(another writing prompt)
My doctor steps into the exam room with a frown on her face.
I love her, and she is just as much a therapist as she is my general practitioner, gynecologist, and children’s doctor, and all the other hats she can sometimes wear.
I do not like seeing her frown. I am already in a worried state after seeing I have lost half an inch the last few years. Where did it go?
“Hey, how is everything going?”
“Ok.”
“How are the kids? I feel like I haven’t seen them in a while.” She hasn’t. She has gotten too popular. We all love her. My kids have to see another pediatrician now especially when they are sick.
“They are doing well. The oldest is home from college this summer, so I have a houseful.”
“I was looking at your mental health questionnaire, and I will be honest, I was hoping to see a score closer to 0. I also noticed that you removed Truvada from your meds list. I hope you are staying safe.”
“Oh, I am very safe. I have moved to the abstinence route. Between my kids, work, and my mother, I haven’t had time or been in the mood.”
She knew my story, understood the effects of menopause and my mother on my mental state. I could see the sympathy in her eyes. Same story (or is it shit?), different day.
I assumed she would order the blood work and move the conversation on to what other tests she could do for this hypochondriac to feel better about getting older.
“So, I know it’s difficult with everything going on, but do you think you could try something different? I hate to see your mental health decline.”
I do love my doctor, but I don’t want to continue this conversation in the weird direction it is going, and I am already masturbating every day. I do not have energy for more.
What I don’t tell her, as we end the conversation with sending me to the lab, is that I don’t want the life I left. I don’t want the meaningless sex and games from the years before. I want love and passion, and my mind is dead set on getting it from someone in particular.
We never talked much beyond the words poly and polycule (which she always loved and laughed at). I didn’t really scare her with my kinky thoughts and never played often enough to worry about showing her my scars and bruises, but I knew she would be cool with that if it came up.
So if I follow my doctor’s orders, what am I supposed to do?
Driving home, I had a thought in my head. It wasn’t always just about sex; it was about taking a break from the mundane.
Looking at my calendar when I got home, I decided to plan out something.
A month later, I was on a plane, excited and scared, the perfect combination of feelings.
Stepping off had them intensify until I could see him. I walked quickly, trying not to look like an idiot, although the stupid grin and lip bite didn’t help.
I wasn’t 100% sure I would even see him. I just told myself I was going to start traveling more. Why not start in that one destination I thought he would be. I let him know my plans, kept him updated on what I was doing, and now, there he is.
The fear and worry were slowly dissipating, and the hunger and excitement were taking over.
Now it’s time for that kiss. Doctor’s orders.
Lisa Gray 