Playing Doctor (11 page)

A few weeks later,
I'm in the large cast room, waiting once more for Dr. Czerny. He's so handsome in that slightly quirky way. My friend Laura is helping me again. She's not missing another chance to see the good doctor and his mostly male good-looking staff, but my awareness of her fades as he walks up to me.

“How are you doing today?” he asks in that slightly sexy, slightly foreign voice that I now look forward to hearing.

“Oh. Okay!” I respond a bit too loudly. Did I sound breathless?

“Well, let's take a look at your X-rays,” he says, sitting down on the low stool that always has me looking slightly down at him. Then I remember a question I have, now that my toe has a large metal screw in it.

“Doctor, can I get one of those papers that says I have metal in my foot for airplane travel?”

Laughing slightly, he says, “That's not necessary. I've had a knee replacement after a ski accident and my knee is full of metal. I've never set off the metal detectors.”

“Really?” I respond doubtfully. I'm a worrier and don't want to take any chances.

“Sure,” Dr. Czerny says. “Here, feel my knee,” he says, as if it's the most normal thing in the world. “You can feel the screw through my skin.”

Squeamish as always, I reach out a tentative hand and touch his knee with one finger through his green scrubs—and I feel the jolt of attraction down to my core. There is clearly metal there, but that's not what I'm focusing on. Is it my imagination or did the room get quiet suddenly? Glancing around, I see Laura wink at me. The only other technician in the room, a man, is still quietly at work and doesn't look up, but I sense him listening.

My gaze shifts back into my sexy doctor's eyes, and I quickly look away, a little embarrassed and definitely overheated. Was that just
me
or did he feel it too?

The office visit continues, and Dr. Sexy-Bedside-Manner continues to enthrall me with his soothing voice and warm demeanor. He is touching my healing foot with his hands, but it is still so swollen that I can't imagine that the doctor is having any arousing thoughts. It must all be in my head. I cannot wait to talk to Laura about it once we are out of the office.

However, this time when he's done examining my foot, his slow reassuring pat is not on my shoulder but on the top of my thigh. With the touch of his hand, I feel an instant rush of hot desire sweep up my leg, coiling at my center. Then my heart starts pounding, and a pleasurable warmth seeps throughout my body.

Brushing the feelings aside, I tell myself my thigh must be easier for him to reach from his low stool. But my heart is still pounding, and my laughing responses to his questions are a bit too breathless. Even the hands of the male technician as he puts a walking bootie on me feel extra nice today, building the tingling inside me even more. I wonder if the doctor has any idea of the effect he has on me.

In the car as Laura drives me home, we discuss it.

“Oh,” she says, “there was definitely something in the air. Didn't you notice how the whole room just seemed to pause when you were touching his knee?”

“I thought it was just me,” I reply. “I did take the opportunity to look at his hand, for what it's worth, and there wasn't a wedding ring on his finger.”

“But, Valerie,” Laura says, “there
is
a ring on
your
finger!”

What can I really say to that?

“I know, but I can't stop thinking about him. I'm starting to fantasize about him. Wouldn't you?”

Laura poutingly retorts, “I wouldn't know. He sure didn't ask
me
to feel his knee.”

That night, Elliott and I have very hot, steamy sex, even with my silly bootie on. I'm on fire, but he doesn't know who lit the flame. In the end, I don't think he would care too much, as we both had a rocking good time.

Lying awake for hours afterward, I'm wondering what I can do about this strong attraction I feel toward Dr. Czerny. I want him, but I'm a married woman.

Maybe
we
could…
I let my imagination drift. My erotic fantasy of Elliot watching the doctor and me together transforms, and now it's Dr. Czerny who's watching… Then they are both touching me at the same time. Two men and me at one time? I shiver with a new yearning that I've never felt before. Would they go for it, I wonder. What are the chances… No, that would be too wild, too out there. I wouldn't even know how to ask, where to begin.

Well, I say to myself, it's another two weeks until my last appointment, and then I'll probably never see Dr. Czerny again. I've just got to get it out of my head—easier to say than do, because I get damp every time I think of it.

Today I expect this
to be my last visit with the good doctor, and I know I will miss the warm thrill of his bedside manner. I'm almost healed and drove myself here without Laura. I am escorted into a small examination room instead of the big cast room. Excitedly, I realize I may get to see him alone, all alone. But so what? I am married, I remind myself.

An idea has formed in my mind, but it's so daring, so out there that it is hard for me to even fully recognize it as a plan. I'm glad I took extra care to wear a nice dress today and put on makeup so I'd look my best. The colorful dress is on the short side, but my legs are one of my best features. Although it is unlikely that I will have the courage to act on my plan, the titillation of considering it is stimulating nonetheless.

