Meanwhile...

"I hate doctors," Bill Cristo told the woman sitting next to him in the waiting room. Just then a side door swung open and a nurse emerged, and called his name. He rose, closed the lid on his laptop, and tucked it under his arm. With his free hand, he grabbed his leather carry-all.

Time for their preliminary checklist. After the usual weigh-in, height and blood pressure check, he followed the nurse through a door towards the exam room. She gave him about ten minutes privacy to trade all his clothes for a baby blue paper gown before continuing.

The nurse, a cute brunette of about twenty-five, wore a stethoscope about her neck. Its two slender, black tubes joined just below her collarbone, sat neatly between her small breasts. She lifted the round tip with her fingers and pressed it to Bill's chest.

Her lightly made up face took on an expression of concentration, while her rouged lips moved in silent counting.

Forty-five minutes later, per his doctor's instructions, Bill stood barefoot on an elaborate treadmill. He shivered in the icy, antiseptic air while the nurse attached little round, black probes to his bare chest and back. Her fingertips jarred him with their icy touch.

Tiny wires sprouted from the center of each probe, amassing together like so many roots as they fed into a nearby monitor. Next, she stuffed a clear plastic mouthpiece between his lips. A double set of accordion tubes connected it to a secondary monitor. Bill decided the whole contraption looked like a perversion of scuba gear and laughed.

The nurse's slender hand hovered over a central panel. She pushed several buttons and then flashed Bill a mischievous smile.

"Here we go," she said, starting the treadmill.

Before long, Bill's legs ached from the perpetual jogging motion. Just as quickly, he ran out of breath and labored hard to continue, wheezing as he sucked each lung full of air. His feet grew heavier with each step until he stumbled, falling in a heap to the cold, tiled floor.

Several of the probes popped off with a slight sucking sound. The respirator nearly tore off his lips as it flew from his clenched teeth. Embarrassed and burning with exertion plus hurt pride, he picked himself up, ripped off the remaining probes, and avoided looking into the young woman's face.

A few minutes later, Bill winced as the pretty nurse jabbed a needle into the thick vein at the soft inside of his elbow to draw his blood. He watched with morbid fascination as the red liquid flowed into the glass vial as easily as that gurgling fountain they kept out in the waiting room.

She moved forward to stand over him. She caught his gaze with hers and held it for the few seconds it took to withdraw the needle. She pressed a small square of gauze over the puncture site.

Bill watched her separate the vial from the syringe, cap it and set it into a test tube tray on the counter. Then she handed him a small paper cup and pointed to the men's room.

Bill waited in the exam room nearly half an hour, wearing nothing except for a yard long paper cloth draped across his lap. It covered the necessary parts but stopped on either side of his thigh, leaving his wide ass open to the frigid air. It did little to prevent his butt skin from sticking uncomfortably to the vinyl-covered cushion of the examination bed. Yeah, there was a thin sheet of paper to sit on but it ripped the moment he hoisted himself up on it. Bill frowned, swung his bare feet in small circles, and concentrated on looking through the partially opened blinds.

Outside, the sun dipped low beyond the tree line. He thought about dusk coming so soon this time of year. Another month or so and it'd be dark by the time he got off work every night. It must be the same everywhere during the winter months but it's easy to think such things only happen in the Midwest.

A light clomping sound, followed by voices and rustling papers came from just outside the exam room door, drawing Bill's attention. The silver knob twisted, followed by the door swinging open just enough to let in a middle-aged man dressed in black slacks, black tie, and white shirt underneath a hip length white jacket. He entered the room, reading papers inside a manila file folder as he walked.

He paused at the foot of the exam table, looked up at Bill and smiled warmly. "So, how's my last patient of the day?"

Do you tell that to all your patients? Bill wondered, I know there were others after me. "Doing just fine." Bill shifted his weight and tried to tuck the corners of the paper blanket down.

"Well, then what brings you in?"

Surely this guy can't be that stupid. "Gotta have a yearly physical for work. Part of their 'let's keep everybody healthy so we don't have to pay out as much insurance' scheme."

