While driving to my appointment, I kept running through the list of instructions that Dr. Dave had sent the week before:

* Drink at least 64 ounces of water before your exam. Avoid urinating if you can.

* No sex for at least five days before your exam.

* Bring your body hair trimmer and a razor fitted with a fresh cartridge.

* Bring any toys you want me to consider using during your exam.

* Fill out pre-exam health form (linked here)

Dr. Dave and I had met up at least once a year to role play together. We had done this for years, connecting in hotels as work travel usually meant one of us would end up near the other. But I was moving cross country for a new job, he was long retired and settled, and I wasn’t sure how many more scenes we’d be able to play out. And while we usually had a thorough discussion on the parameters of an exam—depending on what my interests were in the moment or what he was able to reasonably carry in his vehicle to a hotel room. This time, I just told him that the sky’s the limit. I trusted him. We agreed on a safe word to use if I needed to slow things down. And I knew he was skilled in forms of medical play that I wouldn’t think to ask for—or would talk myself out of asking for.

“The body is yours to use. Use it.”

That’s how I left it when we spoke over the phone. I had never given someone that kind of latitude before, and I was half expecting to start feeling anxious after the words left my mouth. Instead, I felt a rush, like my body was telling me it was happy I was finally giving in to the kind of sexual experience my brain was too cautious to let me have. That wave came over me again when Dr. Dave sent over his prep instructions and I started filling out his pre-exam form.

This was new. Was it secure? Maybe? Did it matter? No one would care about my health habits, family history of disease, or whether I smoked or not. It was a little embarrassing ticking the boxes by the medical procedures on offer that I thought I needed (all of them). Realistically, no one would care about the nude, full-body frontal photo he required.

I stood in front of my large bedroom mirror for what felt like an hour trying to get the balance of good lighting and a good angle that would make the most of my furry, late-40s dad bod, which was a far cry from the slim (though never athletic) body I had when we first met. I wasn’t really happy with the outcome, but figured if it wasn’t good enough, Dr. Dave would say something. I wished I was harder in the photo—like when I clicked Submit and within a few minutes, Dr. Dave texted me “Got it, buddy. Thanks. See you soon!”

He almost always called me buddy, which always made me melt and put me in a headspace where I wanted to—and was glad to—obey whatever he told me. It was also then that I realized that I let go of a very private part of myself and that this role play was really happening and I was so excited and horned that I wanted to take care of my full hard-on that was making a wet mark on the front of my briefs. Dr. Dave’s third rule was the only thing keeping me from doing it.

The morning of my making the drive to my appointment, I felt calm, even when washing up and cleaning out. Or even when I threw together a small box of toys I thought might be of interest to him. And for most of the car ride, I felt no different than I did during my morning commute. But with ten miles to go, my heart was racing again. I reached for the Big Gulp cup full of water, figuring now was a good time to start the last of my prep work.