Provocative Professions

by S. E. Hall

  His lip quirks in the corner. "I won't make you sit through another one then, since you're here, but I have to ask. Your paperwork says you've never had your Well-Woman Check. Is that an actual never, or an 'it's been so long, it was only once, that you just put that' kind of thing?"

  "That'd be a never, as in never, kind of thing," I mumble, glancing away.

  He slips his stethoscope from around his neck and rolls to the left, centering himself in front of my legs, which are smashed together in terror. "Well, you're remedying it now, and the rest of the information you filled out looks good. So, no other concerns? Regular periods?"

  "Yep," I reply tightly.

  "Do you give yourself regular breast exams?"

  "Um…"

  "It's important that you do so."

  "Got it," I mumble after a pause, staring at his chest. Not because it's broad and fighting to escape his light blue button up, or even because the open collar hints at a sprinkling of dark brown hair, no, I'm solely transfixed on him rubbing the stethoscope's face there to warm it up.

  "Good." He stands, securing the instrument in both ears, then places both hands on the sides of my throat. I startle, twitching a bit beneath his touch.

  "Relax, I'm simply checking your lymph nodes."

  His face moves closer to mine, his minty breath all I can smell, and then it hits me. My mouth clamps shut, in case mine isn't as minty fresh. All the crap I sprayed and I forgot about my breath?

  Great, I'm a mute until he backs up at least. No way am I risking it.

  "Deep breaths," he says softly, resting one hand on my back, the other placing the instrument to my chest. "Good, again."

  I'm confident he can hear my erratic heartbeat. The beating only grows wilder thinking about it and my cheeks flush. The harder I attempt to school my labored breathing, steady my racing heart, the worse it seems to get.

  "Addison," he pulls back to look at me, his brow furrowed, "please, try to calm down for me. Would you like a glass of water maybe?"

  My shoulders slump on a sigh, aware that I'm being ridiculous. I'm a grown woman, nothing special or different about my anatomy, but Dr. Reynolds is surprisingly attractive. Coupled with the sweet understanding in his eyes, such a gentle touch, and positively virile cologne—this appointment suddenly contains a whole other category of nerve-inducing factors.

  I'd flush crimson and breathe rapidly if a hot guy approached me in a grocery store, let alone one about to get up close and personal with my vagina.

  Inhaling a steady breath through the nostrils and out, again through the nostrils only, I ease myself into a place of calmness. For how long, it's hard to tell.

  "I'm sorry, I'm fine." I offer reassurance. "Carry on."

  "Alright, deep breath again for me." He listens on my back and I use his instructions to settle myself further with each inhale. "Sounds good, now go ahead and lie down."

  "L-lie down?" I croak as he makes a note on my chart. Is this it? Have we reached the vagina inspecting stage already?

  "Uh huh," he hums in answer, concentrating on his writing.

  My stomach rolls and knots as I reluctantly settle my back against the less than durable paper. My chest constricting, eyes bulging. Shit! Shit! Shit! My body is about to implode from the coil sprung so tight within me.

  "Okay." He's up again moving towards me rubbing his large hands together.

  With considerately warmed fingers, he gently grips the top of my robe and starts to pull it open. I must squeak out loud and not just in my head because he stills, looking directly in my eyes.

  "I have to uncover your breasts to examine them."

  My hands shoot up, clutching the robe shut. "Right, I know, but I forgot I did an exam this morning, myself. They're good, great actually. Two of 'em, exactly where they should be. Round and everything, I swear."

  His cheeks redden as he fights a chuckle. "Medicine's come a long way. We check for a bit more than that now." He winks and my coil tightens in deeper places. "I need to make sure there's no suspicious tissue activity or formation. You didn't answer me clearly on whether you did regular breast exams on yourself before. When did you honestly do your last?"

  Sneaky bastard—distracting me so I don't notice my grip slackening or the fact that he's uncovered my chest until the cold air hits my exposed nipples. Of course they harden to a tight bud. Please tell me all women's do that at this part.

  My focus is broken by the low hiss I hear. Was that me or…him?

  Definitely him. Oh God, what?

