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Subject: {ASSM} Abducted By Aliens (M/F+ not sci-fi)
Date: Wed, 1 Mar 2000 23:10:04 -0500
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Abducted By Aliens (M/F+ not sci-fi)
by DrSpin
March 2000
* The author welcomes comments and opinions from readers
and is invariably motivated to respond. Write to:
drspin@newsguy.com
===========================================================
Standard Disclaimer:
I write and you read, if you care to. That's all there is
to it. If any reader is offended, and I would be surprised
to hear it, he/she should not have been here in the first
place and only has himself/herself to blame. If this story
is relocated, please leave my name intact as the author and
please include my email address.
===========================================================
* Inspired by Ace-in-the-hole's Breakfast At Sue's. His
story (which is very readable) prodded recollections.
===========================================================
There were too many frantic blips on the mobile phone's
message bank. I'd already walked over a pile of slips
thrust under the hotel room door. No point picking up the
hotel phone because I didn't need to be told. I was waist-
high in deep shit trouble.
I drank a long glass of water because I needed it. After
one prolonged sigh so I could feel sufficiently sorry for
myself, I picked up the mobile and rang the boss.
Instantly he was shouting. And swearing. He had as foul a
mouth as any man in all Australia, and the only difference
today was that he was doing it louder than normal. I waited
for him to wind down.
"Ace," he said menacingly when he'd stopped ranting.
"You've really fucked yourself this time. There's no way
you can make up for the aggravation you've caused me in the
past 40 hours so don't even try. But I need to know for the
record. What's your excuse?"
"No excuse," I said. "But I do have a story."
"A story? What the fuck use is a story? What am I going to
tell the fucking clients? Don't fucking worry about the
fucking contracts because fucking Ace has a fucking story?"
"But it is a good fucking story, boss. Unusual, and that's
understating it."
Silence. Then: "You are fucking incorrigible. A real good
story?"
"Amazing. You'll want to hear it. But it's too long to tell
over the phone. I'm flying out today and I'll see you
tomorrow."
"Ace, you're too fucking evil," said the boss. Which was
good. I'd hooked him. He sighed loudly. "All right. I'll
make up some excuse. I'll say you were abducted by aliens
or something."
"Boss, that's uncannily close to the truth. And I am in New
Zealand, remember?"
"Shit," he said savagely. "I fear for international
relations. This had better be a good story. One of your
fucking best." And he rang off.
Poor old fucking him, back in Sydney, wracked by ulcers and
fearful of a heart condition. He'd worked too hard too long
and his days of dash and danger were long gone. But I liked
him and he liked me. He also liked vicariously the stories
I sometimes told him over long lunches. And I did have a
story to tell.
Abducted by aliens. They sure were strange, these New
Zealand sheilas. So upfront. Must be something in the
water. That, or it's a byproduct of Kiwi male culture. I
mean, have you ever met a New Zealand male who didn't claim
to have trialled for the All Blacks? Perhaps they ought to
pay a little less attention to the pigskin and a little
more to the local fauna. And I'm not talking sheep.
I was in Nelson, at the top of the South Island. Nice quiet
place. Good seafood. Famous for its scallops. At lunch
two days ago I'd eaten a couple of hundred. And that night,
fairly early, I'd been sitting in the lobby bar of the
hotel with a quiet drink but not a chance of an appetite
and looking through a few business papers when a woman
plonked herself in front of me opposite the little low
table.
"You've got to help me," she said.
Very direct. She wasn't smiling so it wasn't a joke. In
fact she looked anxious. Pleasant looking woman, apart from
the frown. Mid-to-late twenties, maybe slightly chubby but
no problem, well-dressed for sleepy Nelson town, and a
broad and open face not immediately pretty but probably the
next best thing. In other words, a reasonably average
routinely desirable female. Why would she need help? The
query was on my face.
"I need a place to stay the night," she said, continuing to
look at me earnestly.
"Ah, look," I said carefully. "I'm not a local inhabitant.
I'm staying here at the hotel."
She waved her hand impatiently. "I know that. I'm the
reception manager. I know who you are."
"So why can't you just take a room? You're hardly full up."
She jerked her head minimally over her left shoulder. "You
see him?"
I looked. All I could see was a guy in a chef's uniform.
"The chef?"
"That's him," she said. "If I take a spare room he'll know
about it."
Indeed the chef seemed to be hovering suspiciously on the
other side of the room. He was thickset and looked like a
mutineer on the verge of it. He also had a No.1 haircut and
that's never a good sign.
"You could go home," I suggested.
"He'd follow me."
"Bad news?"
"Very bad."
"Why me?"
A smile twitched on her face. "You're passing through. And
I like you."
