The Doctor Cures All

"Isn't there some other game you could play, young man?"

"I should say so!"

Bob smiled, pushed the off button on the remote, and stood up. He swept Emily up into his arms and toted her to their bedroom. Emily was pleased, she wanted some white-hot lovemaking with her husband to burn away and cauterize what had transpired with Tom earlier in the day.

Tom carried her up the stairs and over the threshold of the room in which Emily had spent the entirety of her girlhood, adolescence, and nearly all of her adult years. Bob set her down on the bed and tugged off his shirt. Emily noted his thin frame and slight pot belly and tried to force the recollection of Tom's buff, athletic frame from her mind's eye.

I have a wonderful husband, she told herself. Bob is handsome and he loves me. He sees me as so much more than a lust object!

Still, Tom's figure remained fixed in her vision. Bob lowered himself atop his wife and began kissing her before his lips traced the line of her collarbones and the divot below her neck. His head moved lower and he motorboated her huge breasts. With glee, he worked off the filmy teddy to expose every inch of Emily's nubile body. He adored every part of it, from the midnight locks above to the midnight curlies below. The long shapely legs flared hips, rounded shoulders, and long graceful fingers. She certainly was the complete package.

Bob kissed a circle around Emily's navel before darting lower. There he only placed kisses on her ebony thatched box before returning to her lips once more.

Bob had never gone down on Emily, she didn't expect him to. After all, women were made for men's pleasure. He kisses his way down her body once more, this time sucking each toe in turn before licking her adorable ankles. He worked his pants off. Emily slid into position to give Bob oral sex.

"Honey!"

She smiled and took him in. She sucked for a bit before withdrawing and kissing each of his balls and the length of his shaft before fellating him anew. She could tell by Bob's utterances and body language that he was on the edge of orgasm. She withdrew just as his cock erupted. It spurted all over the bed. Emily smiled. This act was untainted by Tom's memory. Bob embraced his wife and whispered sweet nothings in her ear as he waited for his organ to recharge. During the wait he had Emily roll over on her tummy while he performed an expert massage starting with her shoulders and working his way down to her feet. Emily adored her husband's touch. He was so good at knowing exactly where and how to touch her. He had been a trainer for an athletic team in junior college and had taken several courses in the art of massage. This was always her favorite part of their intimate times.

Sensing the time was right, Emily rolled over. Bob kissed her deeply then plunged his manhood into her cunny. Though he lasted longer than Tom, Emily could not help but notice how less full she felt and how much shorter were her husband's thrusts. She told herself that shouldn't matter. Wasn't she taught to believe that size doesn't matter? Was that only a myth promulgated by less endowed men? Emily did not know. All she was sure of was that Tom had stimulated her in a unique way. She realized that this was the end of their lovemaking. There would be no orgasm for Emily. There never was an orgasm for Emily, her entire married life. Now that she had experienced one, was she a bad wife for wanting another? Again, she did not know. Bob and she snuggled under the covers. He stroked her hair until he fell asleep. It was quite a while before Emily followed him into dreamland.

***

Three days later, a cold package arrived at the front door. It had no return address but Emily knew what it was. Inside was a bottle of gel-filled pills that required refrigeration. Emily read the enclosed instructions and promptly provided her father with his first dose. For the first week, he seemed the same. But by the second week, the reverend seemed much better. His breathing came easier and he was not as dizzy as he had been. By the third week, he was hard at work on his writing projects and felt so good that he accompanied Emily on walks around the block, just as they had done every day, weather permitting, before his heart condition. Both father and daughter thought the drug "miraculous." The young wife felt much less trepidation and guilt. Surely the Lord would overlook her carnal misadventure in light of the benefit to her father. Now he could compile his book of sermons and impact so many lives. What was a little sin in the face of that? As Tom, reprobate that he was, had pointed out, Jesus was in the forgiveness business.

Only a four-day supply remained. Emily answered Tom's call early in the morning..

"I take it you are satisfied with the results of your father's prescription?"

"Oh, Tom, the drug is a wonder. I'm tempted to say it's a miracle."

"A miracle would heal entirely. In any event, I was hoping you would say that. Put on your filmiest, sexiest underthings and a little black dress atop that. We have a lunch date at noon at the French bistro downtown. After that? I'll try and have you home in time to whip up a quick dinner for the reverend and the man whose ring you wear."

