Of Winged Creatures & Nesting Grounds: (A Quirky, Sexy, Dirty Doctor Romance)

by A. Wilding Wells

  He clears his throat, and I swear he’s adjusting himself when I open my eyes. “Not too much on this breast yet,” he says. Shit, did I say any of that out loud?

  “Yeah, that’s my pretty one. I call her Giselle. The other one though… She’s been hit with the ugly stick too many times. I call her Prison.”

  His chuckle chases mine. Until I get nervous all over again, my cheeks burning like there’s a blow torch on them. Male gynos should not be able to look or sound this good. They should have hideous voices and be ugly as sin. There must be some sort of medical code of ethics regarding hot doctors and gynecology. Some sort of a, you-are-too-sexy-therefore-you-can’t-get-this degree. Try pediatrics or internal medicine. This would be one place discrimination would get a double thumbs up from me.

  “Is this okay so far?”

  I glare at him through half-closed lids as he stares at me. Raising my eyebrows, I ask, “Do I seem okay?”

  “Sort of. Is it that I’m a guy or that I’m a doctor?” He covers my left breast then exposes my right one. Prison.

  I suck in sharp breaths as his fingertips land.

  He glances at me and then back to his hands. I’m not sure why I’m studying his face as he inspects my breast. As a grown woman, I’ve never had this experience, a guy seeing my naked vi-boob.

  “That you’re a guy. Mostly. Plus, we spent a lot of time talking last night, and now, I’m on my back in a weird way, not a sexy way.”

  “Got it. Well, just so you know, I see all kinds of things come through my office. I don’t know if that’ll bring you more comfort, but I can guarantee you vitiligo is minor.”

  “Not to me, vitiligo is the clock I’m racing.”

  “You’re trying to beat it?” He continues working his way around my breast in small circles. Why is he licking his lips? The man is like bread with way too much soft, salty butter. Delicious.

  “Yup. And I’m going to.”

  “How’s that?” He pinches my nipple.

  Fuck if I don’t arch up. And moan. I’m so awesome.

  “It’s in my plan,” I tell him. “I’m going to get laid while I’m still wanted.”

  Another pinch, another arch. Is he teasing me?

  “Jesus Christ. Sorry about that,” I say. “I can’t really control what it feels like.” I grab his hand to still it.

  Heat and crazy energy chases between us. Our hands, my boob. I’m holding his hand hostage. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind.

  “It’s okay.” He chuckles as I release him. “I guess it feels good to you.”

  “Yeah, oddly. Nice work with the hands, Doc.”

  “So, to backtrack, you think, as it spreads, you won’t be wanted by guys?”

  “Come on. No question,” I answer as he ties my gown.

  “Then you’re not looking for the right kind of guy.”

  I position myself on my elbows as he walks to the end of the exam table. “I’m not looking for any guy quite yet. Well, not true. I’m looking for one guy to take my virginity. Then I can cross it off my plan. I don’t need to have sex with a guy to get pregnant. I have a freezer drawer full of sperm for that.” His eyes go wide. “A freezer drawer full of sperm? Forgive my surprise. I guess you really do have a plan.” He smiles with a touch of mockery.

  “Hell yes I do.”

  “But still, in regards to needing a guy. If I recall, you said you didn’t want to date yet. Yet would mean at some point? Soooo...”

  “Okay, fine. You caught me. Yes, I would like to date someday. And fall in love. Those two things are in my plan, but they’re what I might call high-reaching goals. I still need to pencil them in.”

  “Use pen,” he says as he opens a drawer, pulls out a pair of gloves, and slips them on. The snap, snap at his wrist sends goose bumps over my body. Funny that he didn’t wear gloves while examining my breasts. Feeling up my tits.

  “Tell me more about the plan,” he says, one eyebrow quirked.

  “Well, you kind of got the gist of it last night. I’m tired of shrinking away from stuff I fear. I want to explode. I want to be springtime and fireworks. My timeline is fast-ish, the next month or so if I can get laid, because at some point, as this skin thing continues, I might end up walking around with a paper bag over my head.”

  “You know, living outside your comfort zone, while scary, can be life changing. You can’t live in a bubble for the rest of your life.”

