The Doctor No One Imagines When She Takes Off Her Coat

When I look back, it’s hard for me to recognize the girl I was. So intelligent and, at the same time, so blind. My adolescence was an ocean of books, formulas dancing behind my eyes, equations and chemical reactions that I understood better than my own body. Sex was an abstract word, something my classmates whispered about with nervous laughter and that had no place in my head.

My body was barely a vessel for my brain. The only times my fingers slid between my legs was from a blind instinct, a release that left me breathless and unable to explain why. I didn’t know it had a name. I only knew it relieved a tension I didn’t understand, a wet heat that built and that I put out with the frantic rubbing of my fingertips until a tremor shook me whole.

I entered medical school at eighteen, with the highest score in the country. The grind, the brainiac, the weirdo. My life was a gauntlet of academic obstacles and my only escape was a secret diary where I wrote about passions I never lived. I had a body that my classmates envied, but it was useless to me: the boys saw me coming from a mile away and my intelligence scared them off. I was the pretty girl no one dared to dance with.

***

My first real brush with desire came at one of those dumb college parties. The dare game. It was my turn.

—Show us your tits —someone shouted amid laughter, and the command ran over my skin like an electric shock.

I remember the silence that followed, all those hungry eyes fixed on me. With a mix of shame and a shamelessness I didn’t know I had, I lifted my T-shirt. There they were, my breasts, firm, with pink, hard nipples that no one had ever seen before. The air crackled with electricity, with the smell of sweat and raw desire. Suddenly the music cut out and what filled the room wasn’t laughter but gasps. Couples who had known each other forever were devouring each other on the sofas, on the floor, in every corner.

I stood frozen, watching. I felt heat rise from my belly, wetness soaking my underwear before I understood why. I was turned on, but it was like having a fever without a diagnosis. One of the guys came over.

—Want to do it? —he whispered in my ear, his breath smelling of beer.

I nodded, not really knowing what I was doing, driven by impulse. We lay down on a sofa. I spread my legs, obedient and confused, and he lunged at me. In less than five seconds I felt something hot and sticky on my thigh. He’d come without even touching me. Humiliation burned my face. I fixed my clothes and went home to cry into my pillow, hating my body for not working like everyone else’s.

***

I kept being a study machine, determined to finish the degree in record time. At twenty-one, still untouched, I met Esteban. An architecture student who swore he was in love with me, though his eyes only ever settled on my cleavage. The night he took my virginity was a sad comedy. He was clumsy, fast, and painful. I felt no pleasure, not a spark. He moved on top of me like an animal in heat, finished inside the condom, shifted aside, and fell asleep.

For months I was a container, a hot hole where he emptied his frustration. He never bothered to arouse me, to prepare me, not even to kiss me. I ended that relationship feeling used, like an old piece of furniture someone enjoyed breaking.

Then came Tomás, a classmate as cerebral as I was. We became inseparable, studying until dawn, sharing coffee and nerves. One night, with alcohol dissolving my inhibitions, I seduced him. I took him to my bed and, for the first time, a man went down on me. His tongue explored, licked, sucked until I was left breathless. The world exploded. A violent, almost painful orgasm arched my back and made me scream his name. I was twenty-three and I had just discovered paradise.

The relationship lasted less than a year. One night, crying, he confessed he was gay, that he had fallen in love with a classmate. My love life was, officially, a complete disaster.

***

I graduated as a surgeon at twenty-four, with highest honors, diploma in hand and my heart in pieces. I started working in a private clinic and there I met Carolina, my sister in soul. Seeing me so lost, she set me up on a blind date with a brother-in-law’s cousin who had just arrived from Spain. I went grudgingly, convinced it would be another waste of time.

And then I saw him.

Damián. Tall, dark, with green eyes that seemed to look straight inside me and a smile that was a promise of sin. I felt wetness flood me, my nipples so hard they hurt against my dress. We ate, but I didn’t taste a thing. All I could smell was his cologne, that aura of confidence surrounding him.

Then, with brutal frankness, he said to me:

—I want to have you tonight.

My doctor’s brain protested.

