Half the Woman She Once Was
Chapter 1: Surprise, Surprise!

Copyright┬ę 2007 by Tony Stevens

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Surprise, Surprise! - Billy Gustafsen had always been a ballplayer second, and a decent human being first. Sometimes being a nice guy can get a fellow rewarded when he least expects it.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual  


I'd just been traded to Baltimore by the Chicago Cubs, and the Oriole brass wanted me examined by doctors known to them. They'd scheduled an appointment for me for a comprehensive physical examination, in Baltimore, in early February. If all went well, I'd be heading for Spring Training in Ft. Lauderdale this year, instead of to the Cub's site near Phoenix, Arizona.

The trade wouldn't be official until I'd passed the Orioles' physical examination.

I expected the exam to present no obstacle. I knew that I was in excellent health, and as a four-year major league veteran, I'd remained unusually injury-free for my entire professional career, including three earlier years in the minors. The Orioles were getting undamaged goods: a thirty-year-old shortstop whose mission was to fill the recently vacated shoes of the great Miguel Tejada, who this year was retiring after a long career, most of it with the Birds.

Tejada's career numbers, and even his performance last season in his final year, were pretty gaudy. Still, I was recognized as a solid veteran defensive infielder with an above-average bat. In recent years, the Orioles hadn't been hurting for offense. The club had, perhaps, the most impressive batting order in either league, and they had two American League pennants (and one World Series win) in the past three years to prove it.

Even without Tejada, they had lots of lumber on their club. But despite their excellent offense and solid pitching, team defense hadn't been the club's strong suit for some years now. I was not only charged with taking the place of Tejada's big bat, I was supposed to be the key to a much-improved infield defense as well.

I showed up early at the large medical complex that housed the physician I was supposed to see. I'd been forewarned that the testing would be comprehensive, and that it might well require the greater part of the day to complete. I was going to get just about every test known to man. And why not? I was going to cost the Birds some large bucks.

So it was only 9 a.m. when I checked in at the desk of Chesapeake Bay Internal Medicine and asked for Doctor Richard Lawrence, Jr., as I had been instructed. I was directed to a nearby waiting room and, knowing the wait could be substantial, I tried to get interested in a copy of Boating Magazine.

"William Gustafsen?" A nurse had just opened a door at the far end of the waiting room. I got up and met her at the door.

"That's me," I said, smiling. "It's usually 'Billy, ' but William is, after all, my name."

"Mr. Gustafsen, I'm afraid Dr. Lawrence is not going to be able to conduct your examination. He's been called to the hospital on an emergency and isn't expected to return in time to see you. You may either reschedule your appointment for another day -- it would have to be next week, I'm afraid -- or you can see Dr. Morrow instead."

"I have no problem seeing a different doctor," I told her, "but it's the Orioles who've ordered this physical examination. My only question is, will they be satisfied with another physician's doing to job in Dr. Lawrence's place?"

"There is only one other physician on the staff who is authorized to work with the athletes sent to us by the Orioles," she said. "That would be Dr. Morrow."

"OK, then. Fine. Lead me to him."

"Dr. Morrow is a 'her, '" the nurse said.

"Oh!" That was a mild surprise. The first thing that passed through my mind was getting the old finger-in-the-glove prostate exam from a female doctor. Well. It's the 21st Century, after all. Women are doing all sorts of things these days. I guess I could bear up all right.

The nurse led me down a long hallway to a small examination room and instructed me to remove all my clothing and put on the little paper smock that was folded on the counter. The room was bare except for a sink cabinet and a high examination platform which was the only place available in the room to sit down.

I got completely bare-ass, as directed, and put on the paper smock, which was long enough to reach my knees but was open in back -- just like those flimsy hospital gowns. Unlike the hospital gowns, this one didn't even have ties in the back. When I sat down on the cold leather cushion, protected only by a thin piece of paper stretched over its surface, the lack of coverage in the rear quarter was dramatically apparent.

A nurse -- a different one -- came in from the hallway, took some blood samples from my left arm, took my blood pressure, temperature, checked my oil, kicked my tires, and departed. She was a cute little thing and although she was all business, I couldn't help but notice her as more-than-just-a-nurse. I guess like a lot of other guys, I have this sick fantasy about the sexuality of nurses. Seen too many bad porn movies, probably.

Anyway, all her probing and punching was strangely erotic, but I managed to avoid springing a full boner in her honor. I was, after all, a grown-up-type man, and this was a professional situation.

Still, Little Billy down there, although not yet pointing due north, was definitely in no mood to retreat into normal all-wrinkled-up dormancy. I had sprung a semi, in Cute Nursie's honor. Well, at least the smock was enough of a cover so that the young woman couldn't have known. She was gone and my dignity was intact -- at least as intact as one's dignity can be, when wearing nothing but a paper smock and about to be examined by a female doctor.

