Turning up the heat

Chapter 1 — Oh, Doctor

He dressed carefully for the office. His shirt was crisp and lightly starched; his tie had personality but wasn’t loud. He slipped on his pants, enjoying the cool touch of linen along his legs, over his ass and finally closing over his dick, still faintly swollen from his morning erection. He wore no underwear. He tucked his penis neatly to the left and slipped on his loafers. Ready, he locked his front door and headed for work.

At the office, he wryly labeled his first three patients “normally crazy,” feeling slightly reproachful for mocking his patients. All the same, he listened with scant attention and wrote refills for them without much comment. A new patient came in at ten and he looked up as she came through the door.

She was at first glance a typical suburban wife and mother. He noticed her figure was trim but not exceptional; she wore jeans and a shirt that showed just a hint of cleavage. She sat on the edge of the upholstered chair by the window and spoke. Like so many people, she had problems with depression, a little anxiety, nothing hard to diagnose or really even very memorable. She twisted her wedding ring as she spoke.

“I’m sure medication will help me feel better, doctor, but what really worries me are these… things that run through my mind.”

He perked up a bit. A little psychosis would liven up his day. Then he mentally chastened himself for his flippancy. Maybe he needed a vacation.

“I imagine that I see people naked. I mean, some people.”

He made eye contact with her and nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“Like, in the waiting room just now? There was a man in his thirties, he was wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt. I could just see him, his chest, his muscular arms, and imagine that he took me by the hand and pulled me into an empty office.”

This was something he should nip in the bud, but he decided to let it ride a few more moments.

“He lifted me up to a desk, and we were kissing passionately. I could feel his cock stiffen as he pressed up against me and I reached for the zipper just as he was pulling my panties down…”

He had to interrupt. “So your libido is, ah, very active?”

She met his eyes. “Yes, doctor. Is that normal?”

He checked her chart. “You’re married, I see.” She nodded. “How is that relationship? Regular sexual activity?” He met her eyes; his libido ticked up a notch as he noticed her nipples were hard. She really did have a nice figure.

“Oh, yes, I guess so,” she shrugged. Her breasts rose and fell. “Once a week or so?”

He deliberately moved his gaze to her chart. “Some women experience an increase in sexual drive in middle age. Anything else going on in your life right now?”

They filled the rest of the session with routine questions and answers. As he stood up to walk her to the door, he couldn’t help noticing her long, slender legs. An image flashed before his eyes: her, naked, sweaty, passionate, those legs wrapped around his neck. He shook her hand and watched as she walked down the hall, with just a touch of a sexy swing to her hips. She went into the women’s room and only then did he allow himself a small shake of his head, amused with himself. She was, after talking with her, very attractive indeed.

She came again a week later. There was evidence her medication was helping her deal with her anxiety. Uncharacteristically nervous, he paused before his next question.

“Any signs of sexual dysfunction?”

“Oh, no, doctor. I mean, nothing outside the usual.”

She shifted in her chair. Today she was wearing a casual summer dress, not terribly short but lightweight enough to flutter with the slightest movement. Her legs were smooth and very white, like her exposed shoulders. Overall, she had the look of something precious, something to touch with care. Her dress settled on her thighs softly, like a butterfly, or a kiss, and he felt a yearning for something; he didn’t know exactly what or why.

“I’ve still been having those thoughts,” she said hesitantly. “We were at a little league game Saturday, and I was a little late. There was another parent walking to the bleachers and we spoke.”

The doctor nodded, remembering his strong attraction to this patient from her first session. He was on his guard this time.

“He wasn’t tall but he was in good shape, nice arms, nice butt. In just an instant, I pictured the two of us ducking underneath the bleachers into the cool shadows. I was wearing…” she laughed and gestured at herself. “This same dress, in fact. He slipped the strap off my shoulder and it just kind of floated to the ground. He started to kiss me and his hips pressed against mine. Since we were about the same height, I could feel his erection against me and I had to touch him.”

