The Neurologist and the Guitar

"Well, the reason I asked is because as I walked into work today, I saw a person - you - who looked very much like the guitarist from the band I saw last night, who I really liked."

"Liked the band or the person?"

"Well, both. But I am guessing based on your reaction, it wasn't you." He paused and smiled. "Unless you are just giving me a hard time. She seemed like the type who might enjoy that under the right circumstances."

Indra grudgingly admired the double-entendre. "Wait, you said you saw me as you walked into work today. You work here?"

"Yeah. That's also why I asked you not call security. It would have been embarrassing. I'm the new head of security."

Indra's hands flew to her mouth. She wasn't sure if she was terrified, shocked, embarrassed or excited. "Come in, close the door. Now."

He stepped inside and closed the door. "Hi. Ross Cleary. Head of Security. I'm a big fan." He smiled. It was a sincere smile, but he also knew he had her in a position she wasn't remotely used to: not in control.

"Dr. Haven. Indra." She extended her hand. "I'd say it is a pleasure to meet you, but we'd both know that isn't true. The part about meeting I mean. You know, not the pleasure part. I mean it was a pleasure but since we're not actually meeting right now this isn't a pleasure. I mean it's not not a pleasure, but we've met before so this time ... Aww, shit." What the hell, she thought. I don't get rattled, at least not in situations like this.

Ross just smiled. Not a smirk, just a pleasant smile. And waited.

"What I meant to say, Mr. Cleary, is yes, I do play guitar in a metal band and yes, we did meet last night." She paused. "And, for the record, it was a pleasure meeting you."

"Ross, please. And, thanks. I really enjoyed meeting you too."

Nice, Indra thought - he resisted the urge to add, 'and I REALLY enjoyed fucking you in the men's room.'

He continued, "I didn't mean to ambush you, but after I saw you downstairs, I figured it would be less awkward for you to see me this way, than to randomly bump into me somewhere else in the building."

What makes you think I'd ever be awkward seeing a guy I had sex with, she was about to say, and then remembered her word salad from 15 seconds before and thought better of it. "That was very thoughtful of you, Mr. Cleary, uh, Ross." There was another awkward pause. "So, look, I guard my privacy very carefully, and don't let my work and personal life mix. No offense, but I go to great lengths to ensure this kind of things doesn't happen."

"What are the odds, right? I can't even begin to ..."

"Exactly. Totally unforeseeable, total unpreventable." She had to reassure herself that she hadn't slipped up.

"Right. So, the way I see it, I'm not going to quit my new job on day 1 or expect you to pack up and move to another hospital or city or country to avoid us bumping into each other. Your - our - secret is safe. You are Dr. Haven, neurologist, and I'm Mr. Cleary, Director of Security." He turned to leave, then said, "Nice to see you, though."

"You, too," she replied before she could stop herself. "Welcome." Right before the door closed she said, "Hey!" Ross stuck his head back into her office. "You're still welcome to come to the gig in six weeks. If you want to, I mean. Not that I'm promising a repeat performance of ..."

"Thanks," Ross interrupted. He smiled again, and then closed the door.

What. Was. That? Indra asked herself. In one breath you were lecturing on the importance of keeping your work life shielded, and the next you are telling him he should come to the gig? He's a nice guy and all, buy you don't chase guys. You certainly don't chase the guy you fucked in the men's room. With an admittedly beautiful cock. But still. OK, you were just thrown off by him suddenly appearing like that, that's all. He seems trustworthy but stay vigilant.

Satisfied that the situation was under control, or as much as it could be, Indra resumed her morning's work.

The morning flowed into afternoon, then into the next day, then next week, then next month. Indra would see Ross occasionally in the halls of the hospital, or at all-hands staff meetings. There was never any wink or eyebrow waggle - she got the same smile everyone else did. Her apprehension faded and any residual nervousness about her metal musical moonlighting - or her free-wheeling sexual proclivities - were gone.

