If you are very lucky, you might meet someone at work that you really connect with. Someone who brightens your day. Someone you have more in common with than walking around on the same bit of carpet for 8-12 hours a day. For me that person was Dr Stephanie Benz.
As the Hospital's lawyer, doctors were rarely happy to have me rattling around their hallways. Hearing that I was looking for them usually meant a pending malpractice lawsuit, or their contract was up for negotiation in less favourable times.
Dr. Benz was an attending urologist. All I knew about her before becoming acquainted was that she was one of the hardest working doctors on staff. Patients and staff alike loved her. When a position opened up for the Chief of the Division, management wisely set me the task of tendering an offer, finally able to recognise her contribution to the hospital. This was one of those scarce scenarios when the good doctor was happy to see me. I set a meeting via her assistant. When our meeting came around I was not prepared for what I saw.
Despite being in her mid-forties, and having a couple children, she was breath taking. Wondrous copper skin, hair the color of almond butter, and piercing green eyes. She was like a fine wine: aged perfectly. Introducing herself, she shook my hand. Her hands were warm, and softer than I anticipated from a surgeon. I felt extremely awkward being in close proximity to someone as far out of my league as I considered her to be. My heart raced the entire meeting. She was charming, and ecstatic about the pending promotion.
Subsequently, every time I caught sight of her around the hospital a smile came to my lips, and my blood rushed to my crotch. I would pop into her office every chance I could during contract negotiations. Our exchanges were always affable, and wonderfully easy, which naturally evolved into friendship. Once her new contract was complete, Stephanie (since she insisted I call her by her first name), and I took to having lunch together when our schedules would permit. Our colleagues joked she was my "work wife." I didn't mind the jokes, I knew they were well intentioned. Besides, who wouldn't want to be closely associated with such a lovely woman? I loved being near her, loved the smell of her shampoo, loved the warm laughter she exuded. I had a crush.
On a tedious Tuesday that felt like any other I was enjoying a drink and a cozy haven from the blisteringly cold winter's day at my work's preferred drinking haunt, when I slighted Stephanie pushing her weight against the heavy door of the bar. Stepping inside she wrestled with her many outer layers, freeing herself from her bulky winter protection. Once succeeding with the task at hand, she nervously cast around the room searching for friendly faces. She didn't usually socialize with colleagues outside of work, and an adorable frown creased her forehead as social anxiety made her second guess her joining us. Spotting me she smiled in relief, and gave a small wave and hand gesture denoting she was going to grab a drink. Drink in hand she made a b-line to the safety of my side.
Stephanie talked my ear off all night, and I drank up word, savoring our personal conversations as always. As the alcohol flowed our innocuous chit-chat about work, television, and shop talk eventually gave way, to more serious discussion. Letting down her guard Stephanie opened up about herself as she never had before. She explained that she always felt underestimated because of her looks, that in turn led to her need to overachieve. Doctors work a lot of hours; overachieving, hardworking ones even more. Taking a deep breath she confided that her husband had decided he had had enough. He wasn't coping with the neglect her work caused on their marriage. Her newly won promotion was the straw which broke the camel's back. He knew he couldn't deal with the kids, in conjunction with the stress levels the increased burden her new promotion was sure to induce. As such, they had recently separated. I didn't know what to think of this. We were close, and I felt regret at her loss.
Since I could relate, I did. I had never spoken to anyone at work about my marriage, but that evening I opened up. I explained how I had been working late hours on a major project for the Hospital, then there was another big project, followed by another, and another. My wife couldn't deal with me being an absent husband. She didn't sign up to be alone. She was more of a house keeper or personal assistant running all the household affairs by the end. By not spending quality time together, we grew apart. When it ended, we both just knew it was time to move on. My wife agreed our separation was just a formality by that point. Neither of us felt shame or sadness, it just happened. 'Moving forward' we called it. Stephanie sat there silently and attentively, never uttering a peep as I relayed my story. When I was done she leaned forward throwing her arms around me pulling me into a deep hug. I breathed deep, smelling her hair that awkwardly planted in my face. It smelt wonderful; of coconut and vanilla.
Many drinks in I asked her if she wouldn't mind putting on her doctor's hat for a minute. She mimed putting a hat on her head.
"Haha, very funny. But I am being serious now. I am pushing 40. Since we friends and all, and I know you're a great doctor and all that, would you mind if I picked your professional brain about a personal issue?" I asked her.
