During his sleep, Calvin’s dreams were rammed with sordid images of himself being given a thorough going over by the tall and shapely Dr. Eriksen and her cute receptionist.
It should depress a man that his reality could in no way compare to his dreams, but Calvin saw it as a sign to a wonderful future consultation.
His hopes of the dreams being foretold fornication were raised higher when he rang at 8:30am precisely. The cute, but tired sounding receptionist informed him that there had been a cancellation. Calvin would have the pleasure of dear Dr. Eriksen at 12:30pm.
It was ideal. Calvin wouldn’t need to take the day off from work, he could merely ask for an extended lunch and make up for it at the end of the usual working day.
To top it off, he would be getting his prophesied threesome with the sexy doctor.
The morning’s work seemed to drag like an octergenarian sprint due to the technicolor fantasies that filled his filthy mind.
He had to rush off to the toilet several times during the morning, with his suit jacket hiding his modesty, because of one particular image where the doctor, lab coat slightly undone to reveal her bra-less ample chest, reached for his “special friend” and, with a voice full of sexual need, remarked on its plentiful girth.
When the time came to find himself sat in the sterile smelling waiting room of the surgery his two heads were on the verge of utter explosion. This was despite the fact that he was seated behind an ox of a woman who dredged phlegm from her throat to the rhythm of the clock’s second hand.
At the point where even he was becoming irritated by ox lady, he was called in and was met, standing with her door open, by the delectable Dr. Eriksen.
She initially seemed a little standoffish and not at all as his dreams had predicted, as she asked what the problem was. Calvin presumed it was all part of the illusion before the act, therefore smiled like snake outside a rodent’s nest and counted the seconds until she would be undoing her lab coat to the bottom of her extraordinary cleavage.
After describing his symptoms, she asked him to drop trow and underpants.
Calvin did as he was asked, trying with all the skills of a yogi to appear calm, even though inside he was flipping and flopping around the sex room of his mind.
‘I’m going to check out the lump, Mr Garvey, I’m sorry if my hands are a little chilly,’ she told him, with equal heat in her voice.
Calvin looked deep into her sexy blue eyes and told her as suave as he could muster that it would be fine.
And then she did it…she really did it and Calvin was certain that she’d brushed his scrotum purposely. The shock wave that shot around his body and along his swiftly stiffening “special friend” told him that she and he were one.
He looked down to see her head lowering towards his groin.
‘She’s going down!’ He heard himself roar inside his mind. ‘She’s really going down.
Then a wave of euphoric nausea flooded his chest and throat as his “special friend” prematurely threw the only sentence it knew all over the cheek of a shocked and enfuriated Dr. Eriksen.
It turns out that she wasn’t “going down” for any other reason than to check the boil. She told him that through furious anger and many tissues.
She also, as pleasant as scorpion, advised him on the help he should seek, after he, like an inexperienced adolescent, told her what he thought was going to happen by her hand and mouth.
Back at work, his colleagues feared he’d been given terminal news, due to his silence. He assured them that he was merely tired.
Inside his soul he was mortified. He couldn’t understand what could make him believe that he was on for a threesome, let alone empty his happiness all over the lovely doctor.
By six-thirty he was convinced that he’d been poisoned by the porn he watched. He sadly concluded that he must have watched too much and therefore decided that he would have one last “special time” and then metaphorically knock the whole thing on the head.
It lasted until he got home.
He then had one more last one for bed and three more before breakfast.