Doctor Dave

by Knox, Abby

  But then something magical happens in my ear. Doctor Dave drops his voice lower, softer, like he’s right there, murmuring into my ear. He presses me. “Millie, honey. I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there.” The sound of his gentle chuckle produces a delicious clenching between my thighs. He continues. “Is this an obscene phone call? Because I gotta be honest. It’s working for me, baby.”

  The naughty doctor’s words bust through some barrier inside me and I laugh in both amusement and relief.

  “I’m…I’m here. Hi. Hello.” The words all come out more breathy than intended but I’m elated that I’m at least no longer voiceless.

  “Thank god, because the next caller’s yet another sad sack dude just waiting for me to tell him what he doesn’t want to hear.”

  “You mean ‘man up’?” I say, assuming his producer will add everyone’s favorite “man up” sound drop, and I have to roll my eyes. The sound drops and the catchphrases are the only thing I can’t stand about the show, and I’ve always sensed that Doctor Dave himself loathes them, too.

  “That’s probably the long and short of it, no pun intended. You, on the other hand, have an incredibly sexy voice and I happen to really, really like that name. Millie. I’d much rather start the show with a bang. Pun intended.”

  I giggle like an idiot, but this only eggs him on.

  “I mean it, it’s cute. You’ve got to be cute with a name like Millie, right? You know you’re cute, don’t you?”

  I swallow the saliva in my mouth and realize my salivary glands are not the only part of me that’s dripping. How in the hell does he do that?

  “I…I guess so? I mean, I’m not uncute,” I reply. I smack my palm to my forehead. Uncute is not even a word, you moron!

  “OK, OK, my producer is giving me the mom look right now so we’d better get to the meat of your problem. Don’t want a spanking from Mama tonight. How can Doctor Dave help you tonight, sweet Millie?”

  Swallowing again, I kick shy, stammering, quivering Millie to the curb and get to the point.

  “Well, I’m twenty-eight years old and still a virgin, and I no longer wish to be one. Problem is, I can’t seem to find the right guy for the job.”

  Doctor Dave pauses for a moment.

  “Virginity is so relative. A lot of people do lots of sexy things and still consider themselves to be virgins.”

  I smile and say to him indulgently, “Yes, I know that, Doctor Dave. I’ve been listening to you for five years. I assure you I am as pure as the driven snow.”

  He makes a strange, throaty noise, and I can’t tell whether it’s approving or disapproving. “Obviously we’re talking about penile/vaginal intercourse. What about digital penetration?”

  I sigh and swallow nervously. This is really putting myself out there. I hope nobody recognizes my voice. “How about I tell you what I have done? It’s a much shorter list.”

  He chuckles good-naturedly. “All right, baby, give it to me.”

  Oh god, this flirty talk. I have to remind myself it’s not real. It’s only for the radio. But his advice is real enough, so I keep going.

  “I held hands with Jerry Pulaski in the fourth grade during the couple skate.”

  Long pause.

  “I’m sorry, couple skate?” he asks.

  I explain, “Yes. At the roller rink. They played ‘Waterfalls’ by TLC and called ‘couple skate’ and we skated together for the whole song and then when it was over, he didn’t say anything and I didn’t say anything. And we both went and sat with our friends and ate popcorn, and that was it.”

  I chew on my lip and wait for him to reply, my feelings punching at the walls of my throat.

  Chapter Three

  David

  I scrape the stubble on my chin thoughtfully. “And that’s it?” I ask her.

  She pauses, and I smile. This is the kind of caller who reminds me why I do this job. Lately, I’m getting tired of the same problems. Same sound drops. Same catchphrases. Every night feels like the movie Groundhog Day, except in my version, there’s no amazing woman at the end waiting for me to stop fucking shit up.

  This caller might just be the end to my Groundhog Day. This caller might even be worth my bike sliding home in the freezing rain after the show. I feel no pain when she talks.

