Dr Big

by Sienna Swan

  His waiting list is long - over twelve months long, and yet I’d been shunted forward in his queue. My hopes had soared.

  And now they’re dashed again.

  He smiles at me and for a split second I manage to forget where I am.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he says as I finally relax into position. I’m spread wide, exposed so totally that I have shivers up my spine, but he’s so cool and professional now, his eyes unflinching as he looks at all of me.

  I wonder how many vaginas he’s examined in his career. I wonder if he’s examined just as many outside of it, too.

  His gloved fingers poke me, this way and that, and I look away, over toward his desk with his accreditations framed above. So many of them.

  “Let’s see what we can do here,” he says and reaches to his side. He pulls out a contraption that makes my heart thump. “I’ll use the smallest speculum,” he informs me, but it doesn’t look small at all. There’s no way that thing is going to fit in me, and I tell him so, shuffling up the exam table with no regard for the fragile decorum I’ve managed to scrape back in this place.

  He grips my thighs as I squirm away, coaxing me slowly back into position, but I’m still protesting, still telling him no fucking way until he abandons the speculum back in the drawer.

  “Okay,” he says. “No big deal.” His lip curls into a smile at his choice of words. “Let’s try a more manual examination.”

  His fingers glide over my pussy and I feel a rush of tingles despite my predicament. My breath is raspy as he pries my lips open, and I’m squirming in position, barely short of panting as he squirts some lubricant onto his fingers.

  “Just pretend this is last night,” he whispers, and it’s anything short of professional but I’m everything short of caring.

  I wanted him last night, and the warmth of his hand as he presses it between my legs makes me remember just how much. Crazy. This guy has a crazy effect on me, and it sends my head spinning, because I want him to know I have a problem for real, I want him to realize I really do have CVS, and I want him to fix me. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I waited months for this.

  “Deep breaths,” he says, but he doesn’t need to, I’m already there.

  I know he’s going to fail when he tries, last night be damned, but the way he sweeps his finger back and forth takes me by surprise. There’s a pressure as he pushes his finger against me, but he does it. He manages it in one motion, and I’m speechless, openmouthed as he eases it back and forth.

  “Just as I said,” he comments, and I’m struggling to focus on his words, because I’m in so much shock at how this feels. I’m in so much shock at how he’s managed to get his finger inside me without so much as a struggle. “You’re tight, but there’s nothing amiss, not that I can tell.”

  “You must have… done something… last night…” I say. “You must have… changed something… broken something…”

  “Broken something? I made you come last night, Melissa,” he tells me, “and there didn’t seem to be anything amiss then, either.”

  “It’s just one finger… that doesn’t mean anything…”

  I gasp at a fresh jolt of pressure, and I crane my neck for a better view.

  No fucking way.

  Just no way.

  I am lost for words as I see he’s buried two fingers all the way in. Two thick fingers at that.

  “How about two? Does that mean anything?” he asks, but I’m still stuck for words.

  I can’t hold off a groan as he circles them inside. If feels… deep… deep and thick and tight. I’m sure it should hurt, but it doesn’t. It definitely doesn’t hurt.

  The pressure is… intense. His movements are… good.

  Too good.

  My breath hitches as he slides them in and out of me, and I shouldn’t feel like this but I really do. I can’t keep still, squirming ever so slightly back at him as he rocks his wrist. He changes angle and I have to suck in a breath. I’ve never experienced anything like this, and my decorum has bailed on me. My tense legs have betrayed me and lolled open. My clit is a treacherous bitch thrumming without regard for how embarrassing this predicament really is.

  And there’s more.

  It’s too good.

  He’s too good.

  My eyes widen in horror as I stare into his, realizing too late that this terrible ordeal is going to take me all the way. I can’t even fight the orgasm as it builds. I’m as powerless in his hands as I was last night.

  But this isn’t last night. I’m a patient on an examination table and he’s wearing latex gloves.