  "Nothing, everything's fine," his hoarse voice answers the question I didn't realize I'd asked aloud. "Arm up." He helps guide the limb above my head and then...places his fingers to the sensitive flesh of my left breast and begins to knead it, molding it in his skilled hands.

  My eyelids slip shut on their own and I snap them back open instantly. He's a doctor, it's an exam, nothing more.

  Maybe I should have considered having sex last night to prepare for today. With who I have no idea, but it may be of help right now. I squeeze my legs shut in mortification at the fact that arousal is ripping through my every fiber and sweltering in the paper robe.

  Focus. Don't squirm. Hell, don't move or blink. Think natural, casual. The expression I muster of "this is totally natural for me" causes his mouth to tug up at the corners. Am I amusing him?

  I'm crazy and completely overthinking this. I stare up at the ceiling. Could the lights in here be any brighter? It's like being at the dentist, except my dentist is old and bald and smells like Ben-Gay.

  Now I admit, albeit embarrassed, I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel odd, yet…good to have a feral-smelling, successful, gorgeous man groping—even medically—my breasts. But I don't think I just imagined that. I could swear his fingertips trailed across, never losing contact, as he moved to the right one.

  Which maybe that's normal, perhaps they check for something in between them? Didn't feel like that though, felt...teasing.

  "And this arm," he mumbles, voice deeper, once again moving it up for me. "Good, perfect."

  I finally manage the courage to steal a glance at him, his eyes clearly "examining" as well.

  "It's, uh, cold in here." Now why did I say that? Maybe he hadn't noticed the perky, aching points shining like headlights, and I just had to go and point it out.

  "Too cold?" His hands still with concern and my entire body aches for them to continue. For them to do their best, and worst, to my neglected breasts.

  "No," I fumble through embarrassment. "It's—"

  "Totally natural." He lifts his gaze to mine and smiles thoughtfully. "All done."

  With the gentlest touch I've ever felt, he lowers my arms and places them at my sides. Whether professional or not, I don't complain when he rubs his hands up and down my forearms twice, warming away the chill.

  It's tender and innocent, but I can't shake the feeling that it's not his usual protocol. Chivalrously, he offers his hand to help me sit up. "That wasn't so bad, was it? You did excellent and everything felt good," throat clear, "normal," he clarifies, stepping away and swiping the chart off the counter in a rushed maneuver, writing feverishly with his head down.

  As the seconds stretch on, I begin to loosen up. The nagging tingle in my stomach releases enough that I can breathe evenly now. He may do this every day with young, old, fat, thin, ugly, and pretty women, but much like I can't stop my nipples from perking up for cold air, he can't help that he is a man groping boobs. We're both but human beings here. My shoulders drop with the easing thought that he too seems a bit aware of something.

  Finally, he looks up as he retakes his seat on the stool and rolls over to sit before me, front and center. "Next, we need to do a pap smear. I'll take a swab and we send that off to the lab. It tests cervical cells for various cancers or precursors. We usually have the results back in a week. Now, before your eyes get any bigger, let me just say, it's invasive, but not painful."

  Good to know. Still, the stressed breathing has re
turned, along with the beads of sweat forming down my back.

  "You shouldn't have any soreness or discharge afterwards. If you do, call me immediately."

  I nod, unsure if he's waiting for me to say the words "I understand" aloud. With the way he's staring at me, it's as if I'm before some judge. I'd think he was nervous himself if he didn't do this daily, hourly. He's simply looking out for his patient like any doctor would. That's evident when he places his hand over mine, locked on the side of the table in a death grip.

  "Are you sure you don't want a nurse in here? A lot of women do. I completely understand."

  His thumb travels over my knuckles and I release my hold on the table.

  "How long does it take?" I ask, anxiety evident.

  "Two, maybe three, minutes."

  "I'm fine then."

  "Okay, lie back for me and put your feet in the stirrups."

  "I'm not stirred up! I was actually beginning to feel calmer," I snap, swinging my arms over my chest. How dare he!

  This time he's unable to contain his laughter, turning away as if I can't hear it. "Stirrups," he reiterates through the chuckle. "When raised and locked in place, you put your feet in them." He turns back, laughter gone, but his expression still amused as he points to the medieval looking thingies folded at the end of the table. "Thank you for that though. Days get long without a laugh or two."

