The Checkup My Boyfriend Shouldn’t Have Seen

It all started with a late period. I had been waiting almost three weeks for something that wasn’t coming, and my head had filled up with calculations, dates, and a dull fear that wouldn’t let me sleep. My cousin Carla, who always has a name handy for these things, gave me the number of her gynecologist.

“He’s serious, calm, he won’t make you feel bad,” she told me on the phone. “Go without overthinking it.”

I booked an appointment for a Friday afternoon. I didn’t want to go alone, but I also didn’t want Damián, my boyfriend, there staring at my face while I was being examined. We worked out a deal: he would drive me there, wait outside, and then pick me up afterward. Simple. That was all I needed from him that afternoon.

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

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

“Come in, come in, then the two of you can tell me,” he said with a friendly smile.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know how to say I preferred to go in alone. I went in ahead of both of them, almost pushed forward by politeness, 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 big hands and a calm manner that inspired confidence. He had me sit across from his desk and started writing down my information.

“Who recommended me?” he asked without looking up.

“My cousin. Carla.”

He slowly lifted his head and smiled in a different way. It wasn’t a polite smile.

“Ah, Carla. Yes. I know her very well.”

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

The doctor started asking me about my sex life with the ease of someone who did this for a living. How often I had sex, with whom, since when, what method I used, whether he came inside me, whether anyone had ever fucked me in the ass, whether I liked sucking dick. Everything said with the same calm with which someone asks the date of the last menstruation. I answered quietly, my eyes on the edge of the desk, feeling Damián’s jaw tighten every time I gave a detail. When I finished telling him everything, the doctor closed the folder.

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

He pointed to the exam table on the other side of the partition. I stood up, took off my heeled sandals, and set them neatly to one side, as if that careful gesture could give me back control. I lay down and exhaled.

“Don’t get nervous,” he said, adjusting the machine. “Relax. This won’t hurt at all.”

***

I was wearing a blue dress with tiny flowers, loose, one of those summer dresses you can actually stand. The doctor started rolling it up very slowly, with a delicacy that didn’t feel entirely clinical. He kept lifting it until my white lace thong was visible, almost sheer. Through it, the line of my shaved cunt showed, and the wet lace was starting to stick to my lips. I felt embarrassed and at the same time I didn’t cover myself.

Damián had sat down in the chair off to one side, at the exact angle from which he could see everything. I looked at him for a second. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t look away either. I saw the bulge forming against his pants, and something inside me, something very shitty, was pleased to know he was getting hard watching me like that.

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

He was stroking the inside of my thigh.

It was so gentle, so discreet, that at first I thought it was accidental, that he needed to adjust my leg for the ultrasound. But his hand kept going up. Slowly, in circles, without urgency, while his voice continued explaining things in a perfectly professional tone. His fingers brushed higher and higher, until his thumb settled right on the lace of my thong and I felt how soaked I was down there, how my swollen cunt was pressing against the wet fabric. Heat surged up from my belly, a mix of panic and something else, something filthy I didn’t dare name because Damián was a meter away, watching me.

With two fingers, the doctor nudged my knee outward just a little. 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 so wide that I knew, without needing to look, that the lace thong had slipped between my lips and he could see everything: the wetness, the swollen lips peeking out at the sides of the fabric, the clit outlined like a button beneath the lace.

“We’re going to have to take a sample,” he said, as if nothing were happening.

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

***

The cold air in the office touched me in a way air in a room had never touched me before with another person watching. My shaved cunt, shining with discharge, was laid open under 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 force isn’t necessary.

“Stay still,” he said softly. “Almost done.”

He stood and went to the counter to get the instruments. I was left there, exposed, completely shaved, with my legs open and my dress hiked up to my waist, feeling the thread of wetness running between my ass cheeks down to 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. You could see his heavy breathing, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, his right hand dropping discreetly to adjust his hard cock over his pants. There wasn’t anger yet, not fully. There was something else. An attention I had never seen on him before, a breathing that had quickened. And I, who should have felt humiliated, felt something catch fire inside me knowing I was being watched by both of them, with my cunt wide open for the doctor while my boyfriend held himself back from shoving his hand down his pants.

The doctor came back. He peeled off his latex gloves with a sharp snap and tossed them onto the tray. When his fingers, now bare, touched my lips, all pretense of an examination fell to the floor. He caressed me with expert slowness, parting my outer lips with his thumb and index finger, opening me as if he were showing me from the inside. The other fingers began tracing the slit from top to bottom, slicking themselves with my own wetness, moving up to massage my clit in precise circles, then down again to brush the entrance. I spread my legs as wide as I could. There was nothing left to hide.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that. You’re nice and wet, baby. Look at you leaking.”

