Chapter 4- The Right Kind of Mistake
1782 Words
EMILY
I freeze at the sight of the gynecologist coming through the door. She is actually a he! Oh my God…My mind starts buffering. No one informed me about this plot twist!
A young, male doctor? Broad shoulders, chiseled chest, abs of steel, arms that could crush watermelons - I can tell this guy is seriously fit under that white coat.
"D...Dr. Greene?" I falter, unconsciously rearranging the flimsy gown so my little brunette bush doesn’t accidentally make an appearance through the front gap for his eyes to feast.
"Hello, Emily. How is it going?"
God, his accent is achingly familiar and disarming. He’s flipping through my records, then lifts his gaze to meet mine. I gulp as the blood from my face rushes down to my...uterus.
"You…you’ll be the one examining my v****a?" Okay, that’s a stupid question from my stupid mouth. Get a grip, Emily!
"Apparently, yes. It's kind of my job," he chuckles, casting a smirk my way. Wait a minute... Could it be…? No way! Imagine the odds! It couldn't possibly be him. They must just look alike and it was dark that night...
But you were checking him out so shamelessly that you practically soaked your panties.
Oh shut up!
Battling with my own mind seems crazy, right?
My widened eyes scan his ethereal form once again, searching for some traces of tattoos, but he’s wearing a blue collared shirt beneath the doctor’s coat. His black hair is parted neatly to one side, and it looks soft and nice to...hold on to.
From what I remember, Mr. Cranky had messy hair and his forehead was always half-hidden with bangs, but this guy here is clean-cut and so damn attractive, in that professional medical way.
He walks closer to me, and I shift uncomfortably on the table, loudly crinkling the two layers of paper beneath my butt.
"So…your records show that you’re a virgin?"
Maybe it’s just me, but his emphasis on the word virgin sounded more erotic than clinical.
"Mm-hm," I mumble, not quite sure how to respond. I feel like I'm about to melt under his intense gaze.
"How often have you been experiencing these cramps, and how bad are they?" he asks, stroking his chin as he studies me intently.
"For the past three months, almost. They've been happening multiple times. The last episode was particularly excruciating, and I couldn't sleep at all." As he fires more questions about my period and the intensity of the cramps, I answer timidly.
Unfortunately, I'm a little distracted.
A little bit? Try completely and utterly captivated.
I can’t help but wonder if male gynos are supposed to have bodies like that. What I mean is, how can a girl concentrate? It should be illegal to be that good-looking, right? Underneath his white coat and buttoned-down shirt, I could practically see his muscles bulging and moving against the fabric, as if his body could barely contain them. I suddenly realize I have unknowingly been pressing my thighs together, hard, prompting me to feel this certain throbbing between them. Forget about the exam or any potential diagnosis, this man's mere presence has never made me feel like this before...
"Emily?" he says, a little too loudly, snapping me back to reality.
"Sorry... what?" I try to play it cool, pretending to be disinterested.
"I said... I need you to lie back." His features tighten and that irritated expression I remember so well makes a comeback...
Now he's sitting on the stool, rolling it closer to the side of the table, and these newfound pulsations surge through me again. I'm unsure if they come from my heart or between my legs.
Probably both.
"Sorry," I mumble.
"It's alright," he replies with a stern face. "Just go ahead and lie back, but you don't need to spread your legs just yet."
Spread my legs? Just the thought alone intensifies the growing wetness down there.
I recline on the exam table, trying my best to keep myself covered while sneakily watching his every move. But he's doing the same, standing up from the stool and getting even closer to the table, practically looming over me. I hold my breath as our faces get uncomfortably close. God, his lashes are longer than mine and those lips...they look so…chewable. Seriously, does this guy not have pores? I catch the scent of his cologne, or maybe it is just his soap combined with him – whatever it is so sensually masculine.
"Oh my God, wait!" I blurt out suddenly. He reaches for the tie on my gown, but I quickly sit up and clutch the paper gown closer to my body.
He straightens up, a hint of annoyance in his now slightly disheveled hair. "Is something wrong?"
"It's just...I've never been naked in front of anyone before," I stammer.
Dr. Greene runs a hand through his hair, clearly irritated. "I understand you're nervous, but you must have known that your private parts would need to be examined, right? Look, Emily..." He pauses and lets out a sigh of exasperation. "I'm a doctor, and I have to examine you to figure out what's going on. It's purely clinical, nothing personal." He scans the room. "Just try to relax, okay?"
