“In theory.”
“Then, in theory, I shouldn’t have to worry that you want me in my underwear for…reasons.”
“In practice as well,” he said, gesturing toward the table. “Underwear and hop up.”
It wouldn’t be the first time I was undressed around another guy, even another gay guy, so it shouldn’t have been a problem. Except I most definitely felt awkward as I bent down to take off my boots and do as he said, stripping off my clothes in the process and setting them into a semi-neat pile. To his credit, he barely paid attention as I stripped until I was in my underwear.
Not that I had expected him to stand there and stare at me, drool dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. Honestly, I didn’t know why I was being so awkward, internally, thank God. None of it made sense, and I didn’t have the ability or the desire to pry into my skull and figure out what the fuck was wrong with me. Though if it didn’t sort itself out, I might have to go digging around in my head.
“Thank you,” he said, pushing up from the counter as I got on the exam table. “Don’t worry about anything, just a quick check-up and no big scary needles.”
“I don’t have a problem with needles,” I muttered.
“Sure you don’t,” he said, and I watched him put on a pair of gloves. “Now, how long have you beensupposedto be taking the blood pressure meds?”
“You have my file, you know that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m trying to have a conversation while I do this. Unless, of course, you want to sit here in awkward silence while I touch you… for purely professional reasons.”
I eyed him as he took hold of my arm and pulled out the cuff. “You’re really going to make jokes?”
“Sorry,” he said as he began pumping, sticking the stethoscope under the cuff. “Should I stand here with a scowl on my face and grumble? What role would you have to play then?”
“You couldn’t pull it off,” I told him, his thumb pressing into my arm as he held the end of the stethoscope against my skin and his eyes took on that somewhat distant glaze I’d seen on plenty of medical professional faces as they listened to my bloodpump. It was followed by the familiar hiss of it deflating, and the displeased look I’d seen plenty of times before.
He took up his tablet after setting the things aside and then, after a second, turned it to me. “See those numbers?”
“My eyesight is fine,” I told him in annoyance
“Uh-huh, for now,” he said as he turned the tablet back and tapped again. “With numbers like that, your risk of all sorts of problems, including potential eyesight loss, is on the horizon. Or, you know, a heart attack or stroke the minute you get stressed out, and let's be honest, you love being stressed out, so maybe, just maybe, start taking the medical advice you were given…and the medication.”
“I do notlikebeing stressed.”
“Then maybe find ways to release some stress.”
“Then I’ll need a new crew.”
“I think anyone you deal with, so long as they’re capable of autonomy and speaking, is going to get on your nerves. So, what we’re going to do is make some dietary changes because I’ve seen that menu, I know what kind of shit you eat. You’re also going to find something calming; I don’t care what it is. Go into town and get laid, take up meditation, casual exercise, nature walks, whatever it takes.”
I stared at him. “You’re fucking kidding me, I know you’re fucking around.”
“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” he said as he pushed against my stomach, the rough texture of the gloves pulling on the hair there. “Lean back.”
I did so automatically as his hands pressed again and again, working lower until they were just above my hips. His eyes were on my face, but the good-natured humor that was usually there was gone, and instead he was focused. “There’s no pain.”
“I figured,” he said, pulling his hand away, and I realized I was letting out a breath. The warmth of his hands had leachedthrough the gloves, and I could still feel the heat residue left behind.
His movements were perfectly professional as he did all the things I was used to someone doing while they were examining me. Not for a moment did I believe there was anything but pure professionalism. And yet, the whole time, I could feel my heart picking up every time he shifted his grip, even if it was to rest his hand on my calf while examining the long scar that ran the length of the right one.
“I can’t make any appointments for you, but see someone about the mole on that calf, next to the scar,” he said as I realized he was kneeling between my legs to examine me. “It’s looking a little funny, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“I barely get any sun.”
“And people who have never smoked in their lives can get throat, mouth, and lung cancer. Men can get breast cancer. Shit happens, get it checked.”
“Fine,” I muttered, having no intention of going through the hassle of making an appointment and going all the way to my GP to get a random mole checked. But if it meant he dropped the subject and…got off his knees, I’d agree to whatever it took. “Sure.”
“And I’m sure when I follow up with you in a few months, you’ll lie to my face again and say you’re going to make the appointment soon,” he said, pushing himself up with only his legs.