A crumpled fax lies on the clinic desk, images of punk twinks in passionate embrace, their bare skin glistening with sweat and desire. The young doctor, a twink himself, can't help but let his imagination run wild, his hand straying to his crotch as he pictures the scene unfolding. When his next patient, another twink with a rebellious streak, enters, the doctor's fantasies spill over. He closes the door, locking out the world, and turns to the eager young man, his eyes filled with lust. "I've been a bad doctor," he admits, his voice low, "but I think you're just the prescription I need."