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God, I hate physicals. Sometimes I think I’d rather die than go
through the turmoil of my Annual Peek-Poke&Prod. But, given that cancer
of almost every female body part seems to run in my family, not going
through the latter may very well bring about the former, and much sooner
than I’d like. But I can’t stand the feeling of being laid out on that
table, flat on my back, kind of like a frog pinned down for disection.
The only thing that makes it more comfortable is my doctor. He’s
such a nice man and a good doctor as well. He has a smooth, easy-going
manner and he seems to go out of his way to make his patients feel more
comfortable. And, to top it off, he’s not bad to look at either. Greying
hair . . . warm eyes . . . and a shy smile. Not that I feel an immense
physical attraction for the man, but at this late date, I wouldn’t
discount anyone. Still, he’s a much better doctor, to my mind, than those
old time OB/GYNs who treat every women as if she’s just a little girl . .
. ooooh, they make my hackles stand!!
I’ve gone against form this time, though. I usually schedule an
early morning, right-out-of-the-shower appointment, but the way things
have been going in my office, if I’m not there in the morning to defend my
territory, I may have a new job by noon. So I made a 4:30 PM appointment.
. . his last appointment of the day. I’m there early, but he’s running
late. The receptionist, Gina, says there have been four deliveries today,
and 3 more in labor, and the last delivery was right there in the office
and nobody wanted to reschedule their appointments. How late?, I ask.
About 30 minutes, she says. So I sit . . . and sit . . . and sit. About
15 minutes before six, I stand . . . and almost collide with my doctor.
“Mel, I’m so sorry. I’m running very late. I should have asked
Gina to reschedule you. But since you’re still here and I’m not on call,
why don’t we get this over with,” he says. He must be in a hurry. He’s
talking a mile a minute and he’s turned back to the exam area without even
looking at me. Lita, his assistant, rolls her eyes and shows me to a
room.
After the usual — height (I haven’t grown), weight, blood & urine
(either the cups are getting bigger or my aim is better) — Lita throws me
a gown and says, “Remember, the opening goes in the front.” Great. Now
for the part I hate. Everything off, put on the gown and hop up on the
table. I just barely manage to get there before I hear a knock on the
door and he steps in.
“I hope you don’t mind, but, it being so late, I sent the girls
home. I thought you and I could do this without a chaperone,” he says,
still not looking at me.
“No, I don’t mind at all,” I say. He looks up at the sound of my
voice, then quickly looks back down at the chart, but not before I noticed
his eyes widening in surprise and a bit of color spreading across his
face. You see, in the year since I was last in, I’ve dropped the 30
pounds I needed to lose and turned my usually stress-induced feeding
frenzy into a 3-day a week workout on the dancefloor. And, while I
couldn’t be called svelte, I definitely look different.
“Lie back,” he says and comes to the table. He opens the tie on
the gown and begins the breast exam. Normally, during this time I’m
counting the little holes in the ceiling tiles, but this time I feel
compelled to watch him. His hands are very warm and firm as he moves them
around my right breast, pressing and stroking. Stroking? No, that must
be my imagination. No, he is stroking and he runs his thumb back and
forth across my nipple until it stands firm and high. He moves to the
left one and gives it the same treatment. By this time, I’ve pulled my
bottom lip between my teeth in an effort to control my breathing. But I
still sound like a wounded water buffalo to my ears. He looks into my
eyes, then gives me a hand to sit up.
“Relax, kiddo.” he says and leans close to examine the skin of my
breasts. I can feel his breath on my skin. I’m still breathing too hard.
He cups my left breast, lifting it as if testing its weight, but still
moving his thumb gently across the nipple. He does the same with the
right one. I must just be imagining that this examination is different,
but it feels different to me and it excites me. I close my eyes, feeling
the blush rising up my chest to my face. I know what comes next and I’m
glad he’ll be wearing a glove so that he won’t be able to feel that he
really needs no additional lubrication to finish. I’ve generated enough
natural lubricant to oil a whole houseful of door hinges.
He closes the front of the gown. “Okay, hon, lay back and slide
down.”