"Tom..."

"Spare me, Emily. I don't think poorly of you, I'm just stating facts. Don't be late!"

With that, he hung up the phone.

Emily made breakfast. Her father was roaring to settle himself behind the computer to write, edit, and compile. Bob left on another canvassing expedition. He would take all day. This caused Emily to sigh with relief.

The guilt came back as she dressed in her barely there scanties and little black dress. She slid on a trench coat and made sure that her father could fend for himself before she said a little prayer and headed into the city.

The bistro was near the central parking garage. Emily found a spot, gathered up her purse, and stepped out of her car. Her heart was a flutter. She knew what Tom would expect of her. She hated that part of her was actually looking forward to her illicit time with the handsome doctor. That realization also filled her with revulsion. She should be ashamed and disgusted. Why wasn't she?

Tom was waiting on the sidewalk in front of the bistro. He stole a kiss.

"Lose the coat," he ordered.

Emily sighed but shrugged it off. She handed the coat to Tom

"Quite beguiling, Emily."

"I only wore this because you made me."

"Sure, tell yourself that. Let's go in. I have a reservation."

To Emily's consternation, the restaurant was well-lit and Tom's table was near the front window. If any of her friends from church happened to pass by they would get a clear view of her illicit rendezvous!

"So nervous and afraid. Yet, in an hour or so..."

"Tom, please don't rub it in."

"Sorry. I take it that the medication did what I promised."

"Daddy has his life back now. It's wonderful."

"Your display of gratitude will come later in my apartment."

"Tom. You make this all seem so easy."

"Our agreement is a form of barter, Emily, and nothing more complicated than that".

"But."

"Your religious fixation is the problem, not my lack of "faith."

"The devil can quote scripture as well as an angel."

"That's because She wrote the book!"

"Blasphemer!"

"Guilty!"

She stared at him a moment.

"Now that you've got that out of your system, you can focus on the menu."

Emily rolled her eyes and tried to focus on the here and now. Her high school French was not up to the intricacies of haute cuisine, so she trusted Tom to order for her. He conversed with the waitress in flawless French. The way she smiled at him and vamped for his attention as she delivered the entrees proved to Emily that Tom had made another conquest. The food was divine, the wine heady, and the conversation stimulating. The time flew by.

Tom settled the bill and left an impressive tip. He tried to be subtle, but Emly noted that pocketed a slip of paper with a phone number on it. Clearly, it was that of the petite blonde waitress!

"Shall we continue this fascinating conversation at my apartment, Mrs. McConnel?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

Tom's BMW was impressive. The drive was not long, Tom lived in the Trolley Square Neighborhood, the ritziest in the city. The doorman at the Mayfair building greeted Tom by name and took an appreciative sidelong glance at Emily. They entered the elevator.

"Kiss me like you mean it," he said as he embraced her.

Emily wanted to hold back, to not give Tom what he wanted. She failed miserably. Bob never kissed her like this. Bob was incapable of kissing her lke this! Her knees went weak, She was glad that Tom was holding her.

Naturally, his apartment had a spectacular view and was tastefully furnished. It must be nice to have money and status thought Emily.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Oh, no thank you, Tom. I'm still a bit buzzed from that expensive chablis."

"One more won't hurt."

"I can't go home to Bob with alcohol on my breath."

"Then brush your teeth once you get home."

"It's all so easy for you isn't it Thomas?"

"Oh, now I'm Thomas, you must be angry."

"If you only knew the half of it."

He poured her a glass of sparkling wine. She reluctantly accepted it.

"Here's how this works, Emily. Once we finish our drinks, I'm going to escort you to my bedroom. There I will put on some music. My bachelor bedroom comes equipped with a handy pole. You'll do a nice, slow erotic striptease for me. Just like the girls at the gentlemen's club. Do a good job, and I'll send your home at a reasonable time. Half-ass it and you'll have some explaining to do to your husband."

"Don't you have to go to work today or something?"

"Nope, I get this day off in exchange for giving up my Sundays to treat the wealthy who don't go to church but have full business weeks."

"You want me to be something I'm not, Tom."

"Actually, I want you to be what you were born to be, a fully sensual being. You needn't finish that glass, you are done. Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly."

