Your heart races as you sit on the exam table and the door closed behind him, your doctor. He looks down at the chart in his hand, the one you know you really filled out online in an email days before. You figured it was meant to really get your heart pounding, your juices flowing so to speak, of what you might expect. Now that you are sitting there looking at him all expectations instantly flew out the window. He doesn't say anything at first, just leaned against the small counter, pretending to read. You are certain he has read your so called file over a few times, hell you even filled it out with some oddities on purpose just to see what he would do. Surely he has seen those dozens of times before and came up with just the right way to make you squirm.

As his head slightly bobs to his reading you look him up and down. He is in a set of green scrubs that are tight enough to show his figure but not to cling to his body, and a stethoscope hung loosely around his neck. You bite your lower lip in desire yet also embarrassment. Here he was, the one you had been emailing, texting, discussing things that if someone had told you years ago, even mere weeks ago, you would be talking to someone about let alone an actual medical doctor, you would have laughed in their face. Yet, standing before you, not only looking like a doctor, was the real deal. Full of knowledge, the kind that could both help and harm, depending on how he used it. That kind of knowledge sent butterflies straight to your stomach. Knowing that you were literally offering up your body to be examined by his eyes and his hands, offering up everything to his mercy, his knowledge. It was enough to make you move slightly on the exam table, the motion of your movement crinkling the paper you were sitting on. you hold your breath, half of you hoping that there was no way he heard you, and the other half hoping that he did, and would take his eyes off your chart and start to take a closer look at you.

Slowly you look up and see him standing there, his arms across his chest, the chart now on the small counter beside him.... you could still run, make it to the door, pretend this never happened or wasn't happening. But you couldn't. Your feet, let alone other parts of you, refused to let you move.

Your eyes travel once again to some of the drawers now hiding behind his scrub pants. Not only did he have full knowledge of your body without even yet touching it, not even a closer look, but at his finger tips were a number of limitless tools and instruments that could make you squirm, buck, whine, and beg. You wished now you had been daring enough to try and open at least one of the drawers, just so you could imagine something that might be coming. even if you pulled out something you had never seen before, you could have come up with a possible use. But no, now everything, well almost everything, would be foreign to you. A complete and utter medical surprise.

As if taking his time, whether or not he was still giving you the option to bolt, or just wanted to see how much he could make you squirm, knowing you thought he was hot and were into medical examination, before he even touched you, before he even spoke a single word. You weren't sure but you could feel yourself squirming, sinking into the exam table as if to hide the fact that you thought he looked hot in his scrubs, and wanted his hands, his skills, to be checking you over, inside and out.