Bella. I celebrated my eighteenth birthday just three days ago. I am a fresh high school graduate, having finished at the top of my class with distinction. On top of my academics, I am a very beautiful girl. Nature had blessed me with a soft, flawless complexion and a body well-endowed in all the right places. I have curvaceous hips, a narrow waist, and full breasts that drew attention everywhere I went.
But as attractive as I looked, I was still a virgin.
It wasn't because I wanted to keep myself celibate until marriage, nor was it because I hated boys. It was because of my embarrassing, secret medical condition.
While most girls deal with standard pubic hair, my private area produces excessive, thick hair. It reaches down my inner thighs and up past my lower abdomen. The hair growth is so thick and dense that it forces me to wear men's boxer briefs instead of delicate lace panties.
I shave constantly, but no matter how clean I get it, the coarse hair grows back super fast—often returning thicker within a couple of days.
During my high school days, life was a continuous nightmare of secrecy. I lived in a girls' dormitory, which meant living under constant threat of exposure. I never changed my clothes around my fellow roommates, always sneaking into the bathroom just to slip into my pajamas. I don't wear skirts. I wear trousers. Mostly jeans.
Because of this condition, I deliberately avoided joining the school cheerleader squad or the basketball team, even though I loved sports. I simply couldn't risk anyone seeing me in tight shorts or short skirts.
The peak of my humiliation happened just a month before graduation. I was supposed to lose my virginity to the hottest guy on campus. A boy I had crushed on for months. We were alone in his bedroom, and my heart was pounding with excitement. But the moment things got intimate and I spread my legs for him, everything went horribly wrong.
He froze. His eyes widened in shock as he stared at the shadow of dark, coarse hair spilling out from my waist. His hard, pulsing dick softened immediately right before my eyes.
Without saying a single word, he pulled up his pants, put his shirt back on, and walked out of the room, leaving me lying there in cold silence. The next day, his close friends began to stare at me with visible disgust, whispering behind their hands whenever I walked by. Since then I have become more insecure and never leave the house without face masks. I ended up graduating without ever having a boyfriend, or losing my virginity.
A few days ago, desperately searching for a way out, I booked an appointment with Doctor Lucian after seeing dozens of good reviews about him online. I believed he will have a solution to my nightmare. I had always been far too shy to see a doctor or disclose my problem to anyone, but I knew I had to take this bold step if I ever wanted to live a normal life.
"That's his office." the nurse said, halting in front of a heavy wooden door a few steps down the quiet hall. She pointed at the shiny brass plaque bearing his name. "Remove your face mask and knock, then wait for his response. Good luck."
"Thank you," I murmured.
I waited until her footsteps faded down the hall before stepping up to the door. I took a deep, shaky breath, letting the cool hospital air fill my lungs to calm my frantic heart, and knocked twice.
Silence followed. I waited for a few moments without getting any response. I was just raising my hand to knock a second time when a deep, smooth voice echoed from inside.
"Push the door."
I turned the cold metal door handle and pushed the door open. I stepped inside the quiet, beautifully organized room and softly closed the door behind me.
Doctor Lucian was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, deeply absorbed in writing something down on a white sheet of paper. He had a fountain pen in hand, his focus completely fixed on the paper.
"Good morning, sir," I greeted politely, my voice trembling slightly despite my best efforts to sound composed.
"Morning." He finished, set his pen down, and looked up at me. "You are?"
As he met my gaze, my words caught in my throat. Looking directly into my eyes was the most ridiculously attractive doctor I had ever seen in my life. He looked older—maybe in his late forties, but he was super handsome. He had strong, chiseled features, perfectly groomed dark hair, a neat beard that framed a sharp jawline, and intense, piercing eyes that seemed to look right through me. Yes, he was also looking at me. First at my heavy chest before locking eyes with me.
Fuck! I nearly forgot where I was, why I was there, and even the question he had just asked me.
"Bella Orton," I replied nervously, tearing my gaze away from his face and quickly looking down at the shiny surface of his desk.
"Please, have a seat," he said, gesturing with a smooth wave of his hand toward a comfortable leather chair directly in front of his desk.
I walked over and sat down, clutching my purse tightly against my lap like a shield.
"So, Bella," he began, leaning back slightly in his chair, "how can I help you?"
Panic immediately set in. The words felt like lead on my tongue. I sat there frozen, fidgeting nervously with the strap of my purse, my fingers knotting together. Looking at him up close made the situation ten times worse.
He was so refined, and so composed that the thought of talking about my gross, hairy secret made me want to melt into the floorboards. I bit my lower lip, my face burning as I swallowed hard, desperately trying to force the embarrassing words out of my mouth.
"My... my hair grows fast," I stumbled out awkwardly, unable to raise my head.
He tilted his head slightly, an amused yet confused expression touching his features. "Your hair?" he asked softly. "How is that a problem? Most girls love it when their hair grows fast."
"I don't mean the hair on my head," I stammered, my cheeks feeling like they were literally on fire. "I mean... my other hair."
"Other hair?" He repeated, his brow furrowing for a split second before he took in my rigid posture, and the way I was desperately avoiding his eyes.
His demeanor shifted instantly from formal curiosity to gentle, professional expression. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms comfortably on the desk to close the distance between us, lowering his voice.
"Bella, look at me." He said gently.
I hesitated for a moment before slowly lifting my gaze to meet his.
"You don't need to be ashamed or embarrassed in here." He said, giving me a reassuring smile that instantly made my racing heart slow down just a bit. "I am a medical doctor. I've seen and treated almost every condition you can possibly think of, and nothing you say today will shock or judge you. Everything that happens in this room is strictly confidential. It stays between you and me. You're completely safe here, okay?"
His reassuring words and calm tone acted like a soothing balm on my frayed nerves. Looking into his gentle, non-judgmental eyes, I felt relieved a little. I finally felt a spark of trust, believing that he would help me rather than mock me.
Taking a deep breath to steady my shaking voice, I forced myself to say it clearly.
"My... my pubic hair grows super fast and long. I want it to stop."
He listened attentively, nodding his head in clear understanding without a single trace of disgust or surprise on his face.
"I understand now," he said smoothly, taking his pen back up to make a brief note on his notepad. "What you are describing is a condition called hirsutism. It is actually quite common, usually caused by abnormally high levels of male hormones known as androgens."
"Is there a solution?" I asked eagerly, leaning forward as hope flared up in my chest for the first time in years. "Can it be fixed?"
"Yes, there are several effective treatments available," He replied, setting his pen down once more and looking at me intently. "But before we can decide on the right course of action, I need to examine it physically to determine the severity and the best treatment for it."
My heart skipped. The sudden realization of what his words meant hit me like a ton of bricks.
A physical examination?