The day of her next gig rolled around, a Saturday, and as she set up her equipment she idly wondered if Ross was going to come, or if he decided the music - or his chances of another tryst - were not worth the drive. Indra's band was the leadoff for the evening, so at 9:01, she started slashing through the opening chords of their first set. It was tough to see too far into the audience, but midway through the first song she was pretty sure she spotted the outline of a guy who bore a very strong resemblance to Ross, sitting at the bar. She smiled a little but wasn't sure if she was happy or not. Would he make this awkward? Was there some expectation? There was no way she was going to fish off the company pier, so to speak - affairs at work were a bad idea in general, especially with someone who knows more about your personal life, no matter how little he's seen, than anyone at work should.

Still, it was a lovely cock. And it had been a slow few weeks for Indra. Work was busy, and she was enjoying learning some new pieces on the guitar. She got herself off daily, cycling through her favorite toys and techniques. She even called an old friend from out of town to see if she wanted to come play for the weekend, but sadly she had gone and gotten herself married, which was a tragedy - that girl could do things with her tongue that could make most women weep with joy. There was nothing wrong with self-gratification, Indra told herself. A woman should take responsibility for her own orgasms. If a guy or girl can provide one, great, but pleasure is still pleasure even if you are its sole provider.

Indra's eyes wandered and she saw a line forming outside the ladies' room. This transported her back to her encounter with Ross. She remembered how his cock felt in her hand as she felt it throb with his heartbeat before she guided it inside of her. Smooth. So very hard. Not too big, not too small. I could have some serious fun with that cock, she thought. And the man attached to it appeared normal, and he seemed to take direction, both verbal and non-verbal, very well from what little she gave him last time.

By the end of the first set, she had decided to talk to him, lay out some ground rules, and see if he'd like to come over for a play-date. She set down her guitar on its stand, politely acknowledged some compliments from fans and summarily ignored one cat-calling drunk asshole, and went to the bar to talk to Ross.

Who wasn't there. She nursed a club soda and lime for ten minutes, wondering if he'd stroll out of the bathroom, but unless he had passed out on the floor in there (doubtful), he had gone.

Indra played their second set with her usual precision, packed up, went home, took a shower, and plopped into bed with her favorite vibrator. She needed release, and she knew why: she had formed a plan in her head and she wasn't able to act on it, and that was frustrating. She did some deep breathing to center herself and imagined the countless nerve endings she was about to make sing for joy, which got her instantly wet. Foreplay is all about anticipation, and anticipation is about knowing what's coming and aching to get there.

By the time Indra touched the tip of the vibrator to her clit, she was already mentally worked up. Typically, she liked to take her time - the best and most satisfying orgasms are the ones you arrive at slowly. But she needed to cum, NOW, to release the tension. And she knew how to make herself do that, too. Within a minute she was panting heavily, and within two there was a trickle of honey pooling on the sheets below her. She sawed the vibrator in and out of herself, furiously rubbing and pinching her clit between her thumb and forefinger.

The climax came swiftly. There was no deliciously satisfying build-up. Her springs were coiled and she needed them to snap, and snap they did. Her pelvis convulsed while her torso arched skyward, a cry of half-triumph and half-relief filling her bedroom. Even after the climax began to subside, she held the vibrator deep inside until it was almost painful. She imagined that the nerves in her pussy felt like what deafening static sounded like. But she needed the sensory experience, unpleasant as it was.

At last, she extracted the toy and switched it off, and she lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, willing her breathing to return to normal. She didn't like this state of affairs. She didn't like "a slow few weeks" or "sorry, hon, I married Kevin." And she especially didn't like hatching a plan she couldn't move on that involved a playdate with a (hopefully) willing partner with a very, very nice penis. She fell asleep and had her first restless night in as long as she could remember.

Sunday dragged and when Monday finally arrived, it was rainy. Indra had hoped to catch Ross outside before he entered the hospital. It felt weird planning a tryst in her place of work when she'd been so adamant about keeping those lives separate but lurking under an umbrella was not a good look. She "casually" wandered by the security office a few times, hoping to find it empty except for Ross. At around 4:30PM, when the day and evening shifts had changed, it quieted down and when she peeked through the small window in the office, door, Ross was alone. She knocked and entered.

"Hi, Mr. Cleary. Ross."

Ross looked up and smiled his inscrutable smile. "Hi, doctor. What can I do for you?" He lowered his voice just a little. "Nice set the other night. Wish I could have stayed for the second."