  “Well,” Millie stammers. “I kissed a boy I had a crush on during a game of spin the bottle in high school. But it was just a peck, and the guy was my friend anyway. He came out a week later as gay, and he assured me that I didn’t have anything to do with him being gay because at the time I didn’t know it doesn’t work like that.”

  Normally, I don’t like it when callers ramble on, but something about her voice gets to me. I immediately like her. Her sweetness comes through in her shaky inhales and her soft drawl. But it’s not simply a saccharine surface. Lots of people seem sweet, but are just waiting for the right moment to strike with their venom. Millie, on the other hand, doesn’t hide anything malicious beneath what she shows to the world, and I have been doing this long enough to read people. Millie is—there’s no other word for it—pure.

  “So you’re telling me there’s been no real kissing? No tongue kissing at all…with anyone?”

  “Correct.”

  The feeling of protectiveness rising up in my chest continues to grow. Now I’m conflicted about making good radio versus protecting her from revealing too much about her sex life to hundreds of thousands of listeners.

  So I switch gears. “Millie, what do you do?”

  “Couple of things. I work as a security guard, and I knit.”

  “Knitting? What do you knit?”

  “I knit animal earmuffs and hats and I sell them on the internet. I do pretty well with it, actually. I’m…I’m working on one set right now.”

  “Animal earmuffs. Things that look like animals for kids to wear?”

  Her shy, breathy laugh hits me somewhere in my chest and squeezes me. “Not exactly. I knit things for young farm animals to wear in cold weather.”

  If I wasn’t paying attention before…

  “Wait a minute, back up. You knit little tiny hats and earmuffs for baby animals to wear? Enlighten me some more.”

  “Well, sometimes farmers want warm ear coverings for calves, baby goats, donkeys, whatever animals they have. I promise it’s a real thing. Google it.”

  “Llamas?”

  “I have done some for baby llamas and alpacas, yes,” she says with an indulging smile in her voice.

  “You’re telling me your name is Millie and you make little bitty hats for baby farm animals, and you’re a virgin?”

  “Ye—yes?”

  I have to stop myself from blurting something out. Something like an immediate marriage proposal. It’s too much to process how fucking cute she is. And she’s not even my type! She’s too shy for me.

  “I’m sorry. I’m having trouble processing these feelings I’m having right now,” I say.

  A small gasp from her lands in my ears. “Uhm, why?”

  I clear my throat, and through the window of the sound booth, my producer Reagan gives me a grossed-out look. I’m so rattled I forgot to use the cough button.

  “So. No boyfriend, not dating anyone currently. That’s good.”

  “Excuse me?” she squeaks.

  “Sorry. That’s not what I meant.” That’s a lie. That’s absolutely what I meant. The idea of this sweet, pure woman on a date with anybody but me makes my blood pressure rise. This is insane; I’ve taken thousands of calls from women over the years, all of them sexy in their own way, but not a single one of them has made me feel things down in my guts.

  Reagan is looking at me with both excitement and bewilderment, probably because to her, it sounds like I’m on the verge of hitting on a caller—not just flirting.

  I’m flustered. Goddamn it. Smooth talking Doctor Dave the radio personality does not get flustered. David Hart, M.D. can discuss all manner of gross situations and injuries in a dignified manner. Plai
n old David Hart, single guy, on the other hand, is absolutely unsettled, and he is fucking this all right up.

  I could continue to play off what I’ve just said for the sake of professional radio and to hide my feelings. I could do that. But something inside me doesn’t want to play it cool.

  “Actually, that’s exactly what I meant. I like you, and I’m feeling a little bit protective,” I say.

  She replies, “Can I be honest with you, Doctor Dave?”

  “God, yes, please.”

  “My three older brothers have been overly protective of me my entire life, and they’re part of the problem. They’ve been scaring boys away from me since I was fourteen.”

  I have to chuckle. “I like them already.”

  Millie’s tone turns slightly indignant. “Well, I don’t need another caveman brother,” she says. “I need you—I mean, I need someone objective to tell me how to find the right candidate to have sex with me.”

  Sign me up. I volunteer as tribute, I want to say.

