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A sudden beep interrupts my morning perusal of files on my desk.
“I have a ‘Jessica’ on the line for you, Doctor,” the receptionist’s voice announces from my speaker phone.
“Thanks,” I say and lower my coffee onto a coaster. It has been three days since Jessica’s initial screening. I scoop the handset off the cradle when I hear the line click through.
“Hello?” she says, her voice sounding squeakier than I remember.
“Hi Jessica,’ I reply. “How are you?”
“Hi, I’m fine Doc. I’m so glad you answered. Are you busy right now?”
“No, not at all. What’s on your mind?”
“Um, I was just calling, you know, to see if you had my results yet.”
“Oh. Well, no, actually I don’t have your blood-work back yet, but that’s normal. I probably won’t hear from the lab until tomorrow; Friday. Don’t worry yourself about it in the meantime. I still need to look at your tapes too. Like I said, I’ll give you a call as soon as I have your results written up.”
“It’ll probably be Monday, okay?”
A pause stretches out between us over the phone. I can hear a faint static in the background so I presume she is on a cellular phone rather than a landline.
“Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?” I ask.
“Well… I’ll be back at my college on Monday, so… um, OK this is totally random… Don’t get mad, but I was wondering if, um… if you could meet me for lunch.”
Suddenly I am grinning. I have to make a conscious effort to sound calm when I ask: “You mean today?”
“Yeah. Or tomorrow. Whenever’s better.”
“Well,” I say slowly, “let me just check my calendar.” Of course, I have no need to scroll through the next two days’ appointments on the screen in front of me. I know I can make room for this.
“I tell you what, Jessica,” I say after a pause, “tomorrow would be better for me.”
“Great!” she says with obvious excitement.
“There is a little place a couple blocks from my office that I go to sometimes. If we get there at about one o’clock the worst of the lunchtime rush will be ending. How’s that sound?”
“Awesome. What’s the name and I’ll Google it.”
Sixty seconds later we are off the phone, but the rest of my afternoon is ruined. I can’t concentrate on anything. Patients come and go. The staff hands me paperwork to sign. It is all a blur. Finally after my last patient leaves I decide I should sit and watch the 2 or 3 minutes of video made during Jessica’s exam since I cannot keep her appointment out of my thoughts anyway. As I expected, the videos reveal nothing troubling. Of course, that was never the point. The process itself had been the more important component of the screening. Seeing how she adapted to that kind of physicality had been my primary objective and the tapes of course contain none of the wonderful reactions she displayed. All the images, textures and sounds of that appointment are seared far more vividly into my brain.
At four thirty I lock my office and head to the gym.
* * * * *
The next morning is busy at my office and noon arrives quickly. By twelve thirty I have already hung up my lab coat and washed my hands. I stride past the receptionist’s desk in my suit with no tie, headed for the door.
“I’m headed to lunch,” I say. “I’ll be back around two.”
“Have a good one,” she replies without looking up.
Outside it is unseasonably warm. There is apparently a miniature heat wave headed our way this weekend. Given that the café is only three blocks away I decide to walk.
I arrive a few minutes early, and as I scan the busy crowd at the outdoor tables I see that Jessica is not there. I catch the young hostess’ attention and point to a table near the stone wall that separates the outdoor dinning area from the main building. She smiles at me over the crowd of people and raises two fingers inquisitively. I nod back and she grabs two menus from her podium and waves me over toward the table.
I take the chair closest to the low stone wall, with my back to the sun, and take the liberty of ordering a couple of ice-teas. From here I can see the entrance and most of the guests. It is a pretty hip crowd — mostly young working professionals trying to sneak in a long lunch away from the office or get an early start on the weekend.
The two ice-teas arrive on little plates with half a lemon wrapped in thin white cloth beside each glass. As the server arranges them on the table I catch a glimpse of Jessica’s Nissan gliding passed. It slows and turns the corner, presumably pulling into the parking lot next door.
Jessica’s tanned face and long hair bob into view less than a minute later as she walks along the sidewalk from the direction of the parking lot. I cannot see what she is wearing yet because of the crowd between us. She reaches the entrance, steps through the little gate and looks around.
The noise level actually drops by several decibels as every guy in the place stops talking and stares. Inside each of their brains, I imagine the same sequence of primal synapses firing. Probably half the women stop talking too, but for different reasons.