I hoped she'd be a matronly type, about my Mom's age, menopausal, professionally disinterested in me and physically uninteresting to me.

Unfortunately, she was none of those things. The tall red-haired beauty who entered the room from the opposite side was shockingly hot. Oh, God! I felt an involuntary twitch as my penis made first contact with its paper protector. I desperately urged my brain to turn that damned thing off immediately. One drop of pre-cum and I knew Little Billy would come barreling right through that flimsy paper smock!

"Billy Gustafsen?" she said. She made eye contact that I tried to hold onto with my own eyes, in hopes that she wouldn't let her gaze wander any lower. I wondered, vaguely, why she'd called me Billy. All the paperwork had me as "William." Well, she's associated with the Orioles, I reasoned. Probably she knows me by my baseball name.

"Yes," I said, extending my hand to shake hers, which she'd already thrust in my direction.

"I'm sorry about Dr. Lawrence's unavailability," she said, "but rest assured, the Orioles will accept my findings as readily as they would his."

"No problem, Dr. Morrow." The only problem was my erection. Maybe it was still only a semi, but it was a 60 per center now, not the 35 per center I'd worked hard to hide from the cute nurse.

Wow, this was some doctor, here! I figured if she did see my boner, it wouldn't exactly be the first time she'd caused one. Still, I'd feel like a real fool if she noticed, and I tried to relax, hoping it would subside.

On top of her stunning good looks, there was something about Dr. Morrow that seemed strikingly familiar. But I couldn't put my finger on it. I could see any number of things directly in front of me that I'd dearly love to put my finger on, but thoughts like that would only give rise to you-know-what, so I tried to think of virtuous things: Small puppies;

Little Leaguers, wearing their caps crooked;

Dairy Queen cones, dipped in chocolate.

Walt Disney movies.

Dr. Morrow brought in a chair from her adjoining office and sat down. She crossed her long, long legs and I thought some more about Walt Disney. It wasn't working, so I tried to think about starving kids in Africa.

She began a long checklist of health-related questions, each of which was easily answerable with a "yes," or (more often) a "no" response. Happily, most of the questions on the list were not calculated to raise suggestions that sent new signals to my masculine plumbing, so I began to relax a little.

Dr. Morrow was, however, gazing at me with what I took to be personal interest. She was almost -- not quite -- flirting with me! At least, that's the way it seemed. If she wasn't flirting, she was nevertheless looking at me with unmistakable interest.

Could this Female Physician be a sports groupie? Did she have some kind of thing for jocks? No. Surely not. No way! I never got that kind of lucky. Not ever. She had regular meetings with Orioles ballplayers. I wasn't the first, and wouldn't be the last. The club brass respected her as a professional.

Who was I kidding? Why would she be turned on by me? Mr. Ordinary.

The nurse -- the first one -- came in and handed Dr. Morrow some papers. "Preliminary numbers on your blood pressure, heart-rate, and so on," Dr. Morrow explained. "Everything looks very good so far."

Again, I got the appraising glance from the doctor, as the nurse made her departure. I didn't know what to make of it. I knew I wasn't God's gift to Womankind, but for some reason, this Red-haired Wet Dream was -- undeniably -- interested in me!

We were on Page three of the checklist when Dr. Morrow dropped the papers into her lap and smiled sweetly at me. "You still don't recognize me, do you?" she said.

My God! She was suggesting I knew her! If I'd ever met this Vision, I'd have damned sure not forgotten about it! But here she was, suggesting that we'd met.

And she did look -- familiar, somehow.

"You look familiar," I said, finally, "but if we've ever met, I can't place you." I wanted to add what I was thinking -- that she'd be near-impossible to forget -- but I thought that would sound flirtatious.

"We went to high school together," she said. "I'm Lucy Kendricks. Well -- Lucy Kendricks Morrow, now."

"Lucy! My God! I'm... sorry. But I didn't recognize you at all!"

She laughed. "Don't be sorry. In my case, it's a distinct compliment, when people don't recognize me from the old days. After all --I've lost more than half my body weight!"

"I knew you looked familiar," I repeated, "but I never would have dreamed... Lucy, you're... you're... you've become, well, stunningly beautiful!"

"Thank you, Billy. You're beautiful, too -- but then, you always were; even back in high school."

"Lucy! The transformation is just amazing! Incredible. But I guess you know that, better than anyone."

"My mother used to tell me that I was a beautiful woman," she said. "Even when I weighed 255 pounds. When I finally resolved to do something about my weight, I began to realize -- after awhile -- that she hadn't been just saying it because she was my mom."

