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Of Honeysuckle and Tulips

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Competitive weightlifter Kim Sussman notices what men first notice about orthopedist Michelle Becker. She’s cute, blond and slim and there’s no ring on her finger. Dr. Becker, wearing a white lab coat over blue slacks, looks all business as she examines Kim’s MRI on her laptop in a small office in the Medical Arts Building.

“The good news, your discs are fine. The bad news, you have a partial tear of your lower spinal erector muscles, plus sprained ligaments. Must have been lots of weight you tried to lift.”

“One-hundred and thirty kilos,” Kim reveals.

“Whew! And you weigh only what, a hundred and fifty pounds?”

“Around there. I lift in the sixty-nine-kilo class.” Kim smiles in spite of her high pain level, gratified that she seems to have impressed this pretty, thirty-something sports medicine doctor. Kim’s primary care doctor had ordered an MRI a couple weeks after she injured her back while competing in a local Olympic lifting contest. From there, Kim went to Hunt Valley Orthopedics, Michelle’s medical group. “My only consolation is that I made the lift and won the contest,” Kim says. “You think you can fix me? I’d like to return to training as soon as possible.”

Michelle looks up from her laptop. “The best fix is rest. You should also apply a combination of ice and wet heat a couple times a day and take Advil or similar drugs to reduce pain and inflammation.” She takes a few moments to look at her chart. “You’re twenty-four?” Kim nods. “How long do you plan on competing? I ask because from what I’ve seen, Olympic lifting can be mighty tough on knees, backs and shoulders. You’re still young, I know, but there might be a price to pay down the road from all that pounding. I do cross-fit which, as you know, includes the Olympic lifts, but with much lighter weight for high reps.”

“You might be right. But lifting’s in my blood. I love to train and compete.”

“Well, as a sports medicine doctor, my job is to prescribe treatments that will allow you to return to your activity as soon as possible. I’ll do my best.” She helps Kim onto the exam table. “I know it hurts,” she says in empathy, watching Kim wince. “One thing’s for sure,” Michelle adds, “you’ve got an impressive pair of quads.”

“Thanks. Lots of front squats, you know.” Wearing tight blue training shorts, Kim sits on the edge of the table, letting the doctor feel around her lower back. “Ah, that feels good. Do you give massages?”

Michelle chuckles. “No, not really, although I could. I’m feeling to see if there’s anything unusual about the contours of your back. So far, so good.” Michelle asks her to lift her feet and wiggle her toes. “Any tingling or numbness?”

“No.”

“Any change in bowel movements?”

“No.”

“Any change in sexual functioning?”

Caught off guard, Kim suddenly feels anxious. “Any change?”

“Are you still functioning normally is what I mean.”

“Normally? Well, yes. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Scratch that. Yes, I can still function. Normally.”

Change is the key word, because Kim just broke up with her boyfriend Jeff, just one guy in a line of boyfriends that Kim dropped. Finally, she’s come to the realization that she likes gals, not guys, at least when it comes to sex and romance. For years, she had denied it, hoping it was an aberration, hoping she’d somehow get “normal.” ‘If it hasn’t happened yet,’ she had told Jeff, ‘it isn’t going to.’ So far, Jeff is the only one she’s confided in. She slept with him while thinking of other women, something she revealed only toward the end of their relationship.

Doctor Michelle Becker is one of those women that fuel Kim’s fantasies. She’s not only cute, she looks in good shape. Not all sports medicine doctors, male or female, spend much time exercising. “So you’re involved with cross-fit?”

“Yes. I didn’t have much time to train for it in med school. But now that I’m on a regular schedule—more or less—I’ve been training about four days a week, and even thinking about competing.”

“Cool.” Kim can imagine how sexy Michelle looks working out, her smooth skin glistening with sweat, her scent, deliciously feminine, her blond hair matted against her forehead. Kim’s never made advances toward another woman, and she doesn’t plan to start now—especially not with her own orthopedist who’s most likely as hetero as they come.

“Anyway, enough about me,” Michelle says, “now back to you. So again, rest that back and apply plenty of ice and heat. Take pain meds as needed. Any questions?”

“Will I be seeing you again?”

“I’m going to give you a follow-up appointment right now.” She helps Kim slide off the exam table, then sits down and checks her appointment calendar on her laptop. “I’d like to see you in two weeks. Can you make it on Thursday the seventeenth at four?” Kim nods. “Okay, you’re in.” Michelle wheels her chair away from her desk, crosses her legs and rocks slightly back. “So, Kim, what do you do when you’re not hoisting heavy weights?”

