Introduction: The recovery specialist lifted my long dress, carefully examining my still-recovering postpartum body. Then, pulling on gloves, he knelt between my legs. He asked if I needed my husband present because he was about to begin an internal exam… 1 Three months after giving birth, my figure had bounced back. Even better, actually. Thanks to breastfeeding, my curves were more pronounced. But because I'd had a vaginal birth, Mark, my husband, often complained that things weren't as "exciting" as before. Lately, Mark had been coming home later and later. Several times when I woke up in the middle of the night to feed the baby, I’d hear him talking softly on the phone in his study. One night, after Mark was sound asleep, I opened his WeChat. I found that he had been frequently interacting with someone named Ashley, their messages so suggestive they made my cheeks burn. And worse, I discovered they were booking hotel rooms every Tuesday! I didn't sleep a wink that night, constantly replaying things in my head. Mark going to a hotel with someone else had to be because of my body after childbirth. So I consulted several friends and finally found a highly recommended postpartum recovery specialist. The only awkward part was, he was a man. I cautiously sought Mark's opinion. "I heard that after the recovery sessions, you get as 'tight' as a young woman. I want to try it." Perhaps he was still feeling dissatisfied from earlier, because Mark didn't give it much thought and told me to go ahead with the recovery. "Just wear your clothes. It's just a massage, right?" I nodded, not daring to mention that some auxiliary instruments would also be needed. But I figured as long as I set my boundaries, it would be fine. The next day, when I met Ethan, the recovery specialist, I was secretly surprised. He was young and handsome, looking only around 28 or 29. Tall and lean, with features that looked almost sculpted. Thinking about having to be bare before him soon, a blush ofc shame raced through me. I led Ethan into the bedroom, deliberately leaving the door wide open. Even though Mark wasn't home, there would be close physical contact soon, so it was better to be cautious. "Dr. Ethan, should I lie down?" I stood awkwardly by the bed, my heart thumping. Ethan smiled and nodded. "Not yet. I need to examine your pelvis first. Just stand as you are." He crouched in front of me. I could feel the warmth of his breath. Suddenly, his large hands lifted, and he said he needed to do a more thorough physical examination. "Spread your legs a little wider." I hesitated, but complied. "Is it deformed?" I asked anxiously. No sooner had I spoken than his examining hands moved further down my legs. I accidentally made a slight movement, feeling instantly embarrassed. Ethan noticed, but he seemed completely accustomed to it. "Don't be nervous. Your pelvis is largely not deformed; a simple manipulation can realign it." "Sorry, that was embarrassing. I'll go change." I nodded awkwardly, twisting my nightgown tightly in my hands. To be like this in front of a stranger – it was mortifying. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. "These reactions are normal. To me, you are just my patient," Ethan said gently, motioning for me to lie on the bed. He naturally proceeded with the next step of the recovery work, but when he saw my thong, he visibly paused. He paused for a moment before beginning the actual pelvic realignment. Ethan's hands moved back and forth, aiming for the best realignment effect. But having just given birth, I was incredibly sensitive. Even though I tried my best to control myself, my body subtly responded involuntarily. From Ethan's angle, those embarrassing reactions must have been completely exposed. But Ethan simply continued his work diligently. As the recovery progressed, my legs were lifted, and the pressure on my lower abdomen gradually increased for better results. He said this would help the pelvis return to its pre-pregnancy state more effectively. "If it hurts, you can vocalize it," Ethan said, signaling me to turn on my side, one hand on my thigh, the other pressing on my pelvis. "Ah!" I couldn't hold back and let out a sound. The recovery continued, with more pressure points being massaged. My entire body and mind felt like they were screaming in frenzy. My body began to undergo wild, surging changes. Just as I was thinking about how I could have more, he ended the massage. "Alright, today's realignment was very effective," Ethan said, helping me up from the bed. But then, I noticed his lower abdomen was noticeably fuller. Although I had given birth, I was still undoubtedly an attractive woman. But thinking about my body still needing recovery, and Mark's disappointed sigh whenever he was intimate with me, an instant wave of insecurity washed over me. "Ethan, can just massage restore me to how I was before giving birth?" I still held high hopes for him. Ethan thought for a moment, then took a white rectangular box from his toolkit. When he opened it, inside were various sizes of oval silicone spheres. "These are pelvic floor weights," Ethan explained carefully. "They can help