I Dreamed About My Gynecologist and Woke Up Soaked

Hello to everyone reading me. Today I’m going to tell you about something that happened to me a few days ago, although I’m not quite sure how to classify it. It started in the gynecologist’s office and ended in my bed, alone, with my breathing broken and a question that still keeps turning over in my head.

I’d been using a cream for a week because of an allergic reaction I’d developed, and it was time for a checkup. But this time I didn’t treat it like just another errand. The first time I went, I’d noticed him: a man in his fifties, with gray at his temples, big hands, and a calm voice that made you feel like everything was under control. I left that first appointment thinking about him more than I was willing to admit.

During that week, while I applied the cream every night in front of the bathroom mirror, my mind kept wandering on its own. I remembered the feel of his fingers, the way he spoke to me without raising his voice, that confident air of a man who has seen everything and nothing surprises him anymore. And every time I remembered him, I felt a tingling low in my belly that had nothing to do with the allergy.

So for the checkup I decided to play a little. I’m going to see if I can make him nervous for a change.

I put on a miniskirt, a tight tank top with nothing underneath to hide too much, tiny panties, and sneakers. I painted my lips, lined my eyes, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked coquettish, dangerous, ready to provoke. The appointment was at seven in the evening.

When I arrived, the waiting room was full. I had to wait more than an hour, watching patients go in and out while I crossed and uncrossed my legs. Every time the office door opened, my heart gave a silly leap, like some high-school girl’s. I could feel the short skirt against my thighs and wondered whether the others could tell what I was up to.

By the time he called me, it was already eight, and I was the last one on the list. The building had gone silent, with no receptionist, no voices in the hall. It was just him and me, and that certainty gave me goose bumps.

—Lorena, come in —he said from the doorway—. Sorry for the delay, I started late and I’m terribly behind.

—Don’t worry, doctor. I’m not in a hurry.

—All right, take off everything from the waist down and get up on the exam table.

I took off my skirt and panties slowly, turning my back to him as I moved toward the table. And, I confess, I swayed my ass a little more than necessary. I felt his eyes on the back of my neck, or maybe lower.

—Spread your legs a little, Lorena.

I opened them. The exam started, first with one finger, then two. His movements were clinical, professional, but my body knew nothing about protocols. In the middle of the exam I let out a sigh I couldn’t swallow back.

—Are you okay? —he asked without looking up.

—Yes, sir —I answered. In heaven, I thought, while I noticed my nipples so hard they were showing through the fabric.

He pulled his fingers out and another sigh escaped me, lower this time. When he straightened up, I swear I saw his eyes drop to my chest and linger there a second too long.

I’ve done it. He’s gotten nervous.

—Well, everything’s fine —he said, clearing his throat—. If you notice any stinging during sex, come back. If in six months you don’t feel anything unusual, I’ll see you for your next checkup.

I left the office with my nipples still hard and a first-rate burning need. I’d wanted to turn him on, and in the end I was the one burning. Out on the street I could feel people looking at me, and I didn’t know if it was because of the miniskirt or because my face was written all over with what I’d been thinking.

I got home, took a shower to see if I could bring my temperature down, ate something quick, and went to bed. I thought that was where the story ended. I was wrong.

***

Because then the dream came.

In the dream I went back to the office, but everything was different. There was no waiting room, no people, no clock marking the time. It was just him and me, and a warm light that seemed to come from nowhere.

—Lorena, undress and lie down —he told me, and his voice sounded deeper than in real life.

I did it without thinking, as if my body already knew what was coming. I lay down on the exam table, completely naked, and he came closer. But this time he didn’t start where a doctor should start.

He put both hands on my breasts and caressed them slowly, taking them in full, pressing with his palms and sliding his thumbs over my nipples again and again. He took his time, as if we had the whole night. I arched my back, wanting more.

—Put your legs in the stirrups —he murmured.

I spread them and rested them there. He opened my lips with his thumbs, while the rest of his fingers settled over me, one of them brushing my clit as if by accident. And then he lowered his head.

He started to lick me. Slowly at first, tracing me from bottom to top, and then focusing right where I needed him. He was an expert, or at least in the dream he was: he knew exactly when to press his tongue and when to ease off, when to make circles and when to leave me hanging on the edge. I grew wetter by the second, writhing, grabbing his hair with one hand.

Just when I was about to lose my mind, he straightened up. He went back to my breasts, squeezed them again and whispered in my ear how much he liked them, how crazy they drove him. I didn’t know whether I wanted to kill him for stopping or beg him never to stop.

I sat up on the exam table. While he played with my breasts, my hand reached for his crotch over his pants. He was rock-hard, and it was obvious there was plenty of size there. I squeezed, and heard him hold his breath.

He grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me toward him. We kissed with a desperation that was anything but clinical. Our tongues searched, fought, tangled, among caresses and bites. When I got some of my wits back, I unbuttoned his pants and freed him.

I took him in my hand and stroked him slowly, watching his face, until he made me get down from the table. I knelt in front of him. I kissed him first, ran my tongue along his entire length from base to tip, and then took him into my mouth little by little, never taking my eyes off his.

He held my head with both hands, setting the rhythm. There was a moment when he took complete control, thrusting slowly, and I let him, lost in what I was feeling.

Then he lifted me up as if I weighed nothing and sat me back on the exam table. He traced the tip along my entrance, rubbing me, making me wait, until he finally pushed inside. I let out a cry that was half surprise, half pleasure. He was fucking me hard, without mercy, and I clung to the edge of the table.

When he tired of that position, he turned me around and put me with my back to him, leaning over the table. He entered me again, this time even deeper. He praised my ass, gave me a few spanks that made me press myself tighter against him. He spread my cheeks apart with his thumbs to look at me fully, shamelessly, while he kept moving inside me.

Then he grabbed my breasts from behind, tugging on my nipples, never once slowing that thrusting that had become almost violent. I was screaming, I didn’t care about anything anymore. And it was in one of those thrusts that I felt it: I felt him swell inside me, pulse, and spill completely, filling me with a heat that ran through my whole body.

***

And I woke up.

All at once, in my bed, in the dark. My nipples were so hard they almost hurt, my panties were soaked, and my heart was racing. It took me several seconds to understand where I was and that none of it had really happened. That it had only been a dream.

I lay there staring at the ceiling for a long while, my body still trembling, torn between disappointment that it hadn’t been real and the relief, I suppose, that it wasn’t. Because fantasizing is one thing, and crossing the line is something very different.

I turned on the bedside lamp and sat up in bed, hugging my knees. My mouth was dry and the feeling of his weight over me was still clinging to my skin, as if the dream refused to let me go completely. I brought my fingers to my lips, almost expecting to taste that kiss that had never existed. It’s absurd how real something can become when it only happens inside your head.

I stayed like that for a long time, awake, going over every detail before it could slip away from me. Part of me felt guilty, as if I’d cheated on someone. The other part, the honest one, just wanted to fall asleep again and see if the dream would continue where it had left off.

And now the question I’m left with, and that I’m throwing to you: do dreams come true? Or are there fantasies that are better left exactly where they are, in the darkness of the room, never to be touched?

I don’t know what I’ll do the next time I have a checkup. Six months to go. Plenty of time to decide whether I’ll wear the miniskirt again.

I hope you liked it. Kisses.