"You're sure that you're ready to have a baby of your own?" Dr. Rhodes pored over the new page that had been added to my chart. He didn't meet my gaze as he added, "You're so young, Layla."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm 21, Dr. Rhodes. You just think that because you've been seeing me since I was little. Plus, Alex and I have already been trying for a while now, pretty much since we got married, so I'm definitely confident."
He leaned against the counter by the sink. We were in the same exam room I'd grown comfortable in over the years, even through a few renovations. Green exam bed, seafoam walls, tile floor. It wasn't too clinical, though, with a few warmer personal touches: A rich vanilla air freshener, the thermostat set to a cozy temperature, and non-fluorescent overhead lights. Dr. Rhodes had been doing my physicals and other checkups all my life as well as all my family's, so I'd spent my fair share of time here. Any time I'd had to see a specialist, I hadn't felt nearly as comfortable as I did here, with him.
Dr. Rhodes' eyebrows narrowed. "Wait, how long have you two been trying?"
I met his eyes but quickly dropped my gaze back to the floor. He had these bright, pale blue eyes with smile lines and masculine eyebrows. Making eye contact with him while in my paper dressing gown felt a little too intimate. I was just here to have some hormonal levels done and make sure everything was in order. I swallowed and replied, "Six -- maybe eight? -- months."
"And he always, ah-" he gestured broadly, a tad uncomfortable "-finishes inside of you?"
It was my turn to blush, but not for the same reasons. "When he can, yeah."
"I see." He made a note on the chart and then set it down on the counter. He crossed his muscular arms over his chest -- I knew that he went to the gym with my dad on the weekends -- and tsked. "It's not unusual for couples to take a year, even, to conceive. At your age, though...Well, I doubt the problem's on your end. Nothing wrong with running a few tests for peace of mind, if that's what you want."
I smiled slightly. "I know I want a baby. Alex would be so mortified to go to a doctor for this kind of thing, so I figured, you know, if I have a doctor I already trust, I might as well."
"It's more likely that the problem is him," Dr. Rhodes replied. "I've watched your hormones for the last few years and nothing has seemed out of order to me. I doubt anything's changed since I last saw you right before the wedding."
I remembered that visit. Dr. Rhodes had been stiffer than usual, not the kind and warm man I knew well. He -- like my father -- had never liked Alex. They thought he wasn't good enough for me. After all, I'd been Junior Miss New Jersey when I was 16, graduated from college early this May, and -- I wasn't ashamed to admit -- I was pretty enough to do some modeling on the side. Big amber eyes, bigger blonde hair, curves in the right places. I'm sure my parents would prefer I was with someone more like Dr. Rhodes himself if he were age-appropriate. Beyond the medical license, he was tall and muscular with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and a smile that could calm down anybody's racing mind.
I recentered my thoughts and asked, "What sort of tests can we do today? I'd like to leave with some more answers than I came in with."
"Definitely." He gave me a tight smile, not the warm one I wanted from him. "I'll have the nurses draw some blood on your way out, of course. We'll take a urine sample, too, just in case. But, in here, I'll just do an external and internal exam to make sure we don't see or feel any physical problems. And you're due for your breast exam anyway, so we'll do that while we're here, if that's alright?"
I nodded. "Whatever you want is fine with me."
"That's what we like to hear. It's always good for a young woman to care about her health." He patted me on the shoulder, his hand lingering a second longer than it should have. "Drop your gown for me and we'll start with that breast exam."
"Is it alright if I just take this off?" I asked, picking at the edge of the paper. "It's scratching me a little; you know I have sensitive skin."
"No problem," he replied, facing away from me as he entered some more notes into his computer. I noticed that his voice was a bit gruff at the question. "Whatever makes you most comfortable is fine."
"Great."
I dropped the gown onto the floor next to me and unhooked my bra, leaving me in only my panties on the exam table. Whenever I went to the doctor, I always made sure to wear cute underwear -- today, a matching sage green set, simple but nice -- and neatly shaved anywhere that needed it. I knew logically that doctors and nurses didn't care about things like that, but it made me feel a bit more confident when I was spread eagle in the stirrups, if nothing else.
And, admittedly, I'd had something of a schoolgirl crush on Dr. Rhodes since I was little. It had pretty much subsided since Alex and I got together, of course, but there was still a small twinkle when I thought about seeing him again, if only because he always made me feel good about myself. It wasn't like going to the dentist where you left uncomfortable and sore at best.
Dr. Rhodes turned back to me. He blew a lungful of hot air into his hands and rubbed them together so they wouldn't be hospital-cold. I noticed that he didn't put on gloves, but I wrote it off as not wanting me to be uncomfortable. That was something I liked about Dr. Rhodes, actually: He always warmed up his hands before touching you. Never made me jump or feel anxious before starting to touch me.
He closed the gap between us, standing next to me by the exam table. He pressed a button on the side of it; the hydraulics whirred me into an upright position. He said, "You can lean back a bit and pull your arms above your head, rest them on the backrest behind you so you aren't too uncomfortable."
I did as he said, lifting up my arms and crossing them above my head. Perking them up like this made my normal Cs look more like unnatural DDs, heavy and round and alert. I hadn't noticed anything off about my breasts lately -- same dark pink, puckered nipples, peachy complexion, smooth and full -- but it was always good to have a doctor's opinion.
I took a deep breath as Dr. Rhodes' hands made contact with my breasts. He massaged them slowly, taking them in with his eyes, too. As his thumbs brushed my nipples, I tried to keep my breaths steady. I knew the doctor was supposed to feel clinical and intimidating, but Dr. Rhodes had invited my family over for weekend dinners, I graduated with his kids, and his office was anything but cold. The line between comfortable and horny was thin for me when I wasn't getting enough at home.
Dr. Rhodes pulled me from my thoughts to ask, "Has Alex mentioned anything to you about changes in your breasts?"
"He wouldn't really know," I admitted shyly. "He barely touches them."
Dr. Rhodes almost gritted his teeth. He shook his head and only said, "That boy."
I asked, "That's not normal? He told me most guys just want to get it done with."