by A. S Peavey
Kelsey’s increasingly dirty thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Doctor Boutre slipped into the room, closing the door behind her.
“Hello, Ms. Gardner.”
Doctor Boutre came over, shaking Kelsey’s hand, sitting down next to the examination table, engaging in a little small talk. It would loosen Kelsey up, if she didn’t already feel too loose.
Then Doctor Boutre moved on to the sexual history questions. Each question brought images into Kelsey’s head. She tried to suppress them. She didn’t want to think about sex around her doctor. She wanted to keep a calm face.
But try as she might to stifle her libido, it only grew. At a certain point the doctor crept into Kelsey’s horny imaginings.
And those images multiplied and grew more explicit, more transgressive. At first, she simply imagined Doctor Boutre making love to—getting pounded by—Omar. She got wetter imagining Doctor Boutre moaning while sucking on her husband’s cock. And that wasn’t enough. Soon enough as Doctor Boutre rode Omar’s husband, her eyes were on Kelsey.
And all this pleased Kelsey.
She found herself glancing away from Doctor Boutre’s eyes, down at her chest, trying to gauge whether her imagination had captured the right bust size for Doctor Boutre—it was hard to confirm through her blouse and white coat. She had to give it up before Doctor Boutre noticed that Kelsey’s eyes were deliberately straying from her eyes, staring at the doctor’s body.
But Kelsey couldn’t force those thoughts to depart, even if she could control how she acted on them.
Kelsey could hardly believe that she was getting horny thinking about her fertility doctor. She had chosen a female doctor for a number reason, not least because she thought she’d feel most comfortable talking sex, and being examined, by a woman.
She should have chosen an older doctor, or a less fit one—though who knew if that would have calmed her overactive libido.
“All right.” Doctor Boutre stood and patted on the exam table.
“Did those questions tell you anything?”
Kelsey didn’t want to get on the exam table yet. She knew where that led. She’d seen the stirrups waiting to be slid into position. She wanted to delay, until her pelvis was more presentable, her vulva less engorged.
But there was nothing she could do to bring her libido down now. Hell, even if she could convince her body to stop being excited, it would be more than clear that she had been wet all this time.
“Nothing definitive,” Doctor Boutre said. “Often it just takes time to get pregnant. Based on what you’ve told me, you could well just be having bad luck. Despite the warning our parents give us, we don’t necessarily get pregnant the first time we have unprotected sex, even if everything is in working order.”
Kelsey gave a hesitant laugh.
“Come on, that’s usually a killer,” Doctor Boutre said. But then she waved a hand, dismissing her own comment. “Forget I said that. But it does raise something. You seem tense.”
Kelsey had to nod.
“That can be a problem getting pregnant. You need to relax. Rekindle a little of the old passion.”
Kelsey nodded again. She’d been thinking the same think, just for entirely different reasons.
“I know this isn’t the easiest advice to follow. It’s not easy to relax. But I’ve seen any number of couples having trouble because sex has become a chore. You start going through the motions. Everything becomes a bit mechanical. But that’s no better for your marriage than for your pregnancy. You need to make sure you’re still enjoying yourself. Now, an orgasm isn’t going to seal the deal—you can certainly get pregnant without having an orgasm. But it helps.”
“Right.”
“But don’t put too much pressure on yourself during sex either. Don’t consider sex a failure if you don’t have an orgasm every time. Instead, try to create a relaxing mood. Have a romantic dinner before sex, find whatever works for you, rather than just rolling over and having sex on your way to falling asleep.”
Kelsey nodded. It made sense. Maybe it was why she wasn’t pregnant. Maybe it wasn’t. But it didn’t matter.
She still felt horny.
Doctor Boutre patted the exam table again. “Now, let’s get you up here and see if there’s anything physical that might be getting in the way.”
There was no way Kelsey could avoid this now. She moved to the exam table as slowly as she would have walked to the electric chair. She felt like she had a lead weight attached when she lifted herself up. But then she was up. Doctor Boutre helped position her legs on the stirrup. Then she pulled her chair closer.
The doctor started explaining what she was looking for.
And if anything, Kelsey felt herself growing hornier. Even if the gown blocked her view, she felt Doctor Boutre’s face inches from her vagina.
It’s not like she hadn’t had regular gynecology appointments for over half her life, with various strange doctors checking on her vagina. This was hardly a first. But, in the past not only had she found nothing stimulating, she had been much too worried about having someone else looking at her to possibly get excited.
But not now.
Doctor Boutre continued to make small talk as she examined Kelsey. She popped her head up after Kelsey’s first three responses were monosyllabic.
“Don’t worry. Don’t be nervous.”
Kelsey nodded.
“Don’t think I’ll be offended by bodily reactions. We don’t have conscious control over that kind of thing.”
“Yes…”
“Actually, women have evolved a mechanism where they become physically capable of penetrative sex, even when they don’t want it. They’re physically aroused, without being mentally aroused. That’s so, in the dark days of early history, when men forced sex on them, their bodies wouldn’t be injured.”
It was comforting. But it was a comforting lie, in the current case.
