The Examination My Boyfriend Shouldn’t Have Watched

It all started with a late period. I had been waiting nearly three weeks for something that never came, and my head was full of calculations, dates, and a dull fear that wouldn’t let me sleep. My cousin Carla, who always has a name ready for things like this, gave me her gynecologist’s number.

—He’s serious, don’t worry, he won’t make you feel uncomfortable —she told me over the phone—. Just go.

I made an appointment for Friday afternoon. I didn’t want to go alone, but I didn’t want Damián, my boyfriend, there watching my face while they examined me, either. We reached an arrangement: he would drive me, wait outside, and come pick me up afterward. Simple. That was all I needed from him that afternoon.

The doctor’s office was in an old building downtown, one of those with a metal-caged elevator and long hallways. We went up without saying much. I was nervous, my hands cold, mentally rehearsing what I was going to tell the doctor.

When the secretary called me, I jumped to my feet. Damián stayed seated, looking at his phone. But instead of making him wait outside, the doctor opened the door himself and looked at him.

—Come in, come in, that way you can both tell me what’s going on —he said with a friendly smile.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know how to say that I’d rather go in alone. I went in ahead of them, almost pushed along by courtesy, and the door closed behind us with a click that meant nothing at the time.

***

The office smelled of alcohol and a faint, masculine cologne. He was a man in his mid-forties, with large hands and a calmness that inspired confidence. He had me sit across from his desk and began writing down my information.

—Who recommended me? —he asked without looking up.

—My cousin. Carla.

He slowly raised his head and smiled differently. It wasn’t a polite smile.

—Ah, Carla. Yes. I know her very well.

There was something in the way he said it that churned my stomach. Something I immediately interpreted badly and then tried to erase. You’re nervous, don’t make things up. Damián, beside me, didn’t notice anything. He still looked like he wanted to go home.

The doctor began asking about my sex life with professional naturalness. How often I fucked, with whom, for how long, what method I used, whether I let him come inside me, whether anyone had ever fucked me in the ass, whether I liked sucking cock. He said everything with the same calm tone one might use to ask the date of my last period. I answered softly, my eyes fixed on the edge of the desk, feeling Damián’s jaw tighten each time I gave him a detail. When I finished telling him everything, the doctor closed the folder.

—To rule out anything, we’re going to do an ultrasound. Lie down there, please.

He pointed to the examination table on the other side of the screen. I stood up, took off my high-heeled sandals, and placed them neatly to the side, as if that orderly gesture could give me back control. I lay down and sighed.

—Don’t get nervous —he said, arranging the device—. Relax. This won’t hurt at all.

***

I was wearing a loose blue dress with tiny flowers, the kind that’s the only thing you can stand wearing in summer. The doctor began rolling it upward, very slowly, with a delicacy that didn’t seem entirely clinical. He pushed it up until my white lace thong was visible, almost transparent. The outline of my shaved cunt showed beneath it, and the wet lace was beginning to cling to my lips. I was embarrassed, and at the same time I didn’t cover myself.

Damián had sat down in the chair to one side, right at the angle from which he could see everything. I looked at him for a second. He said nothing. He didn’t look away, either. I could see the bulge pressing against his pants, and something inside me, something truly fucked-up, felt pleased to know he was hard watching me like that.

The doctor spread the cold gel over my belly and pressed the transducer against me. He began talking as if he were giving a lecture: the uterus, the ovaries, everything looked fine, turning the screen toward Damián to show him images neither of us understood. Meanwhile, with his other hand, he was doing something that took me a while to register.

He was caressing the inside of my thigh.

It was so soft, so discreet, that at first I thought it was accidental, that he needed to adjust my leg for the ultrasound. But his hand moved higher. Slowly, in circles, without hurrying, while his voice continued explaining things in a perfectly professional tone. His fingers brushed higher and higher until his thumb rested right over the lace of my thong, and I felt that I was soaked down there, that my entire swollen cunt was outlined against the wet fabric. I felt a heat rise from my belly, a mixture of panic and something else, something dirty I didn’t dare name because Damián was three feet away, watching me.

With two fingers, the doctor barely pushed my knee outward. Don’t do it, I told myself. And I opened my leg a little. Then a little more. I don’t know why I did it. Until my legs were spread so wide that I knew, without needing to look, that my lace thong had slipped between my lips and that he was seeing everything: the wetness, my swollen lips protruding at the sides of the fabric, my clitoris outlined like a button beneath the lace.

—We’re going to have to take a sample —he said, as though nothing were happening.

I didn’t answer. And then, in one movement, he pulled my thong down to my thighs.

***

The cold air in the office touched me where the air of a room with another person watching had never touched me before. My shaved cunt, glistening with fluid, lay exposed beneath the white light of the lamp. Instinctively, I tried to close my legs, but he placed both hands on the insides of my thighs and stopped me with calm firmness, without violence, like someone who knows there’s no need to force anything.

—Stay still —he said softly—. Almost done.

He stood and went to the counter to fetch the instruments. I remained there, exposed, completely shaved, my legs spread and my dress rolled up to my waist, feeling the thread of wetness running between my ass cheeks onto the paper sheet. I turned my head toward Damián.

He was watching me in silence. His hands were clasped over his knees and his eyes were fixed between my legs. His breathing was heavy, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, his right hand discreetly lowering to adjust his stiff cock over his pants. There wasn’t any anger yet, not completely. There was something else. An attention I had never seen in him before, a breath that had quickened. And I, who should have felt humiliated, felt something catch fire inside me at knowing I was being watched by both of them, my cunt spread wide open for the doctor while my boyfriend struggled not to put his hand down his pants.