strengthen your pelvic floor muscles." I felt a blush creep up my neck. "Which size should I start with?" "I can check for you," Ethan offered, his voice gentle. He reached for a pair of gloves and pulled them on. "That way, we'll know which size is best for you." I understood immediately. My heart fluttered with an unexpected mix of anticipation and embarrassment. "However, this is an internal exam," Ethan said, his gloved hands poised. "Do you need your husband present?" "N-no… no need," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. This was for a medical purpose, for my health. Why would Mark object? "Alright, just lie back down," Ethan said, his gaze unwavering. He knelt beside the bed, preparing for the examination. "Will these things really help?" I asked, my face hot, my initial awkwardness now overshadowed by a strange curiosity. He studied me for a long moment, a flicker in his eyes before he composed himself. Then, he reached out, his gloved hand moving to begin the check. I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands clenching the sheets, wishing for it to be over quickly. "Your situation isn't ideal," Ethan stated, his voice a low hum. "I'll try another tool to re-examine." His hand withdrew, and a strange wave of disappointment washed over me. Then, something else made contact, something that felt… wrong. I snapped my eyes open, and oh god… PREMIUM CONTENT AHEAD Unlock the rest of this story for a deeper dive into Emily's transformation. Ethan, in the end, couldn't hold back. He crossed the line. And had I not, in my own way, crossed it too? My rational mind screamed that this was wrong, that I shouldn't be doing something like this. But I couldn't help it; I found myself wanting to claim this strikingly handsome man for myself. I consciously pushed aside the gnawing guilt, immersing myself in the fleeting pleasure of the moment. When it was over, I gently brushed the stray hairs from his forehead. But then, the realization hit me like a physical blow. I was married, I had a child. What kind of delusion was this? And worse, I had just physically cheated! My cheeks, which had only just begun to cool, flushed crimson again. Mark might be critical, but he hadn't actually done anything to directly betray me. And he had trusted me so completely, allowing me to be alone with a male postpartum specialist… I had betrayed that trust. The direction this plot had taken was something I’d never imagined. What was I supposed to do now? Ethan quickly got dressed, his breathing steady, saying nothing. "Are you leaving?" I asked, my voice thin. "Today's session is complete." He was perfectly calm, as if the intimacy we’d just shared had involved someone else entirely. My mind was a chaotic mess, but I nodded blankly. Perhaps it would be better to treat it as a regular therapy session, for neither of us to say another word about it? "When is the next one?" I couldn't help but ask as Ethan reached for the door. "Once a week. I'll come again next week at this time." He glanced at me, then hurried out, leaving my confusion untouched. I couldn't stop replaying the afternoon we'd spent together. This wasn't just ordinary interaction; it was fundamentally different. I tried to rationalize it: who could refuse someone as attractive as Ethan in that situation? But truthfully, I also admitted that I was just as bad, as much a "player" as any guy who couldn't resist a beautiful woman. I deserved to be condemned. "Let me see today's results," Mark said, pulling me into the bedroom later that night. I felt incredibly anxious, terrified he might notice something off. Afterwards, he frowned. My stomach clenched. "No real improvement." Mark seemed merely disappointed, but seeing his expression, a fresh wave of resentment washed over me. "It takes a few sessions…" "Can we fix this while you're at it? I remember, you didn't have any extra weight on your stomach before." Mark pointed to my abdomen. I looked down in surprise. For a woman only a few months postpartum, my stomach was remarkably flat – a figure many would envy. But Mark had probably been dissatisfied with it for a long time. Was that why his enthusiasm had been so low? Mark used to compliment me, but his standards had always been high. If I wore an outfit he didn't approve of, he'd tell me to change before leaving the house. I covered my midsection with my hand, wanting to explain, but Mark was already snoring. Unable to sleep, I went to another room to do a plank. My mind drifted back to the afternoon with Ethan. Back then, I'd felt happy, satisfied. Part of me yearned for Ethan to come again, while another part dreaded new developments that could spiral out of control. It was a contradictory feeling, like being pricked by needles. The week that followed was undeniably agonizing. The doorbell rang precisely on time. I opened the door to see Ethan, dressed sharply in white, looking handsome and composed. But his expression gave no hint of what had transpired between us. I nervously clasped my hands, glancing at Ethan. He, however, followed his routine, preparing and then beginning the recovery work. My body was still sensitive, but