October 04, 2005

Queenie Gets the Warmies

Back, with a shameful, disgusting confession: I have a bad case of the hots for my doctor.

Oh, yes. I do. He's an absolute fox, no ifs, ands, or buts. I'd like to sit here and lie to you, as a married woman and general keeper of vows, and tell you that I didn't think about making the beast with two backs every time he walks into the patient room, but it is not in Queenie's nature to bullshit about such serious issues. And it is serious; I seriously wanna do him. Every time he looks at me with those freezing-blue eyes, his thick thatch of hair - the boyish blonde slowly greying - falling into his needing-a-pluck brows as he tells me we need one more x-ray...well, I melt into a puddle of quivering chickliquor, and then I usually just dribble right onto the floor. The guy is amazing, ladies. Big. Strapping. Nordic, but with those crazy kind of eyes that tell you he's a fucked up freak in the sack, and probably a serious sonofabitch out of it...sigh. Really smart. Really sassy. Just too dreamy.

I saw him recently. Nothing major, I just had to go in and let him poke me and prod me (which was wonderful, just short of orgasmic) in order to get a regular medication re-prescribed. I was reading a book I'd brought with me when he came in, and he was interested in what I was reading. We struck up a conversation. In fact, we had a good twenty-five minutes of (literary and political) conversation, of which I remember almost nothing save the taste of the saliva I fought to keep from running down my chin as we spoke. Mostly, I think I just watched his mouth move, and licked my chops. When I got in my car, afterwards, I was giggling like a teenager and thinking stupid shit like, "I'll never wash this place where he palpated my stomach again!!"

I think it's a good thing I'm a healthy Queenie who doesn't often require medical attention. I'm as faithful to Mister MacFarland as he could possibly wish - ain't stepped out yet, in all these long years - but I'm not made of fucking wood over here either, people. If the rule is that where there is no temptation there is no virtue, then canonize me. I've got the fucking virture of three or four saints, because, baby, I am tempted.

Upon consideration, though, I guess it could be worse. He could be my gynecologist...

Posted by Queenie at October 4, 2005 11:21 PM | TrackBack

C'mon Queenie. You are going to have to convince us, somehow, as how him being your Gyn could POSSIBLY be worse.

Nuff said.

Posted by: Wichi Dude at October 5, 2005 05:56 PM

Wichi Dude:

Well, for one thing, it gives a whole new meaning to "poked and prodded," dontchaknow.

Posted by: Margi at October 7, 2005 05:03 PM

Wichi Dude - Margi has smacked the nail on the cranium. It's bad enough that I pant with lust for my health-care provider, but I think it could be construed as "cheating" if I were panting with lust during my pelvic exam, feet in the stirrups and all. Can you imagine the breast exam? Holy shit!

Actually, I can imagine the breast exam a little too well. THAT'S why I'm glad he ain't my OBGYN.

Posted by: Queenie at October 7, 2005 06:22 PM

I suggest you do him immediately, baby. Consternation and vacillation give one crow's feet, you know.

Posted by: Velociman at October 7, 2005 09:05 PM

Oy! I know exactly what you mean. My doctor is hot hot hot, too. Well, at least it keeps me coming in for regular check ups! *wink*

Posted by: Dogsdontpurr at October 7, 2005 10:51 PM

My regular physician was on leave having her spawn while I was stuck with her referral doc for a gyno exam so I could stay supplied with my pastel candy dots. So there was I on the slab with my legs in plastic stirrups and in walks the sub doc who's Tom Selleck circa '79 Chaz cologne days (but light on the walrus stache and the Peter Gallagher caterpillar eyebrows.)

I discovered while it wasn't cool to hump the speculum, I did at last find out who put the "OH!" in my HMO.

Posted by: Anna at October 8, 2005 03:28 AM

Well, Queenie, you may not be made of wood, but I am...well, at least part of me is, thanks to filthy speculum talk.

Someone in the crowd I ran with once turned a speculum into a roach clip, believe it or not. It was fun to watch the ladies flinch as the joint got passed around to them, and they had to grasp the cold silver handles of doom. All their eyes would follow it with fascination as it made its way around the room.

Posted by: Bane at October 8, 2005 08:27 PM

YOU are a freak. ;)

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Posted by: mark adams at December 3, 2005 02:23 PM
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