***

He touched me as if he knew my body by heart. First on the outside, drawing circles over my clit with the pad of his middle finger, waiting for me to drive my hips toward him, making me beg for it with my body. Then he slipped one finger inside, slowly, very slowly, feeling how my cunt swallowed it with a wet sound that echoed all through the office. He buried it to the knuckle and left it there, still, while his thumb kept working above. I was gasping without being able to stop, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound, gripping the edge of the exam table with both hands.

“You’re so tight,” he said. “How long has it been since anyone fucked you properly?”

I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t. One finger became two, and the two of them moved inside me with a constant rhythm, curling upward, sliding in and out with an obscene splash. Two became three. I felt myself opening, felt my cunt giving way to that чужой hand, felt my walls closing around his fingers every time he pulled them out halfway and plunged back in. He found a spot inside, that rough area behind the bone, and started massaging it with the tips of his fingers in a hooking motion that made me arch my back and let out a moan that bounced off the walls of the office.

“Shh,” he murmured. “Quiet. We don’t want the receptionist hearing how your little cunt is flooding.”

With his other hand he lifted my dress up to my neck and yanked my bra down. My tits sprang free and he started playing with my nipples, squeezing them, pinching them until they were hard as stones. He touched me all over while opening me from the inside, unhurried, with the confidence of someone who’s done this a hundred times. His fingers went in and out of my cunt making a sticky sound, and I could feel the wetness running down the crack of my ass, feel the sheet beneath me turning into a puddle.

“Look at your boyfriend,” he said in my ear, never stopping fingering my cunt. “Look at how he’s watching you while I finger fuck you.”

I turned my head. Damián was still behind him, now standing, saying nothing, with his cock printing hard against his pants and one hand gripping it over the fabric. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, his silhouette outlined against the window, and knowing he was there, watching me squirm and leak under another man’s hands, hearing the wet sounds coming from my open cunt, took me faster to the edge than I had ever reached alone.

“Don’t hold back,” the doctor said, reading my face and quickening his fingers inside me. “Come for me, slut. Come on my hand.”

And I came. I came in a way I had never known before. My whole body started shaking, my legs reflexively clamping around his arm, my cunt tightening around his fingers in spasms I couldn’t control. I felt it hit me in waves, felt a warm gush escape and soak his hand, his wrist, his shirt cuff; felt myself spilling over his fingers while he held my hips with the other hand so I wouldn’t escape the pleasure. I screamed something through my teeth, something I didn’t even understand, while I kept coming and coming, my vision blurred and my tits out, rising and falling uncontrollably. Those were eternal seconds. His fingers stayed inside me through the last contraction, pulling out every last drop. When I came back to myself, I was soaked from the waist down and breathless, my dress stuck to my skin and my hair messed up over the paper pad.

The doctor straightened up with absolute calm. He pulled his fingers out of my cunt with a sucking sound, lifted them to my face so I could see them shining with my wetness, and then brought them to his mouth and sucked them one by one, without hurry, never taking his eyes off me. He wiped his hand with a paper towel as if he had just finished any ordinary appointment.

“Done,” he said. “Clean yourself up and take your boyfriend. Come back anytime.”

***

I got down from the exam table with my legs still weak, feeling as if the stranger’s semen I hadn’t even received was still running between my thighs in my imagination, mixed with my own cum. I straightened my dress, shoved my tits back into my bra with clumsy hands, picked up my soaked lace thong, and put it in my purse because my brain couldn’t handle anything else. We went out into the hallway. Damián walked two steps ahead, rigid, not looking at me, until we reached the street and he turned around.

“What happened in there?” he asked, his voice tight.

“Nothing. He examined me. Didn’t you see?”

“I saw more than that.” His fists were clenched. “He was fingering you. He was making you come like a slut and you spread your legs.”

“Those are your ideas,” 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 on underneath. He saw my shaved cunt, still swollen and shining, still dripping down the insides of my thighs. He froze for a second. Then he let go of the fabric as if it burned, said something I don’t want to repeat, and walked off 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 off my face.

***

Several weeks passed. Damián came after me again, asked me to get back together, and I agreed because I missed him. But it wasn’t the same anymore. He started getting jealous about everything, controlling what I wore, making me feel like that afternoon I had crossed a line he would never forgive. Not in bed either: every time he fucked me, every time I came under him, I knew he was comparing himself to the doctor’s fingers, and I knew he was losing. We ended up worse than we already were.

Out of all that, I was left with one certainty, one I never confessed to anyone until now. It wasn’t infidelity, it wasn’t cheating, there was no one to betray but myself. It was simply the best time I have ever been touched in my life. 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, the tongue licking my cum from his knuckles, and Damián’s eyes watching me from the chair, his cock hard in his pants, too afraid to move.