by Claire Adams
I don’t know what to do with her; I really don’t.
She comes into the office at around 4:30, and at first, we both try to pretend that we’ve never met outside this hospital.
It doesn’t last.
“So, how’ve you been?” she asks.
At first, the question seems innocuous enough, but the way her brow is rising and falling, it’s clear enough she’s not asking to be polite.
“I’ve been fine,” I tell her. “Now, have you noticed any side effects from the chemo?”
“A bit of nausea,” she says, “I haven’t thrown up or anything, but I think that’s mostly to do with the weed.”
“Okay,” I tell her. “What about any other symptoms?”
“I have been getting headaches,” she says. “They’ve been pretty minor, I guess, but they feel different than they normally do.”
“How so?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Usually, I get headaches at the base of my skull in the back, but this, it feels like it’s more internal, if that makes any sense.”
“All right,” I tell her. “It’s probably nothing to worry about, but I’d like to get you in for an MRI today just to be sure.”
“Yeah,” she says, “about that. I was thinking that maybe you and I shouldn’t do this whole doctor/patient thing anymore.”
“I’m sorry?” I ask.
I was actually considering saying something along the same lines, but hearing it from her still catches me off guard.
“Well,” she says, “I know you must think I’m crazy or that the brain tumor’s got me acting all weird or whatever, but I think, if I had to choose, that I’d prefer us to be able to talk like real people, normal people. I don’t know that I want you to be my doctor anymore.”
“That’s certainly your choice,” I answer hesitantly, “but there’s not a problem on my end.”
“Yeah, there is,” she says, and even without continuing, I know she’s got a point.
“What do you suggest, then?” I ask.
“I like talking to you,” she says. “I don’t know why, you’re a bit timid for my taste, but I think you and I have a good rapport, you know, when we’re not discussing stuff growing in my head.”
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” I tell her.
“Why not? You said yourself that as my doctor, it’s inappropriate for you to see me socially. If you’re not my doctor, then what’s the problem?”
“It’s a problem,” I tell her.
“Well, then,” she says, getting up from her chair. “If you’ll give me this month’s dose of chemical warfare and maybe the name of a competent oncologist, I’ll be on my way.”
“I really would like to get you in for an MRI,” I tell her. “There are good changes and bad changes. Sometimes the good changes don’t feel good, sometimes the bad ones do. Regardless, anything out of the ordinary, especially when it comes to something like headaches, can be a sign that something’s not right.”
She sits back down. “You really do know how to kill the mood,” she says.
“Yeah,” I answer. “So, let me call down and I’ll see if I can get you right in. We should be able to fit you in sometime in the next few hours or so.”
“In that case,” she says, “why don’t you give me my prescription and I’ll just head downstairs and pop my first death pill of the month? That way I can be nice and miserable for the brain scan?”
“I want to be your doctor, Grace,” I tell her, and even I’m surprised at my candor as I continue. “You’re a pain in the ass, and I’m not entirely sure you don’t have some kind of personality disorder, but I think maybe you and I can help each other.”
She smirks at me, and I make a mental note to be less insulting the next time I’m trying to convince someone of something.
“I’m actually rather delightful when you get to know me,” she says. “But what is this about us being able to help each other? What do you get out of this?”
“It’s my job,” I tell her. “Whether you think it’s trite or not, I really do enjoy helping people, and I’d like to continue to help you in whatever way I can.”
“Great,” she says, “in that case, I’ll stick around to have my cells bombarded with a giant magnet while I wait for the chemo to make me feel like I’m dying in the process.”
“What are you getting out of this?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Just a minute ago, you were telling me that you didn’t want me to be your doctor. You changed your mind pretty quick. Why?”
“You said you’d like to continue to help me in whatever way you can, and there is a way, outside of being a doctor, that I think you might be able to help me.”
“How’s that?”
“I like talking to you,” she says. “You’re usually up on some moral high horse, but every once in a while, you show a glimmer that you’re not quite as boring as you like to pretend you are. I’d like to see what’s under the façade.”
“I am in a relationship, Grace,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “I’m not tearing off my clothes and rubbing my nipples on your forehead. I’m just saying that I’d like to get to know you more. You’re kind of…”
“I’m kind of what?” I ask when she trails off.
She takes a deep breath. “Never mind,” she says. “Are we doing this chemo thing or what?”
“I’d suggest you wait to take your first dose until after you’ve had the MRI,” I tell her, “but I’ll go ahead and get you the prescription now. Just head on down to the pharmacy and when you’re done, relax in the waiting room and I’ll have someone come get you when it’s time for your scan.”
“All right,” she says, and gets up to leave.
“Grace?”
“Yeah?”
“I like talking to you, too.”
She nods and walks out of my office.
I call down to radiology, but it’s not going to be until at least tomorrow before I can get Grace in for her scan. She’s my last appointment for the day, so I lock up my office.