  “You’re very gee-whiz. Listen, I want to be unbreakable, hence all my books and my plan. I’m definitely trying to live outside my comfort zone. This right here, you about to examine Oscar? This is so far outside of my comfort zone we should be speaking different languages. And it’s outside of my—”

  “Plan,” we say in unison. He laughs.

  “You can laugh all you want,” I tell him. “I’m shooting for peacock status. This isn’t little-bluebird stuff. It’s shine and sparkle and strut! I do not want to be a chicken or some stupid bird that has its head in the ground.”

  “Ostrich, and I’m not laughing at you in a mean way. I like your gumption. And, you need a wingman. I’m offering. But, like I said, it would never be once.”

  “I don’t need a wingman. I have my own wings. And, for the record, that was an obscenely inappropriate offer considering what you’re about to do. Your name should be Doctor No. Not Hard Dick. This is not a very professional conversation we’re having.”

  “Hardick, little bluebird. Am I offending you with my bluntness?” He winks.

  Why is he so normal? Right—he does this all day long. My vagina is just more…decorated? Colorful? Why be some plain, old farm duck when you can be a Scarlet Macaw. Yay me. Designer vaginer.

  The clickety-clack of the stirrups as he pulls them from the end of the table sends a roll of dread spinning through my gut.

  “I want to be braver. An empowered woman. You know, take what I want from life. When I was a kid, I had these Wonder Woman underpants, and when I put them on, I felt brave. I used to be a brave girl.” Oh my god. Shut up, you crazy fucking rambling nut...

  “That’s cool,” he says. “Facing your fears.”

  “Oh god.” I groan. “You sound like a Little League coach.”

  “I’m an encourager. So, did I hear you correctly a few minutes ago? Did you call your vagina Oscar?” Hunt takes my right foot and places it in a stirrup. Then he puts my left foot in the other.

  My inner thighs shake as I work to permanently fix my knees together. “Yes. It’s a long story. But, without going into it or sounding like an eighth grader, I’ll just tell you that the words vagina and bologna are fairly interchangeable in the song with some minor tweaks and creativity. You know…the song.”

  “Got it. That’s pretty funny and very junior high. So, your breasts have names and your vagina has a name. Does your ass?”

  “Who would name their ass?” I snort more than I should have. Nerves.

  “I can’t imagine. It’s just one more interesting thing about you.” He clears his throat. “I’m going to continue with the exam, okay? Nothing to be anxious about here. Just relax.”

  I sit up and blurt out, “This is making me feel—”

  “It’s okay. It’s just skin.”

  He’s trying so hard to make me feel comfortable, Christmas lights draped over his shoulders and all. Is he really this kind of guy? Could anyone care this much?

  “Skin that guys haven’t seen before. You haven’t seen.”

  Hunt unscrews the cap on the lube then sets it next to the speculum on the tray. “I know. I understand you’re not comfortable with the idea of me seeing anything, but I need to if I’m going to examine you. You do realize, when you have sex, you’ll likely be naked.”

  “Not exactly. If I play my cards right, we’ll be a little drunk. I’ll just lift my skirt and he’ll slide it in! And boom, mark that one off! People have one-nighters all the time, it’s no biggie.”

  His eyebrows knit together when he says, “You can’t be serious, or
that naïve.”

  “Dead serious. You think I’d make something like that up? Try seeing the world through my eyes. Believe me—it’s a different view. And you don’t know my whole story. I’ll offer a hint. Think suicide bomber. Not only am I trying to liberate my homeland—and, by that, I mean vagina. But I’m also trying to achieve personal redemption. You couldn’t possibly relate.”

  He exhales a long, slow breath, his jaw tightening. Maybe I hit a nerve with that one. I suppose the suicide bomber thing could offend.

  “Happy, lie back. I’m going to examine you now.”

  “Fine.” I slump back and throw an arm over my face as Hunt’s warm hands press against my inner thighs.

  “Relax your legs. Spread them open for me.”

  Spread them open for me? Every nerve in my body explodes, heat and wet, racing to my core.

