Denial and Acceptance Pt. 01

This blurs the lines between gay and crossdressing, so I wasn't sure which category to use. This is also a long story with less focus on the sex, though it's still there, if a ways in.

This is my first submission to any site, so please be gentle with feedback.

Dan -

Like most men you've likely seen or heard about, I tend not to want to deal with any medical issues until they start intruding into my daily life. I'm still like this, in spite of middle age proving time and time again that I'm not so young and spritely as I once was. When I fall these days, I don't bounce, I break.

Take this vulnerability, add a passion for adventure motorcycling and recreational sports, as well as a desire to work with my hands whenever I can, and inevitably I'd have to face reality. I needed help. It was probably not the best idea to get into many of these activities after spending a decade and a half in front of a computer for work.

Not that I'm all pale and doughy. Being a contract consultant is as much about image as it is results. To this end, I worked to make sure I stayed reasonably fit. I was never going to compete in any body competitions, but I wasn't carrying much extra weight. I had all the other hallmarks of middle age, though. My hair was peppered with gray, and I had to grudgingly admit that it was thinning. But, I think I still looked pretty good. I'm just 5'9" with dark brown hair and brown eyes. I keep a beard, but it's kept groomed, most of the time.

I tell myself I feel good as well, but the truth is, the decades of life have left some marks. My knees ache from the years of playing baseball, skiing and snowboarding. My hands have been abused from the various jobs I've done throughout my life. My back carries a lingering injury from a snowmachine incident some ten years back as well. I mean, I say, "incident", but what I mean is I missed a turn during a hill climb and rolled back down the mountain. That was also where I got a rather severe concussion that left me in a coma for three days.

And through it all, I've had exactly one broken bone. My finger. I received that one the first, and only, time I played ultimate frisbee while drunk. I'd tell the story, but honestly don't remember it.

I made an appointment with my regular doc a couple weeks ago and was currently waiting to be seen. I'm not sure how long I sat there, but I managed to get through all the unread social media posts I cared about and had moved on to window shopping for motorcycle accessories when the door finally opened.

"Hello Mr. Smith, looks like you're dealing with a bum hip?"

"Hey there, doc. And yeah, I think so."

"So let's start with you telling me what happened while you hop up on the table."

I knew I'd have to move around, so I arrived in just a t-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts. Coincidentally, the same pair I was wearing when I'd injured myself, or was injured.

"It was just a soccer game. I think there were two instances that happened within a few minutes."

I laid back as the doctor extended the table to support my legs. I involuntarily let out a groan as I supported the weight of my right leg fully extended. I told the rest of the story as she manipulated my legs in a variety of positions. I'm not afraid to admit that not all the noises I made in those few minutes were very manly.

"So two collisions with another player while your leg was extended and now your right hip area is causing you problems."

"That's about it."

"I'm guessing it's mostly in this area?" With that comment, she probed with her fingertips into an area just inside my right hip. Pain lanced into my abdomen and down my leg. I managed a strangled "Yep!"

"You can sit up."

She pushed the table back under as I sat up. She squirted alcohol onto her hands and rubbed it in before sitting down in front of the computer in the room to type up her notes.

"Ok, this is a relatively common hip abductor injury that I've seen over and over with soccer players. I'm going to refer you to physical therapy. We've just partnered with a new group that combines treatment with massage, so you'll be getting that as well. Saves you a stop."

"How long will treatment take?" I was asking mostly out of idle curiosity. I wasn't as concerned about the time commitment since my next contract for work was some time away, still. I was frugal with my money for the most part, so I could easily afford to work just four to eight months a year. I was more worried about how long I'd have to take it easy.

"I'll leave the treatment plan to your PT, whomever that ends up being, but from what I've seen it could be as little as just a few treatments and taking it easy. As little as a few weeks, or a number of months."

I felt the tension leave my shoulders when she said that. I'm ignorant enough of most things medical, so I was convinced it was going to be 9-12 months until I was better. Instead it looked like maybe I'd possibly get away with a few weeks.

