I could feel the heat from four feet away in her small office at the entrance to the OR department. Each time, Marjorie Whitcomb took a deep breath, I watched her medium sized chest rise and her nipples protrude stiffly against the flimsy material of her scrub shirt. Pink was her color. It was the middle of summer and she wasn't wearing a half slip to keep warmer. How nice for me.
Her strong back was to me. I fought the urge to reach out and grip her shoulders firmly and knead her desired flesh strongly, like a masseuse with all of the time in the world to please his very beautiful client. Another whiff of her perfume caught my nostrils. Male enhancement alert! Male enhancement alert! Now I had to shift in my chair so when she turned back around, she wouldn't see that I was surfboard stiff for her.
Actually, when I was first introduced to her over a year ago, it wasn't her body that snapped its claws around my heart. It was her crystal clear blue eyes. When she smiled, the skin crinkled in a delightful way and the sparkle of possibility radiated like a heat-seeking missile toward my soul.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard like she knew what she was doing. Marjorie, who preferred to be called Margie, was fine-tuning a report I had written concerning a policy that we had to bring current for the state inspectors who were expected any minute. It was crunch time and we were at the end of a long work day. The evening shift was in the OR proper still finishing up the day's schedule, and whatever add-on cases that the surgeons had deemed emergent to be done outside of the regular work day.
Her blonde head went slowly left to right. More scent, more male enhancement.
"Barry, what were you thinking when you wrote this?" she said, with a laugh as light as real angel hair and just as delightful. "Look at this." Her left hand, adorned with a wedding ring the size of a small NATO country, waved me closer.
I had to stop myself from lunging forward. My hands steadied myself on the back of her office chair inches from her warm skin. Images of sliding my hands from the chair to her back, deliberately, just to see what she would do teased the pleasure centers of my mind. A slap met my cheek with malice aforethought. Her voice sounded in the seashells I used as ears.
"Barry? Barry?" she said, snapping me back from wonderland to the present. "Are you all right?"
My throat was hoarse, and drier than a litter box at the Amur tiger exhibit at the local zoo. I cleared my throat. "Yes, just drifted off for a second." My enhanced member pressed against the back of her chair. It wanted to fight its way through the upholstered padded metal to her soft backside that jiggled slightly when she walked down the hall.
"Do you see where I corrected your thinking here?" asked Marjorie, half turning back towards me and her shoulder rubbed against my forearm and lingered.
Concentrate my boy, concentrate. "I do. But you left something out," I replied. And without thinking I leaned forward to point at the large computer screen, brushing my forearm along her shoulder near her neck. She didn't move and almost leaned into my arm as if caressing it with her cheek.
My arm went numb as the throbbing between my legs took on a salsa beat. I found myself grinding it against the back of her chair. The faint reflection of her face in the screen told me she was tired. A yawn lazily appeared and faded fast.
"Boss, we can do this tomorrow," I said, gently sliding my arm back along her shoulder and against her cheek.
"Unfortunately, we can't. St. Mary's said the inspectors will be there tomorrow. That leaves only two hospitals left, kiddo," said the director of peri-operative services. "And with our luck, we'd be next."
"Agreed. It's just that you look so tired," I said. My eyes were fixed on her breasts rising and falling with each lovely breath. I spied her pink lace bra, clasp in the front, a C cup or C plus. Was that her nipple I saw?
My hands on her chair moved forward so they pressed against her back. Either Marjorie hadn't noticed or didn't care. Probably the former, hopefully the latter. Now she was rubbing her eyes. A knock on the door caused me to snap to attention. A tall, lanky brunette with a Dorothy Hamill wedge popped her head in.
"Margie, I'm headed for dinner. Dietrich is in charge. Only two rooms running, a gall bladder and a tib-fib fracture," she reported.
"Thanks Holly. No need to check in again. We're going to be up to our project folders in here."
Holly nodded and stole a glance at the bulge beneath my belt. Her smile widened. "Okay, enjoy," she said, adding a wink for me. Heat flushed my face. I sat back down abruptly.
My boss sipped her ever-present tea then nibbled like a bunny on a granola bar.
"Yuck," I sad.
"Oh, pshaw, Barry. You don't know anything about eating healthy," she said.
Eating you would certainly be a treat, I thought. She had returned to the screen. I rubbed my wrist against my hard-on. I wanted to do more. I needed to do more. I wanted her to do it.
Excusing myself, I barely made it into the men's room stall with a tube of water-soluble surgical lubricant. A thick stream went from the crown down along the thickening shaft. I dropped the tube to the tile floor, grabbed my rod and closed my eyes. Marjorie Whitcomb and I were in the woods somewhere on a blanket by a gurgling stream. Her soft, glowing body was swathed in a pastel-pink bikini. I was adorned in the requisite gym shorts. The sun cascaded down between the high tree leaves and onto our little oasis.
"It's gotten hotter," she said.
I took her hand and she got to her feet and followed along obediently. We splashed our bare feet into the middle of the stream. She shivered. Her nipples tried to break free of the thin Lycra cup of her bikini top. On a lower shelf in the stream, an eddy formed. I sat her down in the middle of the swirling water. It was deep enough to rise just above her breasts. I sat on a flat rock immediately behind her, placing a leg on either side of her.
Her hair was longer, in a pony tail exposing the string tie at her neck. "Just relax, Marjorie. Close your eyes and let the running water wash over your mind, floating your worries and cares away. I'll do the rest," I said, near her ear.
My hand untied the string. She gasped and grabbed the top before it could fall completely off. Both of my hands covered hers, wedding ring and all.
"Barry, you do know I'm married," she said back over her shoulder.
"Yes," I removed my hands, got to my feet and walked back over to the blanket. My back was to my boss yet she could probably sense my disappointment.
"Where are you going?" she called to me.
"I told you at the beginning, Mrs. Whitcomb, that if you changed your mind, I would stop. You did. I did," I said, in flat line tones.
"Barry," she said. When no more was forthcoming, I turned to look at her. Her small hands left her breasts taking the bikini top as well. It was my turn to gasp. Perfect nipples, rounds mounds of flesh waiting to be caressed.
I started toward her when my name sounded in my ears.
"Barry, please return to Margie's office," was the announcement.
"Yeouch," I said, with both hands full of my desire for her. No time to finish now. I wiped the lube off as best I could and headed back to her office as the dead run.