"It must have been difficult, losing all that weight."

"It was damned difficult, Billy. But studying medicine helped me to realize how extremely important it was: How I was literally risking my life, carrying around so much excess body fat."

"You accomplished all this while you were in medical school?"

"I started dieting, even during undergrad school," Lucy said, "but I really got serious in med school, and kept on dieting and exercising like a demon, all through my internship, my residency -- the works. The 120-pound woman you see today has been around now for -- oh -- about two years. I think that, at my height, anything less than 120 pounds would be trading my overweight problem for anorexia."

"Lucy, Lucy! You are... Jesus! You're spectacular! I feel like such a jerk, fussing over you, now, for your physical beauty. Back in high school, I was just another guy who'd have never considered asking you for a date."

"Billy, I had a pretty realistic self-image, even in those days. I wouldn't have expected a guy like you -- good-looking, popular, lean and gorgeous -- to give me a second look."

"I wish, now, that I had!" I told her. I felt a pang of regret that my old chum, Lucy Kendricks, was now Lucy Morrow.

Probably, I figured, she was married so some fucking doctor.

"You never asked me on a date, and, as I said, I couldn't blame you," Lucy said, "but I remember something else about you, Billy, that was more important: You always treated me great! Remember our baseball conversations? You were an Oriole fan, even then! And I was for the Indians! And, living in Ohio, just about everybody was for the Indians -- but not you!... And now, you're going to be playing for them!"

"Yeah. Well, it's only a coincidence, that I got traded to Baltimore," I said. "When you're a pro, you forget about childhood loyalties like that. But it's true -- I was a huge Orioles fan, back then."

"The important thing," Lucy said, "was that you were a friend. You treated Lucy -- The Fat Girl -- like just another friend and classmate. You even recruited me for the Booster Club, remember? And we'd have conversations about the school teams, and all sorts of things besides baseball!"

She smiled at me. "You were one of the nice guys, Billy. I remember! There weren't all that many, you know."

"I always liked you, Lucy. You were a real sweetheart -- no matter how much you weighed. I wish I'd have had the character to see past the poundage, and see -- like your mom did -- how beautiful you were!"

"You're one of the people who made high school bearable," she said, still smiling. "Don't put yourself down for not being perfect! You were great to me, Billy -- a real friend."

"You're -- married now, huh? Any children?"

"No children," she said. "No husband, either. I was married for three years, just after med school. Another doctor -- slightly older and better-established than I was. It was a mistake, and we both recognized it after a while. I have to give the guy credit. I still weighed in at 175 when we got married. By the time we divorced, I was down to 135."

She giggled. "I guess with the divorce, I lost another 200 pounds, overnight!"

"Sorry," I said.

She was still smiling broadly. "I shouldn't joke about Robert," she said. "He was an OK guy. The losing-200-pounds gag makes him sound like some kind of jerk I got rid of, but it wasn't like that at all! We had one of those amicable parting-of-the-ways."

"I know it's something like -- what? Twelve years too late," I told her, "... but if you're not seeing anyone, I'd sure like to make up for my previous... blindness to your beauty!"

"Why are you blushing, Billy? I've already told you I don't hold it against you for not asking me to the prom, or something, back in high school. You were always one of the good guys, Billy!"

I laughed out loud. "Remember Norma Reynolds?" I asked her. "The slinky one? She smoked brown cigarettes and weighed in at maybe 85 pounds? No shape at all, but that too-cool coal-black hair, and her tight-fitting dresses that emphasized her boyish figure?"

I shook my head. "I dated Norma! She was as far in the other direction -- weight-wise -- as you were, but somehow, it was considered OK to go out with a skinny girl."

"You didn't date her for long, though, did you?" Lucy asked.

I wondered how Lucy knew that I'd only gone out with Norma Reynolds that single time. She must have been watching my activities pretty closely in those days. "When we left her house that night," I told Lucy, "Norma saw my car -- it was a seventeen-year-old, rusty wreck of a Chevrolet sedan -- and the first thing she said was, 'Hey! That car is the most, to say the least!'"

"The... most? To say the least?" Lucy repeated.

"Yeah!... And I remember thinking, 'Hmmm. That's a kind-of clever thing she said, there: 'The most, to say the least.'... Yeah, this girl is kinda clever.'"

"I've never heard that expression," Lucy agreed.

"Well, I hadn't ever heard it, either," I told her, "but I heard it that night, about three or four more times. Norma used it to comment on everything from the quality of our milk shakes to the replacement teacher we had gotten that week in political science class!"

"So I gather that, in just that one night, it turned out to be the most you wanted to know about Norma Reynolds?" Lucy said, laughing.

"... To say the least!" I agreed.

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