“I’m a parole and probation agent and attend law school part time at night.” illegal bahis

“Sounds like you’re incredibly busy yourself. When do you find the time to train? And where does all that energy come from?”

“Somehow I squeeze it in. As far as energy, I’ve always had plenty of that.”

Michelle nods as she looks her over, from her wavy, shoulder-length brown hair to those thick, muscular quads she finds so impressive. “So tell me how you got started in Olympic lifting. Another patient of mine said her boyfriend got her interested. Is that your story?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Jeff, my last boyfriend, is into Power lifting. I began with that, then drifted over to the Olympic lifts. I find it more dynamic, more athletic, really. You need to be fast and flexible as well as strong.”

“Was Jeff supportive of your lifting?”

“WAS is the operable word. We’re no longer together.”

“Oh. Well, I hope it wasn’t because he got jealous. I know women whose boyfriends dropped them because their fragile male egos couldn’t handle their success.”

“No, it wasn’t because of that. It, well…” She laughs inside at the notion of telling her the unvarnished truth: ‘Actually, doctor Becker, it’s because I’m a lesbian, and right now I’m getting wet thinking about kissing that sweet mouth of yours and then getting naked with you on this exam table, spreading my amazing quads and…’ Kim stops there and shakes her head.

“That’s okay, I shouldn’t get this personal,” Michelle says. “Anyway, I’ll see you in two weeks.”

*****

Little does Kim know that Michelle’s fantasy mill was also at work when she met with Kim. Unlike Kim, she’s experienced—with both men and women, though her sexual orientation leans toward women, strong, athletic women generally and now Kim specifically. Michelle’s had other female patients that stoked her desire. Thus far, she’s kept her feelings to herself, her libido in check. Number one, coming on to a patient would be highly unethical (slightly!); and two, she wouldn’t even consider such a move unless she knew said patient was gay. Kim? She doubts it. She had a boyfriend, right? Bisexual? Doubtful again. If she is, Michelle has no sense of it.

Michelle goes for strong, athletic women, women bigger than her petite, one-hundred and twenty-five pounds. She’d bet that Kim could lift her overhead with ease, then twirl her around a few times. Another plus: Kim has brains as well as brawn. Michelle likes bright, articulate, high-achieving women. Dummies need not apply. Butch looking lezzies need not apply. Man-hating, radical feminist intellectual types need not apply either. Kim’s very pretty. What with those full lips, perfect little nose and her smile, so cute and warm. She likes her coloring, too, a shade just short of olive. And then there’s her strong, shapely body—all so strikingly sexy!

She’s getting wet just thinking about all this, and somewhat concerned, because Michelle’s secretary has just informed her that Kim is now in the waiting room. Michelle admonishes herself for not having more discipline, for not banishing such thoughts from her horny little mind. She’s a doctor, a professional person, for crissakes, and she can’t let her libido overwhelm her professionalism, not to mention her common sense. “Get a grip, Michelle,” she says out-loud. “Ms. Sussman’s here for treatment, not to be seduced.”

Still, she can’t help but be impressed when Kim walks in wearing tight black stretch pants that accentuates a few of her assets—her big, curvy thighs, diamond-shaped calves and solid round butt. Michelle was never crazy about braided hair. However, on Kim it looks undeniably erotic. “How’s the back?” Michelle’s question sounds absurdly banal to her in light of what she’s been thinking.

Kim puts down her backpack and hops onto the exam table. “Better. I’m trying to be a good patient,” she chuckles. “Lifting no more than light dumbbells. It isn’t easy.”

“Layoffs suck, I know.” Michelle’s thoughts wander as she looks into Kim’s eyes, blue and beautiful, just like her own, or so she’s been told. Being the doctor puts her in control. Being professional and disciplined in most areas of her life stops her from saying inappropriate things, things that could get her in trouble. “Okay, Kim, lay down on your back if you will. We’re going to do some stretching.” After Kim complies, Michelle grasps her patient’s ankle and then slowly begins to lift her leg. “Raise your hand when your back starts to hurt,” Michelle instructs, lifting the leg inch by inch. Kim does after her leg passes forty-five degrees, with similar results when Michelle does her other leg. “Okay, now sit up and bend forward as far as you can. “Does that hurt?”

“A little,” Kim says after stretching to where she can touch her ankles.

After some probing and prodding, Kim sits on the exam table while Michelle types the exam results on her laptop. She’s dressed in formal business attire today—dark blue skirt, white blouse and high heels. She wears her hair up. “Looks like you’re dressed for a meeting or something,” Kim illegal bahis siteleri says. Her eyes focus on Michelle’s legs, crossed and exposed to mid-thigh, and then on the nipples of her breasts, pressed against the material of her blouse.

