The very idea of a doctor listening to the heart of a patient has always been a turn-on for me. As a child, I felt very nervous whenever a doctor would lean forward to listen to my heart. Nervous, and also sexually stimulated, if the doctor happened to be a woman. The cold touch of the chest-piece against my accelerating heart seemed dizzying.
I wished I could borrow the instrument and use it upon the girls (and women) I found attractive. Once a girl named Mithu, we both were then in the eighth grade, sat down beside me and proclaimed that heart was going very fast—so fast that I could feel it with my palm. She picked up my hand, and before I could realize what was happening, placed my palm flat against her chest. Her soft but firm young breasts yielded under the pressure, and I could really feel her heart go thud-thud beneath the warm flesh. I was dumbfounded, and didn’t know how to respond. For a few seconds she held her body tightly pressed against my palm, then released my hand which slid off her chest limply. She broke out into a peal of laughter, called me a fool, and breezed out of the room.
As I grew older, my passion for female heartbeat also grew more and more intense. Once I bought a stethoscope with my pocket money, and I used to listen to my own heart sometimes with it. Of course, I also had a legitimate use for it– to measure the bp of my grandfather. I longed to use it on some girl, but had no such luck. It was a passion which I had to keep secret because it sounded weird even to myself. At one point in my career, I seriously considered becoming a doctor so that I could turn my dreams into reality.
But then I thought the society could well do without a pervy doctor. Moreover, the medical profession meant much more than just using the stetho on young girls, and I didn’t like the idea of spending time with sick and dying people. So I moved on, and finally settled as a teacher at a higher secondary school. I married, but the marriage didn’t work out well. After a few years, we separated, and since then I have been living quite alone. I give tuition to a number of boys and girls, and they are the only visitors I allow in my flat.
Last sunday a student of mine rang the doorbell quite early in the morning. The previous night I had slept late, and so I asked her (let’s call her Rupa) to wait at the study while I freshened up. It took me about half an hour to finish my toilet and make tea. When I entered my study, I found her sitting at the desk, looking quizzically at my stethoscope. I had kept it in a drawer long ago, and had almost forgotten that it existed. Rupa had somehow chanced upon it.
I was thoroughly embarrassed, but Rupa didn’t seem to sense it. She was too curious about the thing to question the propriety of its existence in my house. When she saw me come in, she gave me a radiant smile and said, “It’s a stethoscope, sir, isn’t it? It’s what the doctors use?”
‘yes’, I said. And then apologetically tried to explain its occurrence. But she cut me short.
” Can I use it to listen to my heart?”
“Go on, if you want”
She put the disc under her left breast and tried to listen.
“But I can’t hear a thing!”
It was a dual stetho with a diaphragm as well as a bell, and the selector lever was wrongly aligned. I was going to point that out to her, but then I had a flash of inspiration. Why, I could easily achieve my dream today! So, I smiled (already a weak smile) and said, “Let me see”. I took the stetho from her, plugged the earpieces in, and then gestured her to bring her chair closer to mine. I was mortally afraid that she would object, but she did not.
In fact, she even straightened up to give me better access to her chest area. My hands were trembling with excitement, but I somehow managed to place the disc over her heart, and the music of her beating heart flooded my ears. It was a regular thump-thump, not too fast, but quite girlish in its quick march. Her small round breasts, jutted up as I put a little pressure with the chest piece between them. I could feel the warmth of her chest, her breath tickled the hair on my wrist. It was too good to believe this was actually happening to me.
After a few seconds I said, “Now you can listen to it”, and offered her the instrument. She took it from me, and then listened with rapt attention to her own heart for a while. Then she turned abruptly to me and said, “sometimes my heart gives a flutter and I feel like passing out. Is there anything wrong with my heart?”
“Let’s hope not, but you should nonetheless visit a cardiologist.”
“Why don’t you take a listen? Maybe you can pick up what’s wrong.”
Now, I could hardly believe my ears. And yet I could hardly fight off the embarrassment.
“You see I’m not a certified cardiologist, though I have a paramedic’s certificate. I might not be able to locate your problem.”
“But in any case, taking a listen would not do any harm”.
I smiled again and took the stetho. I proceeded about the job like a pro. I took her pulse–her slender wrist and supple skin felt warm to the touch. I also briefly touched the carotid artery on her neck. Had her pulse quickened a bit? Then I listened to her heart again, this time deliberately and with much more attention.
I asked her to lean forward while I held the stetho right under her left breast. As she leaned, her warm and unspeakably soft breast touched my fingers. I had only to spread them a little to cup her breast neatly, and I did it. She didn’t move. I had lost all sense of propriety now. My now hardened member throbbed in tune with the drumbeat of her heart in my ears. It was decidedly quicker now.