Kelsey couldn’t deny she was horny. She wasn’t really horny for her fertility doctor. Yes, Kelsey had occasionally thought about women that way. She guessed if there were only women left in the world, she wouldn’t have trouble fucking one of them…
Though that was the libido talking. That was most definitely her libido talking.
But she wasn’t horny for the fertility doctor. She was horny thinking about fertility. Scenarios were flashing in front of her.
Some of them involved her husband being as passionate with her as he been with that whore…that other woman.
Kelsey was surprised that she had censored herself, and refused to use a word like ‘whore’ even in her head. Vickie had made a good argument the other night about the danger of such terms, about how they shame sexuality. Using those terms about others denied Kelsey the freedom to explore her own sexuality openly.
But she hadn’t exactly taken the rest of Vickie’s advice.
Kelsey needed to regain control of herself. Or maybe she needed a comforting lie. She tried to tell herself that she was only horny because this was a fertility exam. She didn’t want to go through a long life with many more gynecology exams like this one.
No. She couldn’t accept that lie. She was horny for Doctor Boutre, she was imagining this woman leaning a few inches closer and then licking her labia, and her clitoris. She imagined a fertility doctor would know her way around sex organs.
Kelsey wanted to fuck her doctor. She even wanted to walk past the secretary, and the other patients, with a satisfied grin on her face.
So Kelsey would need to confront her sexuality and sexual desire somehow in order to keep this from recurring.
Kelsey thought she could relax when Doctor Boutre finished poking and prodding her. But Doctor Boutre wasn’t done, she had other examinations to make.
The external scans only made things worse. There was no way to mistake the vaginal probing as any attempt at pleasure-making—even her very first boyfriend had been better than that.
But then her doctor poured on the ultrasound goo and s
pread it over her pelvis. She couldn’t help thinking it was massage oil.
And then when the doctor applied the ultrasound scanner, it did feel like a sexual massage, like a lover touching her body, moving around near her clitoris to tease her, slowly working up towards the electrical moment when her lover would cease the teasing.
Kelsey bit her lip—hard. Hoping not to just stifle sound, but give her some other sensation to concentrate on, to remind herself that this was not sexual teasing, that this was not leading anywhere.
But the gentle motions shifted her flesh, enough that the skin around her clitoris moved, creating a subtle sensation.
She was glad when it was over.
Kelsey nearly laughed. She was glad for the first time when a sexual encounter was over, and she hadn’t reached orgasm. But she held the laugh in, and the doctor didn’t look at her face until after Kelsey had managed to suppress every last hint of that earlier mirth. Doctor Boutre was too busy cleaning up and then helping Kelsey out of the stirrups so she wouldn’t have to expose herself for the rest of the appointment.
And thankfully there wasn’t much appointment left.
Doctor Boutre said that she hadn’t noticed anything to suggest a physical problem, but she would pass the scans onto other experts who would be better equipped to spot minor irregularities. Kelsey would hear back in a few days.
She collected a blood sample, told Kelsey she was free to go as soon as she changed, and then left the room.
Kelsey very nearly decided to have her orgasm then and there, as she changed, so she wouldn’t be incredibly horny as she walked past the receptionist and the other patients. She doubted it would take a minute to make herself come.
But she was afraid of being caught. She knew no one would enter the room unless she took far too long changing. She also knew she wouldn’t—or at least normally didn’t—make any noticeable sounds while masturbating.
But she forced herself to put her clothes back on, and then to walk as calmly as possible out of the clinic.
Kelsey didn’t have a plan when she arrived home. She was still horny—despite taking a detour so she could get herself off before she returned home. Her first orgasm of the day had come only a few minutes after leaving the fertility clinic, when she found a secluded spot to pull over. And it only required her fingers to move over her clitoris for thirty seconds.
She’d taken more time—five minutes—to recover, before she drove away. Fortunately, anyone who passed her car, if they saw her, thought she was just tired, taking a mid-afternoon nap. Still she got out of there as quickly as possible, and headed for home.
So when she arrived, Kelsey wasn’t horny enough that she could just plop down in a chair and masturbate again.
Had her husband came through the door early, Kelsey was horny enough that she would have given him the sexiest greeting he had ever received. But she felt that if she were to sit herself down she wouldn’t be able to draw out another orgasm. She’d be too caught up in her thoughts to finish her pleasure.
Right now Kelsey wasn’t sure what she wanted from her husband. It was easier to fantasize about a female fertility doctor than about him, apparently. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to have a kid with him anymore. He’d strayed. She’d strayed.
And Kelsey didn’t have a clue what Omar wanted from her. Why he was keeping up with the charade. If it was a charade.
Kelsey needed to figure that all out. She wanted to understand her husband’s thinking. And she knew where to look.
Kelsey and Omar shared a desktop computer. They didn’t use it often. They ran the printer off it. Omar had some heavy duty photo and video editing software that he rarely used. Kelsey occasionally played video games. But mostly it just sat there doing next to nothing.
Well, not quite nothing.