  I put a fist behind my head for better viewing. It doesn’t hurt that he looks the way he does. Between my legs. Draped in Christmas lights. And, amazingly, I smile.

  He pushes the paper gown up my stomach as my knees drop, and I spread wide open for Dr. Hunt Hard Dick. He adjusts the light. My heart drums as he fixes his gaze between my legs.

  “It’s not bad,” he says, while he searches my skin.

  “You know it can spread fast. It’s changing weekly. Sometimes I wake up and see a new spot and I panic that I’m never going to beat it. I mean, what if I really do meet someone I want to date down the line? It could happen. Miracles and such.”

  “It may not spread at all,” he says as he opens me so gently, his fingertips barely touching me.

  My hips curl in response. Maybe every drop of blood in my body rushes there to meet his fingers. “Oh god,” I whisper.

  “Everything looks healthy. I just want to look more closely at your clitoris before I do your vaginal exam.” He moves the light then bends forward.

  “What?”

  “It’s swollen and very dark pink. Is it sensitive? Any pain?” he asks. Tiny strokes, tender pokes, and fuck if he doesn’t squeeze the little dying-for-him nerve bundle. Gently.

  “It’s sensitive, but not painful. I mean, you might want to stop or this is going to really become… Oh, Jesus.” I grip the edge of the table as my body tightens, my toes curl, and I moan. And moan. “Hunt.” God help me. I said his name. I am as red as a cardinal.

  A beautiful smile spreads across his face. “Wow, you really are sensitive.”

  The pulse fluttering in my throat holds my words hostage as I collect my thoughts. What do I tell him just happened? Lying is not going to cut it.

  “Thanks for joining in on my weirdness.”

  He chuckles—thank god. I consider high-fiving him for a millisecond. Restraint saves me.

  “Feel better now? An orgasm can give all kinds of stress relief.”

  He’s so nonchalant, like I told him I enjoy watching Food Network.

  “Yeah. Mortified, but better. Please tell me I’m not the first person to do that during an exam. Am I just a gigantic oddball of oddness?”

  “Nope. Happens all the time. Most women say nothing, though it’s pretty obvious from my vantage point.”

  “Good god, I can’t imagine pretending you didn’t notice.” I laugh and drag a hand down my face.

  We lock eyes.

  “Yep. I’m the girl who has just revealed that her gyno is a turn on. Well, at least we cleared up the no-dating thing last night. Thank goodness you’re not an option.”

  He clears his throat as our stare continues. And heats up. “You’re wrong about the date. I think you’re wrong about a few things. But let’s finish your exam. So, I’m just going to ask. Did you use a vibrator this morning? Because that might be what I’m seeing since you aren’t in any pain.”

  “This just gets better by the second. You will never ever see me again after today. Thank god this city is big enough that I don’t have to worry about bumping into you. Yes, I did. End of conversation. All conversation. As in for-fucking-ever. Now, can we please get this examination over with?”

  Stick to the plan. My plan, not his.

  Chapter 10

  Clue~Icarus. The White House. Wizard of Oz Monkeys.

  Angels. Gnats.

  *Things with Wings.

  HUNT

  The look on her face when she came? Angel and animal. Innocence and claimed arousal. She found everything she was looking for in those seconds then scared herself out of it. The image of her face and the O her mouth formed, the way her ballerina-like neck arched and her long, sinewy fingers snuck along her stomach until she clutched the edge of the table was…perfect. Seared in my mind. I could swear she was considering me as something. An option.

  I couldn’t do a thing for fear of freaking her out. But to have witnessed that moment… She has something in her I’ve never seen—magic. And a torture she’s limping around with.

  My plan? Wear her down.

  Thank god the nurse interrupted me for an emergency C-section just before I did her vaginal exam. It’s at least one way I’ll get to see her again; she’ll have to come back in, plus, we never did get to her tests. I’ll make that another date. Appointment.

  At the end of my day, post all patients, I push three sequins around on my desk while considering my plan. Then I shoot Happy a text.

  Me: Can I come over and make you rainbow breakfast for dinner?

  I’m amazed when my phone dings seconds later.

  Happy: No. You would mess up my plan. N.O.

  Me: Plans are made to be broken.

