Sturgill

Sometimes I wish I had a little bit more to do. Only four hundred people live in Willowdale, and they hardly ever seem to get sick all at once. Apparently all the sunshine and ocean air really is good for us.

When I was in Costa Rica, the situation was a little different. I guess the point of the Peace Corps is to go to places that really need help, but that was much more urgent. People in the United States don’t generally die of dysentery. People in South America, especially in the more remote areas, sometimes do.

I thought about staying there, based on some kind of heroic image of myself. It was nice to get extremely busy. Wake up at five in the morning and get done sometime around midnight, that was the usual day. Everybody was focused on the mission: saving lives, making a better future.

In Willowdale, things hardly ever get all that urgent.

Of course, sometimes people pass away. Thankfully, they usually die of old age around here. Old age is terrible, but hardly tragic. People live full lives, and then they take their leave. It’s nature.

Before she passed, my mother told me this was the ideal aspiration. Shepherding my flock from the cradle to the grave, and having a wife and children, of course, too. I haven’t managed to put that last part together, but I think my mother would be proud of the shepherding part, at least.

To be honest, that does sort of stand out when there is less to do. In an emergency, it’s hard to think about making a family. If things are less of an emergency, the absence of a family life is like a gong that rings every morning when I come down the stairs.

When I was a kid, this house seemed obnoxiously lavish. Yes, it has been in my family for generations. My grandfather built it, so it’s not like my parents went out and tried to make some kind of statement. When my grandfather built it, land was cheap and a doctor having a big house wasn’t considered a huge extravagance.

Actually, it probably didn’t seem like an extravagance to my father either. It seems like it to me a little bit, because I am by myself and because in Costa Rica I happily lived in two hundred square feet for three years.

I even considered staying there, but I knew I was needed back home. I knew that the Alzheimer’s that had taken my grandfather might eventually take my father. I had to be ready to step into his shoes.

There are echoes in this house of my father, my mother, my grandparents. There’s probably echoes of me running around like a maniac up and down the hall. I seem to remember I had up tricycle with plastic wheels and I liked to ride it inside the house. The driveway is all crushed oyster shells, kind of terrible for a tricycle. The hallway, on the other hand, is perfect.

Harriet raises her eyebrows at me when I come down for coffee, since it is already almost lunchtime. I don’t have anything on the books, so I didn’t see the need to go into the office today. Besides, I saw the look that Jen gave me when I asked to examine Joanna. I don’t feel like dealing with her disapproving glares right now.

Joanna.

Does she look like the sort of person who has never experienced an orgasm before? That took me aback. That was almost more information than I could stand and I felt an overwhelming urge to take her, to make her mine. Professional distance be damned, I wanted to have her right then.

Never? Never once? It explains a lot. I almost feel bad for her… Actually, I do feel bad for her. I can imagine going through life without being able to release, without being able to hit my brain’s internal button to trigger bliss. The poor woman was tortured, and I bet she didn’t even know it.

But as she squirmed underneath me, her head thrown back, her hair sticking to her in damp tendrils as I brought her body to its natural state of climax, I could feel the transformation taking place. I could feel I was really doing something worthwhile, maybe even changing her life.

I wonder how she feels today?

All day, I try to not think about that, but I can’t seem to stop. Finally, when I am almost ready to give up, I get a message.

Hi.

Hi yourself, I text back immediately.

Relief washes through me. She needs me again.

* * *

When I knock on the door, I hear a scuffle inside. It takes a while, but the door flings open. Joanna stands there with one hand behind her back, a pale blue dress dangling off one shoulder and wrinkled around the middle where she is clutching it.

“I can’t… um… reach the zipper?”

She backs sheepishly into the room as I walk over the threshold, her bare feet light on the floorboards. As she breathes quickly, her flesh is hollow behind her collarbones, so delicate, like the throat of a bird.

“Are you asking me to zip up your dress?”

Her brow furrows. “I just thought I had a minute to look for a dress for the opening,” she explains in a rush. “This was my grandmother’s.”

“All right, turn around,” I suggest.

She pivots on her tiptoes, reaching up to hold her hair out of the way as she turns her back toward me. The sky-blue fabric separates in a V over the smooth skin of her spine. Slowly I draw the middle tab of the zipper toward the nape of her neck, barely resisting the urge to kiss her there. It seems like a ideal moment: a man zipping up a dress and placing a kiss on the back of the woman’s neck.

Totally out of bounds, I remind myself.

“Do you like it?” she breathes when the dress is in place. Taking a light step away, she pivots around to face me again. The hem of the dress swirls out as she does it and she catches it lightly in her fingertips. She is a beautiful picture, practically plucked from the pages of a 1960s fashion magazine.

“Your grandmother’s, you say?”

“All her things are here,” she smiles. “It’s an absolute treasure trove! Most of these are handmade, I’m pretty sure. People in New York would pay a fortune to have these!”

“I can see why,” I murmur as she prances away into the bedroom.

She didn’t explicitly invite me, but curiosity draws me to follow her anyway.

“Don’t mind the mess, please,” she winces as I enter, glancing around nervously.

