Chapter 1: Surprise, Surprise!

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 21^st 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.