Of Winged Creatures & Nesting Grounds: (A Quirky, Sexy, Dirty Doctor Romance)

by A. Wilding Wells

  “Sexy girl in stirrups on my exam table…multiple orgasms.”

  “Holy shit.” She slams her hands over her mouth. “Now there’s a hot start to a relationship. Naughty doctor.” She wags a finger.

  “I’ve never done anything like it before, trust me. But she’s fucking irresistible. It’s crazy though, she’s into me, but won’t let herself have me.”

  “Why not just show up at her house and surprise her with a romantic picnic in her yard.”

  “A trespassing date?” I lay Felix in his rocker then mosey into the pantry. After grabbing chips and salsa, while contemplating her idea, I pour more wine.

  “It’s not a bad thought.”

  “I like us,” Lucy says, reaching for the chip bowl.

  “You give me husbanding tips, I give you dating tips.”

  “Maybe someday you’ll give me how to score a wife tips.”

  Two nights in a row, I trespass and set up a romantic picnic in Happy’s tiny backyard. I go all out. A blanket, candles, music, and food that any chick with one taste bud would dig: from junk food to fancy gourmet salads and dips and desserts. I figure she has to be in there somewhere. Two nights, and she never shows, not one light inside her house flickers. Not only does she not show, she hasn’t answered my texts since I examined her. Now I’m thinking I crossed a line during her exam. And I’m a trespassing stalker. Two lines.

  Friday midmorning I check my schedule. Sela and Happy are still on it. Sela texts me she’s running late, so I text Happy.

  Me: Can I take you to lunch after your appointment?

  Happy: You want to eat out this time?

  Me: Not really, I’d rather eat you out…again.

  Happy: I think you’re confused about me.

  Me: Not really, you’re still coming today.

  Happy: You think so?

  Me: Count on it, we can beat two.

  Happy: You might be beating alone.

  Me: I’ve been doing that nonstop with one girl on my mind.

  Happy: The pregnant chick who made out with you b/4 my exam?

  Fuck me. She did see.

  Happy: Cat got your tongue?

  Me: She’s my ex. Nothing going on.

  Happy: With us either.

  Me: Don’t turn it into anything.

  Happy: Us? Yeah agreed. See ya’round doc.

  Sure enough, when I refresh my schedule, Happy has canceled.

  Me: Why did you cancel? Come on...one date.

  Happy: If only you had a boom box while camping out in my backyard.

  Me: You’re a tough cookie to crack woman.

  Happy: That’s why I don’t want to date you. I don’t want to crack. Again.

  Goodbye.

  Me: I don’t do goodbyes.

  Happy: As evidenced by the kiss with your ex. Ciao.

  Chapter 17

  Cleave my heart~ take it

  Happy

  “Fess-the-fuck-up!” Cece says. “I share everything. I even told you when I had sex on a parade float last Fourth of July. I leave for four days, lose my phone, and miss my flight. You see the dirty doc again, then cancel the big test appointment. What gives? This is torture!”

  After swallowing the bite of salad in my mouth, loving Cece’s fidgeting, I fess up. “My last exam…two.” I hold up my fingers. “I can’t go back.”

  “Two what?”

  “Orgasms.”

  I’ve tried to peroxide my brain of this man. Yes, it was amazing to set myself free. A step forward that will help me…I think. But the whole thing with his ex? What the hell was that? And I am for sure seeing more white splotches on my skin. How do my nerves make this happen so fast?

  Cece lets out a silent scream. “I want to go to him. Dr. O. Does he do that for everyone?”

  We laugh so hard, we get onlookers. “No! He’d lose his license. He’d lose it if I reported him. Not that I would.”

  “Fuck dating! I’d stick with the dirty office rendezvous. Oh, doctor, it hurts here, and here…and….” She licks her fingertips and slides them under the table. “Here.”

  “I can’t go there again. When I was leaving the bathroom, I saw him kissing this shellacked perfect woman he claims is his ex. Who kisses their ex on the mouth?”

  “I kiss my ex on the mouth.”

  “You don’t count.”

  “Who cares?” She waves her hand, appalled. “It’s his ex.”