She paused for a breath and he knew he should re-direct her thoughts. But he was a bit short of breath himself; when he saw the strap of her dress beginning to slide off her pale shoulders he could feel an erection starting. He didn’t say anything.

“He was wearing pants, not jeans, so after I got them unbuttoned the only thing holding them up was his cock, hard as a rock and uncircumcised. I held it in my hand and felt its heat and the softness of the skin around the head and I felt like I was melting.”

Now she was talking fast, breathlessly, and the doctor was fully aroused. Her breasts rose and fell; through the soft fabric he saw her hardened nipples and a wave of intense desire swept through him. Distantly, he recalled his colleagues talking with disdain about another psychiatrist who had become involved with a patient.

“My panties, just white cotton bikinis, were soaked and his hands were rough as he pushed them aside to touch me. Two fingers stroked my slick, wet cunt and I quivered. Somehow I got out of the panties and I was standing in front of him naked. In the bleachers above us I could hear the other parents cheer and clap for a home run. In spite of the heat of the spring day, I was covered with goose bumps as the man held me by my shoulders and kissed me.”

“Stop,” the doctor whispered. “I can’t listen to this.”

She immediately ceased and folded her hands demurely in her lap. “Oh, doctor,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Her demeanor was as calm as ever; she seemed neither to be especially aroused by the fantasy nor ashamed by it.

He cleared his throat and then spoke normally. “Our time is up,” he announced, his tone matching her coolness. “I think you should come back next week.”

“Of course,” she said, rising to leave. He sat a few seconds longer, hoping his erection would shrink, or that she wouldn’t notice it. When he walked her to the door, her eyes never strayed below his chin, and he was absurdly grateful. He watched her walk down the hall to the restroom. He found himself straining to make out the lines of some little white panties, then stubbornly continued to look even after he realized what he was doing.

He wouldn’t consciously admit it, but there was really no need for her to return in a week. In fact, if he were to behave strictly by-the-book, he wouldn’t see her again at all. These thoughts hovered just below his awareness; the uneasiness was masked by his continued state of desire, and a wide streak of guilty pleasure.

He was eager for Tuesday, her next scheduled appointment. She wore jeans again, and her t-shirt was cut tight and low, a child’s shirt with some cartoon character on it. Her smile was warm as she shook his hand before taking her accustomed seat. As he sat down he was acutely aware of his cock, faintly hard just at the sight of her face. The cool touch of the fabric of his slacks against his skin felt intensely pleasurable and he held her hand just a little too long.

She was again serene, like a goddess, he thought, then banished that thought with a faint frisson of ridicule. What was he thinking, he wondered. He’d been in practice for more than twenty years and never been so unsettled by a patient. Her gaze was collected; he could see no trace of sexual interest or lascivious intent. He shifted in his chair and coughed. No matter what, he decided, he shouldn’t waste a moment more of their session with these outrageous musings. He must focus, and direct the session like the professional he was.

“Tell me about your week,” he asked.

“I really think the medication is useful,” she began. “I’ve felt better, really, than I have in years.”

She looked down at her lap. “I still have those intense imaginings, fantasies I guess you’d call them, but they seem so real.”

He crossed his legs. He was certain there was an appropriate therapeutic response, but his mind became entirely filled with the thought of her hair swinging over his face as she rode him. He could almost feel the soft weight of her hair brushing against his nipples as they bucked, driving his penis deeper into the soft, wet folds of her vagina. He caught himself, his body visibly startling. When he looked at her again, that soft fall of hair was framing her features.

She took his silence as encouragement.

“This time it happened while I was taking a nap. I like to sleep on my side, with one leg drawn up.” She twisted slightly to show him. Her legs nearly touched his and suddenly, he was so hard the seam of his pants cut painfully into his balls. He shifted slightly, and looked at her; he easily pictured her nude body turned to the side and stretched out on a bed, her crotch only partly exposed by her leg folded up toward her breasts.

“I imagine that I am asleep, and only gradually awake when I feel a warm hand slowly moving up my leg. I murmur like I’m waking up and the hand is still, and then I roll over on my belly, keeping my eyes closed.” He could see it; he wanted that hand to be his own hand; he fiercely, suddenly, needed to touch her soft and yielding curves.