  I hate the way I squelch as he pulls his fingers free.

  “I think that’s enough of that,” he tells me, but my thighs are still wide open. They feel like jelly as I force them closed.

  “So, what do you… think?” I ask him. “What do you think is wrong with me… if it’s not…”

  He pulls off his gloves and tosses them into the trash. “I think it’s anxiety,” he tells me. “I’ve had a good feel of you. Twice. Both encounters have led me to the same diagnosis.”

  My heart flutters. Diagnosis.

  “Which is?”

  “Anxiety,” he says, and my heart drops.

  “Anxiety?!” I drop from the table. “This isn’t anxiety! I’ve been relaxed! With lots of people, with myself too. This isn’t anxiety!”

  He tips his head. “Melissa, I just had two fingers buried in that pretty little pussy of yours. It’s anxiety.”

  It isn’t fucking anxiety and I know it. I hate the way my body betrayed me. I hate the way he’s got such an unrealistic impression of what I live with every day of my life.

  “You’re wrong,” I tell him.

  “You’re wrong,” he shoots right back. He takes up my notes and a pen, and I wonder what the hell he’s writing. “Anxiety can be debilitating,” he adds. “Just because your condition is psychological in origin doesn’t make it any the less significant.”

  “So I do have a problem?” I ask.

  “Not one that can’t be fixed.”

  I smooth down my pencil skirt. “How can it be fixed?”

  “Breathing exercises… counseling…” he pauses. “The right partner.”

  I laugh at that. “You’re the only guy I’ve been with who’s managed to put anything in there.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “What can I say? My reputation speaks for itself.”

  I dash back behind the changing curtain and pull on my sodden panties. I’m still fluttery down there, and I can feel where he’s been.

  “None of that is going to fix me,” I snap, knowing he’s right on the other side. “I’ve tried it all.”

  I can’t fight the crushing disillusion as I step out into his view.

  “No,” he says. “You haven’t. You haven’t tried me.”

  “I haven’t what?”

  He scribbles on his notepad and I wonder if he’s prescribing me some anti-anxiety medication or some crap like that, but when he hands it over there is only an address.

  “My proposed course of treatment isn’t strictly professional,” he tells me, then shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Come over tonight,” he says, “and we’ll see if we can’t get this figured out. I may not be the easiest practice run to accommodate, but I’m confident we’ll manage.”

  “I’m sure you shouldn’t be…” I begin, and he laughs.

  “Shouldn’t be doing this? Hell no. But you want a cure, and I’m telling you this isn’t a gynecological issue. It’s a human issue. I can fix it, but not here. Whether you want my help is up to you.” He checks his watch. “But I have other patients to see, so you’ll have to make up your mind in your own time. I’ll be in any time after seven.”

  I’m shocked mute as he ushers me out of his office, landing me in the waiting room where his next patient is already reading a magazine. He holds out a hand and I shake it numbly.

  “Bye, Miss Malone,” he says with a smile full of knowing.


  And then he calls in his next appointment.

  Four

  Melissa

  My emotions are bouncing all over the place as I step out onto the sidewalk.

  This crazy, ridiculous coincidence has left me reeling. My diagnosis has filled me with a sense of terrible disillusionment. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

  Just because he’s a freak of nature who manages to make me orgasm where every other male on the planet would fail doesn’t make this condition I have any less real.

  I have a physical issue. Him being able to get two fingers inside me means nothing. It was just a… fluke. A crazy fluke.

  I grip his address in my fingers, half tempted to toss the paper in the trash and resume my quest for a specialist who will take me seriously. One I manage to avoid getting naked with the night before my consultation.

  But it’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. Because he’s the best.

  He’s an arrogant prick who manages to get me off without even trying, but he’s the best.

  Which means I’m screwed. Or not, which is the very problem in itself.

  With a groan to myself, I slip his address into my handbag and dig out my cell. It’s still on silent from my appointment. A swipe across my lock screen announces that I’ve already missed three texts from Riley this morning.