  “Lest you forget my history? My ex was a fucker. The doc though, he keeps texting me, and it’s dirty.” So dirty I can’t stop thinking about it. “He actually wants me, even though he’s seen me naked and knows I have vitiligo. The last two nights he’s camped in my backyard for hours with a picnic, I thought he might go old school and get out a boom box. I watched him from the third floor, setting this whole thing up, candles, food, blanket, bla, bla, bla…while I drank a bottle of wine, wondering what he was thinking. This guy will break me if I let him in beyond his fingers.”

  “Of course he wants you!” Between slurps of her soup Cece chatters away. “I’m in love with him.” Slurp. “Who does that kind of thing?” Slurp. “Maybe dating this guy could break you in.” Slurp, then soup streams down her chin, followed by an Olympic recovery. “Give him a chance. I’m ordering you!”

  “How about we rehash when I get back from the cruise. Let me take care of item one on my plan. Then we can discuss dating as a line item.”

  I study my plan daily, like I’m a thief working toward a heist of museum treasures. This route, that route…safety first. No. No! Be fearless. Don’t forget to be awesome. Except, how do I apply that to a guy who makes me more nervous than swimming in a pond of starving piranhas.

  Cece cringes and bites her knuckle. “Bad news.”

  “Oh Christ, the FDA is enforcing that all ice cream be low fat?”

  “The cruise got canceled. Tropical storm. I booked an even better thing.”

  “Tropical storm. That could be my personal hashtag. An ‘even’ better thing? A week at a sewage treatment plant?”

  “For a girl who’s supposed to not forget to be awesome that was a little snarky.”

  “Sorry, I know. Trust the universe. Where am I going?”

  “A spa.” Cece cheers.

  My plan dissolves. “Straight guys go to spas? I think not.”

  “This is a cowboy spa.”

  “Brokeback…or Marlboro?”

  “I’m certain there will be plenty of options, and I added an extra week!”

  “A two-week cowboy spa? I don’t even ride horses.”

  “You know what they say, save a horse ride a cowboy. Just remember the plan… off-roading.”

  “Who’s they?”

  The waitress drops off our bill, and I snag it. Cece looks at her watch and shoots off her chair. “Shit! I have to get going, I’ll email you the itinerary, you still leave tomorrow afternoon. Pack some shit kickers. ”

  “You know I trust you.” It’s a warning.

  “Don’t worry, it’s going to be great.”

  We stroll through the café, heading toward the front door.

  “I need to pee,” I say. “I’ll pay this on my way out. My treat.” I wink.

  “Thank you!” Cece kisses my cheek. “I have a dentist appointment in fifteen. Maybe he’ll drill me. Hard.”

  “I’m sure your husband would be thrilled to hear that.”

  Cece flips me off. We kiss again, and I walk down the hall toward the bathroom. A cowboy spa? This could work out. Then when I get home, I’ll reconsider the fine doctor who claims he and his ex are over. Though I’m not convinced.

  The bathroom is a single, and clearly occupied based on the muffled moans and groaning noises coming from the other side of the door. Who the hell would fuck in a café during lunchtime? Risk-takers, daredevils, off-roaders. I wish I could do something that crazy. Right, crazy like letting your gyno molest you. I am progressing. After glancing down the hall, I press my ear to the door.

  “Oh god, again,” a woman
says. Then silence, a moan, and a flush follow. Are they doing it while she’s peeing? Ewww. “Grab my hair,” she says. “I’m going to…” Another moan, one more flush. A hushed deep voice says, “You okay, sweetheart? That was intense. Your throat hurt?” Was she blowing him? I am in full-on back-pressed-to-the-door, ear-glued-on eavesdropper mode. If only the bathroom fan wasn’t on.

  Click, click. The door opens…and… I’m on my ass, looking up at none other than Dr. Hunt Hardick and his pregnant goddess ex who was…blowing him or fucking him or something-ing-him based on her smeared lipstick and watery eyes. It doesn’t help that she’s clinging to the doc like a lizard on a palm tree in a hurricane. #Tropicalstorm is fucking right.

  Chapter 18

  Free those wants

  HUNT

  “Happy?” When I offer to help her up, she scowls, then flips onto her knees, her hands slapping the grimy bathroom floor. She pops to her feet and backs out of the room, wiping her hands on her skirt.