The doctor rifled through the folder again. "Looks like all your lab work's done. Good. Cholesterol: not so good. You didn't do as well on the stress tests as I'd like."

He slapped the folder down on a nearby countertop, then turned to face Bill. "I'll be blunt. You have one big problem which causes a bunch of little problems, especially if we leave it untreated."

"Really?" Bill's mind raced through the possibilities. Cancer? Heart attack?

"We're talking blood pressure problems, limited muscle movement, pain, risk of diabetes and heart failure, psychological issues and shortening your life."

Bill's thoughts fixed on the mention of heart failure. His father had died from it. Bill found out then how heredity is a risk factor.

"Come on. I don't smoke or do drugs. Sometimes I grab a beer but not everyday. I'm as healthy as a horse and we both know it." Bill folded his arms across his sparsely haired chest.

"You're as big as a horse, pardon the pun," the doctor pointed his index finger for emphasis. "You're overweight."

Bill bristled at that. "Oh please! Stop trying to scare me. A few pounds isn't life threatening."

"A few pounds! You are a hundred pounds overweight. That's much more than a few, my friend. Yes, it is life threatening, especially in your later years. You're not going to be thirty forever. The older you get, the worse it is for your body, and the harder it is to do something about it."

Bill pressed his lips together and stared at the floor in silence.

"Do you get any exercise? And don't count trips to the car and back or typing or wiggling around joysticks on a computer game." He made a fist and moved it around in imitation. "I'm talking about real exercise. Work out at a gym, swimming, tennis, jogging."

Bill looked up at him and shook his head. He'd always intended to sign up at one of those health clubs. Somehow it never happened.

"What about diet? I bet you live on fast food and what's in the snack machine." Seeing Bill's expression he continued. "I thought so. This is so typical of guys in your profession. Put some of that brain energy into body energy before your sedentary lifestyle kills you."

"Yeah. Sure." Bill accepted a few booklets on diet. He had no intention of reading them but didn't want to waste any more time being lectured. He felt like a kid in the principal's office. He quickly dressed, wrote a check for his co-payment, and left it with the receptionist. As he shuffled out to his car, his stomach growled.

"Time to feed the fat guy," he joked with himself. Somehow, it didn't feel as funny as he thought.

He climbed into the front seat of his red Altima, bumping the rear view mirror with his elbow as he tossed his computer case over into the passenger seat. He reached up, grasped the mirror by the edges, and adjusted it. He paused at his reflection, taking notice of the pudginess in his cheeks and chin.

"Okay, so maybe I've gained a little."

He started up the car and made a decision. "Okay you," he told the raven haired, blue eyed fat man in the mirror, "We'll go for a compromise. I want tacos; you need salad. So, we'll have a taco salad for dinner. Makes everyone happy." He smiled and the mirror man smiled back.

Later, when Bill got back to his apartment, he walked into a darkened, silent world. No lights. No television chatter or music belying anyone's presence. He must've beat Dixie home. He shrugged and flipped on the lamp next to the living room couch. Its yellow light filled the room with a pale glow. Then, after a quick visit to the kitchen, he settled into his easy chair, remote in one hand and coke in the other. He perused the channels for something interesting to watch, eventually settling on an old B-movie on the classics channel.

He awoke much later, knowing it had to be well into the early a.m. by the infomercial showing on the television screen. Tanned, muscular models demonstrating some kind of ski motion machine.

"Like any of those guys really use that," he scoffed at it. "Probably retouched video anyway."

He felt around in his lap for the remote control and, upon finding it, pushed the up button on the channel changer. The images of two large women, one of them in tears, flickered on screen. He didn't even wait to see what they were selling. Probably some psychologist's audio tapes.

Click. Weird videos. Can you believe anyone actually dresses like that? Click. Some miracle spot remover. Too bad they only demonstrate it on white objects. Guess it works too well. Click. Animated car insurance ad. What a loser! Click. The screen darkened to a steel gray.

