Instinctively, I began moving my hips in a slow, steady motion. I ran the vibrator along my lips then back in to touch my entrance. My breathing quickened and for a few minutes I kept up a steady rhythm like that- tickle the lips, tap the entrance, picture his chest, imagine his broad shoulders, think of his eyes.
When I felt myself building up to a bigger release, I quickly unbuttoned enough of my blouse to reach a hand inside. I imagined Thomas' hand reaching up and taking a hold of my breast. With my own hand I slipped my fingers under my bra and shivered at the sensation of fingers rubbing my nipple. I pictured Thomas' tongue doing the same thing.
Ready to go to the next level, I slowly moved the vibrator up towards my clit, which had been craving some touch for a few minutes now. I thought I could move around it until I found my release. But once the tip of the vibrator found my clit, it was all over.
Oh...my...GOD!
All the pictures in my head went into vibrant colors, then were overtaken by flashing and music and trying to breathe and squeezing and my feet slipping off the desk and onto the ground and my legs clenching and both hands now holding the vibrator and my stomach clenching and my walls tightening and hearing my own voice making noises I didn't want anyone to hear and slipping off the chair and finding myself on my knees, one hand gripping the edge of the desk to support myself.
I could hear my own breathing, and that sound brought me back into focus. I still felt my legs shaking a bit, and I wasn't ready to stand up yet. After a minute of catching my breath and listening to the steady tick of the clock on my office wall, I shook my head and got back up. I dropped back into my desk chair and looked around, chuckling to myself. A faint buzzing underneath me showed me where I had dropped the vibrator, which I picked up and turned off.
"Well
that
was certainly a toe-curler," I said into the silence. The rest of the evening turned out to be quite productive, more than making up for all the hours I had wasted during the day.
*******
I was nervous the next morning, heading in to breakfast. Thomas was already there, and he stood to greet me. It seemed like such an old-fashioned habit, standing when a lady entered. I commented on that, and he said, "My parents trained me that way. Sometimes my teachers would joke that I was born in the wrong century."
"I bet you got tired of hearing that," I said.
"All I had to do was remind them what life was like for a man of my ethnicity in previous centuries and that quickly ended those comments," he said seriously. Then he broke into a broad smile. That led into an engaging discussion over racial issues in his upbringing, some of which he had only begun to understand and process through the class I had taught.
"Which reminds me," he said, leaning forward. "I still don't know Doc Lock's story..."
"A tale for another time," I said, looking at the clock. The hour had flown by, and I had lost all sense of unease.
"Tomorrow?" he asked.
"Perhaps," I said coyly and headed out of the clinic.
We went on like that for a few weeks- spending our breakfast times sharing stories, talking about issues, and overall enjoying one another's company. In the meantime, Tom was finding his way into more and more of my fantasies. I tried to justify it by saying that it was only the excitement of the idea- it wasn't something that would ever happen in reality, so it was safe to imagine.
But as Glen had told me all those years ago, imagining leads to wanting, which leads to more imagining which leads to more wanting. It was a dangerous cycle that I was unwilling to put an end to. It made for some wonderful orgasms, with or without the vibrator; and there was a sliver of unacknowledged hope that
just maybe
it could happen.
Why did I want it to happen? That was the question that bugged me. As Gina was quick to remind me lately, I needed to get laid. Yes, there was some truth to that, and Thomas was...well...a very attractive option in that regard. But just getting laid has never been enough rationale for me- I'd only had two sexual partners my whole life, and I had been married both times. Call me old fashioned, but that's the way it is for me. But beyond the sexual need, there is the desire to be desired- the wanting to be wanted. Just because I was getting older didn't mean I had any less of a desire to be thought beautiful and sexy and worth pursuing. So I could explain my desires, my fantasies, and even my slightly inappropriate extended time with Tom as the result of those two things- sexual desire and emotional neediness.