"You don't even know me."
"I like you anyway."
Well, this was sheer waste. I'm not called Ace for nothing.
I know how to flick the switches on a girl. I'm good at it,
and I'd been having a very good run lately. A wise man had
told me a year or so previously that if you treated women
with politeness and respect, they'd more often say yes than
no when you asked them. He was perfectly right, and I'd
been having a lovely run. But this Kiwi sheila had simply
turned up out of the blue and said ready when you are. It
was deflating, like knowing the full-time score before the
game.
"So you want to go to my room?" I asked politely and with
respect.
"Not together," she said. "I work here. And besides...".
She tossed her head again in the direction of the burly and
surly chef. "I'll go now and you come a bit a later."
"You know the number? You want my key?"
"I'll use my passkey." She stood up. "Thanks. See you
soon."
I sat there, finished my drink and had another. The chef
had vanished. I let about 20 minutes go by and went up to
the room, more curious than anything. I opened the door and
the light was on. She was already tucked away in bed and
she sat up, bare breasts swaying, with the easy welcoming
smile of a wife. The whole scene was matter-of-fact, like I
should be tossing a briefcase on the table and complaining
about a tough day at the office.
She patted the bed meaningfully. "It's my day off tomorrow
and I have prior plans," she said. "Get your gear off,
Donald. I need to get some sleep later tonight."
Donald? Hang on, that was me. "Everybody calls me Ace," I
said. Now if she'd said Don I would have known instantly.
But Donald? It might have been on my passport but even my
mother didn't call me that.
"Ace?" She raised her eyebrows. "Sounds promising."
It was time to get down and dirty. The field was under
starter's orders. The gentlemen had started their engines.
The contestants had touched gloves. We'd been through set-
your-marks and there was only go to go. But I was loitering
without intent. Somehow it wasn't right. It was like a
friend bringing you a gift of a beautiful big barramundi
from his great fishing trip. Only you never wanted the
fucking fish; you wanted the fucking trip.
I became tentatively and tepidly naked. A man in his prime
is supposed to appear jauntily eager but everything pointed
down and all my veins were running sluggish. I slipped
quickly under the sheets, hoping to catch a wave of
adrenaline somewhere sometime soon.
We kissed. That was easy. I fondled. No worries. She
started to grope downwards and I was still waiting for the
wave so I seized the initiative and submerged like a
champion muff diver. She was delighted. Whoever she was. I
still didn't know her name. We hadn't been introduced. But
I knew my duty and if I couldn't behave in studly fashion
at that moment at least I could eat her out assiduously.
"Oh Ace," she said gushingly. "You're bad."
Fortunately it doesn't require passion to eat a girl out,
just experience and application. The humidity increased
under the blankets exponentially and so did the degrees of
her delight, although she climaxed modestly and almost
demurely. I resurfaced to replenish the oxygen tanks and
discovered with some relief that my dick had hardened
adequately. In fact it was so bone hard it was a menacing
weapon. Perhaps it had been the satisfaction of completing
a task to somebody else's satisfaction that had done it. No
matter. I rolled on the ready condom while she watched
approvingly. Ace could and would perform this night.
Boy, did I perform, let me tell you. On and on, like the
Hash House Harriers. I was a dildo with handles and I
didn't need a battery. She was already orgasmically
inclined following a liberal eat-out and she went up and
over pretty soon. And on and on I went. Oh no, she said
sometime later, surprise in her voice, and climbed the hill
again. On and on. Oh no, she said still later, and did it
again. On and on. Oh fuck no, she said, and this time she
sounded panicky, like she meant it.
So I faked it. I wouldn't kid you. Really. I'm reasonably
fit but I was getting pretty tired, and the truth of it was
I was nowhere near where I needed to be. The tide was out
and nothing was happening. And anyway she'd moved out of
her comfort zone and she seemed more than a little
concerned that she'd found herself in the sack with
Metronome Man.
I faked it. Yes, I said, though I felt no. I shook my hips,
arched my back, lifted my head, looked beseechingly at the
ceiling as though there was after all a God. And for
dramatic effect I thumped the pillow beside her head with a
savage downward karate chop. Not a bad performance. I'd
done all these things before in real-time orgasm but I
don't think I'd ever put them together in a choreographed
and logical sequence. I was impressed. It looked and
sounded to me like I'd had a damned good time. Even wished
I'd seen in it a mirror.
Trouble was I was still bone hard, and not pleasantly so.
The condom was empty and tight and uncomfortable. I swished
quickly out of the bed and into the bathroom, flushed away
the condom and scratched my head perplexed as I looked at
my reflection in the mirror. The thing jutted out
resolutely and unreasonably. It was like an internal gear
had jammed and stuck me with a frozen hard-on. Something
didn't feel right.