Everything they produced on their laptops was stored in the cloud and synced to the desktop. It would have been easy enough to secure anything one wanted hidden from the other spouse. But they didn’t. Omar especially insisted he didn’t have any secrets. That didn’t mean he would be sanguine if he found out Kelsey went snooping through his files for anything short of an emergency. Kelsey knew she wouldn’t want Omar looking through her documents in any event short of her sudden disappearance.
Kelsey had never before had any urge to search through Omar’s files and violate his privacy.
But Kelsey wanted to uncover files that revealed his thinking—or at least that hinted at the affair. They wouldn’t be easy to find. Though maybe Omar would be so melodramatic as to have a diary with his changing feelings about the marriage, his conflict about straying from his wife.
Kelsey thought about searching Omar’s email, but she knew if she wasn’t careful, if her husband was also looking through his email, she might give evidence of her snooping. If she found nothing else on the computer, she would wait until it was time for him to leave work and then check his email.
What she did find was a folder labeled “Love Poems.” There were over a hundred files. Some with sappy names. Flowers. True Love. A few with more obscure titles. Names.
The earliest of the poems was a little over a year old. The most recent had been produced in the past week. In fact, the day before Kelsey had walked into the house where he was fucking another woman.
The day before all this had started.
Kelsey sorted them by date and opened the earliest file. She was hoping for some hint at what lured Omar away. Or what he had, at least, told the other woman.
The first gave no clues.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
This poem sucks
Why am I even trying?
Well, clearly Omar hadn’t won this other woman over with a golden tongue.
Though Omar had kept trying. Two more files were dated the same day. Kelsey couldn’t say they were much better, though at least they were more original.
Neither showed any hints about the love affair. Only their simple existence—love poetry?—that something had changed with Omar.
Kelsey kept reading Omar’s doggerel with a smirk for his poor mistress. Until she arrived at the eighth poem.
Kelsey, You Are My Everything,
My All, You Are My…
The poem just petered out like half the others that she had read. So far only one had an ending that wasn’t sarcastic.
But this one was clearly meant for her. Had the others been? Were they all meant for her?
Kelsey searched through the rest, skimming the poetry. Hers was the only name mentioned. She appeared in a dozen of the poems.
With trepidation, Kelsey opened the most recent poem, the one written the day before Kelsey had happened upon Omar’s affair, hoping that it showed some sign of the pending tryst. Maybe the sign wouldn’t be obvious, but the timing and the circumstances might make it all clear to Kelsey.
But she only found another poem obviously meant for herself. This one spoke of the potential pregnancy, how proud he was that she was going to the fertility clinic (after all, her original appointment had been the day after he wrote this poem), and how he was looking forward to having a baby with her.
It was still rubbish poetry, even if it was marginally better than his earliest verse. But there was no question how Omar had been feeling when he wrote it. Who he had been thinking about. How he wanted to reinject romance into their marriage.
Kelsey shut down the computer. Maybe other files hid the secret of Omar’s affairs. But she didn’t want to see them, not right now. She knew that, despite whatever had driven him to fuck another woman, he still wanted Kelsey’s love.
And Kelsey was horny as fuck. She still loved Omar. She’d give him more chances.
At the very least, he didn’t deserve her snooping, when she could have talked to him. Even if she was still having trouble finding the right words.
Maybe Omar would sympathize. His poetry demonstrated that he, too, had trouble finding the right words.
“Hey, honey!” Om
ar shouted from the door. “What’s that I smell? It smells good.”
“Thank you,” Kelsey said. “It should be done in a minute.”
Omar set down his bags and came into the kitchen.
“Oh, my. Not only are you cooking on my day to make dinner, but I get your famous Prosciutto Fettucine.”
“Yes.”
“You know that dish is why I fell in love with you.”
Kelsey raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? The first few times I made this it sucked. Remember? You told me you loved me before I figured out how it make it, I’m certain.”
“Yes. I didn’t say I love your for your cooking. I love your persistence. Your attitude. Cooking is hardly the only place you show it. It just crystalized my thoughts about you.”
Kelsey raised that eyebrow higher, but she didn’t say anything else. After a minute she kissed Omar—a kiss that threatened to go on too long, and burn the food. But she cut it off and went back to cooking.
“Could you open the wine?” Kelsey asked as she started dishing up.
“Wine?” Omar said. But he grabbed the bottle out of the refrigerator and headed for the dining room.
“Yeah. It’s too early in my cycle to be pregnant. So why not?”
“Okay. But…” Omar’s mouth stopped working when he entered the dining room, and saw how the table had been set up, with cloth napkins, candles, and flowers.
“I wanted a romantic dinner.”
“Yeah…”
“Do I need an excuse?”
“No. But, when did you have time for this?”
“I didn’t have that much work today. I got home early, and decided to do something special.”
Omar nodded. He wasn’t going to ask any more questions. He didn’t need to know the source of such a positive event.
And Omar could believe the story. Kelsey occasionally had days where she could go home after finishing up work early, even if today hadn’t been one of them.
Anyway, it hadn’t taken long to set up. Granted, the flowers had been pulled up from the garden. But the only hard part, considering how motivated she was, had been finding the candles and then the candle holders.