When Melissa neglected to show up, I was disappointed, but not surprised. Truthfully, I should have been counting my blessings that at least one of us had possessed the calm rationality to realize that medicine through means of vaginal penetration in the way that I’d suggested wasn’t the wisest of moves.

Still, a part of me was sad that I hadn’t found her on my doorstep. I’d battled the urge to find her phone number and call her to make sure she hadn’t lost my address, but I could recognize when I had been stood up. As rare of an occurrence as it may be.

In a bid to deal with my mounting disappointment, the next evening finds me in the company of a woman whose name I can’t remember, but whose dorky horn-rimmed glasses make me think fondly of Melissa. Like Melissa, she probably doesn’t have CVS, but unlike Melissa, I bet she’ll let me prove it to her.

Not that I need to prove anything. The fact that she – and frankly I don’t remember what her name is at this point – could be picked up from my regular coffee shop by a three-sentence conversation tells me that we’re both well aware of what we’re doing here. Consenting adults and all that.

“White, you said, right?” I ask her as she sprawls across my couch, picking the best position to look as sultry as possible in.

“Yes, please,” she purrs, batting her long lashes at me over the back of the black leather couch in a distinctly non-Melissa-like manner.

I figure a couple of glasses of wine will make it easier to ignore that she is definitely not Melissa. Maybe if I scoop that brunette ponytail of hers into my fist and make her bend over she’d look sort of like her.

My train of thought is wrecked by someone ringing my doorbell. I frown, abandoning the yet to be opened bottle of white – mid-shelf stuff but not one of my good bottles – and heading for the door, mentally flipping through the possible visitors. My groceries have been delivered, the cleaner comes in the mornings, I didn’t promise to play poker with anyone…

When I open the door, I grin wide. Who else could it be but little Miss Melissa, here for an appointment with the doctor. She looks at me hesitantly, probably seconds away from playing with a button on her well-fitting but boring navy dress. It’s an improvement on the last getup she wore but then again, almost anything would be.

“Hey,” I yell over my shoulder, not letting my eyes leave Melissa in the fear that she might bolt when I glance away. “Marcy-Marnie-Martha, you need to get your stuff and go.”

The woman on the couch perks up. I don’t need to look at her to know her face is a mask of horror and outrage right about now.

“It’s Matilda,” she says, her voice dripping with vinegar instead of sugar.

How quickly things change.

“Sure,” I say, taking a step back and ushering my still wordless Melissa in.

My cock twitches at the thought of finally getting somewhere interesting with this creature, even though taking into account that I’ve made her come before, and almost did again during a vaginal exam, makes me question if my logic isn’t a little faulty here.

“I don’t mean to put you out,” Melissa tells me, making me grab a hold of her shoulder before she can spin around and run.

“You’re not putting anyone out,” I assure her as Matilda marches past us, fuming.

The women share a look and now that I have them next to one another, it’s painfully obvious that Matilda doesn’t hold a candle to Melissa. She’s more of the put-together, ironic kind of hipster girl, while I think Melissa has no clue what kind of a vibe she’s giving off. She’s authentic, in that weird way that makes both me and my dick resonate toward her.

“I’ll call you,” I yell after Matilda, slamming the door behind her.

I don’t have her number.

“So,” I say, rubbing my hands together as Melissa turns to face me, her expression nothing but dubious. “What can I do for you, Miss Malone? Or are we firmly on first name basis by now?”

“You’re a real ass, you know that?” she part asks, part tells me, which I kindly ignore as I show her to the couch.

She takes one look at the spot where Matilda was sitting and picks my recliner instead. No one sits in my chair, but I’m currently willing to make an exception for her.

“I personally subscribe to the school of thought that calls me a dick, really,” I tell her, my mood lifted and my evening looking up. “Anyway, the question still stands,” I tell her, while going back to dealing with the wine bottle.

I exchange it for one of the good bottles and pluck two glasses from the cabinet. When I uncork it, Melissa gives me a look. I smell the cork. Special wine for a special occasion.

I’m way too fucking giddy that she showed up here. Maybe it’s just that I love a good chase, but if this woman honest to god thinks that her little pink treasure chest is sealed shut, I can’t wait to be the one to pry it open.