“Actually, I am,” she says. Her eyes stay glued to her keyboard. “Our team is holding a dinner meeting in about an hour.” Moments later, she turns her chair around to face her patient. “Because you’re still in some discomfort, I’d give it another week or so. Pushing it too soon could set you back. I know it’s frustrating,” she says, responding to Kim’s look of woe. “But you’ll get there, trust me. By the way, your hair looks nice. Does that help?”

“Only if you mean it,” Kim says, beginning to smile. “I usually wear it like this only when I’m training or competing. Today I just felt like it.”

Michelle nods. “I see. Well, just for the record, braids don’t do much for me, but they look great on you.”

“Thanks. Now, one good compliment deserves another. I like your outfit. You look really, well, sexy without looking slutty. If that makes any sense.”

“Thanks. You don’t think my skirt’s too short?” Michelle tugs at the hem, stretching it down an inch or so. “At one of these meetings, a male colleague told me it was distracting him. He said it in a joking way, but I could tell he meant it.”

“Well, us women like to look sexy for women, too,” Kim says, “and I don’t mean just lesbians. We crave the attention.”

Michelle rubs her hand over her shapely calve a few times, as if she were brushing something off it. “Agreed, although it’s an almost unconscious effort for straight women, I feel. For gay women, well, use your imagination.” She re-crosses her legs and flashes a flirtatious smile.

Kim slides her tongue over her lips. “Yeah, well, in my gym, the girls train in tight, very short shorts, exposing more leg than they have to. Not much imagination needed. The guys eat it up.”

“Yes, they sure do. I can tell you that from personal experience because I wear the same outfit in cross-fit. Some of the women eat it up, too.”

Kim nods and begins to swing her legs back and forth over the exam table. “Have you ever?” She shakes her head. “Oh, never mind. It’s not my place.”

“Kim, if you’d like to ask me something, go ahead. Don’t be shy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure. Go ahead.”

“Okay, well, have you, um, have you ever been hit on by a woman?”

“Well, kind of,” she says, grinning cute and coy. She knows she should stop here. She also knows that the conversation wouldn’t have gotten this far had Kim not asked. There might be a lot more to this story. “Out of curiosity, why would you ask that?”

“Um, well, I don’t know.” She covers her mouth and giggles. “Just curious.”

“Have YOU ever been hit on by a woman?”

“No.”

“Ever think how you’d react if you were?” Michelle’s skirt has inched up far enough to where Kim can see her blue lace panties. She’s looking and Michelle sees her looking, not saying anything, just looking, her mouth slightly ajar, her legs swinging faster. Could doctor and patient be in sync? Michelle senses they might be. “Kim?”

“Look, maybe I should go,” Kim says, turning away. “This is getting too…weird.” She takes a deep breath, then slides off the exam table. “Should I make another appointment?”

Michelle pulls down her skirt and stands. “Only if your recovery hits a plateau. And for any other reason you think might be important.” Standing inches from her patient, she reaches out and squeezes her hand. “Know what I mean?” She wiggles her tongue across her lower lip.

Kim squeezes back and holds her doctor’s gaze. “Um, I think I do.”

*****

Kim decides to sit a few minutes behind the wheel of her Honda Civic. Her law school class begins in an hour, but she’s way too dizzy to drive. If she’s not mistaken, Dr. Becker was coming onto her. All she needed was Kim to make the next move and she’d bet they’d have been trading saliva in that office. Michelle—she’s starting to think of her on a first-name basis—looked so damn sexy, sitting there with her skirt up, re-crossing her beautifully shaped, athletic legs, her blond hair piled on top of her head. Just inches from her face, Kim could almost taste Michelle’s erotic scent, could almost feel her smooth, blond skin. She shoves her hand down her panties. “Ohmygod,” she cries, “I’m soaked.” Michelle’s words echo: ‘And for any other reason you think might be important.’ Kim envisions Michelle giving her a back massage, and then doing other things that Kim has never done with a woman but longs to try. She pictures her face buried between Michelle’s boobs, kissing her there, and then working over her nipples. “Oh yes, oh yes,” she whispers, as her finger goes to work inside, slipping and sliding, her imagination working overtime, vivid and wonderful. She can’t recall ever masturbating in a car—this is a first. “Right there, Michelle, right there,” she cries, picturing the sexy orthopedist finding Kim’s sweet spot. “Yes! Yes! Ohmygod!” canlı bahis siteleri Her climax washes over her in successive waves. Suddenly self-conscious of where she is, she glances out her car windows, looking around the parking lot: all clear.

