Chase
Fuck. I screwed up. Connie had been so sweet and innocent, and I went too fast.
I should have known because everything about the girl pointed to her inexperience. The fact that she’d said she’d “been” with two guys, but they’d been unable to get it up. The way she was so embarrassed, those cheeks flushing pink even as her delighted moans rang in my ears.
And finally, that hungry pussy, juicing and gleaming beneath the lights of my office. She’d spread the folds like an obedient girl, and I’d gotten a glimpse within.
The breath stilled in my throat then.
Because this was no experienced co-ed who’s slept with a bunch of frat boys. This was no forty-year-old divorcee out bedding guys right and left now that there’s no longer a ring on her finger.
Connie was a virgin. Oh yeah, I saw her delicate hymen deep within that gleaming puss, and shit but my cock punched out then, desperate to rip right through her innocence.
But that’s what got me in trouble. Because I have a massive shaft, one so big that it literally can’t fit within some women. They scream and squeal, but it’s impossible, and we have to give up. So I wasn’t surprised when Connie sat up abruptly, slamming her legs together.
“I have to go,” was her breathless gasp before dashing out of my office.
And shit, there I was, alone once again with a massive stiffie and a couple more consultations before the night was over. All I wanted to do was to chase down the virginal brunette and stroke her folds once again. Maybe take a rigid nipple in my mouth as I rubbed her clit in circles, making her moan.
But instead, I had a line-up of women to get through before the night was done. Frustrated, I sat down behind my desk. Fuck fuck fuck. What to do with this massive boner? All I could see in my mind’s eye was the image of Connie, spread out like a feast for my pleasure.
At that moment, a knock came on the door.
“Dr. Roman,” called Kathy through the wood. “Are you ready for your next patient?”
No, I wasn’t. But in the interest of keeping things professional, I let out a smooth growl.
“Yes, send her in please.”
The door opened and it was a sixty year old woman with gray hair and a hunchback. I’m not sure why I get patients like this sometimes. It should be obvious that no amount of modern medicine will help them in their quest to have a baby, but who am I to destroy their dreams? At the very least, I owed the woman professional courtesy.
So I smiled smoothly without getting up from my chair.
“Welcome, Ms. Raynor?” I asked, looking down at the paper on my desk. “How can I help you today?”
The elderly woman launched into a litany of complaints pertaining to her age, her health, and her inability to attract the right guy in Manhattan. If you ask me, she needed a therapist, and not a fertility doctor. But I grit my teeth while keeping my expression smooth, nodding and mm-hmming at all the right times.
“Yes, I see,” was my drawl. “Good point.”
It was enough to get through the fifteen minute session with a minimal amount of pain, even while images of Connie continued to dance in my head. With relief, the knock came again, and Ms. Raynor exited to admit a Ms. Smith. Shit. This felt endless but I had a job to do and forced myself to smile at the new woman before me.
By the end of the night, I was so beat that I left through the back door without saying good night to my assistant. But Kathy would be fine. She knows how to take care of herself and is more than busy with five kids at home. So it was no big deal that I slipped out unnoticed.
But once I was home, a nervous edge took over. I paced my kitchen with frustrated steps. What the hell had happened? Why had I done that to Connie?
Because I’ve never been inappropriate with a patient in my decades of experience. There have been plenty of opportunities, trust me. Females see my chiseled body and handsome mien and they melt, even in the most unlikely of places. The lab. The operating room. Heck, even the operating table, when they’re about to be put under.
So why did I lose it with one special brunette? But the reason was clear. It’s because I’ve wanted to be a dad for a long time, and there was something about this woman that called out to me. Connie made me see past the long hours to the possibilities of what could happen, and it woke something slumbering deep inside.
Because I grew up as an only child, and it was really lonely. I had no one to play with, amusing myself with make-up games with fictional friends. Sure, it was good because there was no one to fight with and no one I’d be forced to share toys with. But at the same time, as an only child, I had to withstand the concentrated scrutiny of my parents and bear all their hopes and expectations. So I applied myself, and fortunately was successful. I made it through college and medical school with flying colors, and am now a sought-after expert in the field of reproductive medicine.
But it doesn’t quell my desire for a big family. One with a loving mother and a passel of kids running below foot. I admit it. I want not one rugrat, not two rugrats, but a dozen. I want a home that’s filled with the pitter-patter of small feet and the chiming laughter of multiple children.
Until then, it’d seemed impossible because I’ve been insanely busy for the last two decades. Practicing medicine doesn’t give you much time for anything else, so for a while, I wasn’t even able to get out there and date. Instead, I took all my meals at the hospital and sometimes slept on a cot in the corridor to boot.
And when I finally established my practice and had a little more time for leisure activities, the woman in Manhattan were a shock. Because these aren’t ladies that value motherhood and keeping a home for a man. Instead, they’re woman who are obsessed with being seen. They want to be wined and dined at the most expensive places and go to the most exclusive clubs. They want to stay out late and party like wild animals, instead of staying home and making babies.
So yeah, my dating life hasn’t exactly been successful. Anyone on the outside would beg to differ because I go out two or three times a week, always with a different woman on my arm. They’re skinny, intelligent, and vivacious. But are they mom-material? Hell no. A woman needs curves on her body to provide for a growing baby in her body, and these women clearly weren’t it.
So last night was a breath of fresh air. A woman round and shy, with dimples on her thighs and giant breasts that no bra could contain. A girl who was worried about her fertility at an early age because motherhood meant so much to her. And judging from Connie’s simple clothes and pleasant demeanor, she’d make a perfect mother.
Holy shit. Was I really thinking that? I only met the brunette last night, so things were racing along at light speed for sure. Yet somehow, there was a sense of rightness about our encounter. The way she gazed at me with open, trusting eyes. The way her breasts heaved deliciously, and how her legs spread so naturally before my masculinity.
Somehow, I’m going to see Connie again. I know she felt the attraction too. But as for tonight, I’m just too beat and I crashed onto my big mattress ready to pass out … with images of the curvy brunette dancing in my mind’s eye.