Inside my own head, endorphins esenyurt escort run rampant as I scan Jessica from head to toe. She is wearing a white mini-dress that ends ten inches above her knees. Actually, it is not enough to say she is wearing it. She wields it like a weapon. It hijacks half my brain along with half the conversations in the restaurant.
I stand up and wave Jessica over. She flashes me a giant smile before picking her way between the tables. Conversations slowly resume themselves around us.
As she approaches, her outfit comes into sharper focus. Her dress appears to be made of elasticized cotton, bright white and tastefully tight. There is some kind of crisscross, woven pattern layered over the underlying fabric, lending the all-white dress an expensive, textured look. She leans in to give me a hug. A teardrop opening below the dress’ neckline provides a peek-a-boo window into her cleavage.
We exchange pleasantries. She drags her chair around the little round table until it is almost next to mine. As we both sit down, she doffs her small purse onto the arm of her chair. She then turns in her seat to aim her knees at me and gracefully crosses her bare legs.
I lift my ice tea and we clink the glasses together. As she takes a pull from hers I glance down. Her legs are smooth, tan and utterly hairless. A subtle sheen reflects the sun’s glare, suggesting a healthy coat of moisturizing lotion. The hemline of her dress is teasingly high, making her thighs appear longer than they are. If it were only another inch shorter, I am sure I would be able to see her panties from here.
“Gorgeous day, isn’t it?” she asks.
“Absolutely,” I reply, embarrassed to find her already staring at me when I lift my gaze up from her lap.
“Do you have to go back to work after this?” she asks.
“Yes, I do.”
“That sucks. I’m headed to the pool. One of the few perks of spending Spring Break at home; I get to mooch off my parents’ club membership.”
“The Golf and Tennis Club?”
“Yeah, we have a pool at home, but it’s more fun to go there. Are you a member too?”
“No. Golf is not my thing. I just go to the gym near my office… not too far from here.”
Jessica lifts her iced tea off the table and takes another pull from the tall glass. A stream of condensation drips onto her exposed thigh. The icy water makes her jump and un-cross her legs, treating me to a flash of bright blue fabric from beneath her dress, like an azure triangle of joy.
I hold out my napkin to her. She accepts it and wipes her tanned thighs dry before laughing and offering me her unused napkin in return.
“Thanks,” she says, re-crossing her legs. Another flash of the blue triangle, this one cut short when she tugs her hemline back down. “I hope the pool is a little warmer than that!”
I smile. Our server arrives and rattles off the specials while we belatedly scan our menus. Jessica settles on a Cobb salad. I go for one of the specials: capellini vongole in a wine reduction. As we hand off our menus it occurs to me that Jessica is still a year away from being able to legally order wine. A twinge of guilt runs through me for a moment, and I lean back into my chair as though adding some distance will somehow cleanse my conscience.
As if on cue, Jessica leans toward me conspiratorially, resting her elbows on her knees. “Do you know why I asked you to lunch?” she whispers.
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” I reply.
“My mom told me everything.”
“Everything about what?”
“You. That little donation center you run. That you’ve never been married. The parties you throw. Everything.”
I sense a bluff. “And so…?”
“So my little exam on Monday… was just a tease, wasn’t it? Compared to what you do with your girlfriends.”
“Now I have girlfriends?”
“Well?” she whispers, “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Jessica leans back in her chair and waits.
“Look,” I begin, “I don’t know what you heard from your mom, but my personal life is not something I discuss with patients.”
“I’m not a patient! I’m totally healthy. That exam was just a test or something, wasn’t it? For some kind of secret guest-list you run?”
I sit very still and say nothing.
“Am I right?” she persists, raising one eyebrow.
“It doesn’t matter whether you are right or not,” I say after a pause.
“Because, if you’re wrong, then there is no such thing, and if you are correct, I couldn’t tell you about it anyway.”
“Well, clearly,” I smile, “because then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it?”
“Oh my God, you’re impossible!” she blurts out, leaning forward to give my knee a shove with her hand. She then sits back in her chair and glances around the café, apparently giving up her quest for truth.
I change the subject, telling her that all her blood tests had come back clean. She seems unsurprised by this, almost disinterested. It is an attitude she shares with most young people who have never been seriously sick. Other possible outcomes had not occurred to her.
“I broke up with Ryan,” she announces.
“Oh. avrupa yakası escort I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I did it three months ago… after he moved. I just don’t like to tell people.”
“My social life has needed a makeover for a while. Ryan and my relationship was so high-school. That’s not how I want to spend my twenties.”