She turned back and crossed her legs. He could almost hear the soft glide of skin against skin as she moved, and his cock throbbed again. “The room is so quiet I can hear his lips part as he sucks on his fingers to make them wet.” Her eyes became dreamy, half-closed. “It’s daytime and there are warm squares on the bed where the sun shines through the window. The heat feels so good and he slips his wet fingers underneath me, just brushing against the lips of my cunt.”

The doctor opened his mouth and tried to speak several times. If anyone had been watching, he would have appeared comical, like a fish stranded on dry land. But finally he was able to push the words through his lips, hoarsely. “Please go.” He stood up, towering over her, his crotch at her eye level. He didn’t even care if she saw his agonizing, unprecedented erection.

“I–I’m sorry,” she stammered, then turned and fled.

With great urgency he turned, too. He reached for his zipper and then he came, hugely, cum pumping out and staining his pants, his breath hard and painful. He didn’t even touch himself before he came to an orgasm, and he felt even more helpless with the thought.

He cancelled the rest of his appointments for the day, claiming a touch of a stomach bug. Feeling like a schoolboy, he held his folded jacket over his arm to hide his wet, stained crotch as he walked out of the office.

The next day he instructed his nurse to call the woman and schedule another appointment, this one in just three days. His skin practically crawled at the thought of her, not sure if he would terminate her diabolical hold over him or fall into her spell and her arms as helpless as a fawn. With all his mind he yearned to end this weird relationship; his body told him otherwise. His mind told him one more session with this woman could be the end of his career; his cock responded instantly, rudely, to the thought of a lock of her hair sliding across his face.

The third day arrived and he felt like a teenager, like a moronic character in a sappy musical, his heart dancing to the tune of her name, beating absurdly fast as the time of her arrival came near.

He felt hot with shame, and cold with the thought of never seeing her again, and hot again with desire for her, the way she crossed her legs, how she smiled just so.

Taking a great gulp of air before she turned into his office, he managed to greet her as if everything was the same. As though watching himself from a distance, he hears himself ask her coolly, almost coldly, if she was still “troubled” by her “hallucinations.”

When she looked faintly hurt, he began to melt, and his mind immediately melded with his physical self again, with predictable results. She began to speak and he roughly interrupted her, closing the door and directing her to the chair.

“Do any of these fantasies ever play out in real life?” He hated himself for being so abrupt, but steeled himself with thoughts of surviving with his career intact, not crumbling into chaos because he made love to a patient with the intensity of worlds colliding.

She looked slightly surprised. “No, I’d never be unfaithful to my husband.”

“Tell me about him.” The doctor was nearly gasping.

She immediately became warm and animated. A chance meeting between her and her husband was followed by a series of other unplanned encounters, she said, making their relationship feel inevitable, “fated.” The physical attraction had been intense and undeniable, their relationship following a fast track that would be unthinkable by today’s standards. “He can still make me laugh,” she admitted with a small smile.

The doctor felt his tension draining slowly and was almost surprised not to see it like a thick, oily substance on the floor beneath his chair. She described falling in love, spooning beside him every night for two decades, a deep companionship of spirit and body. This was not the talk of a sexually unfulfilled woman.

Now well in control of himself, he interrupted her once more. “If you’re not unfaithful to your husband,” he said slowly, carefully. “How do you resolve these frequent, ah, fantasies?”

For the first time, his patient looked shy. “I just find a convenient private place and, um, masturbate,” she said softly. “Sometimes I only need to touch myself before I have an orgasm. A couple of times I even had an orgasm just imagining that touch.”

He closed the session by saying she need only come back in six months, unless her anxiety troubled her sooner. He watched her walk down the hall to the women’s room, saw the door close behind her, and felt only a little foolish as understanding began to bloom. Without thinking he followed quietly, stopping just outside and listening intently.

Beyond the door, he heard the hushed but unmistakable sound of a woman reaching orgasm.