I knew I had an issue that really should be treated by a doctor. I stupidly kept putting it off, telling myself it was 'nothing' or even if it was 'something' a doctor probably couldn't help. Abetted by bourbon, and my trust in Stephanie, I found the nerve to say 'I have a problem' and ask for help.
"Of course. You're my favorite lawyer." She answered warmly.
I mumbled something about it being embarrassing prompting her to slip reassuringly into her wonderful bedside manner. Placing her hand on my arm she told me in a tone of unadulterated sincerity, that she wanted to know what was wrong, and how she could help. Her grip was firm, one that offered reassurance, inspiring a sense of courage. Unperturbed she asked me plain and straight: what symptoms did I have? What was wrong? I mentioned having to pee a lot. She cocked an eyebrow as if saying "Aaand?" Answering in an almost inaudible whisper I tell her about my failure to keep myself hard. Due to the din of the bar, she smiled asking me to repeat that last bit.
"I sometimes can't keep it up. I can get hard, but then it just goes limp." I told her, my personal shame spewing forth.
"Oh." She nodded her head gravely, her brow knitted down into a frown of consideration. "Well, I know it sounds cliché, but that happens to lots of men. No really, I know, because I am a doctor. Men tell me about it literally all day. Every. Single. Day. You have no idea how many dicks can't stay hard out there."
She laughs lightly trying to ease my tension. I laugh nervously at her jokes. It was a dry sense of humor, delivered in the perfect manner. I allow myself to relax a little.
"Look, from the sounds of it, I am leaning towards a potentially enlarged prostate. We can do a blood test or I can check it for you myself. The blood test takes a bit of time to come back, but if I do a manual check then it would be quick and easy."
"You'll check it?" I ask her, not fully comprehending what a 'manual check' would entail.
"Of course. I won't go back into the Hospital after drinking, but my brand spanking new apartment is 2 blocks away. Come over. I'll check you out." She reaffirms the grip on my arm telling me "Look, I am sure you have nothing to worry about, but it never hurts to get things checked out by a doctor."
"Come over... Like now?" I ask nervously. A part of me cannot believe that this woman wants me to come home with her, even if it's just a course of treatment.
"No time like the present. Finish that drink and let's get out of here."
The wind bites both of us on our walk, regardless of how bundled up we were. Luckily, she really was only a couple of blocks away. Before long we're in her apartment.
Stephanie was a slob. Suitcases open with strewn clothes everywhere. I didn't know that a single person could own as many pairs of green scrubs as she did. Stale coffee sat left in the percolator pot. The place reeked of neglect and charm. It was incredibly endearing to see someone whom was in complete control of their professional life, someone at such a high level in their professional field, brought down to earth by simply having a messy apartment.
I mentioned having to use the restroom, she pointed me in the direction. It wasn't much neater in there. Spying a black lace bra hanging from the doorknob, I reach out hesitantly, knowing I was crossing a line, but unable to control the impulse. Picking up the black lace garment I gently stroked the soft textured fabric. Bringing it up to my nose I inhale deeply. It smelt musky, with a hint of lingering perfume. As if caught red handed I hastily fumble it back onto the doorknob as Stephanie's rustling around close to the bathroom door startles me.
"Sorry, I wasn't expecting company." she told me as I sheepishly re-entered her living area.
She is frantically stumbling around, picking up clothes, tossing them into a pile in the corner in a vain attempt at gaining a semblance of cleanliness.
"Since Josh filed for divorce, I've sorta just been living out of suitcases."
Clearly proud of her handiwork, she put her hands on her hips, and cast around admiring her 'clean' apartment.
"There, clean enough for your procedure" She proclaimed proudly.
My nervousness and trepidation of being in alone with a beautiful woman in her apartment, something I hadn't done since before meeting my ex-wife, combined with concern about my condition must have shown on my face. I nodded in affirmation, but she sensed something was amiss.
"I get that you're nervous. A lot of men are when they have this done. I promise you, I am gentle."
I nod, trying to permit myself to feel comforted.
"So, here's how I check the prostate. I am going to press a finger into your anus, reach forward and manually check the gland. I will feel around to see how big it is, check if there are any lumps or other growths on it. It's called a digital rectal exam." She explained in a professional breezy manner.