I’m pulling my key out of the door and telling my assistant, Yuri, that we’re done for the day when I see a familiar face next to Grace.
“Melissa,” I smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Nothing,” she says. “I just thought I’d come by and surprise you.”
“That’s great,” I tell her, and glance over at Grace. “I just need to finish up with a patient, and then I’m ready to head home.”
“Oh, we’re not going home tonight,” she says. “We are going out on the town.”
“Are we?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I got some pretty big news today and I feel like celebrating.”
“Wonderful,” I tell her. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”
“I’ll be out in the car,” she says. “I’m parked in my usual spot.”
“Sounds great, honey,” I say. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Melissa’s blonde hair bounces as she walks away. Judging by that particular spring in her step, I’d say the chances of me having a very good night are pretty solid.
I turn to Grace and tell her, “I called down to radiology and they’re not going to be able to fit you in until 10 tomorrow morning. Does that work for you?”
“Not really,” she says. “I have a big day planned of smoking pot and trying not to puke up my chemo. Is there any chance we could do this next week?”
I never know when she’s serious.
“I really would like to get you in as soon as possible,” I tell her. “If you’re worried about the effects of the chemo tomorrow morning, why not just take your first dose after our appointment?”
“Yeah, it’s a little late for that,” she says.
“You already took your first dose,” I say.
She shrugs. “I’m impatient. What of it?”
“Let’s try to get you in as soon as possible,” I tell her.
; She sighs and says, “Fine.” Her expression changes into that familiar smirk. “So, that’s your old lady, huh?”
“That’s my girlfriend,” I answer, “yes.”
“She’s pretty,” Grace says. “Not a lot in the ass department, but those tits have got to feel pretty good wrapped around your-”
“Grace!” I interrupt.
Yuri, who had been gathering her things and getting ready to leave, looks up at me. Then, with a smile, she turns to Grace and says, “They’re fake. I’m sure too much pressure and those things would pop like water balloons.”
Grace apparently finds this utterly hilarious.
“Yuri,” I breathe.
“Yeah, boss?” she asks, joining in Grace’s merriment.
“Go home, please.”
“Right away, boss,” she says, and finishes gathering her things.
“So, you’re a boob man, huh?” Grace asks. “I’ve never really given it much thought, myself,” she says, “but I think if I were to go the other way, I’d probably be more about the ass.”
“Me, too,” Yuri announces. “Isn’t that the weirdest thing?”
“It’s uncanny,” I answer, deadpan. “Goodnight, Yuri.”
“Goodnight, boss,” my loyal assistant of almost two years, the woman who has never, not once, smiled in my presence says, and as the door’s closing behind her, I can hear her laughing her brains out.
“You’re a bad influence,” I tell Grace.
“I know,” she agrees. “Question is, how long is it going to be before I rub one off on you?”
“I’m sorry, did you just say-”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” she says, and walks out of the office ahead of me.
I wait a minute so as to avoid what would certainly be an awkward elevator ride with Grace, and when enough time has passed that I’m sure she’s out of the hospital, I head out.
In the parking lot, I find Melissa’s car easily enough.
She’s sitting behind the wheel, working another crossword puzzle, and she doesn’t notice when I walk up to the driver’s side door, so I knock.
Melissa rolls down her window and says, “Get in.”
“What about my car?”
“We’ll get it later,” she says. “I really just want to get the hell out of here. You know how I feel about hospitals.”
She’s been saying that for so long. The problem is, if she ever did explain exactly how she feels about hospitals, I must have missed it, and too much time has passed for me to ask about it now.
“All right,” I tell her, and I walk around to the other side of the car.
I get in and wait for Melissa to finish up her crossword before she starts the car.
“So,” I say, “tell me about your day.”
“Oh, you are not going to believe this,” she says. “Ty called me into his office this morning — I thought he was going to chew me out for watching House of Cards on company time, but he gave me a promotion! You’re looking at the new regional sales director for Symbio Industries.”
“Congratulations!” I tell her. “That’s wonderful news.”
“I’m going to be on the road a little bit more, but this is really a big thing for me,” she says, trying to preempt any possible argument that may arise from the fact that I’m about to go from seeing very little of her to seeing even less of her.
For whatever reason, that eventuality doesn’t really seem to bother me that much.
“I’ve got some plans for you tonight,” she says, and she puts the car in drive.
We’re on the road for about an hour before I start to get a little anxious.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” she says. “We’re almost there.”
“All right,” I answer, but the drive just continues to drag on and drag on.
Finally, she pulls off onto a dirt road, and we park on the far side of a tree next to an open field.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“I have no idea,” she says, “but that’s kind of the point.”
I’m about to ask what the hell she’s talking about before her seat belt is undone and she’s straddling me on the passenger’s seat, breathing deep as she kisses me.