The door opens and Luka enters—we're on a first-name basis now, at least in my mind. Once again, his warm-bedside-manner smile melts my insides and his “warm honey” voice envelops me in a sensual fog. Slightly dazed, I answer all his questions, and he confirms that I can go without even the bootie from now on. Leaning close, he looks carefully at my foot, the lab coat brushing against my knee and feeling like a caress that sends tingles up and down my leg.

I wait anxiously for his physical examination of my foot, for the touch, however brief, that I have come to crave. I watch as he slowly reaches down, my ankle already tingling in anticipation, and then his hand is on my body again. I have to stifle the pleasurable sigh that is on my lips as he gently manipulates my foot and strokes his hand along the skin while he conducts the exam.

Why does everything with him seem so erotic? It must be the smile and the eyes—and the way he looks deeply into mine. This connection feels like a mutual attraction, or is it just my wishful thinking? Reminding myself that he is years younger than I am, I wonder abstractedly why he isn't married.

The doctor seems to be drawing the exam out, or is that also my imagination? As he holds my foot, which thankfully is beginning to look normal again, he gently manipulates the toe, testing flexibility. But he seems to be almost caressing my foot, and it feels so good that tingles are traveling up my leg toward my pelvis. Gently he lowers my foot back down.

Oh, no, the appointment is almost over, and I'm not ready for it to end.

“Doctor!” I suddenly exclaim. “I was wondering. I've been thinking about the metal in your knee and wondering… Can I see your knee? It felt odd, and I am…ahh…wondering what it…ahh, looks like,” I finish lamely.

Luka looks at me a little strangely but says, “I guess so,” as he pulls up the right pant-leg of his scrubs. I had felt the metal, and seeing the knee now, I can see where the metal is located and the scars along his knee.

Leaning in toward his leg, I reach out one tentative finger and very slowly and gently trace down the outside of his knee. “You really don't feel it?”

“Oh, I feel
that
all right,” he chokes out as he stands back and the pant leg drops.

Well, at least that got a reaction out of him! It seems the attraction is not entirely one-sided, I realize as my fantasy of him grows.

My bizarre scheme races back into my mind. An idea so wild that I haven't even mentioned it to Laura, and certainly not to my husband. Why stir up trouble in our marriage or risk hurting Elliot's feelings when the likelihood of Dr. Czerny actually going along with it seems unlikely?

I stare at the handsome, alluring man, daring myself to have the courage. Life is too short and I don't want any regrets. My mind races about anxiously. Maybe I should just let it go, but then I'd always wonder what might have been if I'd had the courage to act. Thoreau's ideas haunt me—to conform to society is safe; to do what calls me might bring greater fulfillment. It's time to open my mind to new possibilities and stop sleepwalking through life. “‘Only that day dawns to which we are awake.'”

I gasp. Had I said that out loud? My eyes flash to his.

“‘There is more day to dawn,'” Luka answers, surprising me.

We finish together, “‘The sun is but a morning star.'”

“You read Thoreau!” I exclaim, utterly astonished that this foreigner knows the quote.

“No,” he replies quietly. “Just the one book, just
Walden
. I live my life by it, at least the last paragraph.”

“Will you… I…um.” Suddenly I'm at a loss for words.

Luka steps closer to me and looks down into my eyes, as if searching for the meaning of my odd elucidation, and then he seems to understand. “I will keep an open mind,” he promises.

Taking a stuttering breath, I realize it is now or never.

“Doctor, I have a bold proposal for you.” It's barely more than a whisper.

Luka looks surprised, a little taken aback, and I wonder if I've made a mistake about his feelings, but I push forward.

“An open mind,” I repeat more firmly, and he nods. “And an interest in nonconformity, or at least following your own drummer.”

Luka nods again.

“I feel like we have a connection, and I want to get to know you better. But it would take way too long to explain here, and then I'm sure you'll be shocked into automatically saying no. I want you to have the time to ask questions and explore the idea. Can we meet for lunch or coffee or something?”

After stepping toward me, Luka takes hold of my left hand and raises it up, looking pointedly down at my wedding ring. I shrug but don't say anything.

“You're my patient, or at least you were my patient,” he says. “I, ah, I do like you but…” His words trail off to nothing. I can tell he is torn about what to do—his professionalism fighting against his attraction to me.

“Just hear me out,” I urge and gently squeeze the hand that is still holding mine. “Won't you always wonder what I wanted to talk to you about?”

