Author's note: I should explain that this is based on a dream I had. I know that no doctor would ever act like this and wish to assure my readers that I intend no disrespect to the medical profession in any way. This is fiction and it's also fantasy. It's just an excuse to linger over the considerable charms of one particular man. If you've taken all that on board, please read on and enjoy.

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I check my appointment book, half of me hoping I've got the day wrong and I won't have to face this today, and the other half already anticipating and wishing it was the appointed time now.

Yes, there it is, in my assistant's neat writing: Walter Skinner, 09.20am. PNHC. Pre-nuptial health check. Mr. Skinner is getting married. Lucky, lucky woman... I only joined this practice last year and I haven't had that many occasions to see Walter Sergei Skinner, Assistant Director of the FBI. He keeps himself in excellent health and the Bureau insists on regular check-ups by it's own medics. He's kept a personal physician, though and when old Dr. Marsh finally retired last May I took on his patients and among them was Mr. Skinner. I was puzzled by the smirks and blushes that the nurses gave me when they heard, until I met the man and understood perfectly.

He's quite simply the most desirable man I've ever met. He's also one of the truest gentlemen I've ever met: courteous, grave, dignified. I sincerely like the man and I'm happy that he's found the woman he wants to wed, but examining him today is going to be heaven and hell at the same time.

The pre-nuptial health check consists of all the normal checks: heart, lungs, blood pressure, but also some much more intimate ones. Sexual functions. My God, most of the time I try not to think about Walter Skinner and sexual functions! Did I say that he was the sexiest man I'd ever seen? He seems to have no idea of his own powers to enchant, which makes him even more attractive, of course. How am I going to get through his exam without embarrassing us both? I should have handed off the duty to someone else, someone who wasn't more than half in love with the patient, but that wasn't as easy as it sounds.

There are four physicians at the Brooks Drive Health Center. Cathy Purcell is as dazed around him as I am. George Kavanagh is a year off retirement and from all accounts none too gentle with a person's tender bits - I couldn't consign the gorgeous Walter to his dubious mercies. Peter Dimarco is a great physician but also a 35yr-old gay man who wouldn't be able to form a sentence in the presence of Skinner's perfect sculpted physique.

That leaves me: Marion Rush MD, 42, single, die-hard romantic. And in 50 minutes I have to examine in intimate detail the naked body of a man I would give my eyeteeth to be marrying in order to ascertain if he will be able to carry out his husbandly duties on his wedding night. As I say - heaven and hell.

Somehow I get through my first two appointments: Mrs. Cooper and her varicose veins and Mrs. Schwartz with that surly daughter of hers who's got an infection from a badly inserted navel ring... lovely! Now it's 09.18 and he'll be here any moment. I can do this. He deserves nothing less than my best attention.

The door opens and Penny, my receptionist shows him in. She's wide-eyed and breathless already and lets the sheaf of papers in her hand flutter to the floor as Walter Skinner brushes past her to enter my office. Gentleman that he is, he crouches to help her gather them up. She'll be talking about this for days. Standing again, he turns back to me as Penny closes the door, offering me his firm handshake.

"Dr. Rush, good to see you. How is your mother?

It's a cold November day and he's wearing a huge soft dark overcoat. He fills the room with his wide shoulders and 6ft 2 frame and I'm fighting to get my first words out.

"She's fine, Mr. Skinner, thank you for remembering."

He always remembers and asks after Mom. They know each other from a case she was involved in last autumn and I know she had hopes that he and I... but it hasn't happened and that brings me back to the reason for this appointment. Oh Lord, I hope he isn't as nervous about this as I am.

"This is a routine pre-nuptial exam. "

I manage to sound amazingly normal.

"I'll start with the general checks. I'll need you to strip down to your underwear and climb on that examination table for me."

There, that wasn't so bad. I can do this. Or maybe not. I sit at my desk looking over his notes but out of the corner of my eye I can see him disrobing... I'm not going to ogle the guy; this is so unprofessional of me... He's hung the long coat on the rail and laid his suit coat over the back of the chair. His shoes and socks are already neatly placed under the chair. I recall that he served in the Marines and they say there's no such thing as an ex-Marine. He's kept all that discipline. Oh boy. Calm down, girl. I look back down at his file and try to ignore the sound of a silk tie being drawn from under a starched shirt collar. I succeed for several seconds. When I glance up again he's shirtless, bending over to lay the pristine white garment on top of his jacket. I can see the muscles in his back working as he turns to the chair, the skin taut over his ribs, not a spare ounce of flesh on him, just lots of perfect muscles... OK, Marion old girl, that's quite enough of that.