She can barely concentrate in class. In fact, she can barely concentrate on anything since that second office visit. Should she call per Michelle’s invite? It’s been over a week, and her back feels well enough to where she resumes training, stretching and working with light weights, easing into it. There’s no medical reason to contact Michelle. There IS that “other” reason which Michelle alluded to and to which Kim said she understood. Yet she’s not sure how to approach her. To Kim, this is virgin territory—so to speak. She could just call, feel her out—so to speak. Michelle, she suspects, is a woman of experience when it comes to getting it on with other women. Kim? Nada. What does she say? What’s the proper approach—if one can call such an approach proper to begin with.

A week passes, and with it another week of healing, of lifting weights lighter than even her warm-ups. Still, she’s progressing. She’s confident her strength will return, perhaps in time for The Aberdeen Invitational, a couple months away. Michelle isn’t far from her thoughts, her fantasies, those vivid fantasies of her and the doctor doing things that leaves her soaked and panting. Finally, getting into her car after a workout, she calls. No surprise, it goes into voice mail: “Just thought I’d call to let you know how I’m doing,” she says.

Hours later, when she’s tucked into bed, watching TV, Michelle returns her call. “How’s the back?”

“Much better,” Kim says, then tells her about the upcoming Aberdeen contest. “I think I can make that one. Hoping anyway.”

“Glad to hear it.” Moments of silence follow. Then: “Anything else? I mean, since you’re doing so well, you probably don’t need another appointment.”

“Right, I don’t.” Kim finds herself rubbing her hand over her crotch. Damn, just the sound of this woman’s voice can get her going.

“So you called…why?”

“Um, well, it’s about what you said, about calling for any other reason I might think important. Remember?”

“Of course. And?”

Kim’s shoulders shake in a nervous shiver. “And so I was just wondering…oh boy, this isn’t easy for me.”

“Maybe I can help, and I’ll start with a question.”

“Okay.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Just panties. No bra.” She hears a gasp.

“What color?”

“Yellow.”

“Oh my. Braids?”

“Not tonight. Disappointed?”

“Not at all. You’d look cute and sexy no matter how you set your hair.” Pause. “Anyway, I hope you now get where I was coming from in the office.”

“I kind of got it then, just wanted to be sure.” Kim’s beginning to relax. “So what are YOU wearing?”

“A short blue nightie, no bra or panties. How’s that sound?”

“Hot.” She hears Michelle laugh.

“And my smooth waxed legs are spread too—if that makes a difference.” Pause. “You’re breathing hard, aren’t you?”

“I’m doing more than that.”

“You are? Do tell.” Silence. “Kim?”

“It’s embarrassing.” She giggles.

“It’s perfectly normal if you’re doing what I think you’re doing.”

“Look, Michelle, can we get together sometime? Soon?”

*****

Michelle rationalizes it this way. Kim is no longer her patient. Therefore, she sees no ethical violations in seeing her outside the office. Didn’t her own parents socialize with their dentist and his wife? Of course, double dating to dinner and movies is a far cry from what Michelle has in mind. Still, she feels comfortable enough to meet Kim for Happy Hour at Mel’s Place, a suburban bar and restaurant. She’s wearing tight yellow slacks, a blue button-down blouse and high heels. She’s parted her hair on the side, sweeping the front over half her forehead, with the ends just touching her right eyebrow. The back, flipped slightly up, rests on her shoulders. The style is new to her, something she had meant to try weeks ago but kept putting off. Her “date” here with Kim gave her the incentive she needed to get it done.

“Perfect timing,” Michelle says, seeing Kim come through the door. “I just got here myself.” Looking her over, she adds, “I like your dress.”

“Thanks. I wear dresses only for work and special occasions.” Pause. “Your hair looks great.” She reaches out, runs her fingers through it. “Silky and soft.” Leaning close, she whispers, “Not to mention sexy.”

Michelle chuckles. “Thanks. What are you drinking?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Anything you’re having.”

“Merlot?” Kim nods, and then Michelle leans on the dark wood bar top to order.

They take their drinks over to a small table by a window. “Boy, this place looks better than it did before the fire,” Michelle says.

“You’re right. Before the fire, Jeff and I came here for dinner a few times.”

Mel’s reopened just last month. The fire had gutted the place, leaving only the late nineteenth century stone exterior intact. It was perhaps a blessing in disguise, because the owners created a new industrial chic design—beam ceiling, hardwood flooring, hanging lamps, booths furnished with dark leather seats, big picture windows—that draws more patrons than ever.

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