“And I’m Dr. Mel Carter,” she says in a husky voice that’s honey to my ears. “Most folks call me Dr. Mel.”
Dr. Mel? That seems like something from Sesame Street, but the multiple plaques on the wall assure me that this is no kiddie doctor. My eyes take in a degree from Harvard, and then another degree from Harvard, and then multiple certifications from multiple institutions. Oh shit. She’s definitely well-qualified, that’s for sure.
She gestures to the exam table before glancing at her chart.
“So what are we here to discuss?” comes that dulcet voice. “Are you here for a specific purpose?”
My guess is that the good doctor already knows what I’m here for, but she’s using her emotional IQ to let me take the lead. And leaning against the metal table, I look her square in the eye.
“I’m here for a prostate exam,” I growl. “My father had prostate cancer, as did my uncle. So I’m here to get that checked out.”
The woman nods, her expression serious and concerned.
“I see,” she says slowly. “And how did the disease progress in your father and uncle? What was the outcome?”
I take a deep breath.
“My dad’s still alive, yeah. After two rounds of chemo, he finally beat it. Been in remission for five years. But Uncle Robbie wasn’t so lucky, and he passed last year. It was tough for my entire family.”
She’s silent, her expressive face projecting sorrow as well as empathy.
“I’m so sorry to hear,” she says quietly. “But it says here that your Uncle Robbie was treated at Hudson Hospital? That’s the best in the city. My medical school friend leads the urology team there, and I can assure you that your uncle received triple-A care.”
I nod.
“Thanks for your kind words,” I say a little woodenly. “They mean a lot.”
Oh shit, am I about to break down? Hopefully not in front of this beautiful woman whom I’ve just met. But she merely nods, eyes empathic.
“Is there anything else I should know other than your family history? Any other risk factors, for example?”
My brow furrows, brawny arms crossed across my chest. Like any modern citizen, I’ve researched prostate cancer to the nth degree before coming in, and reluctantly, my mouth opens.
“I haven’t done the PSA test yet,” is my admission. “But I’m here to do that,” I say, referring to a prostate-specific antigen blood test. Prostate-specific antigen is a material produced by normal, as well as malignant, cells of the prostate gland. The PSA test measures the level of PSA in a man's blood, and if it’s above certain benchmarks, then medical action is sometimes recommended.
Dr. Carter nods seriously.
“Of course. We can do that today if you like,” she says reasonably while looking at me from her seat on the stool. Shit, this woman is beautiful. She’s got wide brown eyes framing an angelic face, with pouty pink lips that beg to be kissed. This is the woman who’s going to do my exam? I can’t avoid the elephant in the room.
“So yeah,” I growl. “I need the blood test done as well as a finger exam.”
Dr. Carter nods again, her expression professional.
“We can do that today as well,” she says. “Have you experienced a digital exam before?”
I shake my head.
“Naw, just turned forty. The American Cancer Society recommends that dudes like me come in for our first test when we hit the big four-oh. Plus, my dad’s been on my case to do it. He suffered, and doesn’t want me to go through the same.”
Mel’s brow quirks.
“Well, I’ll say that he’s a very wise man then,” she remarks while shooting her first real smile at me. It’s like a beam of light, bathing me in a warm glow. “You’ll be happy you came in earlier rather than later, Mr. Jackson. After all, there’s no harm in getting tested, and the sooner we can detect any abnormality, the sooner we can address it. Now is there anything else you’d like to tell me before we begin?”
Sure there is. How much I dreaded this exam before showing up at her office. How her tits look ripe and luscious, even beneath the thin blouse and lab coat. How I’d like to get nasty with her, although we just met five minutes ago.
But none of that is appropriate of course, despite the fact that I’m hardly an appropriate guy. Being boss for as long as I have, you get used to doing what you want. But still, social norms guide most of my actions, and I don’t exactly want to become a giant man whore right when I’m about to get my ass probed.
So I grunt, shaking my head.
“Naw, I’m good,” I say, taking a deep breath. “What next? What do I do?”
Dr. Mel smiles sunnily.
“Well, there are two positions we can do this in,” she says. “In the first, you’re curled up on the exam table on your side with one leg up,” she says. “That way, I have easy access and can perform the exam thoroughly.”
Ugh. Prone like a baby getting its temperature taken anally? Naw, not for me.
“What’s the other way?” I ask.
She doesn’t miss a beat.
“In position two, you bend over the exam table,” she says in a dulcet voice. “Your legs are slightly spread, providing access to your anus and rectum,” she says, not flinching over the taboo words at all. “I can be quick. It’s usually over in thirty seconds or even less.”
I think for a moment, but really, there’s no contest.
“I’ll take option two,” is my growl.
“Perfect,” she mewls. “I’ll just step out for a moment and let you get undressed. Everything off please, and put this gown on so that it closes in back.”
“Everything off?” I ask skeptically. “But don’t you only need access to my … you know, ass?”
She blushes but nods again, like she’s gotten this question a million times.
“Yes, but we ask for everything off just to be safe,” she says. “You never know when there’s going to be an emergency.”