So, he was there, Indra thought, somewhat pleased. Maybe he really liked her band's music, she thought. Or maybe he was hoping for a repeat performance in the bathroom. Or maybe he was just bored. She shook off her silent speculation and said, "Thanks. And thanks for coming." Pause.

"So," he repeated, "what can I do for you?"

Deep breath. "I'm a direct person, Ross."

"I've noticed."

"Good. Hopefully you don't find that off-putting."

"It can be, but so far you've given me no reason to feel, uh, put-off."

"Happy to hear that. Did you enjoy our ... encounter at the Motor Club the night we first met? And I will tell you up front that I did. You were wonderful. I said it that night and I meant it."

Ross looked at her quizzically. "Since you said you're direct, this is probably not a trick question, so yes, of course, it was amazing. It was also the first time I've had sex in a bathroom that wasn't mine, but despite the odd location, it was great. Why?"

Indra ignored his question for the moment. "I don't do that often, sex in a public bathroom, I mean. But I do love sex. Check that, I love good sex, fun sex, exciting sex. Random hook-ups are not my style."

"But ..."

"You weren't random. You were polite and honest. We talked for an hour, flirted, and I got a sense of who you were. I could have been wrong, but I rarely am. You're attractive, I was on a high from the performance, so I took a chance and you followed my lead. Result? Fun, exciting, satisfying encounter. I love that."

"OK." Ross didn't know what else to say.

"I've studied and practiced neurology for years. You want to know why? Because the human body fascinates me. I love it. It is intricate and miraculous, with all sorts of surprises and I wanted to learn every one of them. I learned from books, I learned from cadavers and I learned with patients. And I learned with partners. Willing partners." She paused, hoping he could see where she was going.

Not unkindly, Ross replied, "You probably don't mean it to sound this way, but you are making it sound like you want me to be a lab rat for you."

She was instantly mortified. "No, no, no, no, no. Please, that's not what I meant at all. I said all that because I wanted to impress on you just how important, how much I love ..."

"Sex?"

"Yes, but its MORE than that. It's the experience, the sensuality, the wonder of discovery of what you can feel, what you can do to yourself or someone else. Our bodies are joy-filled instruments, toys to be played with, gifts to be adored."

Even when they were having sex, Ross had not seen her this worked up. "You are a very unusual person, Indra."

"I prefer special, but OK."

"So, are you asking me on some kind of date?"

"Of a sort, I suppose. I am asking if you would like to let me show you sensations and pleasures you'll remember forever."

"And you?"

"I get the rush of knowing what I'm doing to you. And, if you are willing to take some direction, you satisfy me in ways you can't imagine."

"A sex date. A hook-up. We're planning a hook-up."

Indra was getting a bit frustrated. Most men would jump at an invitation like this, and men who she'd been with before would literally kill for another chance. She certainly wasn't going to beg, but she also didn't want to get sloppy and just pick up some random guy or girl. Ross was her best prospect. Be patient, she told herself.

"'Hook-up' makes it sound uneventful. This would be a grand experience. We've already proved we are capable of those."

Ross' gut reaction was to say no. No matter how gifted she was - or thought she was - at sex, she was rather full of herself. And she was making it sound like she was doing him such a favor by extending this invitation. And it was so clinical - no romance, no seduction, no chase.

On the other hand, she did say she was direct. And despite her forwardness, she didn't seem arrogant. She had a genuinely - and, to her, justifiably - high opinion of herself, sure, but maybe it was well-earned. He had nothing to compare to, but he bet that if he ever had the opportunity to have sex in a bathroom again, it wouldn't be anywhere near as amazing as it had been with Indra. And she wasn't selfish - she made sure he would enjoy it as much (almost?) as she did.

"This won't make you uncomfortable with our work situation?"

"We could've made it uncomfortable already. We didn't. I trust you, and hopefully you trust me."

Ross laughed. "Ok, so this is totally bizarre, but why not?" In fact, Ross could think of a hundred reasons why not, but if nothing else Indra seemed genuine; what you see is what you get. "When, where? How does this work?"

"Glad you asked. First, STD tests. I get tested all the time, but it's only fair that if you get tested, so do I. It's part of the standard panel so you can tell them you are travelling soon and want to get tested before you go. We share each other's results, and if we're both clear, we pick a date." Ross was looking at her like she had two heads. "The STD tests are to confirm that we don't have to worry about condoms. So much of the sensation is lost and I want us to feel everything. You'll thank me."