Judging by his behavior that night, I'm starting to realize that this guy has zero patience. And relax? Yeah, right. He's way too attractive for a doctor, and it's making me incredibly uneasy.
"Don’t worry. This is not like one of those medical exams you see in porn. I don’t f**k my patients, kitten."
Kitten? Did he seriously just call me that out loud?! And his last sentence…I couldn’t believe he literally said that! So unprofessional of him?!
Heat rushes to my cheeks. "That didn't even cross my mind, Dr. Greene. First of all, I don't watch porn. And secondly, I never assumed you'd take advantage of me," I weakly try to sound insulted, even though his ego seems to be inflating by the second.
"And hey, you remembered me," I add, based on that nickname, unless he calls every girl that. His face remains unreadable as if he didn't catch onto what I meant. My aspiring psychologist skills aren't working too well right now.
Dr. Greene seems to brush off everything I said. "I know you're uncomfortable, but I have other patients to see today. So please, just relax so we can get this done and get you home, and me to my next patient. Can you do that for me?" His eyebrows furrow and his lips form a tight line.
He sounds so serious, insinuating that I'm wasting his precious time. This dismissive and condescending tone is seriously getting on my nerves. I'm starting to believe that the healthcare providers here are just terrible. My mom only picked this hospital because it's the closest to our house.
My nervousness subsides as my annoyance grows. He's hit a nerve with his arrogance and impatience. If he keeps this up, he'll see that this kitten can turn into a tiger.
I flop back onto the exam table. "Alright, doc. Let's get this over with." I close my eyes and exhale sharply.
"Good. First, I'm going to do a breast exam to check for any lumps or abnormalities."
My temporary fierceness fades as the anticipation builds. Oh my God, he's actually going to see my breasts. I try to convince myself that there's nothing to be ashamed of.
He reaches for the tiny ribbon above my breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter as I feel his body move closer to mine. As he unties it, I realize I've been holding my breath involuntarily. My 34-B breasts are now exposed for his eyes to see.
The room suddenly feels colder as my naked body is exposed to the chill. I'm painfully aware of how small and perky my n*****s must look. Could anything be worse than this?
I press my thighs together, trying to hide the soft pad of fat over my pubic bone and some stray stubbles. My hands itch to cover myself, but I'm on a mission to show him that his presence doesn't affect me. Or at least that's what I'm trying to convince myself.
When I finally gather the courage to open my eyes, Dr. Greene is looking at me as if my naked body doesn't exist. There's no hint of lust or appreciation on his face.
Wait, why am I disappointed by his lack of reaction?
He heads to the drawers and grabs a white cloth, unfolding it and draping it over my lower half.
Well, thanks for the modesty, Doc.
"Let’s do this, doc. I’m ready." I try my best to sound fierce.
But you sound like a dying milkfish.
"Alright. Now raise your arms over your head," he instructs, placing his hand on my arm. I comply, keeping my eyes shut tight. Let's just get this over with, please.
Despite my efforts to stay strong, my eyes involuntarily closed again. I hear him moving around the table, and a shiver runs down my spine as his hand finally makes contact with my breast.
"Let me know if there’s any kind of discomfort," he says, his touch gentle as he starts feeling my left breast. Softly – slowly – finger pads flat on my breast as they work their way in circles from around my pink n*****s up to the outer edge of my left breast. Despite the prior chill in the room, my body is suddenly on fire.
Is he avoiding my n****e on purpose? Part of me kind of wishes he'd give it a squeeze. Holy crap, it's like an electric shock down there. Can my boobs send signals to my lady parts? Because I swear there's some liquid action happening.
I open my eyes and lock gazes with him, feeling myself melt. I quickly look away, searching for something to focus on. Oh, look at that crack in the wall! And the paint wasn’t able to seal—
Oh, sweet s**t!
I let out a squeak as he moved on to my other breast, and now it's tickling me. He repeats the process, torturing me with pleasure. I can't help but squirm, feeling a wave of arousal building inside me. It's weirdly nice.
Why am I picturing his lips on my n****e? My core is throbbing like it has a mind of its own.
"Your breasts are in perfect condition, Emily," he says. "You can tie up your top now."
Oh, he's done. Finally. My hands shake as I hurriedly tie up my top. But strangely, I don't feel relieved.
I feel like…I want more.
- Writer