Finally, decisively, he says, “Okay, let's meet for lunch tomorrow. I'll text you the name of a restaurant.”

I nod my agreement. I'm in a daze. His light hold on my hand is making me breathless and dizzy, and I'm not imagining that he's making little circles with his fingers on the palm of my hand, while he stares intently into my eyes. For a moment I think he may lean in and kiss me, but then he steps back and drops my hand.

“Until tomorrow,” he says, watching me as I leave the room.

The restaurant Luka has
picked is very nice, quiet—just short of romantic. In fact, perfect for this somewhat clandestine meeting. I feel attractive, youthful in my formfitting dress. But I had to give in to wearing flats, because my foot isn't yet up to my usual sexy heels.

He's already seated, and as I walk toward the quiet secluded corner where our table is, he stands to smile down at me. I had forgotten how tall he is. I had wondered what he would look like out of scrubs, in normal clothes. He is even more handsome, wearing a beige mock turtleneck, a brown blazer, and pants that go well with his dark good looks. That thick, black hair of his looks especially tousled today, like he was impatiently running his hand through it just before I arrived. I so want to touch it, to run my fingers through the luxurious locks. I hope that, maybe, someday soon I'll get the chance.

“Hello, Doctor,” I say brightly, plastering a more-confidant-than-I-feel smile on my face.

“Please call me Luka,” he says. “Even though I don't really understand what you want to tell me, it does seem like we should be on a first-name basis, don't you think? I must tell you I've been thinking about your
proposal
all night but just can't believe it is actually what I'm thinking.” Opening his menu, he suggests, “Let's get the ordering out of the way, and then I want to hear what it is you have to say.”

After the waiter walks away with our order, I realize it's “showtime,” so after taking a deep breath, I lay out my secret desire.

“Luka, what would you think about joining me in a ménage à trois?”

With a startled expression, he leans back away from me, making it clear that this is not what he thought I was going to offer. He looks vaguely uncomfortable or irritated—I'm not sure. Quickly, I hurry to explain: “Sort of a friends-with-benefits thing with my husband, Elliott. Aboveboard, not sordid or done behind his back. I love him too much, and we've had a good marriage and really good sex, so I'm certainly not going to do anything to ruin that. For this to work, we'd all need to become friends. I could never make love to anyone without friendship. So the three of us would get to know each other and only go forward if we're all in agreement.”

Not wanting him to cut me off before I'd finished getting everything out, I take a quick breath and rush to continue.

“I know this is unexpected, but ever since you asked me to touch your knee, I've had such intense sexy dreams about you every night. I didn't plan on this, but now I have such a list of fantasies that I want to explore…desires that, well, even an affair wouldn't be enough to satisfy. They will take a third person to fulfill, and I want you to be our third.”

Grasping his hand, I lean toward him. “Lastly, I must tell you that I'm not a slut. Really, I've never done anything like this before. Elliott and I are not swingers either, although we've played some naughty bedroom games in the past.”

I finish in a husky whisper. “I've been with my husband for nineteen years, and in all that time I've never kissed another man. Never even wanted to kiss another man, that is until I met you. And just kissing you won't be enough. That I already know.”

I sit back, out of breath, and there is silence in our little corner of the restaurant. Luka sits quietly, his eyes roaming over my face and down to my breasts as his fingers tap uncertainly on the table.

Finally he says, “But what about your husband? I can't believe he has agreed to this.”

He must be a little agitated, or perhaps aroused, because his accent is thicker now, more excitingly foreign sounding, and he is leaning toward me instead of away.

“Well,” I respond, “leave that to me. I haven't told him my secret plan yet, but, well, he's had his indiscretions in the past. He owes me.” Luka still looks disbelieving.

“We
have
talked about a threesome before, a long time ago. Of course, it always revolved around two women and him, a very male fantasy, but it seems only fair that I can at least ask him. I won't do it if it will hurt Elliott or our marriage, but I'm hopeful he'll agree that it might be fun to make some exciting memories for the future.”

Memories for when we are too old, I think but leave unsaid.

As we eat our lunch, I lay out more details, such as that I'm hoping he has a place where we can meet because we can't do it in our home with our teens there. I find out he's been divorced for a few years—explaining his unmarried state—and he is currently unattached. And, yes, he's nearly eight years younger than my forty-four years.

At one point our knees bump under the table, and we both just leave them there, lightly touching as we continue talking. It's titillating, and I lean closer to him as he looks deeply into my eyes. I feel warm all over and slightly turned on—not quite aroused, but so close.