“Have you ever had sex outside?” she asks.
“Does a sun porch count?” I return.
“No,” she says, and opens the passenger door.
She climbs out, and I unbuckle my seatbelt.
“I want you right here, right now,” she says, and before I can answer, she’s got me by the top of the pants, pulling me toward her.
Somehow, I manage to keep my balance, and she’s already unzipping my pants.
“Don’t you think we should find somewhere a little less-” I start.
“A little less what?” she asks as she eagerly kisses my neck.
“I don’t know,” I stumble, “a little less open?”
“Who cares? We’re off the main road, and if anyone comes down this way, we’ll see them before they see us.”
I’m not sure that that’s accurate, but she’s doing a pretty good job making her case as she takes my growing erection in her hand and starts jerking me.
“Take my top off,” she says. “Tear it.”
She never talks like this. When we do have sex, it’s usually timid, and she’s just as likely as not to stop things before they really get going.
This is a nice surprise.
Not wanting to kill the mood, I do what she told me to do and remove her shirt, though I hardly tear it in the process. This doesn’t seem to matter much.
A moment later, her skirt is up above her ass and her panties are on the ground. I have no idea whether I had anything to do with it or not, but she’s pressing me against her now as my tie flaps in the breeze.
“On the hood of the car,” she instructs, and I walk her backward, laying her on the dark fiberglass. “Fuck me. I want it hard.”
I chuckle. “You must really be happy about this new position.”
“It’s not just that,” she says between deep kisses of my mouth and neck. “If things pan out all right, I’ll get another one in six months. Almost double the salary I was making before today.”
“That’s wonderful-” I tell her.
“Shut up and fuck me,” she interrupts, grabbing my cock and putting it against her wetness. “I want to feel you inside of me.”
I slide myself inside and we both gasp lightly with the feeling of it. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized just how long it’s been.
“Yeah,” she breathes, “just like that.”
She grabs my tie and pulls me down as she lies back all the way on the hood of the car.
The slight breeze catches her hair, blowing strands around our faces as the setting sun lends its warmth to the moment.
She’s biting my lower lip, harder than I’d prefer, but not so hard that I pull away or ask her to stop. Her breasts heave in her silken bra, and I try not to think about Yuri’s assertion that Melissa has implants.
Of course, I know she has implants, but that doesn’t bother me. It wouldn’t bother me if she didn’t have them. It’s something she wanted to do, and I’d find her sexy either way because her cup size has no bearing on how I feel about her.
How do I feel about her, though?
This feels so great, but it’s also strange, foreign. We haven’t really connected, sexually or otherwise, in quite some time, and I’m not sure what to do with this.
Get the fuck out of your head and just enjoy the moment.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
This is one of those questions for which there is no actual correct answer; there are answers that sound corny and answers that would quickly put an end to what we’re doing right now.
“I’m thinking about you,” I tell her, going with the corny option, as it does also bear the virtue of being true. “I’m thinking about us.”
“Yeah?” she asks, breathless. “Wann
a know what I’m thinking about?”
“What’s that?”
She lifts herself a little, just enough to smack me on the ass, but she doesn’t say anything more. If she’s trying to communicate something to me, I’m totally missing it.
“Tell me you want me,” she whispers, lifting herself to a near-sitting position.
“I do want you,” I tell her.
“Tell me you can’t imagine being without me,” she says.
“I can’t,” I answer.
She kisses me on the mouth, her eyes open, staring deep into mine.
“That’s what I want to hear,” she says.
With that, she pushes me backward, and I pull out of her as she puts her feet back onto the ground, and leaning forward over the hood of the car, she lifts her skirt a little further.
The cool breeze chills and dries the wetness on me, but as I put myself back inside her, the contrast of her heat sends shivers through my body.
“I want you to film me,” she says.
“What?” I ask.
“Where’s your phone?” she asks. “I want to see what it looks like when you fuck me.”
Still moving in and out of her, I look around.
My pants are about five feet behind me, gathering prodigious amounts of dirt from the road as the wind continues its mild assault.
“Now?” I ask.
“Now,” she says. “Don’t put yourself back in me until the video’s rolling.”
It’s almost like I’m with a completely different person, but I’m not complaining. If anything, I’m trying to figure out how I can help her get that additional promotion in six months.
I pull out of her again and quickly pull my phone out of my pocket.
As I return to Melissa, one hand is flipping through my apps, trying to find the camera, while with the other, I’m teasing her pussy.
“Make me come,” she says. “Are you recording yet?”
“Almost there,” I tell her.
“You’re talking about the camera, right?” she asks.
I just laugh.
Finally, after a protracted search, I find the camera app and start recording, watching my hand in the third person now, as one finger, and then two, disappear inside of her.
“Is it on?” she asks.
“It’s on,” I tell her.