"It was nice to see you too, Mrs. Smith, and I will definitely tell my Mama you asked about her," I crooned, guiding one of my many little, old ladies towards the exit of my practice. I hope she can't smell the alcohol I'm sweating out, but honestly, she's a vintage Southerner. She'd never point out something like that.
Mrs. Smith continued, "I always look forward to this appointment. You're just the most wonderful young man with the best manners."
"Well, thank you, Mrs. Smith. I am hardly a young man any longer, but I do appreciate the compliment."
It's Friday. I'm hungover. I haven't gotten laid in weeks. WEEKS. This moment feels like hell. I need to be finished walking this patient out (Why am I even doing this?), get my keys, and hit the Waffle House, maybe even a nap in my car. I am not going to make it like this.
I'm pretty sure Mrs. Johnson was still talking when I closed her passenger side door. I pretended not to notice and backed away, smiling and waving.
Jogging past the front desk, I let our receptionist know that I'm heading out for a long lunch.
"I have some things to do, so I'll be gone a while," I mumble distractedly.
"Well, I hate to tell you this, but you still have one appointment before lunch," Sarah laughs.
Sarah is the receptionist. Sarah is in her twenties and does not get hangovers, and I don't think she really hates to tell me that. I hate Sarah right now.
"No fucking way!" I bark.
"Yep. And here she comes," Sarah said, raising her eyebrows and cutting her eyes to the door.
I don't even bother to look. I turn on my heel and head for my office. I have to get a Coke and something to eat. I don't care who she is.
The second gulp of full-test Coke starts to slow the tremble in my hands. Jerky. Peanut butter & cheese crackers. A few burps. I cannot keep this up. I feel like shit.
With my head on my desk, I make a promise I've made many times before: I am 42 years old. Tonight I will go to bed early. I won't get mad when my wife rejects my advances, and I won't pick a fight over it. I won't get drunk and sleep on the couch. I'll just be a well-rested, miserable guy who isn't getting laid. Just a man who makes all the money for all the things but can't get his dick wet. Fuck my life.
Just then, Sarah texts to let me know that my patient is in Room #2.
Great.
Stretch. Face slaps. Eye drops. Deep breath.
I just need to get through this last appointment, and then I'll be home free to the weekend.
I open the door to the exam room and see a face I've seen many times before.
"Emily. Wow! It's so good to see you. How did I not realize you were coming in?" I close the door behind me and plop down on my rolling chair.
Emily is a very old friend. Well, really more than a friend. We were couple friends when we were all first married, but before that, Emily and I had spent a great deal of time dry humping and groping each other starting the Summer after high school graduation, pretty much every time we were home from college, and then until we both married other people. God, what great memories - so many blowjobs and hand jobs, so much heavy breathing and desire, coaxing her from one base to the next. Jesus, I felt like a god the first time she let me touch those amazing tits. And then teaching her how to suck my cock. Fuuuuuuuuuuck. How did I never get in her panties? Jesus, what a waste! And here I am now, in my 40s, still not getting laid and still mentally dry humping Emily Masterson. Ugh.
"Hi, there. It's ok. I'm sure the last name threw you off," she replied sweetly.
Rolling over to her on my chair, I glance down and pretend to examine the name on the file with a chuckle, "Yeah, I guess so. I haven't known an Emily Masterson in what, 20 years?"
She blushes and laughs, wringing her hands in her lap, "Oh, my god. It's so funny to think of the Emily Masterson you knew then."
Oh, she is adorable and clearly nervous about something. I'm close enough now to see the flush of her skin, and the outline of those tits, and smell her perfume. Mmmmmmmm. Fuck. It's a good thing I still have this stupid folder in my lap. I'm hard just sitting here next to her.
Eighteen year old Emily Masterson was certainly more confident, but not much else has changed - small, long brown hair, green eyes, and that same glorious rack. Wearing skinny jeans, boots, and a fitted black turtleneck, she looks really good. Nothing over the top, but a clearly put together woman.
She would look better naked and bouncing on my cock, I think to myself, but quickly disabuse myself of any further fantasies. Fuck, dude. Do your job. You are not 18 anymore, and there is no way you are going to see her naked today. I sigh.
As if hearing my thoughts, Emily blushes more deeply and blurts out, "I just couldn't keep his last name after all the things he's done. I need a fresh start, I guess."
"Seems reasonable to me," I say, smiling at her, hopefully putting her at ease, not to mention hopefully distracting me from thinking about how much I want to take her clothes off.
I take a deep breath and move to begin the exam, but before I can, Emily puts her hand on my arm and in a lower, huskier voice, whispers "And so after I finish up with this appointment, I'll only have one item left on my new life to do list."
The words are innocent enough, but the hand on my arm is something different entirely.
She squeezes my arm a bit and begins to circle her fingertips in my arm hair. Her touch is so light and inviting, so seductive. Oh, god. I want to take off all of her clothes and devour her. I want to lick every inch of that delicious little body, bury myself in her warmth, and make her cum over and over until I exhaust myself on top of her.
Clearing my throat, I break the charged silence and ask, "Emily, what is the last thing on your list?"
Emily shocks me by laughing. She looks directly at me, eyes sparkling, and purrs, "Why don't I let you finish doing your job, and then I can tell you about that."
Before I can stop myself, I let out a sigh and blurt, "I'll be honest with you, Emily. I don't know if I can wait to know. I'm tremendously hungover, your hand is on my arm in a way that I like very much, I have a raging hard on, and you smell amazing. Just put me out of my misery."
The laugh that follows doesn't surprise me this time. Oh, it's music to my ears. She's laughing and smiling at me and dear god, I want to touch her.
"There he is," she starts, smiling with eyes full of mischief, clearly pleased with herself.
"What?" I ask, laughing.