  Hey, where did you go last night?

  Don’t tell me you got laid by the big guy?

  Are you at the doctors? How did it go?

  I don’t even know where to begin replying by text so I don’t. I’m dialing her number even as I walk away from the hospital. She answers to a backdrop of chatter and I know she must be on shift at the coffee shop.

  “Hey,” she says. “Finally. So, how did it go? Are you all fixed up?”

  Where to start. I sigh. “Not exactly.”

  She sighs back. “Crap. What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get to you,” I tell her. “I’ll be there in ten.”

  I make my way downtown quickly, bristling with both fury and the uncomfortable knowledge that I’m still turned on at the thought of him. I head into Coffee Express just as the morning rush appears to be filtering out. I take a stool at the counter and Riley makes me up a latte. She props herself against the counter, waiting as I take a hearty mouthful of caffeinated goodness before I begin to speak.

  “Well, that was a whirlwind of shit,” I tell her. “The guy I went back with last night.”

  She smiles. “The big blond hulk of gorgeousness, you mean? Jealous doesn’t even cut it, by the way.”

  “Yeah, him,” I confirm. “He turned out to be Dr. Big himself.”

  I watch as the coincidence registers. Her eyebrows shoot up as a smile creeps over her lips. “That guy was Dr. Big?! The Dr. Big? And you… with him… last night?”

  I shake my head. “Not exactly. In case you are forgetting, I can’t… not with him, not with anyone…”

  “Yeah, I know, but I figured a guy like him could definitely be a cure…”

  I groan. “There is no cure.”

  My voice hushes to a whisper as I fill her in on the whole sorry story. Everything from how the Adonis made me lose my mind enough to head home with him to the bittersweet end. How he actually managed to make me come, even if I didn’t let him come near me with any form of penetration besides his finger.

  She shushes me at that not so little detail.

  “He put a finger in you?! But I thought you said…”

  I know what I said, because it’s normally true. I normally can’t take anything and she knows it. Her eyes widen still as I tell her how I ran out on him after a truly satisfying orgasm only to walk back in on him in his appointment room this morning. She can’t hold back the laughter and I feel my face burning up all over again.

  “Laugh all you want,” I say, “it was horrifying.”

  “Horrifying but funny, right?”

  I shake my head. “Horrifying and horrifying. He says there’s nothing wrong with me, just because we got a little down and dirty last night. Talk about arrogant. The guy’s a total dick.”

  “I wouldn’t mind taking his total dick. The guy’s hot as all holy hell.”

  I shrug. “Maybe a little hot, but he knows it.”

  “A little hot?! Have you lost your mind since I saw you last? The guy is a God among mere mortal men. I’m not surprised he managed to penetrate the impenetrable clam. No wonder he’s the best there is, one look from him is enough to make any pussy behave. He must be a cure-all in the vagina department.”

  It’s like Kane himself is directing this dialogue.

  “He won’t cure me,” I insist. “Not if he doesn’t even believe there’s anything wrong with me.”

  “So, how did he explain your issues away?”

  “Anxiety.”

  She tips her head as she weighs it up. “Maybe he’s right.”

  I tut at her. “Or maybe he’s an arrogant douche who thinks he knows everything about me just because he can get two fingers up there.”

  “Two?”

  I tell her the rest of the story and she’s grinning like a Cheshire cat by the end.

  “You know this has to mean something, right?” she says. I sip my coffee without answering. “These coincidences, they always mean something. It’s like something from a movie. You meet a guy, he’s your doctor… you know how this has to end?”

  I draw a blank. “With me back on the drawing board looking for a consultant who doesn’t think my issues are psychological?”

  She scowls at me. “With him being the one to cure you! And there will be love, and romance, and a happily ever after, and I’ll get a hat for the wedding, and you can regale your grandchildren about that one time he fingered your impenetrable pussy on his examination table.”

