31 Ejaculations: Nos. 1-3

No. 3.

She entered my office smelling of aromatic soap and powder wearing layers and layers of clothes. Thick wools sandwiched silk with leather and fur. The effect was an expensive package, waiting to be opened. I knew what was underneath; she was my patient. I had examined her many times.

But today was different because today she had her 14-year-old daughter with her. I'm a medical professional by trade, not a teacher, but I've been around long enough that I instantly recognize certain "situations." Mother, daughter. Doctor's office. Of course, she wanted her pubescent child taught the facts of life in the most explicit manner possible.

But I explained to this perfectly shorn, perfectly dressed, powdered and perfumed pillar of up-market society that much as I'd like to be of service, as much as I'd like to bang her tight little daughter right there on top of my examining table (because I knew that was what she wanted me to do), such behavior was strictly against my mandated professional ethics -- not to mention the law. No, I cannot "do" your sweet little daughter. I have a practice to protect.

This "Vanity Fair" subscriber, Starbucks imbiber, dauber of Estie Lauder, owner of Volvos and Cuisinarts, didn't protest. She simply touched her daughter's shoulder and turned crestfallen for the door. My God, I thought to myself, have some pity!!! Her life isn't easy. That private school is so expensive, and so is that Donna Karan suit and that trip to St. Barts. Cut her some slack. Give her a break. Do something.

"Wait" I said. "Don't go. Maybe I can help."

She turned, the coolness of her eyes shading into warm hope.

Her daughter watched me warily from the corner of the examining room as I took her mother's hand and led her to the paper-covered table. "Lie down and loosen your clothes," I said with gentle firmness.

Some women taste like fruit, some women taste like a freshly opened oyster. Mother had obviously been in heat for some time, because when I tugged her lace panties down over her knees, I was instantly wrapped in the aura of love. The cloth over the crotch of my Gap 501's (I'm a very casual doctor) stretched to drum tautness.

I took off my glasses, gently separated her knees and lowered my face into her muff. My tongue danced over and into her wet sluice, her belly bounced as I moved my hands up to cup her breasts. In moments she was moaning "Yes! Yes!"

I looked over toward the corner where the daughter stood, her eyes wide with excitement, her mouth slightly open, forming inaudible words. Suddenly I realized how beautiful this girl was. Like some pre-Raphaelite nymph. And I thought, "We're on this earth for such a short time. So I lose my license? Fuck it." I beckoned to her: "Yes, yes, come here. I'll have you both. That's it, slide out of those nasty clothes like a good girl and come to Doctor. That's it, now..."

OH! OH! OH! SHIT! DAMN! MAN!!!!! Phew. Where's the fuckin' Kleenex?

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Read on: No. 4

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