While Tom's living room came out of the pages of Architectural Digest, his bedroom came out of the pages of vintage issues of Esquire and Playboy. Huge waterbed on a pedestal, mirrored ceiling, and erotic paintings on one wall. There was a bar and off to one side a small stage with the promised pole.

"Gosh!" exclaimed Emily.

"I get that a lot," deadpanned Tom.

He raised a remote and the lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the stripper pole and music with a steady beat filled the air.

"Your stage awaits, Mrs. McConnel."

"I hate you!" cried Emily.

"Good! It makes taking you that much more fulfilling. Now get to it!"

Emily swallowed hard. Aside from a bit of playful striptease for Bob'sbenifit during their sexy times, she had never done anything like this before. With a lump in her throat, she strode forward and mounted the stage.

Embarrassed, she paced about a bit before finding the beat. Although her father frowned on things such as couples dancing socially, aside, of course for weddings and christenings. He was supportive of his daughter's joining a women's spiritual dance group at church. Though they could never perform before male members of the congregation, Emily savored the freedom of movement, the exercise, the memorization of steps and paces, and the awed reaction from the older women in church when they demonstrated their art at their frequent retreats. So many women had told Emily that she was both graceful and beautiful. It was a good feeling and helped make her adolescence and young adulthood a mostly painless one. Of course, she had to resign from the group when she slid on Bob's ring. Only single, virginal girls could participate.

Dancing always lightened Emily's mood. That was true even in these adverse conditions. She stepped out of her heels to allow herself to move more nimbly. She grasped the pole and imagined it a fellow dancer, bracing herself so that Emily could spin around them. The effect was even better than with a partner! Emily unconsciously smiled as she completed a completed circuit of the pole. Tom applauded loudly.

Gaining a bit of confidence, Emily toyed with the short sleeves of her dress, first exposing one shoulder then, the other. She had rather pretty shoulders. She extracted first her right arm then the left. The snug dress continued to cling to her. Emily closed her eyes, asked the Lord's forgiveness, and tugged it away from her ribcage. It traveled down her supple form onto the stage.

She was a vision of schoolboy fantasy in black lacy underthings. Before today, no man had seen her in these aside from Bob. She swung herself around the pole a second time.

"Take it off!" yelled Tom.

Emily knew she was not exiting the stage with her modesty and dignity intact. She reached behind her back and unclasped the shelf bra. It fell away. She made no effort to conceal her ample bust. Her breasts jiggled wonderfully as she moved around. Tom was in heaven; his mind full of visions and schemes.

Emily paused long enough to unhook one stocking from the suspender. She gyrated provocatively on one lovely leg while she removed the black nylon. Tom was now so hard, he could have set vaulting records at the Olympics sans pole. The other stocking came off. This was followed by the garter. Emily, realizing she was down to her last concealment, turned away from Tom and sashayed out of her filmy panties. These she dropped to the stage. The music stopped.

"Bravo!" exclaimed Tom followed, a moment later by, "Come here, Mrs. McConnel."

"Please stop calling me that!" she said as she accepted his embrace.

"Why? That is who you are."

"Even so."

"Less talky, more kissy."

He led her to the bed. It was amazingly comfortable. He was above her, his magma-like lips, teeth, and tongue working the same magic on her anatomy as Tom performed in the operating room with a scalpel on human hearts. "On my heart too." she realized with a shudder.

"Oh, Tom!" she gasped as he brought her to the precipice of orgasm and then pushed her over. It seemed to the sheltered church-raised woman that she glimpsed God for a fleeting moment at the apex of her climax. It was a profoundly transformative moment. She closed her eyes tight and prayed that this was indeed a sign from on high that her involvement with Tom was part of a divine plan. It was something to hold on to at any rate.

He was inside her, filling her, driving all thought of Bob from her mind. His muscular buttocks flexed and drove his substantial organ deeper. Emily grasped Tom tight and went rigid before the second orgasm of her day descended and she went limp all over. The world became smoked glass before winking out entirely.

He gently shook her awake. She noted that her clothes were neatly folded on a chair by the bed as was her trench coat.

"Before you return to your mundane life, Cinderella, there is the minor matter of groundskeeping."

She looked at him puzzledly.