It looks like a fabric bomb went off in here. There are boxes on the floor with the lids halfway off. Dresses on hangers dangle from doorknobs, from the back of the full-length mirror and from the top of the closet door. There have to be a dozen of them in every shade of the rainbow with stripes and dots and flowers, each one more feminine than the last. Something about this unabashed display of ladylike charm tickles something deep inside me.

But I am not here to be charmed. I’m here to offer a service, as agreed.

“Do you like the blue? Or how about the violet? Or maybe the tangerine? That might be too much with my hair, don’t you think?”

I clear my throat. “I thought perhaps I could give you some instruction,” I begin, keeping my voice steady. “Maybe teach you how to pleasure yourself. Would you like that?”

Her lips pop open with a tiny sound and she pauses, swaying for a moment. Again I have a vision of her swooning, allowing me to catch her, allowing me to gather her up.

All right, Dr. Stud, I tell myself. That’s enough of that. Just stay focused.

“Like now? Like right now?” she whispers.

“That’s what you requested. So, yes. Right now,” I confirm, taking the chair from behind the dressing table and placing it in front of the mirror. I sit in it and pat my lap. “Come and sit.”

Obediently she walks over to me, biting her lip as she lowers herself onto my lap. I wrap my hands around her waist and reposition her so that we both face the mirror. Her legs naturally drape over mine and I nudge them apart.

“Just let your legs fall open,” I direct her. “Lean back against me. You will be able to see.”

From my pocket I withdraw the small, handheld vibrator I brought to give her. It snaps on, and her eyes go wide.

“Is this how you train everybody?” she breathes.

“No. This is just for you,” I assure her. “Pull up your skirt.”

Her fingertips play at the hem of her skirt for a few moments till she gathers the courage to reveal herself. The blue fabric slides up over her open thighs, gradually pushing that amber-thatched pussy into view. She is already wet and gleaming, the petals of her sex unfolding in front of us.

I pluck her left hand off her lap and spread her fingers into a V-shape. “Use these fingers to massage your outer lips.”

Her nostrils flare as she breathes deeply, enthralled by the vision of herself spread open in the mirror. Obediently her fingers drift toward her sex and gently pull her lips slightly farther apart.

“That’s good,” I encourage her, shifting so that she can’t feel the hard-on that is raging beneath her. I thought I could control myself, but this is more intense than I expected.

Handing her the vibrator in her other hand, I nudge it toward her vulva.

“Your clitoris is the pearl at the top of your sex,” I explain. I can hear my voice getting hoarse. “I want you to take the head of the vibrator and simply circle it. Don’t touch it directly. It’s too sensitive for that. Just slowly circle it.”

We both watch as the device brushes the candy-pink flesh near her clit. Gleaming strands of wetness surge around the metallic knob, glistening as she strokes herself.

Her head drops back and her eyes close. I hear her breath deepen as her weight shifts against me. Taking a chance while she is distracted, I let my hands move to her hips and direct her ass cheeks over my cock. Her clenching muscles send shockwaves through my body.

“Like this?” she gasps as he arches her back, her expression transported, her mouth trembling.

“Just like that,” I confirm, trying to keep my voice even. “Just stay there until the tension builds, until you absolutely have to change positions. Don’t touch your clit until you have to. Until you can’t hold back.”

I can smell her sweat changing, feel her heat through the back of her dress. The image in the mirror is almost too much for me: this vintage vision of a woman in rapture, her throat exposed, her pussy spread open right in front of me under the folds of her full skirts. As she writhes, her ass cheeks clench over the underside of my raging cock, threatening to milk me through my trousers.

“Yeahhhh,” she moans, “I think… I need…”

“Just let it build,” I coach her, aware that my fingers are gripping her hips tighter, my own hips barely holding back from grinding ferociously into hers.

“I need… I want… I want you inside me!”

“You’re doing fine, Joanna,” I tell her sternly, though my body fights against me. “Just keep going—”

“No, I need it!” she insists.

She suddenly hops off my lap, her skirt wrinkled and twisted around her thighs. With cheeks flushed, she claws at my shirt, gasping for breath.

“Sorry, Sturgill… Can I call you Sturgill? I think… I really am gonna need you inside me.”

Her fingers clamp over the outline of my hard-on, sending a clenching ache through my core that takes my breath away.

“See? Looks like you need me too.”

With every bit of self-restraint I have, I take her wrists in my hands and disengage her fingers from my shirt.

“Joanna, this isn’t what we agreed to—”

“New plan!” she announces, sitting astride my lap again, this time facing me. I can feel the heat of her pussy through my trousers as she grinds against me, her thighs clenching against mine.

“I’m only going to be here another week,” she explains in a rush, her lips just millimeters from mine, the sweetness of her breath fills my mouth, irresistibly drawing me closer.

“This isn’t what we… what I—”

“You told me you were full-service,” she smirks, her upper lip brushing against mine tantalizingly. I see the glint in her sea glass-green eyes, that fairy-like temptation.