Because I couldn't do anything else I wandered back to the
bed. "Jesus," she said, and there was a hint of awe in her
voice. "You're ready to go again?"
I shrugged deprecatingly, as though I could if I wanted to
but no big deal if she didn't. I was standing beside the
bed with an iron bar erection waving in the gentle air-
conditioned breeze and she kept switching her eyes between
it and my face. "Small wonder they call you Ace," she said.
"I don't think I'll be able to walk for two days. Who are
you? What do you do?"
"I'm a fixit man," I said, giving my stock answer.
"You can say that again. Jesus. Look, I need some sleep."
"No problem," I said.
She stretched out a hand unenthusiastically. "I could,
well, you know..."
"No need," I said. "I'll sleep too." Which I did, pointing
my rock-hard boner away from her protectively.
She woke me by pushing me on the shoulder. It was still
dark. "I have a good idea," she said. "Come back to my
place and I'll make you a fabulous old-fashioned
breakfast."
I hadn't eaten since the monster scallops lunch the day
before. It sounded appealing. I clicked on the light and
looked at the clock. 05.55. An early start to the day
wouldn't go amiss and I had plenty of work to do later on.
"You've got me," I said, and rolled out of bed. The boner
was still a boner. Diamond hard. Unyielding.
"Mother of God," she said, looking. "Don't you ever do
anything else?"
She drove me to her house, only about 15 minutes away, and
I was uncomfortably aware of the stiff dick that wouldn't
go away. The bumpy ride bounced and scraped it inside my
trousers. I'd never felt less sexually charged in my life
and I couldn't figure out why it wouldn't die. True to her
word, her breakfast was greasily sumptuous.
"Who taught you that?" I asked. "The chef?"
"Not likely. He's gay. Wouldn't give me the time of day."
"But I thought..."
"I made that up," she confessed cheerfully. "I needed an
excuse to chat you up and he was in the right place at the
right time. Fancied you from the moment you came in the
door. Want to take a shower with me now?"
I did. I was hoping for a beneficial effect because my
stiff penis was starting to cramp the muscles in my
abdomen. No benefit at all. The hot water increased my
discomfort and I backed away courteously to let her have
the major portion of it. I flinched when she grabbed me. It
wasn't pleasant. She soaped me with soft hands and that was
a bit better but it still wasn't right.
She started to drop to her knees in the shower, ready to
give me a Kiwi blowjob. But I pulled her back up. "You'll
drown," I said. But that wasn't the real reason. I just
knew it was going to be painful and I knew my plumbing
wasn't going to work. She was a little hurt, I think.
Trouble was, I'd never been less turned on in my life,
despite the obvious evidence to the contrary.
We dried off with towels and she looked at me speculatively
as she slipped on a dressing gown. "Listen, Ace," she said.
"How would you like to do me a very big favour?"
What an awful thing to put to a gentleman. How can you say
no? Besides, I was acutely aware I'd just rejected her. "If
I can," I said warily. "What?"
"Well, I share this house with a friend. And tomorrow is
her birthday. I was thinking I'd give her an early
present." She took my hand and led me to the door. "Guess
what? It's you."
Moments later, while I was still coming to terms with it, I
was standing naked in a bedroom while a female rolled over
in bed and sat up rubbing her eyes. She saw me, fully naked
and wholly erected, and rubbed her eyes again. "Holy shit,"
she said.
"Wake up, dear," said the reception manageress whose name I
still didn't know. "Here's your birthday present from me.
His name is Ace and you'd better believe it. Don't ever say
again I never do anything for you." She tugged me forward
by the hand so I was standing directly beside the bed and
patted me smartly on the backside. "I'll see you both some
time later."
She left the room and shut the door. The girl in the bed
started slowly to smile and then broke into giggles. "Dear
me," she said, recovering. She swept back the covers on the
bed. "It's rude to send back a present so I guess you'd
better get in."
She was wearing a cheap nightgown. She was also never going
to threaten the runner-up in a beauty contest. A small
girl, skinnyish, with that nothing sort of hair that won't
allow itself to be described. A mousy girl, especially at
this time of the day, but not unpleasant. Not stupid
either, because I could see a sharp sense of humour in her
eyes.
"Hi Ace," she said from close range beside me. "That can't
be your real name, can it? I'm Carol."
"Hi Carol," I said. "And yes it is. Everybody calls me
that."
"She's a terrible person," said Carol. "But I can't fail to
be impressed if you come with her recommendation. I could
tell you stories about her that would make your hair curl."
