A perplexed pout succeeds the initial look of surprise. After a few seconds, he bursts into a sincere laughter that would surely be contagious if I knew what caused it. What can I have missed in the very succinct order that was given to me…? I got in, I sat down….

Between two chuckles, he takes a deep breath and finally tells me, without any condescension;

– If you want to play doctor, that’s fine with me, Mrs Claveau. I’m not used to it, but I’m ok with that!

And he walks around the desk to take place… On one of the two plastic chairs intended for patients, in front of me!! I lose myself in excuses, completely stunned that I never noticed, just under my nose, the two straight chairs that waited for me. Concentrated in coming in and siting down, I squatted the first leather armchair in sight. Damn blondie! That’s express-karma punishing me for having dirty thoughts without the least bit of remorse.

He insists on leaving me the armchair, and turns around my file on the desk, to face him. He lets a few laughs out, punctuating the waltz of his hands on the dark wooden surface.

Now ready, he throws himself back, makes himself as comfortable as the chair allows him to be, and makes a gesture to signify I can start. It takes me a few seconds to shake off the paralysis provoked by his dark staring eyes. I then lean forward, put my elbows on the desk and, joining my hands, I play the game;

– So, what can I do for you, M. Madison?

Without being totally at ease, I find myself to be funny…

– Sorry to correct you, but it is Madsen, not Madison… It is Danish. But I understand, it is far from common here, there’s just a handful of us, in Quebec, if my memory is good.

Can I say that the role playing game is falling flat? With one foot in my mouth, I can stomp around and mumble… With both, I am totally useless! Madsen of course! A Dane, what else?! Who hasn’t had a girlfriend constantly annoying everyone with her charming Danish gynecologist?!?

– I left Denmark after my medical studies to join Doctors Without Borders… I traveled around through the years, and Quebec has been the only place that tamed me enough that I somehow got attached… But enough said about me, we’re here to talk about you!

Large smile… his, not mine… I have no clue what my face looks like at the moment… I just hope I don’t drool. It tends to give a bad impression.

It explains a lot… The very European look, the sandy hair (gray starting to win the battle over the dark blond, especially when it comes to his two days old beard), and the accent, subtle but very noticeable. I love accents. I like English, but it seems that foreigners tell us “I chose your language” with their accent, and I find that very seducing.

Doctor Madsen opens the file holding my pedigree and overlooks it with attention. I can see his lips moving slightly as he reads some of the information, and I wonder if it is really Quebec that tamed him, or if it is more a girl from here. I would have tried to make him appreciate the place if I had come across him at the airport! I might even have tried to kidnap him for that matter… I’d like to peak at an eventual wedding ring (no, no, no!!!) but he already put back his hands on his lap safe from my sneaky eyes. At the moment they emerge again, he takes his eyes off my file to start my questioning.
I can’t take a chance and let him catch a peak, and then have him understand the peaking, and finish the inquiry red as a tomato. So I get my questions shot out about family history, previous surgeries and such, and I am on automatic pilot, which is pretty convenient since it leaves me plenty of time to focus on his deep hazel eyes. I try to look concentrated, when he asks the killer question. (I feel the spotlights on me, and I have a little heat wave)

– Did you notice any changes regarding vaginal dryness?

How do I answer that? How do I admit that yes, for the past five or six years, it would have been a problem if I had wanted to be more, let’s say, active… That I lost the craving for intimacy, and therefore it isn’t a problem per say? How do I explain that it is pretty desert-like in my wilderness, but that I suddenly feel like it might rain in Sahel just before I lay down for my exam? That’s clever! He is soooooooo not going to notice it… It’s absurd, it should be forbidden to specialize in the gynecology field of medicine if a man has a certain degree of sex appeal. It is a bit as if your dentist shoved your mouth full of gummy bears and corn just before an exam, and then gave you a “aww naughty girl!” look…

I mumble an answer now concentrating imperatively on not letting my hormones take control and find myself a disaster zone just under the eyes of the handsome Gabriel… of Gabriel… of the very professional doctor Madsen!

Glance at my file again…

– So, shall we start with your breasts exam?

Ah, of course… breasts’ exam…. Had forgotten!

It is definitely too late to avoid the examination. I already told the contortionist it was fine, but I never expected I’d need to do some mental gymnastics not to appreciate it! And it is not as if I could let myself go a little bit now… Because if I lose control, I’m in for a game of “dominoes of shame”. And since it’s been ages and ages (and ages and ages…) since the last time a handsome male has given me hot flashes like that (pre-menopause does it well, but it isn’t the same), I would bet that I could easily get the shiver of all shivers and I doubt he would believe I’m just very ticklish… And if after my mega-tingle, I present a great moist V…! Help!!