Slowly my hands drift over her outlines of their own accord, gathering handfuls of her ass cheeks against my palms. It’s a delight I have denied to myself for so long, it feels like it must be wrong, but…

“Oh, yes,” she sighs as her mouth sweeps across mine, those petal-soft lips nudging my lips apart.

“You want to learn how to come with a cock inside of you?”

She gasps, drawing her lip in between her teeth. “Oh! Yes!”

I nod slowly, controlling myself as much as I am able. With the illusion of professionalism quickly vanishing in front of me, I at least want to make one last attempt at keeping this on the level.

“Well, if you insist…”

Quickly her fingers find the zipper of my trousers and release my hard-on. I take her wrists back and pull them away, leaving her to balance her weight on her toes as she straddles me.

“Just slow down,” I coach her. “Don’t rush.”

She takes a deep breath, tensing as she strains to follow my instructions. I can feel how she’s holding back, how she’s resisting her old habits. But if her old habits didn’t bring her to climax, she needs new ones. She needs to learn how to ride a cock good and proper.

“Lick your fingers.”

Without blinking, she inserts two fingers between her pillowy lips, dragging them across her tongue.

“I want you to stroke your clit while I enter you, all right?”

She nods her head, sliding her fingers between her plush pussy lips as I angle her hips. The head of my cock brushes against her entrance, sliding through the wetness, so warm, so inviting.

I feel myself on the tip of climax, ready to come at any moment, but force myself to wait. I would never come before her. But it is going to be a challenge.

A moan swells in her throat as I breach her entrance, pushing past a tight ring. Her fingers slide around her clit, drifting in lazy circles.

“Perfect, just like that,” I tell her.

She drapes her other arm over my shoulder for balance as she knits her eyebrows together in concentration. Her forehead leans against mine and I force myself to go as slow as possible. Inch by inch, I drive into her, feeling the bands of muscles grasping against me. Suddenly she begins to clench, sucking her breath between her teeth.

Oh! Oh!” she gasps, flexing her thighs and her toes.

“Stay with it, Joanna,” I bark, pulling her in circles to hit her G-spot as she’s taking every inch of me.

A gush of juice flows over my cock and she arches her back, her fingers buried in her pussy, her hips thrusting against me. I feel her walls dragging me deeper, sucking me like a mouth, vacuuming me inside her.

Suddenly she falls forward, pinning me back on the chair while her pussy works my length with vibrating spasms of tectonic motion. Blindly she finds my mouth and kisses me hard, sucking my lower lip between her teeth as she groans.

“Do it, let go!” I hear myself say as I try to maintain control, but suddenly it is too much. She shudders and wails, unleashing a torrent of passion as she climaxes, too much for me to hold back. I come with her, explosions reverberating through my muscles as we join together, riding the same crest of bliss.

Her kisses are sweet and breathless, gradually slowing. I could taste her forever. This sweetness in my mouth is something that satisfies me deeply, something I did not know how hungry I was to taste until this very moment.

Kissing her shoulder, I inhale the musk between her neck and jaw, drinking in a flood of pheromones, drunk on her bliss.

“You’re amazing,” I sigh.

Slowly she pulls away, sitting up straighter and brushing her hair back from her forehead with the heels of her hands. She smiles at me sheepishly and rolls her eyes, suddenly shy again.

“I have an amazing teacher,” she says quietly.

“I’m glad you think so,” I smile, though I wonder why the word teacher doesn’t quite sit well with me.

Of course I am her teacher. I am her doctor. This lesson was well received, but that’s all it is.

“Would you care to… have dinner? Something like that?” I ask, aware of how strange that all sounds.

She smiles vaguely and glances around the room, and I can see that slowly she is coming back to reality, withdrawing from the experience we just enjoyed together.

“Maybe another time,” she sighs. “I need to… I don’t know. Clean up? Work probably. My mind is a little fuzzy right now.”

“Oh, certainly,” I answer, finding my professionalism again.

She weighs practically nothing, so I simply lift her off of me and dress myself again, glad that our encounter had been so sudden that we didn’t have time to completely undress. It makes for a less awkward exit.

“Well, you know where to find me,” I say. “I’ll just show myself out.”

“Oh, okay,” she smiles.

Leaving the room, I feel sort of strange, as though I am walking out of one movie and into a totally different movie. It’s somewhat jarring.

“Oh, Dr. Warner?” she calls after me, following me to the front door.

Her eyes are bright, her smile sweet and sincere. For a moment, I think she’s going to kiss me goodbye or something. Probably not a good idea.

“Joanna?”

“Oh, well I was just… I was wondering? Would you come with me to the gallery opening?”

“The gallery opening?” I repeat. “I thought you were concerned about gossip? What do you think people will say about us?”

She shrugs playfully. “Well, I’ll be leaving the next morning, so maybe I won’t care?”

I just smile back, repeating the words to myself. Leaving the next morning.

“So, would you? It’s a chance to get dressed up.”

“Well, how can I say no to that?” I smile, opening the door behind me. “And please wear the turquoise dress. It matches your eyes.”

She blinks, startled, before caging her expression in caution again.

“All right, Doctor,” she purrs. “Whatever you say.”