Oh, I am not worried about gentleness right now… I worry about him being TOO gentle. But I am disappointed to know that I will soon leave the clinic, and probably never see doctor Madsen again, unless he finds something wrong in today’s tests… And if I have to choose, I’d rather pay a private detective to track my doc. And thinking about it, if he does start a follow up on my case for any reason, and if he is the least bit professional (which I wouldn’t doubt), it will not be ethical to make him sheep’s eyes…

I can feel his hand leaning on my belly, and even through the light cotton, the warmth of his fingers runs on my skin. He has big beautiful manly hands, and I would gladly take them back home. Of course, it would be less exciting than the whole package deal, but I would be satisfied… *KITTENS’ MASSACRE – THE SEQUEL*

– Any discomfort?

Wait a minute… Would almost seriously thinking about going past my usual legendary good manners and considering laying my hand on top of his,  be interpreted as “discomfort”? Would enjoying a fucking gynecology exam after almost six years of totally comfortable abstinence, like a pilgrim finding himself in front of an oasis, be judged as discomfort? Let’s just say I would really really like it if it wasn’t a mirage, but I am not dumb…

– No, no…

How eloquent! Way to go girl!!

He works in silence, and I fear my heart beats will make my drum-like belly skin shudder. It is a good thing he doesn’t have to auscultate me, otherwise I would probably get a whole set of heart exams to explain my sudden tachycardia attack. (I’ll tell you doctor, what’s causing the problem, and I won’t charge you a cent!)

I am watching for any sign, good or bad, on his face (it gives me a good reason to stare, which is the least he can grant me just before he slips me a cold duck beak in the…!) but I cannot read him. He is stoic, in a blank stare, lost in his concentration. Only his lips are still moving slightly… Probably a tic, or else he is speaking incredibly softly! More than me, that’d be quite rare. I hope not because it would be rude not to answer just because I can’t hear him. Or maybe I’ve gone spontaneously deaf from the stress! No, no, no, no, I need to hear his voice at least one more time… That would be way too unfair. And embarrassing too. (What, you’re deaf now? How could that happen? – Oh, it’s silly… a blood clot during my last gynecology exam. – Oh really? Poor you!) I follow the soft hypnotizing movement of his lips, almost forgetting my anguish.
And I am quickly reassured about my perfect hearing when doctor Madsen announces that everything is normal. Well, “reassured” maybe being a strong word, considering that on a scale from one to ten, my stress level has just dropped to a comfortable fifteen! A nice fifteen that is about to go back up exponentially now that he just grabbed the duck beak speculum.

My hands holding on to the gown on my thighs, I try to send my mind straight to a happy place (well not too happy either… I’ve pulled it through for now, it would be stupid to slip just when he takes place on the stool), I try to picture some vast land, full of cats running around and jumping about, trying to catch little feathery toys attached to long strands of wool to lilac trees… Nice tall lilac trees in blooms… hmmmmmm! And the kittens pop like soap bubbles when doctor Madsen disappears under the horizon of my gown…

Oh well, that is now the souvenir he’ll keep of me… (Yeah right, as if he’s going to remember me anyway.)

Finally, I don’t know if it is the fact of seeing just a few locks of hair showing over the gown fabric, or if it is the absolutely zero sensual feeling of the speculum that is stretching me apart, but I end up not having that much trouble with the exam itself. (If we overshadow the fact that in the statistically almost impossible eventuality that I came across my handsome doctor someday, and that by the greatest of miracles, he is both single and interested in me – anyone would agree now, we are technically grazing utopia – we would have been almost more intimate then if I decided to sleep with him on our first date… And I am not that kind of girl… Ohhhh no! Mouahahahahahahahaha!)

Oh, lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even notice that the ugly duckling has finished its speleology work. I hear a faint metallic noise when Doctor Madsen puts it in the stainless tray on his side.
I close my eyes. Anyway, with the cotton shield between us, there is no chance to exchange glances… Hidden behind the yellowish cloth I blush a little as I feel two fingers slipping gently through me. Le last stressful half hour spares me the worst, but I get a hot flash trying in vain to forget the good looking piece of man attached to the other end of that arm. Luckily (for today at least) the fingers soon retreat and I can allow myself to breathe again.

The doctor’s face emerges, and he invites me to sit back. I try to do it as elegantly as possible knowing quite well that even if I was the most feline woman in the world, elegant wouldn’t work now. The only thought of knowing he knows almost more about my private parts than I do has drained every drop of what sex-appeal I could have had entering the room earlier.

He leaves the room, giving me time to slip back into my branded jeans and my blouse. I hop into my high heels and fold carefully the yellow gown, which seems useless unless the clinic hasn’t invested to offer each patient her own gown. (Happy to have that though now, and not before the exam… Not that I am disdainful, but still…)

Strangely, I feel puzzled. I can’t really feel either relieved nor disappointed to know I am about to leave the office, and then the clinic itself, after what seems to have been simultaneously the shortest and longest half hour of my life. I walk towards the dark wooden desk, pull one of the plastic chairs and let myself fall onto it limply.