I denied any need for pain medication, and left the office with the assurances that someone would be calling me from the physical therapist to book my consultation. Sure enough, two hours later, I had just sat down at home with a freshly opened beer when my phone lit up with an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Smith?"

"This is he."

"Hi, this is Dr. Kepler with Performance Physical Therapy. I'm calling to set up an appointment for your first consultation."

I found myself straining to pick out the accent more than I was focused on the actual conversation.

"I have openings on Wednesday late afternoon and either Thursday morning or early afternoon."

"Oh, uhh...either work fine. I'm available whenever next week."

"Excellent. I'll put you down for Wednesday, four pm. Do you need our address?"

"No, thank you, I got your card from my doctor."

"Excellent. We'll see you next Wednesday. Have a good afternoon Mr. Smith."

"Cheers, thanks."

My mind was wandering when the call ended. I wasn't sure whether I was focused on the beguiling accent, the fact that the doctor called me instead of an administrator, or that I was disappointed that I would have to wait five days for the appointment.

I decided to ride my motorcycle to the appointment. I rolled up on my KTM and, as I unstrapped my helmet it dawned on me that I clearly hadn't thought things through.

How am I supposed to move around when I'm wearing riding jeans?

I stood in the parking lot for a good three minutes thinking about how much of an idiot I was, and whether I had time to run back home to change and get my truck. That clearly wasn't an option considering I only had five minutes until my appointment.

Berating myself further, I opened the door and stepped into what almost looked like a living room. The floor was hardwood, there was a large area rug, a couch, two chairs, and a TV playing a show with the volume down and subtitles on. The walls were painted a sandy color where I was expecting an institutional white. The only difference I could see was a rather conventional admitting station against the far wall.

I approached it and met the eyes of a rather pregnant administrator who looked like she was in her mid 20s or so.

"Hello, I'm here for my four pm with Dr. Kepler?"

"Let's see then. Mr. Smith?"

"Please, call me Dan."

"Certainly, Dan."

She clicked a few keys on her computer before turning away to grab a piece of paper, a pen and a clipboard.

"If you could please fill this out, Dr. Kepler will be available shortly. If you have any questions, my name's Katie, just let me know."

I thanked her and sat down to fill out the basic intake form. Name, age, medical history, current issue (or issues) and the like. I filled it out as honestly as I could. I was thankful to be relatively healthy, but anyone with over forty years of life experience will have picked up a few knocks. I handed it back to Katie and sat down to wait. I just stared at the muted television for the next ten minutes or so.

"Dan?"

I stood at hearing my name and turned to see Katie holding a door open for me. Apparently the lobby of the clinic was where the home decor stopped. The hallway was carpeted, and the walls were still the same sand color, but otherwise it looked like a typical doctors office. There were a couple of small rooms at first. One was filled with a large printer and office supplies. The other had its door closed, but the name "Dr. Halsen" was on a name plaque next to it.

We walked past an area with stationary bikes, treadmills, elliptical trainers, rowing machines and a number of areas set aside for work with dumbbells. Beyond that was a large area that had some other workout machines as well as cabinets for medical and workout supplies.

I was led past this area to a more conventional room where there was a medical table and two chairs. I set my helmet on the floor in the corner and tossed my riding jacket beside it. I sat down on one of the chairs expecting to wait for however long it took before there was almost immediately a polite knock on the door and it opened.

"Mr. Smith?"

"Dan, please." I stood and extended my hand toward what I assumed was my new doctor.

He wasn't very tall. I mean, I'm not very tall myself, but he was even shorter than I was. Maybe 5'2"? He was otherwise trim, had longer blonde hair pulled up in a bun, and a pair of the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. I have never had a curious bone in my body, but all I could think was, "Jesus, this guy's gorgeous."

Now where the hell did that thought come from?!

"Dan, of course. I'm Dr. Kepler, I'm one of the partners of this office."

"You're the one that called me to make the appointment?" I asked.

"Yes well, our Katie was due for an appointment of her own, so we all pitch in to cover when needed. And we're not so large an office that we cannot take the time to manage what needs managing. Please, sit back down and tell me what you're here for. I know I have the referral, but I prefer to hear from my patients."