A quiet clearing of the throat drags my attention back from my determined concentration on my desk calendar. He's perched on the edge of the table, wearing nothing but plain white briefs, those long legs still almost touching the floor. He looks calm and faintly amused. Thank God one of us is relaxed.

Standing close to him I carry out the routine exam procedures, but it's anything but a routine experience for me. Wrapping the bandage of the sphignanomometer around his biceps all I can think of is how much I want to bite that satiny shoulder, then kiss it better. Looking into those huge brown eyes through an opthalmoscope isn't how I really want to be doing it, but they're still gorgeous, still warm and deep enough to drown in. He has beautiful teeth too. Only two fillings and one cap on an incisor knocked out playing football in high school. The rest are straight, even and white. My fingers are so close to that delicious mouth, I can imagine how it would feel to brush over those wide, warm lips. His breath is sweet, faintly minty, as wholesome as everything else about him is. Clean, strong, healthy.

I lift my stethoscope from the desk and take a deep breath. Standing between his spread thighs I warm the silver disk against my palm then nestle it into the dark curling hair on his chest. The steady beat of his healthy heart covers the sound of my own, skipping and racing as I fix my eyes on his magnificent muscles. The swell of smooth pectorals, the wide bow of his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, the tiny perfect nipples... With outward calm, I move the instrument from place to place, reassured by the regular thud. Inside, I'm a mess. The heat of his naked torso washes over me, the uniquely male scent of his clean skin makes me faint with desire. I'm aware that I've been checking his heart for far longer than necessary, but I don't want this to end. I'm in heaven and if I stop, I'll have to move on to the next stage of the exam and the mere thought of that is making my hands shake and my head spin.

Finally, I have to step back and hope my face isn't as flushed as it feels.

"Well, that's all fine, Mr. Skinner. Now if you can just slip your briefs off and lie back we can finish this examination and you can get back to work."

There, that sounded perfectly professional. No hint of the turmoil I'm in. I don't want to cause him any embarrassment and this next bit is going to be awkward enough for both of us without me acting like a shy schoolgirl. I have to do this thoroughly, to the best of my abilities, and just try not to enjoy it too much.

I resolutely turn back to my desk as he peels off his last piece of clothing. I've never seen him completely naked and I'm torn between trying to prepare myself by imagining how he'll look and trying not to think about it at all and just keep my hands steady.

I turn around and no imagination in the world could have prepared me for this sight. He is just beautiful. It's the only word. The ideal of manhood lying quietly on an examination table in my consulting room. Naked, tanned, muscled, glorious. I move closer.

"I'm going to be as quick and gentle as I can. Some patients find this procedure unsettling or even arousing. This is quite normal and nothing to be embarrassed about. Just relax and you'll be fine."

I won't be fine, though. I'm having trouble breathing already. He looks a little tense, but lies still, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

His narrow hips lead to long hard-muscled thighs. His abdomen is defined and smooth-skinned. I note the recent scar of some major surgery just above his groin and older paler ones on his stomach and legs. His pubic hair is a neat patch of dark brown curls, low down on his flat belly. His body is heart-stopping.

"Can you spread your legs a little for me?"

He does. With infinite care, I lift his penis into my hand. It's perfect for him: long, powerful, graceful, even elegant: sheen of silky skin, dusky rose-brown, prominent veins, circumcised. I gently handle him, checking for swellings or lumps. My training stands me in good stead, keeping me focussed when the feel of the heated skin against my palm is threatening to undo me. He's feeling it too: shifting a little on the table, trying to keep his hips from pushing against my touch. He's already starting to get hard. I've never actually allowed myself to fantasize about making love to him, but here and now, I wish I had the time to just close my eyes and imagine stroking him. I drag myself back from the brink.

Everything's fine of course. He's perfect. Now I look at his scrotum: the tender skin finely crinkled, the testicles two plump ovoids. I have to palpate each one, feeling for any thickening of the tissue, anything untoward. They fit my hand so pleasingly, heavy, firm, plush with downy hair. I roll each one gently, my fingers alert for anomalies. I daren't look at his face. I can feel him starting to arch off the mattress, feel his embarrassment to be reacting to something that should be calmly clinical. I'm mortified that I'm indulging my own senses while he's suffering. I quickly complete my examination and notice that his penis is now semi-erect.

