- House Calls
- By Tracy Ames
- Published February 25, 2012
“I’m looking for Dr. Mason.” A soft, feminine voice came from the front of my office just as I was closing. A smart, navy blue pants suit hugged her curves as she walked towards me.
"You're Dr. Arthur Mason?" she leveled.
“My father. You missed him.” I switched off the hallway light when I saw disappointment scissor across her face. It’s a look I’d seen a thousand times. Women, young and old, distrust young gynecologists. I went to the reception book and flipped through the appointment book. “He’s on vacation until next month; I’m filling in for him. I have an opening….”
“No,” she interrupted and continued rapidly. “It can wait. This is my first visit. I’m not one of his regular patients. It’s more of a consultation, really.”
“If it’s a simple consultation, then I’ll dust off my five years of medical school and seven years in private practice to tackle the job.” Silly, yeah, but it made her smile and relax enough to close the eighteen feet of vacant space between us. “I’m Ryan.” I extended my hand.
“Leigh. Leigh Gordon” She looked a little uncomfortable in her skin. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t questioning your ability. It’s just … er, he … your father … has my blood work … and it’s a sensitive … topic. Not to say that you … I’m gonna shut up before I dig my own grave.” Her big, brown eyes beamed.
“No, continue.” I folded my arms and leaned against the counter. “I haven’t been insulted nearly enough today. You have five minutes.” I pointed to my watch. “Go.” I couldn’t tell what she wanted most: to slap me for teasing her, or take flight from embarrassment. She rolled her eyes, and the more I laughed the more the scales tipped towards being slapped. “My apologies. It’s after hours and I’m not being very professional.” I grabbed a pen. “My father returns on the twentieth. Does nine a.m. work for you?”
I scribbled the date and time on an appointment card and handed it to her. We made small talk while I finished closing the office, then walked out together, and stood in the parking lot talking for over an hour. Aside from bearing a striking resemblance to Toccara, she was a Lockheed engineer. Beauty and brains.
Assuming my bachelor status, and meager knowledge of Beacon Hill would be the death of me, Leigh invited me to grab a bite. I searched the menu for anything that had a heartbeat, to no avail. Leigh was vegetarian, and for the evening so was I. I wasn’t going to ruin a lovely outing over such a trivial detail when there was a McDonald’s on my way home.
Our conversation was easy; no hard stops or uncomfortable silences, and there was only the slightest ember of flirtation which was quickly doused by the cooling waters of the Hippocratic Oath.
“Tell me,” I said, shoveling tofu under my mash potatoes, out of plain sight. “What exactly are you seeing my father about? This isn’t a simple consultation, is it?” Whether out of comfort or the knowledge that I’d have access to her records anyway, Leigh divulged her secret, which in hindsight, was probably something she’d never discussed with anyone save her physician. She lowered her voice to such an extent I had to lean in to hear her.
“I think there’s something wrong with my clitoris.”
At this point, I’m fascinated. I have a clit fetish that in no way influences my professional life. However, listening to Leigh describe hers, I found myself salivating at the prospect of feasting between her legs. She was remarkable; beautiful, intelligent – only in this tiny, insufficient area of her life was she insecure. Her self-consciousness was the product of a string of failed relationship with men who didn’t appreciate her body. In fact, her last boyfriend used her vagina rather than his hand to jerk off. When he finally went down of her, he behaved like an ass.
“We’d been dating for nine months,” Leigh said. “And, to be honest, the lack of cunnilingus was a blessing in disguise. I was avoiding it because …”
“It had disgusted everyone up til then,” I completed her thought, and watched the tension drain from her face. “… why should he be any different?”
“Exactly.” Leigh smiled. “Anyway, we were spending the weekend at his brother’s house in Knoxville. I came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. He removed it and sat me on the edge of the bed, dropped to his knees, and spread my legs. He sucked and licked my nipples and I became aroused—and the more aroused I became, the more my clit grew. He drew patterns on my lips, and slipped his finger into me every so often. It drove me out of my mind. I tried controlling myself but when the tip of his finger dipped inside of me, I couldn’t help it. I groaned. He muffled my moans with his mouth and fingered me to orgasm, then stuck his finger in my mouth telling me to taste myself. I did, then he moved down between my legs and licked my slit clean, then fucked me with his tongue—he sucked and fingered me …”
The image of her pussy bulging beneath her tiny panties made my cock throb behind my zipper. I shook the image from my head.