  “Not very. Sounds like you were though.”

  “Sela, this is Happy.”

  Sela steps forward, her six foot frame towering over Happy’s five seven. “So you’re the one?” Sela says. I wrap my hand around Sela’s bicep and tug her back.

  “The one what?” Happy says, tilting her head and narrowing her gaze on mine.

  “The girl my Hunt can’t stop talking about.”

  “Why would you be talking about me when you were in the bathroom with her?” She spins and marches down the hall. “Don’t anything me ever again,” she shouts over her shoulder.

  I chase her and grab hold of her arm. “What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t have any problems. Liars who fuck their exes in public bathrooms are not ever going to be my problem.”

  “That’s what you—” Sela vomits, and Happy dashes down the hall away from us. She thinks I fucked my ex in the bathroom? Good god.

  I shouldn’t have taken Sela to lunch following her appointment, but bed rest has her in such a depressed funk, I had no choice. After taking her home, I drive to Happy’s house to explain my situation with Sela.

  Me: I’m on your doorstep, are you home?

  I wait for a few minutes. No response.

  Me: Can you please open your door if you’re here.

  Me: I have not been with her for six months.

  Happy: No wonder you took her hard in the bathroom.

  Me: She was ill.

  Happy: Choking on your cock?

  Me: Vomiting.

  Happy: A tonsil-jam-ballbagger? That’s a major blow job.

  Me: Open the door, we need to talk.

  Happy: Goodbye.

  Me: No goodbyes.

  Happy: Wrong doc. No more hellos.

  Sunday late afternoon, after a short flight to Wyoming, filled with thoughts of Happy and how I’m going to convince her to go out on one date—and then many more—my cab pulls into the dusty drive of the Indigo Mountain Dude Ranch. The summer after the accident with my brother, my grandfather brought me here. It was therapeutic, no question. This would have been our twentieth year coming here together. Technically, he’s with me in spirit. It was his plan to have his ashes spread here, so how could I not carry out his last wish?

  As I walk up the steps of the two-sided safari tent—the very one I’ve stayed in every summer—a voice sounds. It’s a familiar voice I trick myself into believing is hers. Of all the places on Earth Happy would show up, it would not be a dude ranch in Wyoming. Unless Lucy was involved.

  “Home...home on the range… Where the deer and the antelope—I’d better find a damn good cowboy to fuck at this place or I swear to god.”

  Fuck me. That is her voice. I can’t be imagining its low timbre or how it’s turning me on with its silky allure. I peek into the other side of the tent, where my grandfather used to stay, and no shit, there are Christmas lights. For ten racing heartbeats, I focus in on that beautiful sound of her swearing. Then I walk toward it, drawn in like a storm chaser. And, when I turn the corner and see her coming out of the shower and reaching for her towel, well…it’s spectacular.

  When she sees me, she scrambles backward into the shower, the wood door rattling as she squeals and slams it.

  “Hunt, what the hell are you doing here?” She stomps a foot on the wet deck, narrowing her eyes on me as she stares over the door.

  Oh, this is good.

  “I heard you mention something about a cowboy to fuck. I time-traveled to get here.” Tipping my cowboy hat, I inch toward her.

  A tremor of a smile touches her lips. “Is this a joke or something? Do you know Cece?”

  I swipe a metallic-blue sequin off her forehead and pocket it, though not without a chuckle. I eye up her floral shower cap, which she makes look ridiculously sexy. If not a bit circa 1942.

  “I don’t know anyone by the name of Cece. And I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

  She rolls her eyes as she points. “Are you on that side of the tent?”

  “I am. And I see you’re on the other side. How about that? We’re sharing a tent. There’s only canvas between us now.”

  “This is preposterous.” She shakes her head.

  “My stay here just got a whole hell of a lot happier. Christmas lights and sequins. I’ve got to say, this is one nice surprise, little bluebird, especially for a girl who claims not to like surprises.”

  She groans out a laugh as she shakes one finger. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “Oh, shmoop. I’ve got lots of ideas. You’ve got a plan and a timeline, and now, you’re stuck with me. I have a plan too.” I waggle my eyebrows.

