I always spend my Friday nights with my good friend, George, drinking and exchanging our troubles. Months before my divorce from Rita, he had listened patiently to my sad tales of how we were drifting apart. He offered some advice, even suggested marriage guidance, but that had gone down like a cement balloon with Rita.
Anyway, about six weeks after the divorce, while bending my body and twisting while lifting a heavy box, my lower back clicked painfully. Over the ensuing months, the pain became more severe. George, jokingly suggested, "It's because you broke up with Rita."
But the pain worsened, and I visited the doctor. It wasn't a slipped disc, he affirmed, "Just muscular strain. I'll give you some tablets."
My backache enjoyed the tablets, and the pain became unbearable.
George, watching me struggle to get out of a chair one night, suggested, "Mark, have you thought of acupuncture?"
"This from your marriage guidance stable of good ideas?" I knew that was unkind. He was genuinely concerned.
"A Chinese doctor has a small shop not far away. Guy at work said he cured his leg problems."
I located the small shop easily, and inside I found a smoked window blocking off a smaller office in one corner. Someone, probably a clerk, moved behind the glass. Beyond that were two treatment rooms, each with a table and an adjustable treatment bed.
The place was run by Dr Ki, a short, smiling Oriental gentleman, in his late fifties, who listened respectfully to my problems, his head nodding understandingly.
A one-hour session involved me lying, face down, on a comfortable bed, with a face hole. My pants were loosened, but only lowered enough to expose, where the painful area was. I was aware of the needles being gently inserted, but there was never accompanying pain. A warm lamp was left pointing at where the needles were.
That was it. I was left to snooze or think about the rest of the day. At the end of the hour, Dr Ki returned, placed a towel over my back and gently rubbed and massaged the region for no more than three minutes.
From early doubts, I was amazed when after only two sessions I was moving quite freely. After six sessions I was pain-free. But on advice, I visited once a month to ensure continued progress.
Then came that fateful day when unusually I accepted a late session.
The procedure was as ever. Dr Ki was his respectful, cheery self. I lay down, needles were inserted, the lamp was placed, and I was left.
After a drowsy hour, I heard the door open. Lying face down, facing away from the door, I had never seen this part of Dr Ki's actions. I heard the lamp rolled away. Needles were gently removed. Now would come the towel and a brief massage.
Wrong. No towel. But cool, smooth fingers circled the bare skin of my lower back. A magic touch, a feminine touch. Who was this? Certainly not Dr Ki,. I tried to turn my head, but was in a helpless position, as the fingers circled my back and then suddenly dived under the loose waistband of my pants, tracing my crevice.
I jerked involuntarily, and a delicate female voice whispered, "Yes, turn onto your back, please."
On my back? Dr Ki had never asked for that. Ah, well, curiosity must be served. I carefully rolled over until I was on my back with my head slightly raised.
Two things became instantly apparent. First, looking down at me, lit by a warm smile, was the most beautiful female Oriental face I had ever seen. Long, black hair hung down towards me as she leaned forward.
Secondly, when I had turned, her gentle hand had been on my upper buttocks. She had let it ride with my turning so that it ended on my lower belly. Trouble was her fingers continued to stroke and wriggle around my belly, occasionally touching into my pubic hair. I feared there was going to be only one reaction to that lovely face and those electrifying fingers. My blood-flow centred as feared.
I moved to sit up, but her free hand pressed on my chest, "Just stay like that, and hear me, please."
Hear her? The sweet rhythmical voice was almost as rousing as her fingers and face.,
This should have been a dream. Dreams are strange, they say. This was no dream, but it was certainly strange as she went on, "Dr Ki had to attend an association meeting. My name is Tia. I am his daughter, his clerk, and his apprentice. Your name is Mark, and you are two years older than me. And you write books."
Her fingers were unfastening my shirt buttons. Not part of normal procedure. "You have been coming here for over twelve months. I've watched for you through the one-way glass. From the very first I've thought you, the most handsome man I'd ever seen."
I might have laughed out loud at that, Not the ugliest, but a generous nose, and unmanageable fair hair kept me some distance from the category she defined.
As her words bathed over me, she opened my shirt, and the fingers of her left hand trailed briefly across my chest. As though frozen, I just lay there, under the spell of her looks, her touch, and her sweet words. It was time to reassert myself, "How do..." I began, struggling to sit up, "you know I write books?"
She admitted, "I eavesdropped. And I heard you tell my father. You have such a manly voice." And she gave me an enigmatic smile.
Her fingers touched my lips, "No talk for a moment." Her head moved closer. Oh, those narrowed, sensuous eyes, "May I kiss you?"
I had never been anything but the instigator with any of the women who have passed through my life, and there had been no one since Rita. "But I've only just met you."
How weak was that?
Her eyes glowed as she replied, "But Mark, for months now, I have been seeing you, and hearing your deep voice. I've wanted to kiss you for ages."
Shocked, yes. But I was also charmed by her frankness. That line of thinking suddenly went haywire as her soft warm lips came into eager contact with mine, and her sweet tasting tongue slipped, like an old friend, along mine.
Pull away? Protest? A stronger-willed person might have immediately resisted. But this lady, just two years younger than my thirty-two years, had she been a witch could not have had me under a stronger spell. I relented.
Our lips and tongues mingled keenly and wetly. Saliva dribbled down our respective chins. It was sheer abandonment as my hand stroked through her luxurious hair to draw her head closer to me. Our kiss was now as wildly passionate as I'd ever known.
And that was the moment when her hand which had circled my lower body, found and gripped my growing hardness. Now, I did pull my lips from hers, knowing that I needed to do something. "I'm not sure that this is—," My next word would have been 'right', but her movement was quicker and more positive than mine.
Her left hand had swiftly undone the lower buttons on her white medical coverall, and my face was level with the black smudge of hair on her mound, highlighted by the olive skin. Under the coverall she was naked.