“Hah! Yeah, a leftover from high school. My teenage wasteland.”
Food arrives. We eat and chat. I can tell that Jessica wants to ask me something, but she keeps stopping herself just short of it, whatever it is. I ask her about school, her plans for the summer. All the usual things one asks a college student.
By the end of the meal I can see Jessica is getting frustrated. Perhaps she is mad at herself for not being able to work up the nerve to ask me whatever it that is on her mind. As I am signing the modest bill, she suddenly offers to drive me back to work.
“Seriously,” she says. “It’s the least I can do since you insisted on picking up the check.”
“Alright,” I consent. “Thanks.”
Luckily the crowd has thinned a bit, so I don’t get too many dirty looks as I follow Jessica out of the restaurant. She, of course, seems oblivious to the hawkish glances from older women (and gape-mouthed stares from older men) who track our progress toward the exit. Once out on the sidewalk, we amble side-by-side around the corner toward the parking lot.
Jessica’s Nissan is parked in the sun. It looks spotless.
“Nice car,” I offer as she defeats the remote alarm.
“Thanks. I have kind of a thing about cars.”
“No harm in that. Looks like you take good care of it.”
“Yeah, but I can’t take all the credit for that. I just had it detailed.”
We climb in and drop the windows to release the hot air trapped inside. Jessica surprises me by removing her sandals and tucking them behind her seat.
“I can’t drive in those,” she explains as her left foot depresses the clutch pedal and she wakes the engine.
“A stick shift, no less,” I add with genuine enthusiasm.
She is checking her mirrors now and notching the gearbox into reverse. As she slips the clutch and gets us rolling back out of the spot, she glances at me sideways and states: “Automatics are for soccer-moms, and I am not a soccer mom.”
“No, indeed you are not,” I smile in response. As we nose out into the street she checks for cross traffic and then pulls away forcefully in first gear. I glance over and notice that her confidence and smile have both returned. Whatever was bothering her at the restaurant seems to have subsided. I also can’t help noticing how lovely she looks with her bare feet working the pedals as we pace the traffic down Third Street toward my office.
The turn we need to make is fast approaching, but Jessica is not slowing down.
“It’s the next right,” I pipe up.
“I know,” she says. “But I’m kidnapping you first. Don’t be mad. I just need you to help me with a quick errand.”
“Oh, really,” I say, glancing at my watch. “And what might that be?”
Over the five minutes and twenty intersections that follow, I develop two new appreciations. The first is that Jessica is very skilled at driving stick. The second is that every clutch-stroke she executes causes another few millimeters of thigh to be exposed as her dress’ hemline creeps higher and higher. The sunshine angles down through her window and bathes her lap in its glow. Each time I glance over, I can see a little fraction more of her blue panties.
Suddenly we turn left into a dirty, potholed parking lot. In front of us is one of those creepy triple-X stores with mirrored windows and a neon sign above the door. The car rolls to a stop and she yanks up the parking brake.
“You’re kidding, right?” I state.
“No. I need you to come with me. I can’t go in there alone.”
“That’s true. You shouldn’t.”
“So you’ll come with me?”
“Um, no. We’re not going in there. Why do you want to, anyway?”
She smiles and turns in her seat to face me a little more, resting her elbow on the edge of the door. “Well, I’ve never had one before, but you’ve inspired me to get a vibrator.”
“I inspired you?”
“Hell yeah. So now you have to help me pick one out, and, um, you know, protect me from whatever creeps hang out in this place.”
“You’ve never been in here, have you?”
“No way. I’ve just always known it was here ’cause you can see if from the off-ramp.”
“OK, Jessica, I tell you what: I’m happy that you’re becoming more adventurous. And I’m happy to help, but this is not the place for you. Take me back to work and on the way I’ll call a friend of mine who can set you up with what you’re looking for.”
“You know someone who sells vibrators?”
“Just drive. Before we get carjacked.”
“Oh, please. It’s not that bad of a neighborhood.”
Just then a morbidly obese man steps out from the store, shouting into a cell phone in a Slavic dialect. His track-suit is shiny velour and his hair is thinning anadolu yakası escort above his pale, moon-like face. He appears to be wearing three pagers on the elastic waistband of his pants.
“Jessica,” I say, “that guy is capable of chloroforming you with a rag and selling you to a brothel in Lithuania.”
“That is horrible! I can’t believe you just said that!”