—We can’t, it’s our first date.

But my body, at last, woke up and screamed yes. I gave in. We went to a hotel. I barely managed to close the door before he lunged at me. He kissed me as if he wanted to devour me, his hands roaming over every inch of my skin, his lips closing over my nipples, sending shocks straight to the center of my desire. He knelt, spread my legs, and his tongue took me to ecstasy in seconds. An orgasm so brutal my legs trembled uncontrollably.

That night I discovered I was multiorgasmic. I lost count. He possessed me slowly at first, making me feel every millimeter, and then with a fury that I thought would split me in two. This was what they’d stolen from me all these years, I thought through my shudders.

—You’re mine —he growled in my ear, his voice a balm and a threat at the same time—. Understand? All mine.

We spent the whole night giving ourselves to each other, learning, discovering. Damián didn’t just teach me how to enjoy myself: he taught me how to come without shame, to ask for what I wanted, to stop asking permission to feel.

***

And the best part is that my education didn’t end that night. Over time he taught me that pleasure knows no labels. One afternoon, a red-haired woman with a mischievous smile walked into the bedroom. She introduced herself as Romina. There was no awkwardness or detours. Damián simply looked at me.

—Kiss her.

And I did. I discovered the taste of another woman, the softness of her skin, a sweetness I had never known. I discovered that I could come watching him with her, that instead of jealousy I felt multiplied arousal. I became an explorer of my own body and other people’s, with Damián as my accomplice and guide. He didn’t just teach me to enjoy sex: he taught me to live with an intensity I hadn’t thought possible.

More than fifteen years have passed since that night in the hotel. Now I’m forty, a renowned gynecologist, a professional everyone respects. But in private, in the refuge of our bedroom, I’m still the same woman who discovered herself that dawn. Our relationship is a pact of freedom, an open union based on a trust so absolute that only true love allows it.

Damián, at forty-four, is still my center of gravity. His control is legendary: he can keep me on the edge for hours, making me beg.

—Please, let me finish... I’m begging you —I whispered one night, tears sliding down my cheeks, my body trembling with need.

—Not yet, my love —he answered, moving inside me with torturous slowness—. I want to feel you desperate.

And when he finally granted it, the orgasm was devastating, an explosion that stole my sight.

***

Our sex is no longer just sex: it’s a ritual. Sometimes it’s savage, like when he gets back from a trip and, without saying a word, pushes me against the wall and takes me with a fury that leaves me shaking. Other times it’s slow and reverent, hours spent exploring each other, his tongue tracing every fold, a calm that drives me insane and builds pleasure layer by layer until it makes me explode.

And then there are the others. My friends, drawn in by his magnetism, by that smile that still makes me drip all over. There’s no jealousy, only complicity. I’m turned on watching him seduce them, seeing the astonishment on their faces when they discover what he can do. Sometimes I limit myself to watching from an armchair, caressing myself slowly while he pleasures them. Other times I join in, and a threesome becomes a symphony of bodies where we conduct the orchestra.

—Watch me —I whispered one night to a girl named Julieta, while Damián held her from behind—. Feel that? Feel how he fills you.

There’s nothing we haven’t tried. We’ve made love on beaches, on planes, in the car, in restaurant bathrooms, in elevators. Toys, restraints, roleplay. I became an expert in the art of seduction, in provoking just for the pleasure of feeling another person’s desire on my skin. I know my body is a weapon, and I enjoy using it.

Sometimes, in my office, while seeing a patient, I remember that shy girl who didn’t know what an orgasm was. And I smile inside. They think the doctor is serious, impeccable, predictable. They have no idea that when I hang up the white coat and put away the stethoscope, I transform into someone else. That at home a man is waiting for me, ready to make me scream until my voice gives out.

Esteban, who took my virginity without teaching me anything. Tomás, who gave me a lesson in humility. They were clumsy stepping-stones that led me to Damián, to this life of overflowing passion. There was no failure in my past, only the path that brought me home. A paradise renewed every night, every time I look into his green eyes while I fall apart in his hands.

We are two hedonists, two souls joined by the freest sex I know. And every day I want more. Always more.