Later, she bit her lip in concentration as she gazed into the mirror above her to watch Tom expertly denude her vulva with a trimmer, warm soapy water, and a safety razor.

"This seals the contract between us. So long as I continue to supply the drug for your father, you will keep yourself satiny smooth here always."

"Why?"

"As I said, it's a visible bond, like your wedding band. Proof of a commitment and of submission to another."

"Tom -- I'm not your wife."

"No, you most assuredly are not. What we have is something else and, for the foreseeable future, rather permanent. Be grateful that I didn't take you to a tattoo parlor."

"But, Bob..."

"Will probably love it. Even if he hates it, I don't give a shit. I'll be texting you the phrase "say cheese" every day from now on, sometimes several times a day. Once you receive that text you have ten minutes to go to the bathroom or some other private place and send me a picture of your privates. If there is even a hint of hair, your father's medicine might be delayed. I'm sure you don't want that to happen, Mrs. McConnel."

"All right, Tom. You drive a hard bargain."

He went down on her now bald sex. Emily could not believe how much better oral love was without all that hair in the way. She gasped and cried and pressed her thighs tight around Tom's head.

The doctor came up giggling. "I take it that you like your new hardwood floors."

"Oh, Tom!"

"Get dressed. We just have time to get you home for dinner. I took the liberty of ordering a meal from a homestyle restaurant. We'll pick it up on the way. No one will have to know you didn't cook it."

Tom kissed her goodbye as she sat behind the wheel of her car. The savory-smelling food in a paper bag on the passenger seat. Tom gave her money to cover the parking fee and a bit more for gas.

"See you in two weeks. I'll need you all day, from morning to night. Wear clothes you don't care about and ones you do care about in an overnight bag. Remember to say cheese whenever it is uttered."

"Will do, Tom."

She got home with just enough time to shower, to put on jeans, a tee shirt, and sensible flats. Under the water, her hand roved time and again over her bald mons. It felt strange, also strangely liberating. Emily would never have done something so daring on her own. Now that the decision was no longer hers, she was reconciled to it. What difference did hair make in the grand scheme of things? She still hadn't concocted a story for Bob. The food went into regular plates and the microwave for reheating while the incriminating restaurant packaging was taken directly to the trash can beside the garage. The timing was perfect, Bob strode through the door.

"Something smells really good," he said, "besides you, of course!"

"Oh, Bob!"

"I made tremendous progress on my book today," stated the reverend.

"Wonderful, daddy!"

The old man fixed his gaze upon his son-in-law and asked, "Can I have an amen in the form of a similar result from you, Bob?"

The young man had trouble meeting his gaze, "I did better today."

"A check or promissory note?"

"Well, no..."

"Confound it, boy. If you don't get results soon, you are taking a regular job, even if it's a Wal-Mart greeter!"

"You're not my father, sir!"

"For which I am eminently grateful!"

"Dady, honey, let's not spoil the peace."

For the sake of the woman they both loved, the men silenced their animosity.

She and Bob were in the bedroom. Bob was feeling amorous. Emily was amenable. She didn't want to fall asleep with her last memory being Tom's touch. He worked off her clothes. There was a sudden silence.

"I thought I'd try something new, sweetie."

"It's perverse. I like women, not little girls. Start growing it back immediately. Only fallen women do that to themselves."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm keeping it this way. If that means that you feel like you are sleeping with a little girl then get a real job like a real adult man and I'll start growing it back and become a woman again. As it is I am sleeping with an immature little boy!"

"Bitch!"

"Watch your mouth, Mr. McConnel! I've lied for you. I've hidden things from daddy because of you. I'm not going to do that anymore! My naked womanhood is a statement. Nothing is being hidden any longer. No more pie in the sky, Bob. You'll never put this ministry idea together with your background. Tomorrow you look for a real job. One that pays decently. Daddy's new medicine means I can leave him alone all day so, I'll look for a job too so that we can start erasing your debt and improving your credit score so that we can buy a house. When our credit is good, you can start this ministry as a part-time thing. If it catches fire, I'll stand with you and be a stay-at-home wife again. This is the room I was a little girl in. Give me a real wife's home and I'll be a woman. We are a team, Bob, at least we are supposed to be. It is time that we start playing as a unit."