With a heavy sigh, Bill decided to head for bed. He turned off the light, pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness before taking the stairs up. He strolled down the short hallway and into his and Dixie's bedroom.

Her motionless form lay curled on its side beneath the sheets. Her discarded running shoes and warm-ups lay crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed. Bill wondered when she'd gotten home. It bothered him when she stayed out so late but she laughed at his concern, telling him. "I'm a big girl."

Bill brushed his teeth, then stripped to his underwear and slipped between the sheets next to her. He put his arm around her slim waist and kissed her on the cheek. She murmured something in her sleep and began to snore softly.

Poor thing. She's exhausted. Bill watched her deep breathing and wondered if she'd pushed herself too hard. She always did in the autumn. Something about the gloomy approach of winter, spurred her on to an almost fanatical exercise binge every year.

Bill expected it to happen but the season had snuck up on him this time. He understood once December showed its face, she'd become moodier and more withdrawn. Her vitality drained with each passing day. He'd once researched seasonal affective disorder over the internet, in the hopes of finding solutions to make her feel better. Instead, his attempts enraged her and he came off as a callous bastard.

Dixie's right, though. He rocked when it came to anything computer related, but he definitely wasn't an expert in psychiatry. He'd been wrong to diagnose her and confront her with his findings. Bill sighed. I suck at this relationship stuff. He snuggled into her and drifted off to sleep.

Morning came as its usual self. Bill rocketed out of bed when the alarm shrieked. He showered and dressed for work before waking Dixie for her turn in the bathroom. She opened her soft brown eyes and smiled at him. He found her mussed up blonde hair and the curve of her exposed shoulders incredibly alluring. Too bad he had a meeting first thing this morning.

As he bent low to kiss her, she flung her arms around his neck. The sheet slid away, exposing the twin peaks of her nipples. "I want you," she nipped at his neck with her lips.

That's all it took for his body to respond. "I have a meeting," he half-heartedly tried to pull away.

"Yes you do," Dixie ran her hands across his shoulders and down his chest. She began unbuttoning his shirt as she spoke in a suggestive tone. "I intend to meet with you repeatedly."

Their lovemaking escalated upon itself, with each caress accelerating their desire for one another. As always, she insisted on being on top but Bill didn't mind. He loved to watch her hourglass shaped body swaying above him, everything he loved best displayed within reach. Then when she reached up both her arms to sweep her blonde hair off her shoulders and up to the top of her head, a motion which thrust her breasts forward, she let out a little moan which triggered one of Bill's own.

Afterward, they lay in one another's arms. He stroked her soft hair while she toyed with what little chest hair he had.

"Not much grass on the playground," he joked.

"Don't need any. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. But only if I get to ask one in return." He beeped the tip of her nose with his finger.

"Do you ever get bored with me?"

"Hell no." Bill squeezed her in a body hug, "I think you're the most gorgeous and sexy woman around. Why?"

"It's hard ... sometimes ... to get you to notice me. We hardly ever go out or do anything together."

"Well. I've certainly noticed you now."

The corners of her mouth turned down but she said nothing.

Bill stroked her hair once again. "Time for my question. Now, I'm not complaining mind you, just curious. Why do you prefer the same position every time we have sex?"

Something dark crossed her eyes, prompting him to continue, "Like I said, I'm not complaining, I really love seeing your silhouette. It drives me wild." He kissed her forehead.

"It's because we have to do it that way," her voice sounded small and uncertain.

"What? I don't understand."

"I ... can't, um, breathe when you're on top of me." She buried her nose in his chest.

Bill pulled back enough to reach her chin with his hand. He lifted her gaze to meet with his. "Don't be upset. I didn't mean to ruin things. Why can't you breathe?"

"Because you're so ... so ... um, heavy."

Her words brought to mind those of the doctor. "You're overweight."

"Oh," Bill said.

An awful awkwardness sank down around the both of them. After a few moments, they both rose without a word, dressed and began their separate days.