"I've been on vacations that took less planning than this."

"Yeah, but you've never been on a vacation as much fun as this will be," Indra declared with unshakeable confidence.

Two days later, Ross presented Indra with his clean test results. Indra had her blood drawn and showed him her results the next day. Ross was instructed to arrive at Indra's apartment at 7:30PM on Friday.

* * * *

LENTO (slow)

* * * *

Ross wasn't quite sure what to expect when he arrived at Indra's. Her apartment was in a newer doorman building, nice but not extravagant. The desk told him he was expected and directed him to the elevator. Forty seconds later, he was at the door of 12D, tapping lightly. The door swung open, and she invited him in.

"Here," he said, handing her a bottle of wine. "I thought flowers would be cheesy, plus this might come in handy later."

"Thanks," she said. "Come in, come in." She placed the bottle on a counter in the kitchen and led him into the living room. She was wearing loosely fitting sweat pants and a Metallica t-shirt, with white socks, no shoes, and what looked like rubber kitchen gloves.

"Am I early?" Ross asked.

"What? No. You're good." She picked up two large white bath sheets that were draped over a chair. "Here. The guest bathroom is over there. Shower. I mean REALLY shower. Scrub everything, everywhere. Squeaky squeaky clean. When you're done, come into the master bedroom."

"That's it? No, 'Would you like a drink' or 'Can I show you around'?"

Indra pointed to the guest bath. "Shower," she repeated. "Take your time. We're in no rush."

"Could've fooled me," a bemused Ross said as he headed for the bathroom.

Indra waited for the door to close and the water to start running before she retreated to the master bedroom.

Indra knew that details matter. Tiny cues and bits of data are collected constantly by the human brain and are placed into intricate patterns that drive our understanding, our emotions, our physical and psychological reactions. What she wanted to do to Ross, to share with him, would involve a steady stream of subtle details - sights, textures, movements, and sensations all designed to drive him to sexual nirvana.

She took off the t-shirt and sweats and stuffed them in a drawer; she was naked underneath. She pulled off the kitchen gloves and stowed them under the vanity in her bathroom. Beneath them, her nails had been sculpted and painted a creamy color several shades lighter than her skin. They weren't long - she needed them short for work and the band - but they would not be mistaken for a man's fingernails. The color was understated, but not demure like a French manicure or clear top coat. He would notice their shape and the rich hue as she touched him. Her toenails were painted the identical color.

She carefully applied a light coat of mascara to her lashes. It didn't need to be much, just enough for him to notice that she had changed them, giving them a flirty flutter. A touch of light eyeshadow below her browline helped her eyes pop.

She lined her lips with a caramel brown liner, just barely darker than her skin. She layered on three coats of smudge-resistant lipstick, waiting between each coat for it dry. She moved the wand with care, meeting but not covering the liner. Her lips needed to look rich and inviting, but she wanted to avoid any messy smearing if he kissed her before she began her 'performance.' She hid a tube of clear roll-on lipgloss, cap off, at the foot of her bed.

She plugged in her blow dryer and pulled her hair out of the loose ponytail she'd rigged. She wasn't looking for 80s porno hair, but she wanted some volume. She took a bottle of subtly floral eau de cologne and sprayed it in the air above her head and let it fall gently into her billowing hair. Finally, she selected a gauzy robe, shiny gold that shimmered as she walked, and pulled it on, leaving it open in the front. She was completely shaved.

The curtains were drawn tight, but the lamps in the room cast a warm yellow glow throughout. She didn't want to hide anything. This experience was a feast for all senses.

When she heard the water shut off, she slipped on a pair of 4-inch black heels - simple, but effective. And she waited. Two minutes later came a knock at the bedroom door.

"Come in." The door swung open and Ross stood there, bath sheet wrapped around his waist. His eyes went wide when he saw Indra, standing by a rack that held a half dozen guitars of various shapes. He knew that this was the same woman as the one in the lab coat at the hospital and the wig and spandex at the night club. But she was different, too. Because she wanted to be different, and that was devastatingly sexy.

"Wow," was all he could say.