“Doctor’s orders,” I tell her as I pour out two glasses. “No arguments.”

I walk the glass to her and then settle in Matilda’s former spot on the couch. The room looks different from this angle and I’m not sure I like it. I like things my way and Melissa has been consistently throwing me off with her defiance to submit to my understanding of normal. My willingness to indulge her tells me a little too much and I brush it aside.

She takes a measured sip and I do the same.

“You know what I’m here for,” she tells me, her voice steely but her hands shaking a little.

She looks like she’s about to throw herself in front of a firing squad, not on top of a sexy doctor, which I have been told to be by several renowned specialists in the male form. One of them was a Dallas Cowboy’s cheerleader, which I think is all the confirmation any man needs.

“You’re here for the dick,” I tell her smugly, loving the way she almost chokes on her wine.

“If you have to put it that way,” she finally grits out, though I catch the smile that comes with it and mentally pat myself on the back for it. “I’m here because you said there’s nothing wrong with me and I think there is. If you think you can fix it through… less than traditional means, I think it’s worth a shot.”

“Honey, this is about as traditional as it can get,” I tell her.

She glances down at the bulge in my jeans and I spread my thighs slightly, sitting back more comfortably. I don’t mind if she gets a good look at what she’s asking for, though a part of me worries if she’ll be as eager for this once she does get a full scope of what I’m working with.

She blushes and I hide my smile behind another sip of wine.

“We’re going to have to set some ground rules,” she says, steeling herself with more Chardonnay.

“As the patient wishes. Shoot, what do you want?”

“What I need is you to respect my wishes,” she starts, sounding like she’s been practicing this part. I bet she has notes. “We stop whenever I’m uncomfortable. If I don’t come back then that’s my decision. And you don’t get to be a dick about this. This is a medical issue for me, not something I consider funny.”

Her gaze is intense as she measures me up, waiting for a response. I sit up, leaning forward. I think she might have glanced down my V-neck for a moment but I’ll allow her that. I definitely snuck a look at her cleavage when she skittered past me before.

“I never joke around about pussy,” I tell her earnestly, keeping my voice level as she groans and rolls her eyes. “Trust me, Melissa. I’m probably the biggest fan of the female body you could ever meet. This isn’t just a job for me. For some men, pussy is a hobby. For me, it’s a calling. If there’s a pussy in need, Dr. Big will be there to save the day.”

“See, this, this is what I mean,” she huffs, abandoning her wine glass on the table. “You’re so… so… cocky!”

I grin at that and she doesn’t think it’s funny. Her shoulders are rigid and I wonder if her head is about to start spinning on her neck.

“I am. For good reason. But you don’t have anything to worry about with me,” I tell her, putting my glass down as well and standing up.

My cock is straining against my jeans and it’s uncomfortable as fuck. I’m not used to spending this kind of time on foreplay, which in my book is exactly what we’re doing.

I walk over to her and kneel in front of her, peeling back the hem of her dress over her milky thighs. She gasps, her nails digging into the pristine Italian leather of my favorite chair.

“What are you doing!?” she asks, but she doesn’t try to stop me.

“Showing you that I’m serious.”

I slip my hands up her legs under her dress and grip her thighs, yanking her sharply lower on the chair. She yelps but lets me do it, her muscles coiled and her body language reading terror and panic.

“Relax,” I tell her, using the doctor voice that worked so well on her last time.

With a dry gulp, she tries to, though it makes about the same difference as if a slab of metal turned into a block of wood. Still practically unyielding. I push her dress up around her tummy and kiss a trail slowly up her right thigh, before gently prying her legs apart. She lets me do it, if stiffly.

I inhale her scent and it’s like a fine bouquet, an exquisite wine to me. Some men go and argue about which year was the best for Italian Merlot, I go and look for the best pussy. This one… well, it’s even better than I remembered.

“You’re going to have to trust me,” I tell Melissa before kissing her inner thighs slowly, letting my lips roll over the smooth, delicate skin.

