So there I was, waiting outside the examination room, reading a tabloid I'd picked up on the way over. I'd called Dr Dustoor over the phone, and he'd told me to come in a bit later for the appointment, but by the time I arrived, I found there were three other patients before me. I sat there in the lobby waiting for an hour, the patients finally left, and finally the eye doctor stuck his head out and said, in his beautiful baritone, "You can come in now, Closetalk."
The doctor smiled at me, and indicated I sit on his high chair. "So, I notice from your last name that you're not from Bombay?" he says, adjusting his instruments.
"Nopes," I grin back, immediatelly liking this tall thirty-something doctor with his ready smile, "Actually, it's going to be just around two years now, this month."
"Aha..." he says, coming closer and removing my spectacles... *god, he has a beautiful smile.... and those arms are enormous... Parsi ophthalmologist who's a regular the gym? Now how many times has that ever happened????*... "So, do you always wear your glasses, or do you have lenses?"
Brushing away the sudden dryness in my throat, "Ummm.. actually, I wear lenses all the time."
The doctor edges closer and places an uncomfortable contraption on the bridge of my nose, snaps it shut behind my ears. "Now can you read the letters of the second line on that screen?"
Some silly part of me is thinking about that part in America's Sweethearts, where the movie star is at her eye doctor's, and she reads from the chart: I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U; only in my case, I was hoping for I-W-A-N-N-A-S-C-R-E-W-Y-O-U-S-O-H-A-R-D, but of course, it didn't, and I only saw a bland succession of hazy figures.
So I turned towards Dr Dustoor, but he was right there against me, his breath hot against my neck, as he placed a thin piece of glass in the contraption, before my right eye: "Now, is this better for you.... or thiiiiiiisssss?"
I almost groaned aloud, as I felt him rest one hand on my thigh, that any way with him was better for me, but I stammered that it was all pretty much the same. That's when it got better, and he removed the contraption from my head and said in as forceful a voice as would make me melt into butter, "Your eyes are watering from the strain. Let me massage your sides for a while", and his strong fingers were on my temples and my eyes were locked into his. Did I fancy a smile there, I wasn't sure the first time, but I certainly was the second, when his fingers carried on pressing the sides of my face, and his voice whispered hoarsely: "Better?"
I was just about to croak out an affirmative, when I felt... it.
There. Against my knee. Almost unobtrusive the way it had crept up. The way he had crept up. Putting on contraptions on my head. Whispering throatily into my ear. Fingering my face. And all the while... coming closer. Pressed against my right inner thighs was one of the largest, most monstrous erections that the medical fraternity has ever seen in its examination halls, and I gasped with the knowledge (confirmed by his unmistakable smile now and his light caresses stooping from my brows to the sides of my neck) that this was going to be the most exciting Eye Examination I had ever undergone...
***
*sigh*
In reality, Dr Dinshaw Dustoor was aged forty seven years (or thereabouts), had framed pictures of his old father, wife and two sons arranged daintily on the ancient desk in his cabin, and sent me packing with a bill of Rs 500 after an examination that, though it lasted for quite some time, was nowhere as exciting as the movie star's must have been. No S-C-R-E-W at all.
The most ridiculous part was when I paid up, and he gave me his card. I noted the details therein, and as soon as I left the building, I called up Boy.
"Guess what?" I laughed across the seven seas, "I just saw a doctor whose email address is Dicky69@hotmail.com!"
Boy grinned a million miles away - and he has a beautiful grin, mind you (blush!) - and said, "O, really? Was the bawa cute?"
Closetalk hails a cab and gets in. And then replies: "Amazingly so! If his dentures hadn't left so many scars on my neck while he was kissing me, I would have asked to hump his walking stick!"
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