"You could fix a problem for me," I said. "What's her
name?"
She laughed, throwing her head back. "You slept with her
and you don't know her name? It's Marilyn. Looks like you
made more of an impression on her than she made on you."
She laughed again, delighted with this.
"Sounds like you don't like her all that much," I observed.
"She's my very best friend. But that doesn't mean I can't
hate her sometimes."
"Look," I said. "This is all quite silly. I can just slip
away quietly and you can tell her what you like."
"Oh no," she said. "I've never been one to look a gift
horse in the mouth. And you're quite dishy." She put out a
hand and ran the heel of it hard down my chest and stomach.
"You have a very nice body."
She sat up straight and peeled the nightgown over her head.
"Unfortunately I don't," she said, looking directly at me.
"You do all right," I said. What else could I say? And
anyway she had the right things in the right places, which
after all is all that is ever required.
She peeled back the blanket and sheet and looked at my hard
penis. "You certainly give a girl all the right signals.
Nothing ambiguous here." She took hold of it softly but
still I winced. It was not so much painful as tender, like
a swollen spider-bite.
There was nothing for it but to do it. How could I not? If
I tried to explain she'd think I was turning her down
because she was plain, and I just can't hurt females like
that because they're too plainly vulnerable. Never did I
feel less like fucking, but that was the way it was going
to have to be.
I moved through the preliminaries with polish and
confidence, secure in the knowledge that whatever I felt it
wasn't going to matter a damn to the never-ending erection.
She was the one to be warmed up. I didn't need it. I didn't
need anything.
Wait. There was something I might need. "I don't have a
condom," I said.
She blinked at me, focusing. She was pretty warmed up.
"Oh," she said. She reached out, snapped open a drawer on
the bedside chest, withdrew the item and flourished it in
front of my face. "There you go," she said. "I knew my
emergency supply would come in handy some day. Just don't
look at the use-by date."
I'd been dreading it but it was not so bad. As long as I
kept it long, slow and smooth the discomfort was minimal.
It was even soothing. On and on I went, long, slow and
smooth. Still no sign of a tidal surge, though. Not a
tingle. Nothing. She was a whimperer, this one. Never been
certain about whimperers. It always sounded like the noise
you made when you thought you ought to be making a noise.
On and on from me. Whimpering from her. Time passed, long,
slow and smooth. She reached around me and stuck her
fingernails into my back. Never been certain about back-
scratchers. Ditto reason.
Something had to give and it wasn't going to be me. She
started to give and she stopped whimpering and scratching.
But she was thrusting, and doing it vigorously, and it
hurt. I looked searchingly and hopefully into her eyes
looking for a sign but she was dull and unfocused. And out
of nowhere she did it, tensing and shuddering and curling
her lip. I stopped, gratefully.
"Holy shit," she said, and she was damp all over. "That
almost never happens."
"Let's try for a double," I said, resigned to it, and
started again. Long, smooth and slow.
"Holy shit," she said. And it took no time at all.
Comparatively. And to complete the job I faked it again,
getting it simultaneously right on cue. I was too sore to
go on.
"I'm a sex machine," she said a little later, pleased with
herself. "Always wanted to be but thought I'd never make it."
"Happy birthday, sex machine," I said.
"Ace, you are..."
"What?"
"An ace, I guess. Either that or an alien."
I rolled away, tired, and lay face down so she couldn't see
I was still bone dry and bone hard. I dozed. She talked a
bit but I didn't hear the words. I thought I dozed but I
must have slept, because I woke suddenly, knowing it was
much later, and aware of two women standing beside the bed.
I looked at my watch. 12.25. Shit. I was missing
appointments.
"Gotta go," I said to Marilyn and Carol. "Where are my
clothes?"
"We were hoping you'd stay," said Marilyn.
"No," I said. "Can't." I sprang out of the bed. Too
energetically. The erection from hell bounced painfully and
I sat back on the bed, ashen-faced, and waited for the
shooting muscle spasms in my abdomen to subside.
"Now, will you look at that," said Marilyn. "We were
wondering whether you were up for a wee bit more action and
now I guess we know the answer."
"Ladies," I said. "I really do have to get to work. My
clothes?"
"Not telling you," said Carol. "Consider yourself
abducted." They both laughed hugely.
I didn't. "No, really," I said. "I have work to do."
"Indeed you do," said Marilyn. They both laughed again.
"Come on," she said, taking my hand and pulling me upright.
She towed me down the corridor and I hoped I was being
shown to my clothes. Alas no. In the lounge sat a woman
looking anxious. Her eyes widened as I was led to the
centre of the room, erection thrusting before me.