“I could be wrong. Maybe he’s a nice guy who runs a family grocery. You need to be aware of both possibilities.”
“That’s why I brought you with me.”
“Point taken. Now drive please, before he decides to sit on the car.”
“Alright already, I’m going.”
Jessica snatches reverse to get us out of the parking lot. The engine makes a satisfying snarl as we then pull away in first gear, round the corner and accelerate out onto the main road. I pull out my phone and scroll through the names until I find Carol.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hi Carol, it’s your favorite Doctor. How are you?” I begin. We catch up briefly. Then I tell her about Jessica.
“I’ll send her to you directly,” I say. “She’s a beginner, so set her up with whatever you think she might like. Just be sure to include a good set of beads. Jumbo ones, okay?”
In less than a minute I am off the phone. As Jessica works her through traffic on the way back toward my office, I write Carol’s address on a scrap of paper and describe the best way to get there.
Jessica is incredulous: “You know someone who sells vibrators out of her home?”
“Of course. Can’t you see why that makes more sense than selling them out of a store? People appreciate discretion in these matters. And Carol and her partner only buy the best. Trust me, you’ll spend more with her, but you’ll be much happier.”
“How much more?”
“Probably $200. Cash only.”
“Really? Huh. Go Carol.”
We glide to a stop at the last red light before my office. Jessica looks at me sideways for a long moment, then volunteers. “My parents leave for the weekend in a few hours. If you’re free tomorrow, why don’t you come for a swim at the house?”
“Sounds nice,” I reply.
“I have a feeling I’m going to need some guidance with all this stuff Carol is about to sell me.”
I stare back at her and grin. “That would be a pleasure too.”
The light turns green and we turn left onto the street outside my office. Jessica stops near the doorway and sets the parking brake.
“Do you know where it is?” she asks.
“Your folks’ house?”
“I’ve never been, but I believe I have the address in your file.”
“I could just text it to you if you give me your cell number.”
We exchange phone numbers, then I tug the door-release and prepare to step out while she is keying my number into her phone.
“What time are you coming tomorrow?” she asks.
“How does 1:00 sound? Should be warm enough for a swim by then.”
“Great. I’ll make lunch, so come hungry.”
“Will do,” I say as I climb out of the car finally. “Thanks again for the lift.”
“See you tomorrow!”
I shut the door. She smiles brightly in my direction before pulling away.
* * * * *
Consciously or not, the next morning I find myself being more meticulous than usual about my grooming. It is not every day I get invited to teach a gorgeous twenty-year-old how to play with her new vibrators. I leave my house shortly after noon, stop by my favorite wine shop for a nice bottle, and then type Jessica’s home address into my GPS. The house is way up in the hills outside of town, and the road is scenic and fun. The air is very warm, and the heat seems to rise with the elevation as my car climbs higher and higher up into the foothills.
Without too much trouble, I find the gated driveway of Jessica’s parents’ home. It is fairly isolated, and the long driveway wanders back hundreds of yards from the road, into what must be at least a ten-acre parcel of land. The driveway leads to a clearing, wherein I find a sprawling two-story Spanish mission style home. I park next to Jessica’s Z and climb out with the bottle of Riesling in my hand.
The front door is a huge wooden affair with exposed iron hinges and a giant knocker. Before I have a chance to reach for the doorbell button though, I hear Jessica yell to me from above: “I’m coming!”
A moment later the door pulls wide open and Jessica greets me with one of her signature grins — bleached white teeth from ear to ear.
“Hi!” she exclaims, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she backs away to allow me through the doorway.
“Hi,” I reply.
She is bursting with energy. Her bare feet tap-dance on the terracotta floor as I step over the threshold. She takes the wine from my hand and I cannot resist giving her a quick head-to-toe glance. Her long hair hangs down past her shoulders in playful curls, kept away from her pretty face by a small silver clip above her blue eyes. Sitting low around her hips is a denim miniskirt the brevity of which would make even Daisy Duke blush. Her mid-drift is naked and tan. Above that, a tiny cotton tank top rides the swell of her bouncing breasts. Its lower hem, like that of her skirt, appears to have been cut off with scissors several washings ago, leaving her lean tummy and even her lowermost ribs exposed. Most distractingly, her top’s ultra-thin fabric does nothing to conceal the bra-less state of her huge tits. Her nipples show as two prominent bumps, bobbing like corks on the swells of an elasticized cotton sea.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32