Still with my eyes closed, I do as he says. He places my feet in
the stirrups and moves my legs apart. He does the PAP smear quickly, then
puts the glove on his right hand and puts a little lubricant on it. He
mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “I probably won’t need
that,” and slides his fingers into my cunt. His left hand braces low on
my belly as he feels around, then he pauses. I open my eyes.
He is standing there with his eyes closed, almost in a trance, his
fingers still inside me. He moves his thumb like he did on my breast,
only this time it’s my clit he’s stroking. His left hand slides down and
he threads his fingers through the thick curls that cover my mound. And I
notice something else . . . he’s breathing as hard as I am. That’s it. I
knew something was different. He’s feeling what I’m feeling. I’m not
just imagining it.
With his fingers still inside me and his eyes still closed, I sit
up a little. He doesn’t notice I take his left hand, the gloveless one,
and pull it up close to my face. I slide two of his fingers into my mouth
and suckle them in rhythm as I contract my muscles. He opens his eyes and
pulls away.
“I’m sorry.” he says, as he backs away and takes off the glove.
“This is most . . . uh . . . um . . . unprofessional of me . . . I don’t
know what has gotten into me. Please . . . forgive me.” He is now
standing against the wall, eyes wide, with the glove wadded up in his
hand.
I put my feet down and sit up, smoothing the gown as I do.
“There’s nothing to forgive, ” I say, looking down at my lap, “unless you
don’t intend to finish what you started.” I look up as I finish speaking.
He looks from me to the glove in his hand. “No, not the exam, ” I say,
laughing, and hold out my hand. He tosses the glove in the trash with
unerring accuracy and moves closer to me.
“Are you certain?” he asks, endearingly unsure of himself. In
answer, I move to my knees on the table and reach for him. He bends to
kiss me, deeply. “Shall we finish the way we started?” he says.
Giggling, I move back into position on the table, feet in the stirrups.
He regains his “doctor” demeanor and says “Now let me know if you feel
anything unusual,” as he slips his gloveless fingers back into me, moving
them gently in and out. He reaches up with his free hand and fondles my
breasts. I can’t help myself — I moan loudly.
“Nothing? Well, let’s try this, then,” he says as he sits down on
his stool and presses his face between my legs. With his fingers still
inside me, he starts to lap and suck at my clit. I can feel my legs start
to tremble with the tension that is building. He slips his fingers out of
my cunt and slides one finger into my ass, moving it in and out. He
places his tongue deep inside me and scrapes his teeth on my clit. That’s
it. I come . . .hard. As the contractions slack a little, he lightly
strokes breasts and my thighs as he reaches to undo his trousers, keeping
me on the edge.
He slips out of his shoes & socks (I don’t know how, I was busy)
and steps out of his trousers and underwear as they fall to the floor. I
reach out to touch him but he steps out of my reach. “You’re a tease,
doctor,” I say.
He just smiles. “Now, since you still haven’t felt anything
unusual, there’s only one thing more I can try. Just try to relax . . .”
he says. I prop myself up on my elbows to watch. He smiles broader and
pulls something from the side of the table.
It’s a mirror. He positions
it so that I can see everything and steps back to the end of the table.
He moves forward and places the head of his cock against my cunt. As I
watch, he slowly presses in. I can see it just as I can feel it go in –
inch by glorious inch. He is in as far as he can go. He picks my legs up
and braces them against his shoulders. I watch, fascinated, in the mirror
as he slowly pulls back until he’s almost out. I hold my breath. He
slides back in just as slowly. I feel as if we’re moving in slow motion .
. . out and in . . . out and in . . . tension builds . . . breathing
quickens . . . oh God.
He quickens the pace, trying to remain gentle, but
he can’t. I can’t.
“Oh God . . . please . . . now, please, ” I breath. “Oh . . . oh
. . . ooooooh,” we moan in unison our erotic chant. “Yes . . . ” as he
presses deep inside me and we come together, contracting in each others
rhythm.
He lets my legs down and leans forward, resting his head against
my breast. I stroke his hair, trying to catch my breath. We dress
slowly, sneaking a touch here, a caress there. “You know, ” I say as we
walk out of the office arm in arm, “this is the first time I’ve actually
enjoyed my physical.” He laughs. “But I don’t suppose this is covered by
my insurance . . . ”
Doctor Tushy
tee