  Mortification doesn't begin to describe my emotions at the moment. "You can't repeat that, right? Funny water cooler story. There's confidentiality and all, isn't there?" I scowl, not wanting to be the running gyno meetings joke.

  All traces of humor vanish instantly. "Addison, I will never," he locks solemn eyes with me, "ever repeat anything that happens in here."

  I believe him. "Thank you," I concede, unfolding my arms.

  "You ready?"

  I sigh and lay back. "As I'll ever be."

  The metal clanks noisily as he prepares the stirrups. I tilt my head and watch as he moves a tray and lamp to his side.

  "Feet up." He taps my left ankle and helps guide it into the contraption, then does the same with the right. "Now scoot your bottom all the way down."

  I do, squirming awkwardly.

  "More."

  I do so again, the paper robe rustling louder.

  He snickers. "A little more."

  For Christ's sake. In one big scoot, I'm now as far down the table as I can go before my ass smacks him in the face. He doesn't seem to mind, the opposite in fact.

  "There ya go, good." He reaches up and adjusts the neck of the lamp, then puts on gloves, the "pop" echoing off the walls of this ever-shrinking room. "Here we go," he breathes out, opening the robe and fully exposing me.

  I groan in embarrassment, louder than I intended, obscuring something that he said. "What?" I ask for clarification.

  "I didn't say anything." He's still mumbling.

  I close my eyes, trying to hide, but they snap back open the instant I feel his muscular hands on the inside of my knees.

  "Little wider for me," he says softly, gently pushing my tense legs further apart. "Just like that."

  Extremely confused by the flaring within me, I grimace to myself and close my eyes once more. I'm undeniably turned on by Dr. Gorgeous' bedside manner, bedside voice, bedside touch. How sick is that?

  Turned on? Oh God, can he tell? Well, of course now that I wonder if I'm...moist...I instantly feel like I'm gushing, or maybe it's the heat of the lamp? Please let it be the heat!

  My attempt to bend my legs instinctually is thwarted by his hands, immediately there. "Stay open for me."

  Stay open? Is this really happening right now? Yeah, I'm open all right and damn, do I feel it. I turn my head and squeeze my eyes shut as tight as they'll go, silently counting the seconds and willing my body not to react.

  "And speculum in," he says an instant before I feel something hard and cold slide inside me, causing me to wince and stiffen. "Easy." He rubs one calf. "Tell me when you're settled."

  When I move out of his town.

  "Addison?" He peers up at me.

  "Yeah, okay, ready." I suck in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. Almost done, I chant mentally.

  "Little pinch," he lies, doing something that's uncomfortable as hell. "Try not to move. I'm going to swab and then we'll be done. You're doing great."

  "Uh huh." My voice sounds shaky even to my own ears.

  "So did you want to go over anything else today?" he asks, striking up a conversation I could've done without. "Any blood work for communicable testing or birth control?"

  "Nope, good on both, thanks." I thought he said two or three minutes. Feels like hours have passed.

  "You're good on birth control?" He glances up again, rising slightly to see my face. "I didn't read that in your chart?"

  Eyes on the prize, Doc, let's get this done!

  "No need. Same with the blood work. I'm fine, trust me," I grumble out the last part. Nosy fucker, outing me as a pathetic, no sex life loser under the guise of medicine.

  "Oh, alright then. Well, if that changes, give the office a call and we'll get you in. You need—"

  "Twenty-six years old, Doc, I got it!" I cut him off.

  He laughs, slowly easing the speculum, I think he called it, out of me. "Almost done, I need to check the positioning of your ovaries and uterus." He stands now, looking down at me. "This will be my fingers in you, Addison."

  Fingers? I swallow the lump building in my throat. I'm not sure the breezed over "invasive" warning covers it. I shock myself, having to stifle a giggle with the sudden realization; Dr. Reynolds has literally fingered most of the women in this town.

  Oh dear God, who's my mother's gyno? No, no, no. I shake my head...happy thoughts.

  I tremble when he touches me, the slow, steady hands of a professional, yet still I twitch. It's the nerves, not excitement, I swear it.

