Wrong Diagnosis. by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“I think I might have made a mistake,” said the woman to her doctor.

“Mistake? About what?”

She went crimson, “Um–this is rather difficult.”

The doctor, a man in his late forties regarded her. She was twenty three according to his computer but she looked at least five years younger. She was slim with long blonde hair, although her breasts, which he knew were enhanced by fat which had been taken from her waistline, gave her a figure which had he been younger and unmarried, might have attracted him sexually.

Her face with large eyes and pouting, luxurious lips was pretty rather than beautiful though her cheekbones gave it definition before it dipped passed her sensual mouth and to her pointed chin. Yes, he definitely wouldn’t kick her out of bed had he the luck to find her beside him–well not until he’d kissed those luscious lips, shagged what he was sure was a tight fanny and if he was lucky, felt those lips round his tool.

He felt something twitch inside his trousers–well compared to Marjorie–his wife of twenty six years–who was forty five and beginning to show it–this woman was turning him on. He tried to push the thoughts from his head, replacing them with unprofessional conduct, or malpractice, but the twitching in his trousers just got worse.

Okay, he saw quite a few young and attractive women during his working week, some were pregnant and positively glowing, some were just so sexy, he had difficulty concentrating on their issues than his urges. There was one, whom he fancied so much, he had to get the nurse in to chaperone in case he lost his control–she was drop dead gorgeous in every department and she’d some in with what she thought was a lump in her boob. If the nurse hadn’t been there–he really didn’t know what he’d do. Then he had to do a needle biopsy–sticking a syringe with a large needle into the lump–impaling that perfect flesh on a spike of metal–violating that wonderful appendage in the name of science. It really grated on him. Twenty four years old, the body of a goddess and he was sticking her like a butterfly in a collection. It was sacrilege. She flinched and her eyes watered–he apologised and wanted to kiss the small red blood spot away–to kiss it better and suck the exquisite nipple protruding so wantonly below it.

He was having a mid-life crisis and had to endure the endless stream of people with bugger all wrong with them; that a good slap round the head and telling them to grow up would probably do as much good as the useless tablets he’d prescribe because they expected it.

No wonder he drank too much, his job was soul destroying. He’d trained to heal the sick and all he ever seemed to see were people who had nothing wrong with them or who were so old or ailing that he couldn’t do anything for them anyway.

The breast lump had given him something useful to do, he was pretty sure it was benign, it moved as he palpated it–that’s the clinical term for a good grope–so it was probably a cyst of some sort. However, if it wasn’t, he might have saved her life as he referred her to the breast clinic for mammograms and the whole gamut of tests they’d do.

He refocused his attention to the matter in hand, and the attractive looking woman before him. ‘Mistake?’ she said something about a mistake–probably taken the wrong pill or something, that’s why she was blushing–made her look even sexier. Shit! If Marjorie denied him sex tonight he was going to divorce her and find someone else.

“Mistake?” he repeated to her and she blushed exquisitely–if only she wasn’t his patient. “What sort of mistake?”

“This going to sound rather–um–silly,” she blushed even more if that was possible.

He looked at her pretty face and noticed the moisture filling her eyes. “That’s okay,” he said reassuringly. He was a lousy doctor but he had a wonderful bedside manner and she nodded, then he saw the tear escape her eyelid and trickle down the satin skin of her cheek. He pushed the box of tissues towards her and she took a couple and dabbed at her face carefully, not wanting to damage the makeup she’d probably spent ages putting on just to come and see him.

He remembered when she’d first come to see him, ten years ago almost crazy with the problems she had–he’d sat and listened and nodded, passed her tissues, referred her as she’d asked and watched her grow–perhaps blossom would be a better description. She was attractive then in a tomboyish sort of way, but the surgery and the pills had helped her develop and blossom–the lovely swan from the grubby looking cygnet–or perhaps, the luscious butterfly from the indifferent looking caterpillar. Yes that was better, she was an exotic species of butterfly whom he’d helped to emerge from her pupal case. The last surgery to reduce her waistline and improve her breasts and bum, was certainly money well spent and gave her a figure to die for.

If he wasn’t careful, Marjorie would ensure the latter, she’d kill him if she thought he was playing around, and sex with this exotic creature would almost be worth it–at least he’d die happy, unlike his miserable bloody wife who had kept her legs crossed for the past three months–all he did was get an erection while they were sitting on the beach–well, the girl was stark naked and she insisted on playing volleyball right in front of him. It made and spoiled his holiday at the same moment, he messed his bathing trunks and his wife seemed to take a vow of celibacy at the same time–the bitch.

“I’m sure it isn’t silly. Just relax and tell me all about it.” He gave her his sincere smile and she swallowed it, she nodded dried her tears and after blowing her nose began.

“This whole thing, it’s a mistake.”

He looked at her, “Sorry, you’ve lost me.”

“Registering, here with you again, Daddy–I should have gone to the other practice.”