Now I must confess to making a most unprofessional decision. The anal exam is unpleasant at the best of times, it can be acutely uncomfortable, especially if the patient is nervous and tense. Normally, one would have the patient bend over the edge of the table and just get those fingers in there. Cold, undignified, an ordeal. I'm checking for more than mere absence of problems here. I have to determine if this man is sexually healthy, able to perform readily and spontaneously. There's only one way to do that: you have to provide sexual stimulation. I decide to make it a pleasurable experience, if I possibly can.

"I have to do an internal exam now."

I snap on the latex, wondering if I am quite mad.

"Now you're quite likely to experience some arousal during this. Please don't be embarrassed about that. You may even ejaculate. This is a common occurrence, I'm used to it. It won't embarrass me, so don't feel any awkwardness on that account. Relax, try and think of this as a natural sexual experience, let your body react as it naturally wants to."

Where am I getting this stuff from? I've never done this before. It isn't standard procedure, it isn't in any of the medical books. It's a concession to a man that I like, admire. That it is also a major turn-on for me is something I'm not being quite so honest about.

I position his legs, knees drawn up, exposing the powerful curves of his buttocks and the dark, tight entrance of his anus. I squeeze out a liberal amount of K-Y onto my gloved fingers and gently probe with the first finger. Pushing slowly through the guarding muscle I feel him tense, then consciously try to relax. I penetrate to the full length of my finger. Watching his face carefully, I see his eyes widen as the initial discomfort melts into a pleasing warmth. I lay my left hand on his bare chest, reassuring him and checking his heart rate. I slide in a second finger, feel his heart speed up, feel his chest heave under my hand, feel the heat around my buried fingers. I begin to move my fingers inside him, turning them together, sliding them very slowly in and out. He arches away from the table, hissing his surprise between clenched teeth.

I circle my other hand over his chest, calming, caressing. His neck muscles are corded with tension, a fine sheen of sweat glinting on his brow.

"It's okay, you're doing fine. Just let yourself react. Don't try and fight it."

A third finger, turning them, sliding them... His chest is heaving now, his breathing erratic. His eyes are wide and black with arousal and his cock is standing proud of his body, darkening with the rush of blood, thickening with each second. I curl my fingers in him and deliberately graze against his prostate gland. He gasps aloud, his body straining upward, his lips parted. I'm in a hardly better state, my legs trembling under me, my own heart racing, wetness and heat between my thighs.

Again I flick over his prostate, watching the pleasure flash across his face. His whole body is bathed in sweat now, his hands fisted on the sides of the table, knuckles white, his hips writhing against my touch. His head is thrown back, his eyes almost closed. I look down at his groin. That beautiful cock is fully erect, magnificently hard. I can tell he longs to touch himself, to stroke himself to release, but he won't do it here. His balls are tightening as I watch, still teasing my fingers in and out of him. He'll come soon.

A couple more strokes over that sensitive gland and he's powerless to resist any longer. He's held out for an impressive length of time, while I sent him on waves of stimulation, nearer and nearer to orgasm. With a hoarse cry, he comes, the semen pulsing out of him to splatter over his belly and chest. He lets the climax take him, pounding his fists against the mattress at his sides, his hips lifting off the table, his head thrashing from side to side. It's the most erotic and unforgettable sight I've ever seen.

I watch, transfixed, as his breathing slows and his body subsides from it's ecstasy, then I gently withdraw my fingers and ease his legs down flat onto the table again. I can still see the tremors running through the muscles of his belly and thighs. I gather paper towels and begin to tenderly clean him up. His eyes open lazily, and he blushes to see me wiping his semen off his stomach. He tries to sit up and take over from me, but I push him back down to rest, lifting my hand off his chest reluctantly. He looks so boyish when he blushes.

"You have absolutely nothing to worry about, Mr. Skinner. Your bride is a very lucky woman."

If possible, he blushes an even deeper shade of red and I laugh softly.

"My very best wishes to you and your fiancée. I wish you both every happiness. I'll leave you to get dressed in peace. Take your time, I don't need this office for another twenty minutes."

I'm just going to go outside and let my heart break now.

THE END

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