  "Relax," he eases with a low voice as one hand covers my stomach, pushing down on my tummy while the fingers of the other slip inside me, both working together to knead and feel around. "You okay?" he asks, me probably mistaking his concern for huskiness.

  "Fine," I respond with my eyes closed tight.

  "We're all done." He slides his fingers out, turning away abruptly. "You can put your legs down and sit up."

  His back remains to me, unlike the reassuring manner before.

  "I'm done for a year, right?" I fumble with the damn joke of a robe, covering what I can as fast as possible.

  "With that part, yes. Unless you have any changes in life or health, or any questions, you should be good for a year." He's done charting, labeling, and washing his hands and I'm still staring at his broad muscular back straining against his shirt. "You should get your results in a week. I'll step out, you go ahead and get dressed and stop at the front before you leave. Anything else?"

  Irritation digs at me that he's keeping his back to me, bordering on rude at this point.

  "No, thank you." I manage as graciously as my annoyance will allow.

  "My pleasure." He shifts only his head to respond cryptically before promptly walking out.

  Chapter 5

  Have you ever walked from one point to another and upon arrival, weren't exactly sure how you got there? No memory of passing your favorite café or staring idly at the newest selection of overpriced dresses in a boutique's window, your feet merely guiding you off memory alone? That's me this morning.

  I left Dr. Reynolds' office in a haze of incoherent ramblings to the receptionist and somehow made it the few blocks to work, my head a fury of mixed emotions and piercing conclusions of what my body had wanted. All I know is that I'm finally here in the tiny break room, slipping off my coat, my exhilarated skin still tingling from his touch.

  With a heavy sigh, I head out front. I thought, ten o'clock appointment, love my job, it'll be fine. Wrong. I definitely should've taken the entire day off. I never take time off work, but I also never go to gyno appointments, especially ones like that, so I h
ad no idea how to plan. Now I wish I had gone straight home after.

  "Um…my bad. You okay?" someone asks as I settle in at the computer, eager to check in the next animal and forget everything else.

  "What? I'm perfect." I glance up to find it's one of the interns that comes in for school work credits.

  She's new, which makes it odd that she's asking me if I'm alright, not to mention staring at me, the beginnings of a mocking grin on her face as though she's about to split open with laughter. My brows pinch, perplexed, that is, until I follow her gaze down to the seat I'm currently occupying.

  Slowly, and I mean torturously so, I stand, suddenly aware of the slimy feeling under my ass. Unable to avoid the balks of laughter from not only my coworkers but half the waiting room occupants, I chuckle along, silently berating myself for allowing a man to space me out so much that I just sat on a pudding cup. It's completely squashed under me, since I sat down, oblivious, and now my ass is covered in it. Chocolate, I assume, the only flavor I'm aware of that comes in such a lovely shade of brown…on my ass.

  By the end of the day, after changing into the extra pair of scrubs I keep in my locker, in case of an animal mishap, not my own, I'm exhausted, and also particularly tired of the new nickname, "Snack Pack." On top of that, I'm flustered and confused, which is evident in my unnatural, shabby quality of work. All I can manage is the motions, my mind a million miles away, replaying and analyzing every single second of this morning.

  Is he that gentle with all his patients? Did I imagine the change in timbre of his voice, the low grunts, the hiss I thought joined mine? And why wouldn't he turn and face me when he was done?

  The circling clouds of thoughts still plague me when Mimi hears the clock chime and screeches out, "Five o'clock, closing time!"

  Couldn't have come a second sooner. I hurry to shut down my computer, grab my things, and rush out the door after some quick goodbyes. Let someone else close up shop tonight—I need some wine and alone time.

  Opting for mellow tunes on the ride home, I open the sun roof, in desperate need of a cool breeze on my overheated skin. It's been far too long since I've relished in a man's touch, exam or otherwise, thus my current sweltering and easy dismissal of blood work or birth control. That peace of mind is nice and all, but the flip side is that I'm all worked up. There's a fantasy in my mind and a hunger throbbing in my nether region that both need some attention. All that paranoia that the unbelievable need building between my legs was going to leave me with an embarrassing wet spot haunted me most the day, one of the only things I was conscious of.