“By then my clit was screaming … I knew what would happen once he saw.” She went on. “I tried pushing his head away but he sucked my clit between his lips. I lost it. I came so hard my clit stood straight up. He was so busy lapping lips, he hadn’t noticed how engorged my clit had become. Then he went to lick what he thought would be a nub, instead it was … well, you know.” She looked defeated. “Long story short, he took me home and I never saw him again. And this is why I’m meeting with your father. There has to be a fix, right? He can help me.”
“Help you what? Leigh, you’re not the problem,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Male and female genitalia come in all shapes and sizes. Your ex-boyfriends probably suffered from repressed sexual issues. Or it could’ve been a matter of their personal taste. Either way it had nothing to do with you. We’re made the way we were intended. But if you’re that concerned, stop by the office tomorrow and I’ll examine you in full confidence and give you my opinion. From there we’ll discuss your options. Deal?” I waited patiently for her answer. She was skeptical but agreed to come by tomorrow afternoon.
The rest of the evening passed quite nicely. It was refreshing to have a conversation with someone whose interests went beyond the latest celebrity gossip or medical research. In my line of work, I’m afraid, it’s feast or famine; a woman is either incredibly dense or mind-numbingly dull. Admittedly, on the topics of religion, politics, and capital punishment, areas one shouldn’t discuss liberally with new acquaintances, Leigh and I agreed on virtually nothing. We couldn’t even agree on the color of the table cloth; which is why I wasn’t surprised to find an email detailing color theory waiting in my inbox when I arrived home. We battled via email for a while, and then called a truce. After saying our goodbyes, I pulled up her records, and combed her tests results for abnormalities. There were none – nothing but a clean bill of health stared back at me.
It was a quarter after four when she arrived. The office was vacant save the nurse, Torri, who having taken Leigh’s x-rays and vitals left her to undress before returning to assist with the exam. Almost immediately, I realized there was no love lost between these two women, and quickly got on with my work. My guess is Leigh didn’t find the visual stimulus Torri provided very stimulating, thus hindering her from capturing the image at full arousal. It bears mentioning that Torri has the patience of a fruit fly. I hate her guts but she’s damn efficient.
Her thighs trembled and involuntarily opened as I neared her V. I pulled up a stool for an unobstructed view of her body and told her to lay back and relax. I was, after all, a professional who’d seen it all. Torri rolled her eyes at this and checked her watch.
“If you have somewhere else to go, don’t let me hold you.” Leigh said curtly. “I’m in good hands.”
Torri looked at me. Her presence obviously gnawed at Leigh’s nerves. I nodded my consent and Torri left. Leigh made herself comfortable in the stirrups, and said, “Where were we?”
“You’re unbelievable,” I laughed, switched on the overhead lamp, and moved the tray of instruments closer.
“Aren’t you going to ask what that was about?”
“Nope! Only a fool would come between the two of you. Besides, you don’t need me to rescue you—but I will have a word with her about her behavior. It was unacceptable.”
“So, you’re on my side?”
“Always.” I playfully slapped her thigh and slipped on a pair of gloves. I made small talk until she was completely at ease and to distract myself because, honestly, it was difficult to concentrate with her clean shaven mound and full, suckable lips glistening with dew from her x-ray ordeal stretched before me. On the other hand, her clit rested tucked away, or as Leigh put it “playing hide and seek”. Dear God, what I wouldn’t do to have her thrashing on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to kiss it, to lick it, to tongue-fuck it. “You have incredibly smooth skin.” I rubbed her bare thigh.
“Good genes, indeed,” I applied a liberal amount of lube to my speculum and inserted it slowly. Whether startled by the cold mental or by unexpected contact, Leigh jumped. I peeked around the sheet covering her legs. “Everything okay up there?” She blushingly apologized and I continued with the examination, now only inches from her sex. Her pink, tempting clit peeked beneath its hood. I imagined my lips wrapped around it, licking her juices while fingering her. “In my opinion, I wouldn’t change a thing about you. You’re stunning, and I should know. I spend most of my day looking up at women from this vantage point. You, Madame, are exceptional.”
Leigh snorted, “You just saying that.”
“No, I’m shooting myself in the foot.” I adjusted the light. “If you decided not to have the procedure, I’ll lose a mint.” I looked at her again. The stunned look on her face said it all. “I’ll be performing the surgery—it’s one of my many hidden talents.”
