"That's right, Prof! Let it all rush out. You're a great fucker."
"Gnnnnnnn!" snarled the University lecturer as she came powerfully.
Her legs were splayed all over the bed, her tongue hanging out. Her arms were around the tall man's neck, bringing his mouth to hers for a hard, urgent kiss.
She felt his talented cock inside her pussy thrusting and tickling her cervical opening. This is what had brought her to a thunderous orgasm.
He turned his body this way and that, causing his cock to make gentle movements in her vagina. She cried out as if for mercy.
"Oh sweetiepie, stop that. You're killing me softly!" Not that she wished to be obeyed for even a minute.
He increased the vigour of his movements rubbing all corners of her cunt all the while increasing her excitement.
"Uuuuuwiiii" was all she could manage. She felt a new fire start up at her centre, spreading cruelly through her groin and then invading the whole of her body. Her legs stiffened, toes curled and her arms tightened about his neck, nearly strangling him. She came so hard that she felt a strange warmth at her opening. Moments later it felt colder and she realised it was wetness. She had read of female ejaculation but had never really believed that a woman could produce a liquid during orgasm. She had felt it roaring through her but now could not believe it had also produced the wetness she felt.
"Oh you're a squirter, too my darling!" he ejaculated. Now she was sure that she had become one of the gusher women she had only heard about.
"Sweetiepie, you're the Professor here, it seems," she whispered into his ear. "What have you done to me? I have never, in all my life felt anything like this!"
At this moment she believed everything he had been telling her, which had seemed too fancy to be believed, yet had filled her with a hungry curiosity.
He had limped weakly into her consulting room some three weeks earlier, coughing all the while. Indeed, she had kept hearing that cough while with the previous patient. Instead of telling her about his chest or throat he narrated how he had been at the point of fainting before being brought to the hospital. She questioned him about that, but could find no easy answer. Instead she chose to concentrate on the cough, which was evident and treatable. The results of the tests she ordered confirmed her suspicions. He had a mild asthma, a condition that only required care and did not threaten life.
Handing him the drugs prescriptions, she noticed him looking at her in a curious manner. He was tall, lean and seemed middle-aged. His eyes, even through the haze of illness, had a fire that seemed to pierce through her. She squirmed in her seat from his look. As hospital procedures required, she took down his phone number in order to follow him up. He stood up and left, with a glance back into the room which felt as if he pinned her back against her seat. Thankfully the next patient entered, allowing her to take her mind off that episode.
Three days later she stared at the followup sheet on her desk. Desmond's call was to be made today, she realised. The hospital administrator would check the sheets at the end of the week. She called three patients from that sheet, but found herself skipping over Desmond. She would call him later, she told herself. But in the flurry of seeing patients she went and forgot about her promise.
"Hello, Desmond!" It was the next day before she brought herself to call his number. Unaccountably she had found herself hesitant to make this particular call. She could not understand herself!
"Hello! Good afternoon! Who is calling?" His voice sounded cold and official.
"This is Melchior Hospital. I am the doctor who saw you last week."
"Oh, Fridah! How kind of you to call!" Now the voice was filled with warmth and almost affection.
"We do this to our patients to see how they are doing."
"I gave you the number, but quite honestly I never really expected you to actually call! I am so impressed!"
She felt a stab of annoyance that he had doubted her words. "I hope you are better now. Did you see the chest specialist?"
"Thanks to your fresh approach, I have not coughed with anything like the severity before I came to you. I had tried seeing the local chemist at first, which gave me temporary relief. I went to a nearby hospital when I did not seem to be getting any help. Even there I was given cough syrup, antibiotics, and painkillers whose relief was short-lived. The Ventolin spray you gave me has worked wonders! I carried it in my pockets in the first few days, then found I did not need it as often."
His effusiveness carried her with him, and she found her irritation subsiding. "I am very glad to hear that."
"Daktari, I have to say I am glad for that policy of having the doctor call the patient. I am so touched! Thank you very much."
Fridah had never come across such a reaction in her time at this hospital. Much as she disliked making those calls, now Desmond had made it all seem worthwhile with his attitude. "I wish you a speedy recovery. Please inform me what the specialist finds." She hoped it would be soon, so that she could get to talk to him again.
"Thank you, Daktari. I will go as soon as I organise the funds. He does not come cheap, I hear. Again thank you so much! Bye!"
"Bye!" She felt a warm glow as she let the phone down from her ear. She was mildly shocked to see how long the call had lasted. That must surely count as a record, she mused.
In the event he did not keep her waiting until he saw the specialist. He talked to her on the evening of the next day.
He sent to her WhatsApp inbox the photo of a yellowed document dated 12 June 1957. It was a movement permit, the kind issued during the Emergency period at the end of the colonial era. Africans were not allowed to travel outside their home district, and if they wanted to, they must have a movement permit. If caught away from their district without one, it was instant imprisonment. His comment: Amazing that people REALLY were restricted in this way!
She had read about that period in her history lessons but had never been confronted with a real piece of evidence from that long-ago time. He, though he had been born the year the Emergency regulations were finally lifted after having been in force for eight years, seemed to have an almost firsthand knowledge. They discussed over WhatsApp messages, while getting to know each other better. When he asked to have coffee with her, she agreed so readily she surprised herself. She had not even consulted her diary! He gave her a date at the United Kenya Club on a Tuesday evening. "Cancel all plans!" he peremptorily commanded her. Nobody had talked to her with such assurance in a very long time.
In her diary she found that she had a lecture on the Tuesday in question, but she would not give up the chance to meet this guy who had limped into her life less than a month before. She arranged with her colleague to take her class, and she would stand in for him on the Friday.
By the time they had had their coffee, she had been completely sold on the idea of belonging to the club for all the benefits it brought. No longer would she, a respected professor of medicine, and a skilled doctor to boot, need to patronise some of those noisy restaurants in town, no matter how exclusive they advertised themselves to be. This was a much more civilised atmosphere, more fitting to her status.
