The waiting room had your usual collection or sorry looking types: a tired, young mother: four kids in tow, the youngest a snot-nosed toddler fresh off the tit. It wailed loudly, not adding to the experience in any positive way.
At the other sat a couple of old frail ladies waiting for death to take them while they did their utmost to rape that chronic medical aid for all it’s worth.
Amongst this assembled throng, I stuck out like a sore thumb.
I felt like my head was two sizes too small for my brain.
My nose was running and I had a bad cough and a wheezing chest.
I suppose I didn’t look too healthy based on the stares from the receptionist.
Time went by. Slowly. The waiting room.
Yup. That summed it up.
I was falling into a coma when they eventually called my name.
I rose slowly and ambled into the doctor’s rooms.
There was no one there. I grabbed a seat at the desk and waited some more. That familiar sterilized smell hung heavy in the air. I didn’t like it. It reminded me of moth balls, and my grandmother’s house.
Behind me, the door clicked open and someone shuffled in. I expected to see the old guy who usually looks me over, but was greeted with a middle aged blonde. She gave a tired smile.
“Hi. My name is Dr. Kelly. How can we help you today?”
I let out half a smile and checked her out on the sly, while she looked my file over. She had been pretty once, but life had taken its toll on her. Weight had gathered around her belly and hips, but there was still something appealing about her. She had nice hair.
I started with giving her an explanation of my symptoms, that it had been this monthly cycle of getting sick, either with my chest or throat or whatever, I’d then get well, and a week later the process would start all over again.
All throughout my confession, she listened intently, scratching down bits of info as and when I said something that must have been relevant.
At the end she cocked her head toward the bed.
“Ok. Let’s check you out.”
I stood and stepped over to the rickety bed.
She started with the ears, then the throat.
She took my blood pressure, and then listened to the fleghmy rattle in my chest.
She nodded.
“I would say you have some sort of allergic reaction that’s causing mucus to drip into your throat, down into your chest, causing the infection. I recommend we start with an anti-histamine injection.”
I nodded. “Sounds great. Let’s do it.”
“Remove your pants.”
“Yes ma’am.”
I dropped trow while she readied the needle.
When she turned around I saw shock and embarrassment mingle to contort her once-good looks.
“Sir, what is that?”
I looked to where her eyes were locked and saw the raging boner curling out of my undies.
“An allergic reaction to a woman asking me to take my pants off?”
“This is not seemly.” She replied, flustered.
“It’s a medical condition.”
She smiled suddenly. “How old are you?”
“Old enough.”
“Are you going to take this injection?” She asked, her eyes back on my crotch.
“I could ask you the same question.”
She stepped toward me and stuck her left hand into my undies, grabbed my cock and began stroking.
“You serious about this?” She asked.
In that moment she looked smoking, the age was melting from her, and I saw a flicker of the girl she might have been before eight years of Varsity.
I reciprocated the gesture and started undoing her pants. She was wearing granny panties beneath them, and I stoppered the laugh that threatened to escape.
“This time you can be the patient.”
I guided her to sit on the rickety doctor-bed and spread her legs, dipping my fingers into her snatch. There was minimal moisture.
“In the second drawer on your right.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“KY.” She said simply.
“Ah ha.”
I retrieved the lubricant, uncorked it and slathered my cock in it.
There was a little foot stool I used to gain some leverage, and I slid in easily.
Her breath caught in her throat, the lubricant cold against her lady bits.
I started pumping, slow at first, then threw in a couple of violent stabs. The little rickety bed squealed and shuddered under the force.
‘Not so noisy!’ She said.
‘Your the Doc.’
I toned it down a notch and rode on. It was feeling good. Soft, wet, easy.
Too good. I was getting to the end of my tolerance level. I saddled up for the final sprint, grabbed her hips and pulled her toward the edge of the bed, supporting her ass with the thigh of my right leg, that was still resting on the foot stool, and I fucked like my life deppended on it.
Sweat broke out on my brow. I gritted my teeth and went into the home stretch.
And then it dawned on me.
I was dreaming.
In reality I was in bed, at home, and I was about to come.
Despite my sleep-laden, sex-soaked mind, I managed to move my right hand to my cock and grab the dickhead, sliding my thumb over my jap’s eye, holding back the cum. I rolled onto my back, enjoying the orgasm. The memory of Dr.Kelly began fading instantly as I shirked off the side affects of the wet dream.
I looked at my clock. An hour to go until work.
What the fuck?
Weren’t wet dreams supposed to stop at puberty?
I stood up, went to the toilet and deposited my unborn children into the white bowl. Clearly I was still sick.