“I’ll bet.” She gave a faint smile and I returned to work.
“Do you masturbate?” She was a little taken aback so I added with all the professionalism I could muster. “These questions are part of the assessment. You can speak frankly. What happens here stays here.”
She blew a long breathe. “Yes, daily.”
“Clitoral or vaginal?” I took a couple of swab samples. Her wetness produced a tiny puddle on the paper lined table.
“A little of both, I suppose. It depends on my mood although clitoral stimulation is my favorite.”
I warned her that with this particular surgical procedure loss of clitoral sensation was a complication, and then asked if she enjoyed oral sex. She replied yes, she’d loved it, and twitched slightly at the feel of my warm breath so close to her lips. A few moments of silence slipped by— clearly the time for words was over. Leigh grew wetter, and her breathing shorter and more pronounced as I worked. I was dizzy. Her clit dripped teasingly mere inches away from my mouth, screaming ‘Lick me, lick me’. And I had every intention of doing so when Leigh’s voice broke my trance.
“Your turn, she said. “Since you’re asking personal questions, what’s your clitoral preference?
“Mmm,” I stalled. “You could say I have an oral fixation.” Oh fuck it! “I prefer a large clit -- and I have never seen one as perfect as yours. You would have to pry my mouth away from it.”
“Yes, you would. I’d go down on you in a heartbeat, beautiful. And wouldn’t come up until you were thoroughly satisfied.”
“Dr. Mason,” She purred, “We shouldn’t talk about this with you down there. I’m …”
“You’re excited.” I saved her further embarrassment and finished her sentence, and assured her that involuntary arousal was the norm and she shouldn’t be ashamed. I removed the speculum, and inserted my finger and told her to breathe as I probed between her folds. “You came.” She asked how I knew and I explained the clinical different between vaginal lubrication and ejaculate. Until I felt her walls sucking my finger, I hadn’t realized I was gently masturbating her and she was cumming again. Her clit visibly throbbed, and begged to be sucked. This couldn’t be happening. I’m a doctor—I graduated first in my class—and here I was, nestled between my patient's thighs—my cock ready to explode in my pants—dying to taste, to suck her pussy lips until she came on my tongue.
She lay perfectly still, in a daze, her head rolled back and she quietly moaned as my glistening fingers slid into her. Why couldn’t I stop? Her hips rocked back and forth gently, her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, her hands gripped the table. She was obviously in heaven. I inserted another finger and circled her big, beautiful clit with my thumb. Fuck, I wanted to suck it!
Leigh's muffled orgasm tripped my moral compass. “All done. Sit up, please.” I rolled my stool backwards, and removed my gloves as if nothing had happened. “Orgasms during exams are more common than you think." I hastily jotted down my notes, hoping she hadn't taken my sudden indifference as a slight "As I suspected, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Your blood work is clean; PH levels are fine; and there is no sign of cancer. I took a few swabs for further testing but you are as you should be, perfect.”
I noticed a hint of sadness in her eyes when I looked up from my notes. “Look,” I closed her file and placed it on the counter. “If you’re hell bent on having the procedure,” Oh God, I couldn’t believe what I was about to say. “I’ll perform it … just promise to think it over for a few days. Besides, I can’t put you on the schedule until after your next appointment.” I lied, but a delay was the only weapon at my disposal.
Thankfully, she bought it but I got the impression she knew it was a ploy to see her again. Of course, she was right.
I went about the routine of closing the office, and instructing the cleaning staff while Leigh dressed. We met at the front desk where she asked if I’d like to grab a bite at a hookah lounge. Evidently, she read my distrust, and explained that the establishment was an authentic Middle Eastern venue owned by her Egyptian friend who served traditional fare. This wasn’t a trendy westernized drug den.
Now to a man who has frequented lounges throughout the Middle East, I can proudly add her friend’s, Ahjed, lounge to their ranks. Gentle wisps of fragrant smoke intermingled and dispersed in the dim votive lights. Arabic music played while belly dancers moved sinuously amongst the dozen or so couples; some seated on rich jewel toned cushions in the center of the room, others tucked away in private corners draped with layers of sheer cloth. The atmosphere was almost dreamlike. But most importantly, to me at least, Leigh was waiting in our nook (looking stunning in a low cut purple top and fitted skirt, I might add), and there wasn’t a hamburger or pimp in sight.