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Softly, I read the list of common health issues to myself, ticking the ‘no’ boxes one after another. “Arrhythmia, nope.” Check. “Previous ectopic pregnancy? Nope.” Check. “History of risky sexual behavior?” I paused for a moment and had to grin at my terribly naughty fantasy about Dr. Blumfield. Then, I sighed, “nope.” Check.
Actually, that exact thing was the reason for this particular visit to Dr. Evan Blumfield in the first place. I married my husband, Walter, during my second year of college. He was my first lover, and for a while, things were great. But, that was a few years ago, and since then, things had cooled off.
Walter gained a little bit of weight, and he was always exhausted from work, so what used to be hour-long romps in the hay got less vigorous and then started to get shorter. By the time Walter started demanding I go to Dr. Blumfield, the gynecologist that I’d been regularly seeing for years, I was convinced there was something wrong with me. Sexually, I mean. Walter claimed to be just as randy as ever, but I just didn’t feel much of anything. I tried to get Walt to try some new things – a little bondage, maybe even some whipping – but he just looked at me like I was crazy. “What are you, some kind of a pervert?” He’d said.
Well, no, I’m not some kind of pervert. But I did miss the way I used to cum so hard that my cunt squeezed Walter’s dick so that he had to wait until I stopped to pull out. I missed how it felt to have him jam his hips against me and spurt my pussy full. I missed running my hand all the way from my worn out sex up to my mouth, leaving a glistening fluid trail and then sucking whatever was left off my fingers. That didn’t make me a pervert. It made me a...
“Alexander Rogers,” a bored looking physician’s assistant called. “Alexander Rogers. Are you here, Alexander Rogers?”
“Alexandra?” I asked, standing up and gathering my half-finished clipboard. He looked down at his.
“Oh, yeah. Whatever. Down that hall to your left. Exam room eight.”
I took a left, and walked past room four, six, and then stopped in front of eight.
“All the way back here? Looks like this hall has seen better days.”
“Yep, that’s the one.” He shrugged. “Since the clinic across the way closed, Dr. Blumfield’s been sharing space with a couple podiatrists. Anyway, here you are.”
After the cursory pleasantries: blood pressure, asking if I was on drugs, taking my temperature, the heavy-lidded man surprised me.
“Where are you in your menstrual cycle right now, Alexander? Uh, I mean Alexandra.”
“My what?” I sputtered, “Oh, sorry. Took me by surprise. I’m ovulating, or will be in a couple of days.”
He made some kind of mark on his little paper and looked at me for a second.
“Okay, then. Make yourself comfortable. There’s a new National Geographic over there, I think. The doctor will be with you shortly.”
Checking my watch again, I noticed it was now one full hour after my appointment time. Walter is go
ing to be furious.
***
Two short knocks on the door preceded Dr. Blumfield’s entrance. What is there to say about him? I’ve been going to him for years, but every single time, I get a little anxious when I hear those knocks. He’s a foot taller than me, about six inches bigger than Walter. His dress shirt was tight around his chest and arms, although not because it was too small – his arms were just big – and tapered down to a nice, trim waist. Piercing, nut-brown eyes, black hair that looked to be perfectly tousled, and an impossibly smooth face rounded him out.
The intensity with which I watched him surprised me. Like I said, we moved out to this side of town a little while after we got married, and so I started getting my exams here. He’s the sort of guy that you see and go ‘hey, not bad looking!’ but then never think about it again. But, right then, the way he looked at me in return put a flutter in my stomach.
“Hi there, Alexander,” he said, extending his hand.
“Actually it’s...”
“I know, Alexandra. You’ve been coming here for, what, six years? Seven? I heard my assistant was making a fool of himself. I couldn’t resist. Sorry,” he grinned. There was something vaguely menacing behind his smile. Not that he seemed threatening or dangerous, but mischievous.
“So, what seems to be the trouble?” He sat and rolled back and forth on his little stool. “Here, please relax while you explain what brings you in today. Remember, I’m your doctor. Try not to be embarrassed about whatever it is that’s troubling you.”
He gave me a hand to balance on as I climbed up and sat on the table. Butcher paper crinkled.
“Well, it’s a little embarrassing I guess,” I began, “but basically my husband and I – well, our sex life has dried up. I think there must be something wrong with me.”
“I see,” he replied, “how did you come to this conclusion?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and penetrated me with his deep stare. I noticed his high, gorgeous cheekbones then for the first time. I noticed just how powerful he looked. His eyes tracked up and down my body before coming back to the level with mine. The doctor did not, at all, hide what he was doing. His brazenness caught me a little by surprise.
“It just is. It has to be. Nothing’s wrong with Walter.”
“Mhm.” He rolled closer on the stool. “Lie back, please, I’ll see if I can find anything suspicious. Disrobe, please. Would you like me to leave the room?”
That’s strange, never had him ask me before. Usually he just leaves. “Well, no, I suppose not,” I laughed nervously, “nothing you haven’t seen before.”
