“That won’t cost extra?” he asked, just to make sure that the doctor hadn’t forgotten that he was a charity case.
Dr. Schaffer laughed. “No, of course not.” He rose up and pushed his chair back, grabbing a stethoscope from his desk and putting it around his neck. “Are you ready to get started?”
Dylan nodded.
“Great. Please strip down to your underwear and I’ll be right with you.”
Dylan’s breath caught in his throat. Hisunderwear? The idea of being nearly naked in the presence of a man like Dr. Schaffer made his pulse spike and his stomach clench with nerves.
“Is there a problem?” Dr. Schaffer asked, his voice suddenly stern.
“No problem,” Dylan stuttered, standing up and taking off his coat. He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt, then pushed down his pants while telling himself that there was nothing weird about a doctor seeing him nearly naked.
That was his job. He probably saw dozens of people nearly naked every day, and he most likely didn’t even notice.
Dr. Schaffer stepped on a lever under the examination bench, lifting the bench up until it was at a more appropriate height.
“Nice. Do you work out?”
Dylan choked on his own spit, shocked to see Dr. Schaffer’s gaze moving up and down his body with an approving nod.
“I run a little,” Dylan mumbled, sitting back down on the bench and putting his hands over his lap.
It was a complete lie. He’d run maybe twice in the past year, and that was with a generous definition of running.
He did walk a lot, though.
“Well, keep it up,” Dr. Schaffer said, grabbing his office chair and rolling it back to the bench. He took a seat and scooted close, moving so that his legs bracketed Dylan’s. “Cardio isveryimportant.”
Before Dylan could get too flustered by the fact that he was sitting between Dr. Schaffer’s legs, the doctor grabbed his wrist to feel his pulse. Focused on counting Dylan’s heartbeat and checking his watch, he didn’t see the way Dylan’s face burned at the sudden contact.
Dylan held his breath, the sensation of Dr. Schaffer’s large hand wrapping around his wrist like a manacle making his heart race.
“Your pulse is a little fast,” Dr. Schaffer said, frowning. He looked up. “Are you feeling stressed?”
Dylan swallowed, feeling like it was the loudest swallow in history. “Not really.”
Dr. Schaffer took a short breath, his nostril flaring. “Let’s see what your blood pressure is like.”
Dylan sat still as Dr. Schaffer moved a wide cuff up over his arm, tensing slightly as the cuff inflated around his bicep and squeezed.
“You can take it,” Dr. Schaffer said, noticing Dylan’s small grimace.
“I know,” Dylan mumbled, thinking that that was a really weird way to phrase it.
Dr. Schaffer took his blood pressure twice, after which he removed the cuff and grinned. “Blood pressure is good.”
“Not too high?”
“No, you’re exactly where you should be. One-nineteen over seventy-nine.”
The numbers didn’t mean anything to Dylan, but he trusted the doctor that they were okay.
With Dylan’s pulse and blood pressure measurements out of the way, Dr. Schaffer rose up from his chair to continue the examination. He looked at Dylan’s ears, the inside his mouth, and tested his eyes with a tiny flashlight that he pulled out of his pocket.
It all felt very medical and professional, and Dylan was lulled into a sense of relaxation – though he did feel a stirring in his pants when the doctor grabbed his jaw and moved his head back and forth as he looked into his mouth.
It was fine. As long as he didn’t get hard, that was all that mattered.