  “Or maybe I’ll never see him again, and this will be one of those drunk stories I tell on girls’ nights out many, many years from now.”

  She shakes her head. “No way. This is too juicy to be a drunk story. Plus, he’s your doctor. What course of treatment does he propose?”

  I’m almost too embarrassed to tell her, but it’s Riley, so I do. I take the piece of paper from my purse and she practically whoops on the spot as she sees his scrawly address.

  “I’m sure this isn’t in his medical handbook,” she giggles. “He wants to fix you with his dick? My God, you’re a lucky bitch, Melissa Malone.”

  The thought alone makes me squirm on my stool. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous and crazy hot, don’t you think? Fix me, Dr. Big. I need to take my medication orally.”

  The thought of taking Dr. Big orally is enough to set those pesky tingles off again, but I’ll be damned if I’m telling Riley how far he’s gotten under my skin already. She’s getting carried away enough as it is.

  “When does he want to see you?” she asks.

  “Tonight,” I admit. “Any time after seven.” She holds out her fist for a bump, but I shake my head. “I’m not going to actually go, of course.”

  She pulls her fist back with a look of pure disappointment, like I’m an unruly child back with a D in math. Though I guess the D here is applicable “But why not?! He’s hot. He’s made you come twice already. Just imagine what he’ll be able to do when he really finds his stride.”

  “He won’t be finding anything,” I insist. “There’s no way I’m going.”

  She tosses her ponytail back over her shoulder and jabs a finger at me. “You’ll get your butt to his apartment on doctor’s orders, Miss Malone, or I’ll be going in your place. I’m so jealous right now it’s not even funny. Hot, cute, big, a goddamn doctor. A gorgeous, blond, hulking pussy doctor at that. GO! And be grateful.”

  I sigh at her and slip his address back in my purse. “I’ll think about it.”

  I finish up my drink as a stream of students head in from the street, and she waves me off with another threat of taking his medication in my place if I won’t.

  I have no doubt she
means it.

  And as I step out onto the sidewalk and the cold, hard light of mid-morning hits me, I know there’s absolutely no way I’ll be heading to Dr. Big’s place this evening.

  Adonis or no.

  I’ll just have to Google my way to a replacement medical professional. Someone who doesn’t want to cure me with his dick - glorious as it may be.

  My pussy hates my decision even as I’ve made it, but I don’t care.

  I’m definitely not going there.

  No damn way.

  ... But maybe tomorrow?

  Five

  Kane

  When Melissa neglected to show up, I was disappointed, but not surprised. Truthfully, I should have been counting my blessings that at least one of us had possessed the calm rationality to realize that medicine through means of vaginal penetration in the way that I’d suggested wasn’t the wisest of moves.

  Still, a part of me was sad that I hadn’t found her on my doorstep. I’d battled the urge to find her phone number and call her to make sure she hadn’t lost my address, but I could recognize when I had been stood up. As rare of an occurrence as it may be.

  In a bid to deal with my mounting disappointment, the next evening finds me in the company of a woman whose name I can’t remember, but whose dorky horn-rimmed glasses make me think fondly of Melissa. Like Melissa, she probably doesn’t have CVS, but unlike Melissa, I bet she’ll let me prove it to her.

  Not that I need to prove anything. The fact that she – and frankly I don’t remember what her name is at this point – could be picked up from my regular coffee shop by a three-sentence conversation tells me that we’re both well aware of what we’re doing here. Consenting adults and all that.

  “White, you said, right?” I ask her as she sprawls across my couch, picking the best position to look as sultry as possible in.

  “Yes, please,” she purrs, batting her long lashes at me over the back of the black leather couch in a distinctly non-Melissa-like manner.

  I figure a couple of glasses of wine will make it easier to ignore that she is definitely not Melissa. Maybe if I scoop that brunette ponytail of hers into my fist and make her bend over she’d look sort of like her.