as I subtly observed Ethan, I found him completely unmoved. From start to finish, he only did what was expected of him. To be honest, I felt a little disappointed. Did he, like Mark, find my body unsatisfying? "Last time, we…" I began, my voice trailing off. He seemed to stiffen, speeding up his packing of the equipment. Seeing his reaction, a flicker of anger ignited within me. I couldn't help but challenge him. "You took advantage, and now you're acting like nothing happened?" "What else do you want?" Ethan's counter-question left me stunned. Indeed, what else did I want? Besides, I certainly didn't want to talk about it. "Are you… dissatisfied with me?" Ethan paused, then seemed to grasp my meaning. "Last time was an accident. It was a lapse in my professional conduct, something I'd rather not discuss. It had nothing to do with you." Hearing that, a wave of relief washed over me. At least it wasn't because of my body that he was cold to me. "How's my recovery progressing now?" Ethan said there had been improvements, but that I needed to combine the sessions with daily exercises. I nodded, asking if we could speed up the process. He thought for a moment, then said if I was willing, we could do two sessions a week. I agreed immediately. After Ethan left, I felt an emptiness inside. But the thought of him coming again in a few days brightened my mood. What was happening to me? My life must have been too boring. Then I remembered Mark's comment about the "extra weight." Ignoring the fact that I was still in postpartum recovery, I threw myself into exercise. But Mark's scrutinizing gaze made me exceptionally miserable. "So, have things gotten any better recently?" "Still something missing." He didn't even look at me, answering offhandedly. Mark was called to work late, leaving me feeling down. I poured myself a glass of wine. I was trying so hard, so why was it still not enough? As I downed a few more glasses, these questions drifted away. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Ethan. We had an appointment for the next day, but he said something urgent had come up and he couldn't make it. "If it's convenient for you, I can come over now." I was already tipsy, not ideal for a meeting with him, but I agreed on a whim. When Ethan walked in, he looked at me for a long time. I knew my face was flushed, and probably other parts of my skin too, from the alcohol. Ethan said nothing, simply put on his disposable gloves, as usual. As the session began, fueled by the wine, I stared intently at the handsome man before me. "Tell me the truth, what do you really think of me?" I poured out all my grievances about Mark's dissatisfaction. "From your perspective, am I also really awful?" I asked with a bitter laugh. He remained silent until this point, then he looked up. "You are exceptional," he said. I paused, almost believing his sincerity, but then chuckled, thanking him for the comfort. "It's not comfort. Among all the people I've worked with, you are truly outstanding." Given Ethan's profession, he must have seen many women. I still didn't quite believe him, asking him to confirm repeatedly. "If you're telling the truth, then let's do it again." The wine had given me a reckless courage. I leaned tentatively towards him. He didn't pull away, nor did he respond as I'd hoped. He simply continued the previous conversation. "You have everything, why would you lack confidence?" Ethan's question offered me a moment of clarity, a chance to reflect on my life. When did I start losing my confidence? I had always been one of the prettiest girls in class, in school, praised since childhood. When did I start doubting myself, feeling insecure? It was probably after I got married. After marriage, I felt like I lost myself. This conclusion shocked me. I didn't dare to dwell on it. "Given your background, why this job?" I recovered, changing the subject, voicing my confusion. He said my question sounded like I was looking down on his profession. I quickly explained I wasn't, saying I was simply curious because many men wouldn't choose this line of work. "It's just a job. As long as it pays well." True. Everyone who sought Ethan's services paid top dollar. He made good money with his skills. Why would he care what others thought? Yet, I couldn't help but ask if he truly adhered to his professional boundaries as strictly as he claimed. I told him that given the intimate nature of the contact, I would understand if he hadn't. He didn't even lift an eyelid, his hands still busy with the recovery work. He simply replied that he hadn't before. "So, I'm an exception?" Ethan nodded. My heart pounded, and I felt a surge of pride, as if a long-lost confidence had been rediscovered. I saw Ethan out, then stood in front of the mirror for a long time, examining myself from every angle. I wasn't that bad after all. Thinking this, my spirits felt unusually light. I cooked dinner, feeling genuinely happy. When Mark came home, he picked up his chopsticks and took a bite. I waited for his feedback on the meal, but nothing came. "How is it?" I couldn't help but ask.
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