I sat back down and retold the story of the fateful soccer match some three weeks past. It was the fact that I couldn't play anymore that convinced me I needed to make the original doctor's appointment.

I finished the story and noticed the doctor was writing notes.

"I think your doctor diagnosed it correctly as a strained hip abductor, though the slight grunt you made when standing, and the sigh you let out when you sat back down were both pretty good indicators on their own."

"Wait, I seriously grunted when I stood up?"

A smile split the doctor's face as he nodded.

"I can see it in your eyes when you move around, too. Why don't you hop up on the table and we'll see what we're dealing with."

He considered me for a moment, looking at my jeans. "Your pants will likely get in the way. Would you like a gown?"

"I'm wearing boxers. Those are fine with me if you're ok with it."

"I'm sure we'll manage."

Shaking my head at my poor planning, yet again, I unlaced my ankle height riding boots and took off the pants. For some reason I was thankful I was wearing my nicer navy blue athletic boxers in front of this doctor.

"What do you ride?"

"I'm sorry?"

He gestured toward my gear sitting on the floor in the corner. "Your motorcycle, I assume. What do you ride?"

"OH! It's a KTM adventure bike."

"Which one? There are three, though I suppose you could put the 690 enduro in the adventure line as well."

I just stared at him for a second.

"Not all doctors shy away from statistically dangerous activities." he said with a smile.

"No, no of course not. I'm sorry, I guess I just figured with the high accident rate of riders, most doctors would avoid it. I mean, especially in your line of work! I guess I never thought about it."

"I grew up riding dirt bikes. I've broken my share of bones, but like to think I've gotten more careful as I've gotten older. I have a 2019 690 enduro myself. I was going to ride today, but I am going to dinner and a motorcycle isn't exactly blind date friendly."

"Umm, to answer your question, today it's my 2015 1190 adventure R. I also have the new 890 R that I normally ride around town, but I'm in the middle of a tire swap on that one."

We continued talking about motorcycles as he manipulated my leg. At one point, he had my shin against his chest and was holding my leg open to the side as he felt along the muscles around my hip. I was thankful he was telling a story about a recent ride he went on because I was unable to think about anything but where his hand was resting.

The injury was announcing itself rather dramatically has he pushed my leg to the limits of comfort, but the way his fingers expertly moved, so close to my crotch, set my pulse racing.

At the time I refused to wonder why, though looking back it seems somewhat obvious.

I've been on more than a few dates. Hell, I'd even been married to a wonderful woman. The divorce happened because we both admitted we were in love with the idea of marriage more than each other. We were young, and thankfully parted on decent terms, even if we don't really talk much anymore. But I'd never been even remotely interested in men.

I will be the first to admit there are those specimens out there that you have to take a step back and admit, "Yeah, that's a hell of a man right there." But it's always been objective. Just the appreciation of something pretty. But it never was something that got my pulse racing. I've played sports and spent time in locker rooms surrounded by naked dudes. Never even an inkling or a twitch.

The rest of the appointment was kind of a blur. He talked, asked questions, and I answered them. I really was just focused on the end date of my treatment.

"Mr. Smith?"

"I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. I just want to be sure you're aware of the treatment plan."

"Oh, yes. One session a week, including massage, and exercises I will be expected to do at home."

"Well, yes, though we'll discuss, at length, those exercises and the overall plan. I don't want you pushing yourself to get back to health only to delay the healing process."

"No, I mean of course I won't."

I got dressed and gathered my things before he led me from the room and walked me back to administration. He waited a couple moments while Katie finished up a phone call.

"Katie, could you please schedule Mr. Smith..."

"Dan, please."

"...Dan here, for a massage and PT session at my next available?"

"Of course Ake." She'd pronounced the name as "Oh-kyeh". I'd read the name on the card my primary care doc had given me, but I, perhaps ignorantly, thought it was pronounced like it was spelled. I was very relieved I hadn't tried saying 'Ah-key' when I met him.

"I'm sorry, but I'm curious. Where does that name come from?"

"Sweden." He replied. "I'm from there, but I've spent the last ten years here in America, so I've lost a lot of my accent."