  I take a sip of water to counteract my dry mouth and to cool off the fire she’s stoking inside me.

  “Describe the right candidate,” I reply.

  “Well, I don’t necessarily want a relationship. But I’m open to it if one develops naturally. Whether or not it is a one-night stand, the guy doesn’t have to be perfect. I don't care about washboard abs—I mean, I’m not exactly a petite girl myself. But I do want him to be kind and patient, and confident enough to do me this favor. Plus, well, he should be fun to talk to, you know, before and after.”

  I can practically hear her blushing when she says “before and after.” It’s so freaking adorable.

  These feelings in my chest, my stomach, and now in my pants, keep sending the same irrational thought to my brain. That thought is: me. It needs to be me. I can already picture this amazing woman in my head, I understand completely what she wants, and there can be nobody else—nobody but me—to help her navigate her first time. I’m the only one who can treat her right. I know exactly how to make her feel sexy. How to build her up, get her ready, please her, and blow her mind. How to usher her to a fucking incredible orgasm, and then take excellent care of her afterward.

  It absolutely has to be me.

  No other choice exists. She’s mine.

  “Has anybody tried?”

  “Well, there is a guy where I work that sometimes asks me out, but I’m really not interested,” she says.

  If she could see the way my nostrils flare with jealously and rage, it might scare the hell out of her.

  “And you haven’t given that guy the boot yet? What’s his name?”

  She laughs. “Honestly, I call him Pretzel Guy in my head because I can’t remember his name. He manages the soft pretzel kiosk at the mall where I work.”

  “Wait,” I say, my alarm bells going off in my head. “You said you work the overnight shift. What the hell is Pretzel Guy still doing there while you’re at work?”

  Millie attempts to explain the situation, clearly feeling bad about mentioning Pretzel Guy on the air. “Oh, well, he works late, I guess. He says he has to stay late to knead the dough and get things ready for the morning. I think. He’s usually on his way out when I’m on my way in, but he always has to stop and say hi to me. I mean, maybe I’m wrong and he’s just trying to be friendly—”

  “No. Nope,” I interject. “Trust your gut on this one, Millie. That guy is bad news. I want you to stop being nice to him immediately. That’s the only language guys like that understand. The next time you see him, tell him you have a boyfriend and he doesn’t like other guys sniffing around his girl.”

  “But I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “You will soon enough,” I say. What am I saying? I can’t promise this woman something like that.

  Oh, my conscience tells me, but can’t you?

  “Shouldn’t a simple rejection be enough for a guy to back off? Why should I have to lie about having a boyfriend?”

  “You’re absolutely right. Sorry, my testosterone took over. You keep having this effect on me, Millie.”

  Reagan’s mouth drops open and she’s fanning herself and giving me the thumbs up. My producer seems to think this whole thing I’m doing with Millie is a bit. It isn’t. But Reagan doesn’t need to know that, yet.

  This might indeed be good radio but the truth is, I’m thinking of this lonely, sweet, sexy virgin alone in a shopping mall at night, as she describes some guy who can’t take no for an answer, and all sorts of things are happening to my body. I’m hot. My muscles are tight like I’m ready to street fight, and…yep, there it is…my cock is jerking awake.

  In all my years of doing this radio gig and flirting with countless women—all of whom I truly cared about and did my best to help—never have any of them evoked a physical reaction like this from me.

  Millie’s laughter sends a tingle down my back. “OK, it’s not like he’s going to kidnap me or something.”

  “Trust me, Millie. He’s already lied to you. That ain’t a French patisserie he’s running. They get that cheap-ass dough out of the freezer in the morning and boom. Done.”

  “What’s a patisserie?”

  I seem to be on a roll with blurting out the first thing that pops into my head, so here comes another one. “A type of French bakery. Someday we’ll go to Paris together and eat croissants until we’re ready to burst.”

  Millie goes quiet for a moment. My eyes snap up to Reagan, who is holding up her hands and mouthing the words, “What the fuck?” I can read her face; she thinks the bit is going too far.