Carol had a hint of triumph in her voice. "Lesley," she
said, "I want you to meet the incredible Ace."
Lesley was obviously flustered and embarrassed. She was an
older woman, perhaps 40, with tired lines at her mouth and
around her eyes. "Oh my God," she said faintly. "You
weren't joking. I thought you were."
"Lesley lives next door," said Marilyn to me. "Her husband,
who is a jerk, has lost interest in her and found it in
somebody else. We keep telling her it's not her fault but
she doesn't believe us. We tell her she's as sexy as all
hell but she doesn't believe us. We tell her to screw other
guys but she won't. Ace, we want you to show her how sexy
she still is. What do you say?"
What did I say? What could I say? I was caught in a loop.
There was no possible escape. The human obligation
outweighed any other consideration. I just can't hurt
people like that. I can't. "It would be my pleasure," I
said.
Lesley said no with her voice and her hands but it was
plain to see she was thinking maybe. She was looking to be
coaxed. And while they coaxed her I stood in the middle of
the room with a hard-on watching her and she sat on the
sofa with a coy smile watching me. She was older and
heavier and not in pristine condition. But there was a sexy
slyness about her that was appealing. That, and the way her
body moved and the way her breasts hung substantially low
under the scooped neckline of her simple dress.
"Come on," I said to her. I stepped forward and took her
hand, raising her from the couch, and she came without a
look back.
Lesley was shy about getting undressed, which I thought was
unreasonable given my manifest condition. She wanted me to
look away while she took off her clothes and slipped
between the sheets. "Shit no," I said. "Looks to me like
there's a power pack under there and I want to see it
stripped down."
She emerged from her clothes hesitatingly, her eyes
flicking back to me, wary about the way she was being
received. She didn't need to apologise. She was built
solidly the way a lot of women tend to be when they
pack the weight and worry of a few years on their figures.
They lose their girlish waists somewhere. The waist slips
down, I think, to the hips and disappears. But Lesley had
fine good legs and full and rich tits which bobbed and
swayed with her every movement. I swear if I hadn't had an
erection for 16 hours I would have raised one in an
instant. This was a fuck-me type of woman.
I messed her about a bit on the bed and soon she was
rolling her hips impatiently. I snatched another condom
from Carol's bedside drawer and slid easily into her
without delay. Long, smooth and slow. It didn't hurt but
neither did it summon any hope of emission. I could tell.
Again, it wasn't going to happen. Sighing internally, I
settled down to do another job of work.
Lush Lesley was like a thunderstorm coming in from the
west. Warning rumbles, a rising moan like a fast
approaching wind, and then it was on her in a flash. The
bed shook. She shrieked. Violence threatened. And just as
suddenly it was past and she was still and calm. She
slanted her eyes at me. "Oh fuck," she said softly and
apologetically. "I think I made a lot of noise."
One of the girls banged on the door and shouted: "Way to
go, Lesley."
"I think you did," I said.
"Oh my Lord," she muttered. "How embarrassing. I'll never
live this down."
"You might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb," I said,
beginning afresh.
I had to fake it again but she got an hour from me, on and
off, before it became necessary. I did my duty. And it
hurt, but I put off thinking about it because there nothing
I could do but run away.
I was allowed to dress in my clothes. At the door Lesley
kissed me slushily before wandering back home. Marilyn and
Carol drove me back to the hotel. I waved goodbye, walked
inside and straight out again. I'd seen, just around the
corner, a medical clinic and that's where I knew I ought to
be. The stiff thing had been with me for more than 20 hours
and something was definitely wrong.
It was late and the receptionist was clearly reluctant. Two
of the doctors had already left and the other was seeing
the final patient. Just passing through, I said. It was
urgent and I'd pay cash; which did the trick. After 15
minutes an old lady shuffled out the door and I was shown
in to see the doctor.
She did not look thrilled to see me and I was horrified to
see her. I had set myself for an embarrassing consultation
but I had not set myself for a female doctor. I guess it
showed on my face.
"Yes?" Her tone was irritable.
I was speechless. Not only a woman was she but she was more
than a woman to me. She was very good looking. Very. About
30, at a guess, with yellow-blonde hair swept back tightly
into a knot behind her head. She looked up at me with cool
hazel eyes over the rim of her tiny gold reading glasses.
Thin lips. High cheek bones. Arched eyebrows. I love it
when they look severe like that.
"Yes?" She snapped it again, more irritably.
I grimaced and her frown deepened. "I'm terribly sorry," I
said. "I just wasn't expecting to see a female doctor. I'm
a bit taken aback."
"Yes, well," she said, with irony laid on so heavily I
could not have missed her intent if I had been a three-toed
sloth, "we may not be the most progressive country on earth
but we have reached the stage where we let the occasional
token female into the medical profession."