She gasps when my tongue slips over her and when I nudge her blue thong to the side, she groans, her breathing fast and heavy already. She’s freshly trimmed for me, not completely shaven and no fancy shapes or that stupid bedazzling shit some women have done. Just carefully maintained curls, slightly darker than the hair on her head.

She’s wet for me already and when I glide my tongue along her pussy lips, she whimpers in the most beautiful way. My cock is so hard I’m expecting my jeans to rip any moment in a bid for it to spring loose.

I look up at her and our eyes meet as I push my tongue deeper, slicking it over her slit and then curling it around her clit. Her eyes roll back and I do it again and again, finding her relaxing little by little. It’s the same as last time. She’ll let herself enjoy the moment as long as I’m not putting anything in her, though the yearning to slip my fingers into that blissfully tight cunt of hers is almost too much for me to take.

I don’t stop until she murmurs something through clenched teeth and I pull back slightly to ask her what it is. Her fingers go into my hair and she practically slams my face back into her pussy, drawing a chuckle out of me. I grip her hips again and she squirms her cunt against me, begging for my tongue.

“Don’t stop,” she tells me, and it makes me pull back immediately, even if I don’t want to. “Why’d you stop?” she asks as I untangle her from my hair and brush it back, leaning back on my heels.

“I’m not here just to get you off,” I tell her, though I desperately want to.

Her eyes are hazed over with lust and her mouth is plump and open, waiting to be kissed. Her taste swirls on my tongue.

“I’m supposed to help you through this problem of yours,” I tell her, wondering if my reluctance to finish her is because I really want to help, or because my dick is so hard it’s about to explode and I feel like we need some progress here before it kills me.

“And how do you suppose we do that?” she asks, scooting back up on the chair and shifting her panties over her pretty, pink mound.

It hurts to see it get covered up again, but I’m a big boy, I can manage. For now, at least.

“You’re going to have to get used to a lot more than my fingers,” I say, loving the way her pupils widen a little at the realization.

“Okay,” she croaks, her thighs clenching and her hands fisting in her lap.

I stand up, painfully aware of the unrelenting hard-on I’m sporting. I undo the first button and she’s transfixed by my fingers. My heartrate picks up. I’m half-expecting her to clear the room when I show her what it is that she needs to learn to fit in her pussy, the one that supposedly won’t even take a finger, though I’ve proven that to be wrong more than once.

I unzip.

“You’re going to have to be brave for the doctor now.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Right, I’m sure your massive penis will be so scary I’m going to run for the hills. Give me more credit than that.”

“You asked for it.”

I push down my jeans and boxers, highlighting what some would say is my best feature. It’s twelve solid, thick inches of masculine perfection, and I’m not talking myself up here. Her mouth gawks open as she drinks in the hard, throbbing dark purple length, my heavy balls pristinely shaved and hanging as low as my cock juts out ramrod straight, veiny and wide enough that my grip is barely enough for it.

A bead of precum bubbles at the tip as I cross my arms over my chest, eyeing my patient expectantly.

I’d like to say I’m smug about it, but she wouldn’t be the first woman to say no to this, and considering her special… condition, I don’t think I’d even blame her.

To her credit, Melissa swallows dryly and after a good ten seconds of staring, she looks up at me and clips her mouth shut.

“Okay,” she confirms, standing up from her seat.

“Okay?” I ask, a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“Okay. That’s… that sure is, doc,” she stutters, glancing back down and blushing redder than red. “Could you put it away now?”

I swallow the comment about how it’s rude to not get personally acquainted with the third sentient being in the room as I pull up my pants and painfully tuck my anaconda back in. It isn’t amused and I share its sentiment.

“I think we’re done for the night. I need to, uh… digest,” she tells me when I’ve zipped up, picking her timing perfectly to strafe past me and make a beeline for the front door.

I think about stopping her, but I know she’s as stubborn as a mule and wouldn’t have any of it if I tried. You can lead a horse to water, and all that.

“Thanks for the piece of pie,” I yell after her as she escapes through the front door, chuckling as it slams shut behind her. “Guess it’s just you and me, buddy,” I tell myself, grabbing the glass of wine and retiring to my bedroom to even out another evening of Melissa-induced blue balls with a thorough handjob.