This time, there was a new eye doctor. A man. A tall man - about 6'4". A middle aged man - about 50-ish. A distinguished-looking man - salt and pepper hair. A nerdy man - wearing khakis and a sweater vest. A strong man - visible muscles on his forearms and biceps. Yes, Prowlers. This eye doctor was my dream man.
Hubby had taken me to the eye doctor (I'm being monitored like a child, remember?) and he took one look at Dream Doc and asked if he could come into the exam room with me. Sheesh. I giggled and said no and he gave me the "look" as I was going in. I waved goodbye to him as the door clicked shut behind us.
You know the "look" I mean, don't you? It was his, "You sure as hell better be good" look. It's exactly the same look he gives our 8-year-old when we drop him off at a friend's house to play.
I forgot about his look as soon as the door closed, and I focused my attention on Dream Doc. No ring. No suntan line where a ring would be. Damn. Of course, lots of married men don't wear rings.
I followed all of his instructions and was amazed at all the things he was saying and explaining to me. Gee, if I had known it were that interesting, I would have helped my regular eye doc learn English faster. Wait, maybe it wasn't interesting at all. Maybe I was just entranced by Dream Doc and his sexy voice.
I chit chatted with him and turned on the charm. We both laughed a few times and I knew that Hubby would be going crazy when he heard the laughter as he sat frustrated in the waiting room. Sweet.
The lights were off. He was right next to me. His leg was pressed against mine, and every time he leaned over to change a lens his arm brushed against me. I didn't remember an eye exam feeling this intimate before.
When I was growing up, there was a big scandal in my home town about an eye doctor who molested several of his female patients while they were in the exam room alone with him. Apparently he touched their breasts, played with their hair, and so on. At the time I was disgusted and outraged like everyone else. Right now, though, I was fantasizing about that kind of an eye exam from Dream Doc.
At one point he stopped and turned and looked at me. The poor guy was probably drowning in the pheromones I was exuding. I looked right back at him, holding his gaze, not blinking. Then I licked my lips and bit my lower lip.
That did it. He turned around with his back to me and started talking, stammering, stuttering. Yes! I did the victory dance (on the inside, of course). I 'd had my way with Dream Doc!
As I was walking to to the door to leave, he asked if there was a number where he could reach me. Sometimes he likes to check up on some of his patients a day or two later to make sure they didn't have any long term effects from the dilation. Yeah. Right. I gave him my cell number, and said, "Thanks. That would be great. The last time I had some problems later and I didn't know what to do."
For the record, I don't think I have ever had a problem when I didn't know what to do, but I also know the damsel in distress act works just about every time.
When I walked out to the waiting room, Hubby gave me his other "look." This one was his, "I'd better not find out your were bad" look. And then he proceeded to talk to the doctor about my exam and my prescription. Again, as if I were a child. I didn't mind too much. It just gave me more time to stare at Dream Doc.
Then Hubby actually asked him where my regular doctor was. Dream Doc explained that he was subbing for her, and that he was only at the clinic two days a week. Then he looked straight at me as he said what too days those were and what hours he was usually there. I smiled. Dream Doc smiled. Hubby steamed.
On the way home, he grilled me about every single thing that happened and every single thing that was said. I told him everything - except the part about giving him my number. Why upset him for no reason?
This afternoon, the phone rang. I answered, and then I heard Dream Doc's voice say, "Hello, is this Kat?"
To be continued.......
To be continued.......