"No no," I said hastily. "I have nothing against women
doctors. I just didn't expect this evening to have show one
my penis. Especially in its current state."
I did not think it possible her frown could become
frownier. But it did. "And what state is that?"
"Um, it's erect."
"I see." There was enough ice in her voice to drop the
temperature in the room.
"No no," I said hastily. Again. "Look, doctor, it's been
that way for 20 hours. It won't go down and I'm in
considerable discomfort."
At least an appearance of interest crossed her face. She
looked at me dubiously for a moment and glanced down at her
desk. "Mr...ah...Dyson." She looked up again. "Have you
been taking drugs?"
"Drugs? No."
"Do you ever take drugs?"
"No."
"Viagra, for example?"
"No."
"You say you've had a constant erection for 20 hours?"
"Yes."
"And you've taken no drugs of any kind over the last 48
hours?"
"No."
"Have you done anything at all unusual in the last 48
hours?"
"Well." I stopped and looked at her anxiously. It was not
going to go down well.
"Go on," she said.
"I've had sex with three women."
Her cool hazel eyes did not even flicker. "And you didn't
lose it?"
"No."
"Did you ejaculate at any time?"
"I couldn't. It's a long story, but I couldn't manage it.
Didn't even come close. Tell you the truth, doctor, it was
most disconcerting. Not enjoyable at all."
She was puzzled. "So why do it?"
"Obligation. A long story. Doctor, you wouldn't believe it
if I told you."
She sat still in her chair and studied my face carefully. A
slow smile started on her mouth and it broadened until she
was grinning at me. "Oh dear," she said. "And to think I
nearly sent you away." She stood up and came around the
desk. "Well, Mr Dyson, we'd best investigate. Let's have
your trousers off."
Dr King, for that was the name on the plate on her desk,
sat on the chair I had been using and peered at close range
through her gold-rimmed glasses at my inflexible problem
while I stood bottomless beside her. She was tall and slim,
wearing a white linen suit with jacket open and a pink tee
shirt under it. While she studied me at the lower level I
stretched my neck to look down her front as she leaned
across from the chair. I saw something lace-topped but that
was about it. Not a voluptuous woman, the good lady doctor.
She stood up and walked across to a cabinet. Nice walk.
Good legs. "I can tell you're not lying about having sex,"
she said wryly, as she pulled on light and transparent
plastic gloves. "You smell like a whorehouse."
"Sorry about that. I came straight here without going back
to the hotel."
She returned to her seat and prodded the base of my penis
with a gloved finger. "Is that tender?" It was; felt like a
deep bruise. She stood up and went back to her desk. "I
know what it is," she said, "but I don't know why it
happened. Mr Dyson, you have a case of priapism."
"Is that serious?"
"It can be if it's not fixed. You can do permanent damage
to your reproductive capacities."
"Can you fix it?"
"As a matter of fact I can, because I've seen and dealt
with it before. But he was a diabetic old man who got it as
a drug byproduct. Why you should get it at your age and in
your obviously fit and healthy condition is a mystery. I
should tell you priapism has no direct relation to sex or
sexual urges. Blood flows into your penis and causes it to
swell as you become erect. What's happened to you is that
the blood flow has been restricted somehow. It's trapped
and it can't get back out, so you simply stay erect. And
you'll stay like that until we get that blood out."
I winced. "Sounds painful."
"Not necessarily," she said. "First we'll try a simple and
common anti-inflammatory drug. There's a good chance that
will do the trick. But if not I'll have to draw out the
blood with a needle."
"Quick," I said shakily. "Give me the drug."
I took two tablets with a glass of water. "It may take a
little time to work," she cautioned. "In the meantime try
to think about anything unusual you ate or drank in the
past 48 hours or so. I'm still puzzled about why it should
happen to you."
"Well," I said, considering, "I did eat an enormous lunch
of your splendid Nelson scallops yesterday."
She laughed. "Wouldn't that be something? Nelson could
become a world mecca for impotent men." She drummed on the
desk with her fingers as she thought about it. "Listen, Mr
Dyson, I think I'd better take a blood sample, if you don't
mind. I'll get some tests done. You never know, this could
make an important medical paper for me."
"I appreciate your help, doctor," I said. "Take anything
you want."
She looked at me keenly. "Let's do a deal," she said. "The
drug could take an hour or two to have the desired effect.
I'll take you back to my place, cook us a meal, and you can
tell me the whole story. Then, if we have to, we can draw
out the blood from your penis physically. Otherwise I'm
going to have to wait around here to see what happens. And
I'm hungry. I skipped lunch."