My mind flies back to the time my mom got a nose job. I was in the hospital as her “emergency contact,” and they had her take everything off just in case the doctors needed access to one of her veins, be it through her ankle or her thigh. So Lucinda was stark naked under her operating gown although really, they only needed to see her nose. Not even her eyes or mouth, just her nose.
Nodding, I consent.
“Sure, no prob,” comes my growl. “Just give me five.”
The doctor nods, her breasts bobbling slightly with the movement. Oh shit, I can’t take my eyes away from her chest although it’s so fucking unprofessional. And with that, Mel is gone, disappearing from sight. I’m left alone in the cold, metal exam room except that instead of freezing, I’m burning up. Because this woman with her combination of smarts, professionalism, and sweetness calls to something in me … and suddenly, a rectal exam never sounded so good.
Chapter 3
Melissa
Oh my god. Mace Jackson is fucking hot. About a hundred times hotter than anyone who’s stepped into my office before, and about a million times hotter than any man I’ve done an exam on. Because I was expecting some middle-aged dad with weary eyes and a body like a pile of pudding. But instead, the guy who walked in was a god, with the frame of an Adonis and a smile that makes me melt.
It shouldn’t be like this. Mr. Jackson’s my patient for crying out loud. He’s here revealing his medical history, not to mention any fears and insecurities he has relating to his health.
But still, he’s here, and there’s a job to be done. Man up, the voice in me scolds. Stop being such a princess. So you’re gonna do an exam on the most delicious guy you’ve ever seen before. But it’s still an exam, and besides, he doesn’t think that about you that way. You’re just Dr. Mel, MD.
I gulp, waiting outside the exam room. The voice is right. Mace Jackson is a god, but unfortunately, I’m no goddess. I’m the curvy girl with an extra handful here and there. I’m also the shy girl with her nose buried in a book watching under her lashes
as the hot football quarterback walks by.
Because that was me, once upon a time. And it is still me, to tell the truth. I’ve always loved books, which is one reason why school was easier for me than others. It was simple to get lost in a story, whether English Lit, History, or even my medical textbooks sometimes. Many nights, I burned the midnight oil studying, but it didn’t feel like work because reading comprehension has always come easy.
But Mace Jackson is a different story. This is no chemistry textbook with its dry sentences and graphic diagrams. This is no dull narrative filled with obscure terms and medical lingo. This is a huge, handsome man in my little exam room, taking up all the space and making it hard to breathe. Not only that, but he even resembles the heroes on the romances that I secretly read when I’m at home. Oh yeah, there’s nothing like curling up with a cup of hot cocoa and the latest bodice ripper to keep me company. I especially like the ones that feature gorgeous Highlanders with bare chests and kilts. There’s something about the kilt that gets to me because it almost makes the guys look more manly, to be honest. It’s like the plaid short skirt highlights those heavy, tree trunk thighs poking out underneath.
So now the Scottish Highlander is in your office! The voice in my head says scornfully. He’s waiting, totally nude, for you to do your business. But that doesn’t mean he’s thinking about you that way.
Oh god, oh god. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself because it’s true. Mace Jackson is probably impatient already, totally naked, that awesome body covered only in the flimsiest paper gown. I imagine what it’s going to be like to touch that smooth, bronzed skin. To feel heavy slabs of muscle beneath my fingertips in the most intimate manner as he grunts and gasps from the intrusion.
Because I’ve been with guys before of course. I’m twenty-seven and there was some time for dating even if medical school seemed like a long, drawn-out path of pain. But the thing is, the guys I went out were boys. They were nerdy, thin-as-a-whip dudes with overbites. I’m not saying they were dumb. Quite the opposite. These guys were super-smart, and could take a test like a Rhodes scholar. But they weren’t men, not the way my Scottish Highlander is a man. Ask them to ride a horse, and they’d probably fall off. No, even worse – ask them to change a lightbulb, and they’d have no idea how. In the sack? It was an absolute nightmare.
Take my last date, Stephen. He’s a proctologist from the same hospital as me, and I’d joked that maybe we could refer patients to one another. But Stephen was all business, even though we were seeing each other on a semi-romantic level.
“Don’t say that,” he sniffed. “You know better than anyone the difference between proctologists and urologists.”
Wow, talk about sexy conversation. But I tried to brush off the implied insult.
“No, I’m just saying,” was my light laugh. “You know, you treat them for colorectal problems, but if they have other issues down there, you hand them off to me and vice versa.”
Stephen merely sniffed again, his weak jaw wobbling.
“You know that could be fraud,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “And I don’t like being associated with criminals.”
What the hell? I hadn’t been suggesting any criminal activity. I’d merely suggested a referral system, which is hardly a crime. Doctors do it all the time. So what was up with this guy? Why was he acting like I’d just broken a cardinal rule and deserved to be thrown into jail?
But I was desperate because it’d been a long time since I’d been with a guy. So after we finished our meal (Stephen got a vegan burger whereas I had my usual double-cheeseburger, medium-rare), we went back to my place for a supposedly hot and heavy session. “Supposedly” being the key word because the man was sadly lacking.