  Happy: That’s rules.

  Me: Stubborn little bluebird.

  Happy: Yes, and p.s. No. No and no.

  Me: I’m stubborn too. p.s. Don’t forget to be awesome. p.p.s. I’m playing with your sequins.

  Happy: Does playing with my sequins make you Happy? LOLOL.

  Me: Makes me… Hard Dick

  After work, my sisters and I gather in Lucy’s hospital room to meet our new nephew.

  “Felix? Like the cat.” My sister Helen, who’s deaf, signs. “You named this handsome kid after an old pussy?”

  “Next handler,” Francie says, elbowing me.

  I reach for Felix and bring his tiny blanketed body to my face. God, to be a father, what it must feel like.

  “It was Jasper’s grandfather’s name,” Lucy says.

  “I think it fits him,” I say. “He looks much more like a Felix than a pussy.”

  “Speaking of pussy,” Lucy says, waggling her eyebrows. “Bowie stopped by earlier and said you texted him about a girl.”

  “He’s dead,” I say. “You don’t fuck with man code.”

  “What?” Lucy smirks. “He’s my friend too, and he was just letting me know how excited you seemed.”

  “So?” Jo says. My sisters stare at me like I’m about to announce which of them won the lottery.

  “So nothing.”

  “You can’t lie for shit, Hunt,” Francie says. “Spill.”

  I groan, then switch the baby to my other arm. “Fine. Yes, I met a girl.” You would think I told them I joined a monk monastery. “I like her and yes, I’ve asked her out. She’s not interested.”

  “In you?” Jo says, shooting off her chair. “What? Is she of the human race? Look at you.”

  “Thank you.” I chuckle and bow. “I’m thrilled my sisters think I’m hot. Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “Give me her name and number,” Amelia says. “I’ll call her and tell her what an idiot she is.”

  “Not a fucking chance,” I reply.

  Lucy gestures for me to bring Felix to her when he whines. Ten seconds post hand off, she has him nursing her giant boob.

  “We’ll harass it out of you,” Jo says. “Name. Give it!”

  “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” I reconsider my stance for a few seconds. Then realize they always win; they’ll break my kneecaps if they need to. “She’s one of your patients.” I nod to Lucy. “I met her at a bar, spent last night at her house, then she
showed up this morning in your office.”

  Lucy gasps. “Are you shitting me? Who is she?”

  “Happy Go Lucky.” I grin and my stomach twists. Something about that girl is magical.

  “That’s her name?” Helen signs. “Does she drive a clown car?”

  “No.” I laugh. “But she’s going to drive me nuts. She’s…ahhh, fuck…she’s…”

  “You’re really into her,” Lucy says, a wide smile on her face. “She’s been my patient for about three years. She’s a really nice woman. Super sweet, and cool, and I approve one hundred and ten percent. I’ll even set my medical ethics aside. Go for it!”

  “Perfect. I meet a chick I’m interested in beyond a one-nighter, I get sister approval—which is pretty much a golden seal—and said girl tells me she doesn’t date.”

  “Guys?” Francie asks.

  “She’s not gay. She’s got this plan.” I walk to the window and sit on the ledge. “It’s pretty fucking cute. She’s wound up about her skin because she has vitiligo. So she wants to jam all this stuff into her life: get laid, have a baby, be more brave, and so on. But she’s scared, went through some shit when she was twenty. Something big.”

  “Someone take his temp, he’s in-fucking-love!” Helen signs while rushing to me. She palms my forehead.

  “Goodbye, Sela…hello, Honky Go Dory,” Jo says.

  “Happy Go Lucky.” I crack up. The girls are losing it, high-fiving each other and doing goofy cheer moves like a bunch of drunk sorority chicks.

  “Whatever. You found a new project! Fucky You Lucky,” Lucy says. She and Helen fist bump. The estrogen in the room is zipping off the Richter scale. My cue to exit.

  “You need to go full steam after her,” Amelia says. “You found a girl you’re into!”

  “Honestly, Hunt,” Jo says. “We were going to have an intervention in regards to Sela.”

  “Why are you all so down on Sela?” Not for anything will I tell them I would still take her back.