The doctor returned. He pulled off his latex gloves with a dry snap and left them on the tray. When his now-bare fingers touched my lips, every pretense of an examination fell to the floor. He caressed me with expert slowness, separating my outer lips with his thumb and forefinger, opening me as though he were showing me from the inside. His other fingers began running along my slit from top to bottom, coating themselves in my own wetness, moving up to massage my clitoris in precise circles, then down again to brush my entrance. I spread my legs as wide as I could. There was nothing left to hide.

—That’s it —he murmured—. Like that. You’re so wet, baby. Look at you dripping.

***

He touched me as if he knew me by heart. First on the outside, drawing circles over my clitoris with the tip of his middle finger, waiting for me to thrust my hips toward it, making me beg for it with my body. Then he inserted one finger, slowly, very slowly, feeling my cunt swallow it with a wet noise that echoed throughout the office. He pushed it in to the knuckle and left it there, still, while his thumb kept working above. I moaned, unable to stop myself, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make noise, gripping the edge of the table with both hands.

—You’re so tight —he said—. How long has it been since someone really fucked you?

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t. One finger became two, and the two of them moved inside me in a steady rhythm, curling upward, sliding in and out with an obscene squelch. Two became three. I felt him opening me, felt my cunt yielding to that alien hand, felt my walls clench around his fingers each time he pulled them halfway out and sank them back in. He found a spot inside, that rough area behind the bone, and began massaging it with his fingertips in a hooking motion that made me arch my back and release a moan that bounced off the walls of the office.

—Shh —he murmured—. Quiet. We don’t want the secretary to hear how your little cunt is filling up.

With his other hand he pulled my dress up to my neck and yanked my bra down. My tits sprang free and he began playing with my nipples, squeezing and pinching them until they grew hard as stones. He touched every part of me while opening me from the inside, unhurriedly, with the confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times. His fingers slid in and out of my cunt, making a sticky noise, and I felt my fluid run down the crack of my ass, felt the sheet beneath me already turn into a puddle.

—Look at your boyfriend —he told me in my ear, without stopping fucking my cunt with his hand—. Look at how he watches while I finger you.

I turned my head. Damián was still behind him, standing now, without saying a word, his cock outlined in his pants and one hand squeezing it through the fabric. I could see him from the corner of my eye, his silhouette outlined against the window, and knowing he was there, watching me writhe and drip beneath another man’s hands, hearing the wet noises coming from my open cunt, brought me to the edge faster than I had ever reached it alone.

—Don’t hold back —the doctor said, reading my face and speeding up his fingers inside me—. Come, slut. Come in my hand.

And I came. I came in a way I had never known before. My whole body began to tremble, my legs instinctively closing around his arm, my cunt squeezing around his fingers in spasms I couldn’t control. I felt myself coming in waves, felt a warm gush escape and soak his hand, wrist, and shirt cuff; felt myself spill over his fingers while he held my hips with his other hand so I couldn’t escape the pleasure. I screamed something through my teeth, something even I didn’t understand, while I kept coming and coming, my vision blurred and my tits bare, rising and falling uncontrollably. It lasted an eternity of seconds. His fingers stayed inside me through the final contraction, drawing out every last drop. When I came back to myself, I was soaked from the waist down and out of breath, my dress stuck to my skin and my hair tousled across the paper cushion.

The doctor straightened with absolute calm. He pulled his fingers from my cunt with a sucking noise, raised them to the level of my face so I could see them shining with fluid, and then brought them to his mouth and sucked them, one by one, unhurriedly, without taking his eyes off me. He wiped his hand with a paper towel, as if he had just finished an ordinary consultation.

—All done —he said—. Clean yourself up and take your boyfriend home. Come back whenever you want.

***

I climbed down from the table with my legs still weak, feeling the foreign semen I hadn’t received but imagined anyway, running between my thighs, mixed with my own come. I straightened my dress, awkwardly tucked my tits back into my bra, picked up my soaked lace thong, and put it in my purse because I couldn’t think about anything else. We went out into the hallway. Damián walked two steps ahead of me, stiff, without looking at me, until we reached the street and he turned around.

—What happened in there? —he asked, his voice tense.

—Nothing. He examined me. Didn’t you see?

—I saw more than that. —His fists were clenched—. He was putting his fingers inside you. He was making you come like a slut, and you spread your legs.

—That’s all in your head —I lied, holding his gaze.

Then he yanked up the hem of my dress right there on the sidewalk and saw that I had nothing underneath. He saw my shaved cunt, still swollen and glistening, still dripping down the insides of my thighs. He froze for a second. Then he let go of the fabric as if it burned him, said something I don’t want to repeat, and walked away quickly, leaving me standing alone in front of the building, my heart still pounding, my cunt throbbing between my legs, and a smile I couldn’t wipe from my face.

***

A few weeks passed. Damián came looking for me again, asked me to get back together, and I accepted because I missed him. But things were never the same. He began getting jealous over everything, policing my clothes, making me feel that afternoon had crossed a line he would never forgive me for. In bed, neither: every time he fucked me, every time I came beneath him, I knew he was comparing himself to the doctor’s fingers, and I knew he was losing. We ended up worse than we had been before.

One certainty remained with me from all of it, one I had never confessed to anyone until now. It wasn’t infidelity, it wasn’t betrayal, and there was no one I had betrayed except myself. It was simply the best time anyone had ever touched me. And even today, when I remember it, when I touch myself alone in bed thinking about that afternoon, I feel the cold gel on my belly again, that man’s fingers opening me from the inside, his tongue sucking my come from his knuckles, and Damián’s eyes watching me from the chair, his cock hard against his pants, afraid to move.