"Until he drinks." Katie interjected. "Or spends any amount of time with his parents or sister."

Ake laughed softly, "Yes, I suppose that's true."

"It definitely is, I have video." she said with a smile.

"Yes, well, I'll leave you in Katie's more than capable hands. I need to get ready for my next appointment."

"Actually your next appointment is your date, doctor. It's just after five pm." Katie smiled and winked at him.

Dr. Kepler made his apologies and walked down the hall. I found my eyes following him.

"Mr. Smith?"

I jerked my head back to look at Katie, hoping I wasn't starting to blush.

"Dan, please."

"I'll get that right sooner or later. Dr. Kepler just had a cancellation for this Friday at two pm. Will that work for you?"

I made the appointment and left the building.

I got my gear on and fired up the bike. With the first feel of the bike pulling beneath me, all other thoughts disappeared. I think that's largely what drew me to motorcycles. It's not just the feeling of power, that visceral pull of the machine as you lean into the throttle. It's not just how engaged I feel when I ride. I don't think it's just how active the entire process is. Or how aware you have to be of your surroundings. It's the combination of all of those things, plus that ever present danger, and it's become the one place I know I can consistently clear my head.

I turned into the driveway of my home and pulled up to the garage/shop. I pulled off a glove, reached into my jacket to remove the garage door opener and thumbed the button. I rolled in and parked next to the other two motorcycles. I had a 125 cc Suzuki dirt bike that I used around the property, as well as the other KTM that was in the middle of a tire swap. I hated tire swaps, but I hated spending $100 to have them done for me even more. I hung up my jacket, placed my helmet on it's dedicated spot on the workbench and walked out of the shop via the man door, slapping the button to close the garage door on my way by.

A long time ago I'd opted to spend my money on property instead of a large house. I had ten acres that backed against state land that couldn't be developed on two sides. I felt pretty fortunate about that find.

On the property I'd had built a modest single story home and the shop. The house had an open floor plan with two bedrooms and two bathrooms. I walked around the large deck that wrapped from the front around to the back. It included a hammock, a fire pit, a counter with a built in grill, and off in the corner I had a pellet smoker. Said smoker was currently chugging away, slowly cooking a pork butt I'd started before I'd left. I checked the temperature and saw I had probably another forty-five minutes or so before it'd be done.

I unlocked the patio door, kicked off my riding boots in the dining area,, and walked down the hall to the master bedroom. The bedroom was rather plain simply because I just couldn't be bothered. It had a queen sized bed, two night stands and a TV mounted to the wall. It did have an en suite bathroom and a walk-in closet, which I took advantage of. I stripped and threw on a pair of athletic shorts and left the t-shirt on that I'd been wearing.

The next couple days passed normally, if a bit boring. I was moving around ok, but my hip was always reminding me it was injured. I lounged around a lot, binged some shows on whatever streaming service I could find. I read on my kindle. I had a couple more beers. I even found myself taking a nap in the hammock on my back deck.

That Friday I once again rolled into the parking lot of the PT clinic on my motorcycle. This time I'd worn athletic pants underneath a pair of riding pants so I'd be more prepared for the session. I just hoped the short boots would be ok considering I had no idea what we'd be doing.

I checked in with Katie and waited just a few minutes until Dr. Kepler called my name.

"Dan, you can come on back."

I stood and smiled at the doctor before extending my hand for another handshake. He pointed at the helmet in my hands.

"On the 890 this time?"

"Oh, no, still the big brother. I put dirt tires on the 890, so I've been saving them for some day rides in the forest service roads."

He asked me about some of the trails I'd ridden and where I was looking to go as we walked back to the same room where we'd first met. During this conversation I found out that, while he'd been in the states for over a decade, he had only recently arrived to the Pacific Northwest and had only explored a half dozen areas or so.

"I've got a satellite communicator, and I've got plenty of experience riding, but riding partner is always preferred." he said.

"Well, maybe I can show you around some of the trails sometime."

I was always on the lookout for good people to go riding with. The trails are great, but I do feel better riding with someone as it gave me a chance to ride the more technical trails with less worry.