"Uh, the whole story? You mean, with the women?"
"All of it. It could make a fascinating paper. Of course
we'll waive the fee."
"I guess it's a deal," I said. "I really do need not to be
like this any longer, and you seem to know what you're
doing."
Alison King lived close by and not usually alone, but she
was that night and for the next four days because her
husband was playing in an annual rugby tournament in Fiji.
She accepted Ace as my commonly-used first name only
grudgingly. I had to show her my business card before she'd
believe it. She would not let me start my story until we
had eaten a reheated mutton stew, which was wonderfully
good. Then, while I assured her the thing in my trousers
was not showing signs of relaxing itself, she set up a tape
recorder and urged me through the details. All the details.
Who, where, when, why and how. Especially how. How long,
how many times, how it felt and how they behaved.
"Wow," she said. "That's quite a story. Now if only I can
link it to Nelson scallops. I'd better get that blood
sample while I think about it."
"Look, Alison," I said, "do you think I might be able to
take a shower? I am acutely aware that I haven't done so
since early this morning."
"Oh sure," she said. She led the way to the bathroom. I
waited politely for her to leave but she leaned casually
against the wall. "Go right ahead," she said. "I need to
check out your equipment anyway. I'll just take that sample
when you're finished."
Mercy. The flag was at half mast. Still plump, but drooping
downwards. The drug was having an effect. "Magic," I said
happily. "It works. Or rather, it doesn't work."
Absurd scenario. I stood naked in the lady doctor's
bathroom looking down with more than casual interest at my
slowly declining penis while she watched approvingly.
"Good," she said. "For your sake I was not looking forward
to the other procedure."
I turned on the shower and hopped into the stall, spirits
buoyant but troublesome appendage not. I washed happily
until something popped into my brain. "Hey Alison," I
called out. "You still there."
"Still here. I'm waiting to take a blood sample."
"A question. Now that finally it's gone down, is there a
statute of limitations on when it can safely come up
again?"
She laughed. "As far as I know, once the blood is flowing
normally everything else is normal. I don't see any medical
reason to believe otherwise. As far as I know, that is."
I slid open the shower cubicle door. "It's completely
down," I said, showing her. "Do I have to lay off or
anything? Should I give it a rest?"
She was still leaning against the wall. "To tell you the
truth, I don't know," she said. "But as I said, I see no
medical reason why you should not operate normally
forthwith."
I closed the door, thinking about it while I washed my
hair. The door slid open and a body bumped me aside. I
wiped shampoo from my eyes in great surprise. Yikes. The
doctor was in the shower with me, entirely without clothes.
"Thought we might find out," she said. "It's in the best
tradition of medical research. If you're willing to put
yourself in my hands, that is."
Alison King had a body like an art photographer's model.
Nothing extravagant but very tidy. Economical.
Proportional. Symmetrical. Elegant. Lovely. And she had
blonde pubic hair. Well, near enough. And candy-pink
nipples. She stood in the shower stall with me, our bodies
brushing, and reached back to untie her hair. It fell
straight to her shoulders.
"Goodness gracious me," I said.
"I know that song," she said. "That's supposed to be my
line."
Never got my hands on a doctor before. Didn't know it was
possible. Without ever thinking about it, I'd more or less
ranked lady doctors second only behind nuns as
unattainable. I put out my hands and she grabbed them
and pulled me to her. We kissed, she with her back against
the tiled wall of the shower recess and both of us under a
hot waterfall.
One slippery kiss was all she wanted. She reached up and
turned off the taps. "Come on," she said, stepping out of
the cubicle and tugging me behind her. I followed along,
admiring her from behind. Very trim. Lovely vee-shaped
back. High buttocks. The doctor was in excellent health.
She drew me into her bedroom and right up to the big bed,
letting go my hand to give me a gentle push in the chest.
My knees hit the edge of the bed and I fell backwards. "And
now," she said, body and hair dripping wet, "once again
it's time for Ace to perform."
I looked up at her open-mouthed. "I thought you were taking
a blood sample. You mean, you want to have sex? With me?"
"You bet," she said, hands on hips and clearly meaning
business.
"But I'm all wet."
"So am I. Delicious."
"But I'm not___", I said, pointing at my problem. And
stopped. Well, hell's bells. I was. "When did that happen?"
"In the shower," she said. "Look here, Ace, are you going
to co-operate or am I going to have to jump you."
We grappled urgently on the top of her bed and her
intentions were immediate. She wanted me inside her. "You
don't want to play around a bit first?" I asked her,
because she was wet and sexy and I did.
"Can't wait any longer," she said. "I've been on the boil
for an hour already."
