My body moves before I can stop it, and a mix of shock and fear and something else I’m not really sure I want to admit that I’m feeling force my hands to push myself off his shoulders, hauling me backward in a slight stumble.
My abrupt reaction quickly puts some distance between us, but his other hand refuses to budge from its current resting place—my now very rigid waist. His grip on it actually seems firmer, if anything. I’m breathing hard, and the air enters and leaves my suddenly overactive lungs as if they’re trying to use up all the oxygen in the room.
I warily look at him again, only to find that he, on the other hand, is completely and utterly calm and unaffected. It’s as if he didn’t notice anything at all. And perhaps he didn’t, but I highly doubt it. I mean, how can a guy not notice when his penis is stiff?
I resist the urge to look down at it, forcing my eyes to stop well above his groin area. I’m not sure if I’m more afraid of confirming what I felt, or the possibility of him catching me red-handed staring at his Johnson. Either way, I manage to stop my eyes from wandering too far down, and they end up focusing on his.
His eyes are still on my belly, their pale blue hue so direct and piercing it’s almost as if he can see through my belly, and for a second, I actually picture him as Superman looking through my body with his awesome X-ray vision. I scoff at myself internally at the silly thought as he remains focused on what he’s doing and completely unaware of his superhero role in my random thought.
His expression is thoughtful and focused as he proceeds to continue with his probing, gently pressing around the same region that caused my sudden jolt to see if it will happen again.
And eventually, it does, but a lot less dramatically this time as his fingers don’t apply as much pressure on me as they did before.
“Here,” he finally says, lightly tapping about two inches above my belly button. “This seems to be where your discomfort is originating from. I can feel a bit of unusual hardness right in this area here…almost like a mass.”
His fingertip circles the small patch of belly in question, warming the skin there. I don’t understand—and honestly don’t quite believe—how the hell a clinical exam is actually making me feel horny.
“You said they’ve been becoming more frequent recently?” he asks, removing me from my deviant thoughts.
“Yes,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering.
“Do you do a lot of abdominal or torso intensive exercises?”
“Yes. For vocal lessons.”
He looks up at me momentarily. “You sing?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Hmm. I guess music runs in your family, too,” he says with an encouraging smirk. “And has this issue ever occurred while you were singing or during your vocal lessons?”
I nod more emphatically. “Yes, a lot of times. In fact, it kept happening quite a bit this morning. It’s never been this bad. That’s why I was concerned and came over here after visiting the school clinic.”
Somehow, I feel better after telling him that, like I’m sharing a problem with him that he wants to help me with, even though I know he’s just doing his job.
I’m still trying very hard to ignore the fact that I know his hard-on is still there, standing at attention in confinement just below me.
His hands move away from my body as he leans back in his chair, effortlessly draping the stethoscope around his neck once more before he proceeds to take down some notes in my folder.
My skin suddenly feels so bare and cold without his fingers on me, and I hate that I feel that way. I shouldn’t feel this kind of lust for someone else’s husband. That’s plain wrong, and frankly, I’m angry at myself for reacting to him the way I am. I seriously need to get a fucking grip.
His smooth, deep voice comes through again, forcing my attention back to what I actually came here for.
“Well, I read the note that Jane sent over and I have to agree with her,” he says. “As with pretty much any symptom, there are lots of possibilities and factors that cause and/or influence them. I can’t really tell you that much from just a physical exam, so the cause and full extent of the effects are inconclusive at this point.
“An abdominal ultrasound would be the first step in figuring out what exactly is going on. Depending on what we find, we may need to do an endoscopy as well. You also have the option of doing an endoscopic ultrasound, which is a combination of both procedures done at the same time.”
Just great. Any inkling of encouragement I might have felt coming here just went straight out the fucking window.
“How much would the endoscopy cost?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“The cashier downstairs can give a precise breakdown, but after insurance, it should roughly be around—”
“I don’t have insurance,” I interject, cutting him off.
He pauses for a second, and I can see a glimpse of uncertainty flash in his icy eyes before he speaks again.
“Well then, you’re looking at about a hundred and eighty for a basic ultrasound, and three to four thousand dollars for the endoscopy. There’d be additional costs for a biopsy and, of course, surgery if it comes to that, but we’ll take it one step at a time.”
I feel all the energy rushing out of me as I exhale in a long, tired sigh. This day can’t get any more depressing.
“Isn’t there any other way to tell what might be wrong?” I plead. I hate how desperate my voice sounds, but I’m really at a loss right now.
His expression remains neutral. “Sure there are, but they’re much more expensive than an endoscopy if you want an accurate diagnosis. And we can’t treat what we can’t diagnose, Ramona.”
I’m at a loss for words, so I don’t say anything for several moments. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything either, and the resulting silence between stretches to a point way beyond comfort.
I find him staring at me intently again, his eyes incredibly focused, sending a rush of chills and shivers through my spine. I’m actually starting to feel cold even though his office is fairly warm.
His gaze quickly becomes too intense for me, and I have to break eye-contact in an effort to keep my frantically beating heart in my chest.
I quickly stand. “Well, thank you for your time, Doctor Frost,” I say, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. I have no idea what I’m going to do or where I’m going to get that kind of money from, but I need to get out of here.
“Not a problem,” he says, standing as well and towering over me once again. I’m five-seven, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt so small in my entire life.
He extends his hand to me, and I hesitate for a split second before taking it. I hold my breath on impulse at the feel of his warm palm and strong fingers engulfing mine.
I sneak one more glance at him, and I meet his eyes again, his relentlessly intense gaze still on my face. I can’t even explain how paralyzing and intense they are, to the point where they actually scare me.
I can clearly feel my pussy throbbing through my jeans, and it’s pulsating with so much force that I’m afraid he might feel it, too.
Hot liquid forms generously between my thighs, and I know I’ve had enough. I take my hand from his and practically run out of his office, not daring to look back.