  My Millie saves the day by playing off what I’ve said like it’s superficial flirting. “Sure, let’s go right now,” she replies with the cutest, sexiest laugh I’ve ever heard.

  I give her my deepest signature Doctor Dave sexy chuckle. “Just you and me, baby.”

  Millie makes a noise that almost sounds dismissive. “You know what I think?”

  “Yes, I do. I think I know exactly what you’re thinking, sweetheart.”

  But she’s not responding to my schtick anymore. “I think there’s something more to you than this womanizing playboy persona you have on the radio. Am I right about that?”

  Suddenly, she’s not laughing anymore, or volleying any more sexy banter.

  Struggling to right this crashing aircraft, I pull up. “Who says I’m a womanizer? And a playboy?”

  “Everyone. Literally everyone. In fact, I’m looking at the station website right now and those words are in your bio.”

  Mental note: Change my bio. And then throttle whoever wrote that garbage.

  “Millie. I can’t tell you why right now. But it’s important to me that you understand I am not a lothario. I love and respect women.”

  “I know,” she says. The smile in her voice has returned. My breathing calms. What kind of a ride is she taking me on here? “I’ve listened to you for years and I’ve read all your books. You might be a major flirt on the air but your advice is sound, you treat everyone with kindness, and you’re pretty funny, too.”

  Coming from some people, her words might sound like hero worship, which I’ve never cared for. But from her, it feels as necessary as water. It’s not my ego that feels good when she says stuff like that, but some other part of me that wants to make her feel as special as she makes me feel.

  “Well, let’s not get carried away. I’m not that awesome. Back to you. Tell me about your dating experiences.”

  “Well, like I said, my three older brothers pretty much scared off any guys who came sniffing around. My dad was a pastor but left the family when I was a teenager. He wasn’t the best example of how a man should treat a woman. He wasn’t abusive or anything, but always had a comment about my clothes or what I ate or the way I talked. Nothing I said or did was ladylike enough for him. After he left my mom for his church secretary, I guess I rebelled by eating things he never allowed me to eat. I never slept around because I guess the fear he’d instilled in me kinda stuck.�
��

  I’m shaking my head and trying not to crack my knuckles in response to all of this. “First of all, you’re a human being. You are built to eat good food and have good sex. Our bodies are designed for these things to bring us pleasure and a little bit of happiness in this fucked up world. Oh god. Sorry.”

  Reagan is freaking out in the sound booth, but she’s got a hair trigger response for that dump button.

  Millie gasps and laughs, but I reassure her that’s what the seven-second delay is for.

  “But I probably shouldn’t let that happen again or the station manager will be on my ass.”

  Millie laughs again, and it’s different from the nervous, breathy Millie from a few minutes ago. It’s high and tumbles through the line like the sounds of a wind chime. She empowers me to continue. My listeners for some reason love it when I talk shit about the boss. “Actually, no, he won’t be on my ass because he’s at home asleep on his overpriced mattress, a gift from one of the advertisers that my show brought in, thank you very much. Did I get a fancy mattress? No, I just get chewed out every night by him for speaking the truth.”

  She continues to laugh. I’m so proud I could thump my chest like a gorilla. Alpha male cause female to make happy sound.

  I don’t thump my chest. Instead I turn the focus back on to Millie. “Tell me about some of the dates you’ve been on.”

  She takes a deep breath.

  I can already tell I’m not going to like what she has to say.

  Chapter Four

  Millie

  “The truth is, I’m surprisingly boy crazy for someone so shy,” I tell him. “I’ve been set up on plenty of blind dates with guys who I thought were very attractive. But it never ends well. One of them asked me how long I was going to stay with my dead-end job, not even bothering to ask me if I actually enjoy my so-called dead-end job. Another time, someone set me up with a doctor and I thought we were getting along. Then he told me what I think is actually a clue as to why I rarely get asked on second dates—he said my boobs were too big. So, I’m open to having breast reduction surgery, because I wonder if that might boost my confidence when I’m on a date. What do you think?”