  “The cruise got canceled. I swear Cece billed this a little differently. I think the word she used was ‘spa.’”

  “Two weeks with me will feel like a spa experience, and there is a hot tub.” I nod toward the tub and chuckle. “You want this?” I ask after scooping her towel off the hook.

  She nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

  I toss it over the door. “What are you crossing off your plan by coming here?”

  “None of your business.” Happy waltzes past me and approaches her door. The smirk she’s trying to hide does not escape me. “I’m just going to enjoy my time. Alone. In the mountains.”

  Shit, she smells good.

  “Alone?” I ask. “I can give you a hell of a good time if you’ll open your mind a little more. Be a free bird instead of a chicken.”

  She swings her door open and steps inside. Then she pivots to me, wild color sweeping into her cheeks. “We’re not traveling together. We’re not anything together. We’re—”

  “Neighbors. Give me something, girl.”

  Good—she’s nervous. That has to mean something. If she wasn’t interested, her face would not be bright red. Nor would a rash be making its way over her chest.

  “I’ll take neighbors. Maybe I’ll take more by the time our stay is over.”

  “It’s not going to happen. Keep your dick in your pants, you little kestrel. And, for the record—”

  “I know. It’s a bird of prey. I know, little bluebird.”

  Chapter 19

  Madness is a thirsty bitch

  Happy

  Holy-fucking-Cece-is-going-to-die! If I don’t have a heart attack first. My hands are convulsing in fits and stops. I’m sure I’ll wake up with five more white splotches. Yeah, we’ll see how you like me then, Doc. While working my fingers across my plugged in Christmas lights like they’re rosary beads, I work to recover. This is a plan detonator.

  Coincidences like these do not happen. I’m going to dismantle Cece’s body and sell it as hot dogs parts.

  Deep breaths. Calm. Calm. I dump my purse out on my bed, scoop up my phone, and finger in a text.

  Me: I will fuck you with a rake then eat your soul if you are the guilty party who put Hunt in this tent. There is only a canvas wall between us.

  Cece: You’re welcome. I will eat a mile of your shit if you let him pop your cherry.


  Me: bitchacorn

  Cece: my finger is on the I win button. Just pressed it!

  Me: I wish you the runs.

  Cece: Let your girls hang and get over it.

  Me: cuntaholics anonymous is saving a seat for you.

  Cece: You have nymphoslutopotomused your pussy to death with porn... time for a real man.

  Me: Such a cuntodian.

  Cece: Let him man sauce your face…great protein for the skin since you’re at a spa.

  Me: I wish I could give you zero stars on Amazon.

  Cece: My hater blocker is up. I’m rubber you’re glue, bounces off me sticks to you.

  Me: 7th grade cuntertainer.

  Cece: You’ll be a cumwhore before you know it babe.

  Me: I wish I knew how to quit you.

  Cece: Too much talking, not enough booty going on…bye.

  I’m so done. After doodling in my journal and writing then crossing out Hunt’s name ten times, as if I’m in the seventh grade, my phone dings. I can play hate text all night with Cece. Shit…it’s him.

  Hunt: I don’t bite.

  Me: I don’t care if you fuck chickens.

  Hunt: Two weeks is a longtime to stay in there.

  Me: Hermetically sealed. Done.

  Hunt: Are you mad about my ex?

  Me: I’m mad we’re breathing the same air.

  Hunt: I think you’re lying.

  Me: I think I might slit my stomach.

  Hunt: I think I might slit the canvas between our sides.

  Me: I will choke you with your own asshole if you do.

  Hunt: Get out here, I want to see your gorgeous face. Two weeks of you and your face…this is my fantasy.

  I want to tell him two weeks of his face is my fantasy too. Two weeks of looking at his face. Sitting on his face. Kissing his face. Sucking his face.

  But sadly I define paralyzed kitten.

  My phone dings.

  Cece: Don’t let him truffle butter you the first time. Now get-the-fuck-out-there. He’s waiting for you.

  Me: Are you guys in this together?

  Cece: Just me and Lucy. Close the journal, say goodnight to your plan, and wing it. Don’t make me take my belt off, you know I will.