“Um, are you … you know … hard?” I asked hesitantly, not sure how to phrase things.
Stephen let out an unladylike giggle.
“What do you mean, am I hard?” he whined. “Of course I am! Although if you want to beat it a little more, we could do that,” he hinted.
But I’d already had that pencil dick in my hand for the last ten minutes, squeezing and massaging, and it just wouldn’t stiffen up. So giving up, I got on my hands and knees, facing away from him.
“Let’s just try,” I said, waggling my bottom at him. “Let’s see what happens.”
It couldn’t that bad, right? After all, I was desperate for relief. The ache in my cunt had reached titanic proportions, and I needed something in there that wasn’t my finger or a battery-operated boyfriend. Stephen rose to his knees behind me like a queen assuming the position.
“Okay,” he whined. “Here goes …. Unnnph! Oooh! Ahhhhh!” he squealed, grabbing my hips while moving forwards. But I didn’t feel anything. No dick tip probing my folds. No wet slide, no deep, hearty meat inside. Just nada, like I was watching a movie that had sound but no action.
I craned my head over one shoulder, puzzlement in my eyes.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said. “What’s going on?”
But Stephen was lost in ecstasy. His eyes rolled up, showing the whites, as his hips moved forwards and then back, and then forwards again.
“Ooooh!” he squealed. “Oh yeah!”
My mouth fell open from disbelief as realization dawned. Because I could feel and see his hips pistoning, and I could even hear the squeal of the springs as they went ee-eee! Ee-eee! I just wasn’t feeling anything because his dick was so small that I couldn’t even tell it was in! The realization blew my mind. Stephen’s dick was so pencil thin and tiny that the man was actually in my pussy at this very moment, and yet there was little to no sensation.
Any other woman would have scrambled off and away because who wants to go through twenty minutes of bad sex? But I was so shocked that I just froze, unmoving as the man enjoyed himself behind me. Was this really happening? Was I really having sex with a man whose dick was so small that I couldn’t even tell it was in? This had to be the Twilight Zone. I was living in some kind of alternate universe where there isn’t just bad sex, there’s terrible sex.
But it was true. And after ten more minutes of huffing and puffing, Stephen finally came. He pulled his dick out at the last minute and blew into the condom as his worm twitched.
“Eeeee!” he squealed with climax, neck muscles tight as that thin frame shook. “Eeee! Eeee!”
I craned my head once more to shoot him a disbelieving look. Because the condom had a couple dribs and drabs in it, but it was nowhere near full. In fact, I’d say it was almost empty, with just a few drops of white come lining the insides.
But Stephen was still shaking, his narrow chest tight and face flushed.
“Eeee!” he let out again for good measure.
And then I sprang into action. There was no reason to hang out anymore. I’d just subjected myself to awkward sex for no reason whatsoever. I could have had more fun with my battery-operated boyfriend at home, with maybe some porn on my laptop or a steamy scene from my favorite novel. Not this.
So I bolted from the apartment in a frenzy, slamming the door before leaning forwards and putting my hands on my knees like I’d just run a marathon. Hot gasps escaped my throat and my lungs burned with exertion. Oh my god. I’d just run out of my own apartment because I was so desperate to get away from the scrawny man and the less-than-satisfying sex session. Holy shit. It’d been that bad.
Fortunately, Stephen let himself out after ten minutes.
“Hey Mel,” he greeted me like nothing was wrong. “Great time tonight, huh? Maybe we can do it again next weekend.”
I gaped at him. Was he blind? Did he not notice that I’d been still as a statue the entire time? That my pussy didn’t contract at all? That my folds didn’t leak juices, desperate to get him inside?
But it was dark and at this point, it didn’t matter. I didn’t care if Stephen put me on his blacklist of cold-hearted snakes masquerading as women. So I flashed him a quick smile before darting back inside.
“Um, yeah!” I called vaguely.
“I have your number.”
And with that, I pounded up the stairs and back into my apartment before slamming the door and bending over in disbelief, my hands on my knees. Holy shit, had that just happened? Had I just had the worst sex possible in the Guinness Book of World Records? Had my partner (if you can call Stephen that) been so clueless that he hadn’t noticed that I hadn’t come? Didn’t he care?
But slowly, I came to the conclusion that (1) Stephen didn’t know, and (2) even if he did, it didn’t bother him. The guy was so stuck on himself that my pleasure and satisfaction were just secondary. Or tertiary. A female orgasm was something that either happens or doesn’t, no big deal either way. Still shaking my head with disbelief, I got into the shower feeling numb, while trying to make myself forget that unfortunate episode.
But now those memories seem faded and far away, although it was only two weeks ago. Because today, I had the Highlander himself in my office, totally nude, with that muscled bottom ready to be explored. I shouldn’t be looking forward to it. This was a medical exam and what I’d been trained to do at the best schools. I had all the degrees to prove it hanging on the wall. But given that my sex life has been so terrible recently … suddenly a prostate exam on a gorgeous alpha male sounded awfully good.
Chapter 4
Mace
A soft knock sounded on the door.
His Baby: A Babycrazy Romance Page 2