She told no lie. She was smooth and slick and I slipped
into her with the ease and style of a long-accustomed
lover. "Damn," I said. "The condom. I forgot the condom."
"But I didn't," she said, wriggling to accommodate me. "Ace
will go bareback tonight. I know all your little tricks,
remember."
Man, she was good. An experienced woman, and armed with
knowledge. She was firmly insistent and I was humble enough
to take directions from a woman who knew her body very well
and probably mine better than I knew it myself. Little
nudges, shifts and murmurs let me know what was good and
what was even better. It was an instructive and
constructive meeting, and sooner than I wanted I was
feeling the urge to let myself go. I backed off, trying for
control, but she knew all about it.
"Don't worry about me," she said. "Give it all up, Ace. I
want it."
I opened my eyes because I had them screwed up tight and
she was grinning at me. "You dope," she said. "You don't
have to play the stud for me." And she reached around
behind me and stuck a finger directly into my anus with
professional simplicity.
The dam burst instantly. I rammed into her so hard we
nearly ended up in the next room. It just kept coming up
from the depths, wave after wave. I had a cramp in the
soles of my feet and I had no breath. I think my hair
turned white. Even when I thought it was over it kept
coming in little aftershocks.
"Jesus," I said with considerable feeling. I found I was
lying on her heavily, my face against her neck. I wasn't
sure how long I'd been there, and I moved to ease myself
from her.
She put her arms around my back. "Just stay," she said.
"Rest. Don't leave me." My body stayed but my spirit went
flying away somewhere into a dark place. I know that
because I woke some time later, shrunk and about to fall
out of her. "Welcome back," she said, and wriggled out from
under me.
"Sorry about that," I said as I sat on the side of the bed
and tried to get my brain to work. "I am usually much more
attentive. You didn't get anything there."
"Don't worry, I got heaps," she said, looking and sounding
smug. "All that I wanted and much more."
I was getting the feeling, not for the first time in the
cosy town of Nelson, that everybody knew the rules of the
game except me. "Hey," I said to her, one eye closed
suspiciously. "What's going on?"
"Procreation, I hope," she said, and laughed as I looked at
her blankly. "No need to look so stunned. I'm trying to
make a baby. With your valuable help, of course. Prospects
are good because I am at peak fertility right about now."
"Doctor, you're married." I was indeed shocked.
"And quite comfortably, too," she said. "But he has a low
sperm count, though he doesn't know it. I've been on the
lookout for a while now for a suitable cuckoo, and you,
dear Ace, are the perfect candidate."
"Perfect? How so?"
"You're just passing through, you're not attached, you're
tall, you have the right sort of facial features, you're
good looking, you have a strong and healthy body, you
attract women, and you're selfish, streetwise and clever
with a rat-cunning instinct for self-promotion and
survival. They are all genes my baby will need in the big
wide world. In a word, Ace, you're perfect."
"Gee, thanks, I think," I said. "You had me fooled there. I
was thinking maybe you just fancied me."
"Oh, but I do," she said. "When you were telling your story
I had great trouble keeping my fingers from sneaking into
my pants. And when I saw you getting in the shower I made
up my mind to have you."
I scratched my chest idly. "Makes me sound easy."
"It was never in doubt. But just to make sure I hid your
clothes when you hopped into the shower. Looks like you've
been abducted again, Ace. You should count on staying the
night."
There are women and then there are special women. Alison
King had beauty and brains and she knew what she wanted,
including a baby fathered by me. What more can a strolling
vagabond want out of life? That night I did my best to meet
her expectations, knowing it was unlikely I would ever be
flattered to such a degree again. Once more I performed,
this time to my satisfaction and to hers. I gave her my
best concentrated shot and she gave it back to me. But in
the morning, in the cold light of day, she was all
business.
"I have surgery to get to," she said. "You can have
breakfast back at your hotel. I'll drop you off."
She didn't even cut the engine of the car. "Goodbye, Ace,"
she said. "You were lovely but there's no need to hurry
back."
I bent and looked back into the car. "Alison, can we at
least stay in touch?"
"Goodbye," she said, gunning the pedal.
Pretty town, Nelson. But it was well past time for me to
get the hell out of the place.
ENDS
* The author welcomes (and gets blood transfusions from)
comments and opinions from readers and is invariably
motivated to respond. Write to: drspin@newsguy.com
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
The author cannot guarantee Nelson scallops will assist
virility. But do check out charming Nelson and its environs
at:
http://webnz.com/nelson/
Priapism is only amusing in stories of erotic fiction. In
real life it is a painful and potentially dangerous
condition. For more information, go to:
http://www.goaskalice.columbia.edu/1133.html
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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