I was returning from the toilet at a brisk pace, afraid someone might slip into the doctor’s office before me. Unfortunately, that was exactly what had happened. The man who had been behind me was no longer outside, so he must have gone in. I was annoyed. But it was my fault — and the beer’s.

To make matters worse, a new patient had appeared: a young woman in a pale blue dress, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She had taken a seat beside the chair where I’d tossed my backpack. Turning her head slightly, she asked me softly:

– You’re before me, right?

– I just ran to the restroom and...

– Yes, yes, no problem – she interrupted, sighing and furrowing her brows a little.

Only after I sat down did I become aware of the presence of perfection. I had noticed the leg from a distance, but perfection itself reached my consciousness only when I looked closer.

The woman had casually crossed her right leg over her left, and that right one was bare almost up to mid-thigh, since the dress had a slit along the side.

An incredible sight, and just half a meter away from me.

Perfection is hard to describe. Words are sometimes powerless.

I know everyone has their own idea of perfection, yet still ... some things are beyond dispute.

The leg was beautiful — the skin flawless, slightly kissed by the sun. Fine veins, perfectly smooth. The curves were so elegant that one might think there were no bones beneath the flesh. As if a great master sculptor had spent years smoothing a piece of clay until achieving the perfect fluidity of form. Of course, the bones were subtly hinted at — at the knee, the ankle — but delicately so. There wasn’t a single unnecessary ridge or sharpness. The foot was relaxed, which gave the arch and heel even more charm. The toes weren’t long, rather girlish in appearance, yet to me, irresistibly sexy.

I tried not to stare, not to seem vulgar. But my eyes soaked in everything and wanted more. I dreamed we could sit there forever, waiting outside the office.

Otherwise, the woman wasn’t an exceptional beauty, not even by my standards — and I was clearly biased in that moment. She was shorter than average, her body toned and well-proportioned as far as I could tell, though her waist wasn’t the slimmest. Her breasts were nice, but not especially alluring. Her face was more pleasant than beautiful. Altogether, an agreeable woman, nothing more. But that perfect leg...

On the tiles beneath it lay a simple flip-flop, its sole quite worn. It seemed sacrilegious that such perfection should be fitted into something so ordinary.

The best thing was that perfection itself remained intact. The woman had apparently come for an examination because of her left hand, which was bruised and swollen around the wrist. A lovely hand, by the way — but not a perfect one.

She seemed lost in thought and didn’t notice how interested I was. So I could look, and look, and look ... I wondered what it would feel like to run my fingers over that white skin, exploring every centimeter. And then with my lips...

I was so entranced that I even forgot the pain in my shoulder.

The door opened, and the man who had gone before me — God bless him — came out. From inside, someone said hoarsely:

– Next!

– You go ahead, – I said casually to the woman. – I’m not in a hurry.

She looked at me in surprise.