He asks a few questions but is mostly quiet, and I cannot tell how he feels about my idea. Perhaps it's just too wild for him.

I want to try to build on the connection I know exists between us, but I'm not sure how until I remember yesterday's surprise. “Luka, I know you said you only know
Walden
, but still I'm so curious about that. It was such a slog when I had to study it in high school, and I wonder where you picked it up.”

He responds with a smile, a sort of self-deprecating one. “Believe it or not, I studied it to learn English better. I think perhaps my tutor was a sadist because he said I would know the language when I could understand Thoreau's
Walden
.”

“You're joking.” I laugh.

“Unfortunately, it's no joke. Obviously I knew it was written more than a hundred and fifty years ago, but I had no idea, really
,
that it was so far removed from how Americans actually speak. However, my teacher was right. The painful task of learning to understand it was useful in learning to read English, which of course I needed to do to read medical texts. Then, surprisingly, I came to like the book. I even try to live my life by some of Thoreau's ideals.”

“Well,” I murmur, feeling like I am glowing with excitement, “I only recently rediscovered it, but I like its message of self-discovery and nonconformity. To go through the rest of my life wondering what if… I hope you'll think about my proposal.”

Luka nods in general agreement but still doesn't give me an answer. Our knees are still touching, and the tingle remains, seeping upward along my thighs and higher. I wonder if he still feels it. If it is as arousing to him as it is to me.

Realizing that Luka may ultimately say no, that this may be the last time I get to speak with him alone, privately like this, I want to continue the conversation—want to continue the intimate touch of our knees. Searching for something to say, I ask Luka about his homeland and when he came to the United States. I find his foreignness romantically exotic, and I realize that must show on my face.

“It's no great story, really,” he says with a slight smile. “I came here in my twenties to attend med school…after a crash course in English, of course.”

“What made you come all the way here for med school?” I ask, curious.

“I'd won a scholarship to study abroad and so applied to several schools in America. You know…the land of opportunity. Afterward, I served as a doctor in the U.S. military for a number of years and earned my citizenship that way. Eventually some other members of my family, including my parents, followed me over, but most of my extended family is still in Czechoslovakia, or the Czech Republic as it's called now.”

“I've never been to that part of the world. What's it like? Do you get back often?”

“Not too often…maybe every eight years or so. It is a small but beautiful country, with lots of historic places and tiny, ancient villages. It's greatly changed, of course, since when I was a child and the Soviet Union was Big Brother watching us. When I get back—”

“Are there castles?” I interrupt, imagining dreamy fairy-tale places.

Smiling indulgently, he offers, “Yes, many glorious and ancient fortresses and palaces. I particularly like an area called Bohemian Paradise. It's pretty there with towering rock formations and extensive pine forests, and many remote castles and ruins to visit in the hills. I think you would like it very much.”

“How exciting to be able to call two countries home,” I murmur. I had never thought of myself as a Europhile before, but I can see now that a part of me is drawn to him specifically because of his exotic allure.

“What about you?” he asks. “Where are you from?”

“Nothing exciting like you. I was a suburban child, born and raised right outside Boston in Melrose. Went to college in Boston and ended up staying. The farthest I've been is Paris on my honeymoon.”

“
Paris…
” he breathes out in hushed tones. “They call it the city of lovers. I've never been, but I want to see it. So you see, you've been somewhere I haven't.”

Suddenly I don't feel quite so provincial, and just as suddenly thoughts of “lovers” fill my mind. I glance away, slightly self-conscious, before boldly returning my gaze to him. Silly of me to feel shy after the wild proposition I have laid before him.

Luka stares intently into my eyes and my breath catches. I know then he is thinking of lovers too, of us as lovers. My pulse races and I can't resist reaching over to touch his hand resting on the table. Several long moments pass like this in our quiet corner of the restaurant, but the air surrounding us is ripe with hot anticipation.

Then, all too soon, lunch is over. Luka insists on paying the bill. As a modern woman with a very cosmopolitan proposition, I had planned to pay it myself, but I'll admit I like that he is proving to be a gentleman.

Since Luka hasn't revealed what he is thinking, as we stand to leave, I say, “I know you'll want to think about it, and—”

“No need!” he interjects firmly. “I'm in,
all
in—that is, if your husband goes for it, which I doubt he will.” Then he leans in and whispers hotly, “Too bad, really, because taking your clothes off is all I can think about right now.”

His declaration slams into me with an almost physical force. Swaying a little from the intense, rolling waves of desire, I grab the table for support and our gazes lock.

“I want it too!” I whisper back.