But I was discovering there was more. There was something else that kept me coming back to the breakfast table, something else that kept me picturing his face, his body as I touched myself. I was growing to love Tom. And if that was the case, it might be best for me to back off. Why let my heart get unnecessarily tangled up in something like that, something bound for disappointment?
*******
One morning, as I was considering the complicated web of emotions and desires that were surrounding my relationship with Thomas, I showed up for breakfast to find that Thomas wasn't there. I followed some noises down the hall and bumped into Denise, who was hurrying the other direction. Before I could ask what was going on, she explained, "There was someone waiting on the doorstep when we showed up...couldn't wait...sort of urgent. I hope it's OK that we opened early."
She hurried down the hall away from me, not taking time to hear me assuring her it was fine. I made my way to the room where Thomas was trying to clean up a head wound that was certainly going to need some stitches. It only took a glance for me to know the story- another woman beaten raw by a man. Thomas looked up at me and I saw the fire, the anger over what he was needing to fix.
"Dottie..." he began.
"I'll make the call," I answered. We've learned that a woman is more likely to talk to the police if the officer is already there, rather than asking her to make the decision to call. In a few minutes, I had an officer on the way- the local precinct knows us well and are usually happy to send someone over, even if it ends up being just as a precaution.
As I headed back towards my office, I passed by the lobby of the clinic. Looking out the window, I saw an angry young man with a bloody shirt stomping towards our doors. Out of instinct, I pulled out my keys and locked the glass doors before he could get there. That just pissed him off even more.
"I'm sorry," I shouted through the glass, "we open at 9."
"The fuck you say!" he yelled. "Let me see my wife!
Let me see my wife
!"
For some stupid reason, I decided to be a wise ass and said, "Visiting hours are not until 10, please come back then."
"
Bitch!
" he yelled, and slammed his fist on the door. I moved out of his line of sight, but kept an eye on the door, just in case. Our visitor found a chunk of brick in the parking lot and brought it back to the glass door.
"Denise!" I hollered, "Lock up!" We'd only needed to do that a few times in our history, but she knew it meant to get in the room with the patient, lock the door, and slide the table in front of it. After two hits with the brick, our glass door cracked. I looked around for something to have in my hand and laughed when the most available weapon was a heavy glass lamp at the reception desk. I unplugged it and got a good grip.
The asshole backed up a few steps and wound his arm back to throw. I was bracing for the sound of the crash when I heard some shouts. Two officers had arrived just in time to catch the asshole mid-hurl. The brick dropped to the ground, followed immediately by its thrower. I opened the door and tried not to gloat as he was led away in handcuffs. One of the officers came inside to get my statement.
I had forgotten to give Denise the all clear, so after not hearing anything for a minute, Thomas had left the room, despite Denise's protests, and came running to the lobby. In his hand was a large wooden paddle. The officer started to react, but I shouted, "Wait! That's my doctor!"
The two men froze, and the officer looked at Tom's weapon. Tom lifted it slowly and said defensively, "It's a cricket bat. Only thing I could grab from my office." Looking at me he started to laugh. I realized I was still clutching the lamp. Thomas pointed to it and said, "I guess I needn't have bothered, eh? Dock Lock had it covered." With that, he walked over to me and gave me a hug. I sighed and leaned into his embrace. It felt nice, safe, caring, and warm. He held me until the officer cleared his throat. We backed up and he asked, "Can someone bring me up to speed?"
"I have a patient to attend to. Give me another 15 minutes or so, OK?"
"That's fine," the officer said. "I need a few words with Dottie first, anyway."
I gave my statement, then sat with the young lady as she gave hers. Thomas cut the questioning as short as he could so that he could finish tending some wounds. As the officer was preparing to leave, much to my surprise, Gina walked in.
"You're early!" I said.
"Andrew's home today and I was itching to get back, so I came in a day early. Looks like I should've come in even earlier. I'm gone three months and you can't even keep the doors to my clinic from breaking, Dottie?"
