Chapter 3
Iclear my throat. “So, uh. We almost done here, doc?”
Casual. Keep it casual. Maybe he doesn’t notice. Maybe if I keep talking, keep it normal, he’ll move on, and I can will this thing back down before it gets any worse.
“Because I’ve got, you know, practice to get to. And…”
I trail off. Because he’s not moving. He’s just… looking. Holding my half-hard dick in his gloved hand like a snake he’s just caught.
“Interesting,” he says in that deep, calm baritone. “Very interesting.”
My face feels like it’s going to melt off. “What’s interesting?”
“Your response. Your initial complaint was a lack of arousal, correct?”
“Yeah…”
“Yet here you are, becoming erect.”
My blood runs cold. I sit up, trying to pull the gown over myself, but his grip is firm. Not painful, but the message is clear: stay where you are.
“Don’t do that,” he says. Still calm, but there’s an edge now. Steel under velvet. “Don’t be embarrassed. This is precisely why we’re here.”
“Dude, what the fuck?” It comes out way more panicked than I want it to. “Let go of me.”
He releases me immediately. Holds up both hands, palms out. “Of course. My apologies.” A beat. “But Reid, what just happened is significant. You’re clearly capable of arousal.”
I scramble to cover myself with the gown, heart hammering against my ribs. “It’s just a reflex. You were touching it. That’s a thing that happens. Jesus.”
“Perhaps,” he says, leaning back on his stool. He watches me, those gold-flecked eyes missing nothing. “But that reflex doesn’t happen with the women you’ve been seeing. Does it?”
There’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. And it pisses me off.
“What are you getting at?” I spit, hands bunching the flimsy green fabric. “That I’m getting hard for you? You think that’s what this is?”
“Are you?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m not here to judge you, Reid. I’m here to help you understand what’s going on.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, man. I mean, you’re a good-looking dude, I guess, for an older guy, but?—”
“You find me attractive?” he interrupts.
I flinch. “What? No. I’m just saying, like, objectively. You’re in shape. You have, like, these nice eyes and shit. But I’m not into guys. That’s not the issue.”
“So if I’d been an uglier man, this wouldn’t have happened?”
“That’s not what I’m saying! God.”
I’m digging myself into a hole. Every word makes it worse. And my dick, that traitorous bastard, is still swelling. A full-blown erection now, tenting the ridiculous hospital gown. Even covered, it’s obvious.
“What if,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, “your body is trying to tell you something your mind isn’t ready to hear?”
“Here we go. The shrink talk. I knew it.” I shake my head.
“Hear me out. You put an immense amount of pressure on yourself. To perform. To be the star quarterback, the ladies’ man. You’ve built this entire identity around what you think you’re supposed to be. Not who you actually are.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me.”
His eyes flick to the tent in my lap. “I think I’m starting to.”
My whole body burns with shame. I need to get out of here. Now.
“I want my prescription. And I want to leave. You said ten minutes.”
“I did. And I’ll give you whatever you want. But I think it would be a mistake to leave without addressing this. This is a breakthrough, Reid. This is exactly what we needed to find the root of the problem.”
“The root of the problem is you’re a fucking weirdo who gets off on touching naked football players,” I snarl.
“Is that what you really think?” he asks, and for a second I see something like hurt flash across his face before it’s gone. “That I’m a weirdo? Or is it easier to attack me than to look at what’s actually happening here?”
My throat tightens. He’s not wrong. It’s easier to be pissed than to be... whatever I am right now. I feel like a cornered animal, and all I know how to do is lash out. Maybe I went a little out of pocket.
I take a breath. “Sorry,” I mutter. “That was out of line.”
He nods slowly. “It’s alright. You were somewhat right, though.
About me. I do have a vested interest in this.
In you.” He pauses. “I think you’re a phenomenal athlete, Reid.
Once in a generation. And I hate seeing something like this derail you when you’re this close to your peak. I want to see you succeed.”
The sincerity catches me off guard. This whole time I figured he was just some money-grubbing hack. But maybe there’s more to it. Maybe he actually gives a shit.
“I want to succeed too, doc. That’s why I’m here.”
“Then work with me. Let’s explore this. See where it leads. What I’m going to suggest might be unconventional. But it’ll get us closer to an answer.”
I stare at him. “Unconventional how?”
He looks around the room, at the closed door, as if making sure we’re truly alone.
“I want to try something. A visual stimulus test.” He snaps off his gloves, tosses them in the trash, and walks over to the desk in the corner. Comes back with a laptop. “I’m going to show you some videos. All I need you to do is watch. Don’t force anything. Just let your body respond naturally.”
“You want me to watch porn. In your exam room.”
“Erotic material, yes. And we’ll measure your response,” he says, nodding at the tent in my lap. “It’s already evident that your capacity for arousal is intact. This test will help us pinpoint your specific triggers.”
I swallow. I should say no. I should grab my clothes and get the hell out of this place.
But for some reason I trust this guy. I don’t know what it is.
That calm, steady energy. The way he’s going above and beyond to figure out what’s wrong with me.
No doctor has ever given this much of a shit. And I need answers.
“Fine,” I hear myself say. “Show me your porn.”