Isobel and Armand would be amused if they knew that I had been seeing a ‘shrink’. They always used to think me such a strait-laced, even bourgeois little girl: a perfect English rose. But they shouldn’t be so surprised because it was they who set me on the path that led to Dr Damon’s door. And often, as I’m lying on his couch, sharing with him my innermost feelings about life and love and relating to him my dreams and fantasies, I often say a silent prayer of thanks to them.
It is three months since the doctor and I first met. Our meeting resulted from a recommendation by a mutual acquaintance. Such is the doctor’s esteem and so distinguished are his clients – he abhors the term ‘patients’ – that I was surprised that he wanted to see me. But he did, and soon each Wednesday’s visit had become the keystone around which I built my week.
I always arrive early for my session with the doctor. A visit to his consulting rooms is a joy in itself: the building is a sumptuous homage to an earlier age. The drawing room, which serves as the clients’ waiting room, has a high vaulted ceiling, a magnificent fireplace, fine furniture and chairs so soft that one sinks into them. Impressionist paintings adorn the walls and hand-woven silk curtains fringe the windows that look out onto a delightful courtyard. But more importantly than these comforts, I like to take a few minutes before my appointment to compose myself.
Yesterday that proved especially difficult. The doctor had recruited a new receptionist: a delectable young woman of maybe nineteen or so. I could barely tear my eyes from her. Silvery blonde waves of hair lapped against her cheeks and framed her innocent, child-like face. Her eyes were deep pools of blue and her mouth ….. Oh, her full, red mouth yearned to be tutored in the giving of delights that only a woman can enjoy.
Glancing up from an old copy of Vogue, I caught her gaze upon me and gave her my prettiest smile. She looked down guiltily but, smiling to herself, slowly wetted her lip with her tongue tip. I wonder if she wants to play, I thought.
From the neck down, there was nothing child-like about her beauty. A tight, V-necked sweater revealed a graceful throat, an even lovelier, fulsome bosom and two stiffening nipples that peeked tantalisingly through the thin fabric. Her left breast bore a badge that said ‘Juliet’. Mischievously I speculated what her right breast was called. Romeo?
I closed my eyes and imagined suckling and nibbling her strawberry-tinted nipples. First Romeo and then Juliet. Romeo and Juliet. I could feel my own nipples hardening at the prospect.
Luckily, the purring of her telephone roused me from my daydream.
‘Miss Warwick, Dr Damon will see you now,’ Juliet called over to me.
She led me to his door, opened it and, as I passed, we brushed against each other. I turned to thank her and held her gaze for a moment longer than was necessary.
Later, I promised myself. Later.
The doctor rose to meet me.
‘Good to see you again, Eve.’
‘What a charming girl,’ I said.
‘Juliet? Yes, she’s delightful. She’s covering for Ruth. Her mother’s an old friend. Juliet’s interested in studying psychology – so she’s come up from Cornwall for a couple of weeks to see what it’s all about.’
He took my jacket. ‘Chair or couch?’
‘Couch. Thank you.’ I slipped off my shoes, rested my head on the cushion and stretched out. If Doctor Damon, ever the true professional, had any interest in my stockinged calves, his face didn’t betray it.
‘How have you been, Eve?’ asked the doctor, taking his seat beside the couch.
‘Good,’ I said hesitantly.
‘You don’t sound certain. What about those dreams? Any more of them lately?’
‘One. Last night. It was very vivid.’
‘Did it disturb you?’
‘Not disturb, exactly. It unsettled me.’
The doctor crossed his legs and reached for his notepad. ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’ The sight of Juliet had distracted me, but I placed my hands on my stomach, took a deep breath and tried to concentrate.
‘First I need to tell you about a period in my past.’
‘You know the rules, Eve. You can tell me whatever you want.’
I settled back and began to disinter the past – that fateful summer.
‘It all goes back to when I was about 18. I was travelling round France with my boyfriend, Jamie. We got to Cannes, and then we had the most appalling row. It was all about something and nothing, but in truth we should never have gone together. Anyway, I stormed off with all my gear. It was only later that I discovered that I’d left my travellers’ cheques with him. I had only the cash in my pocket. I needed to get home. The only grace was that at least I spoke good French.’
‘Yes, your mother’s Belgian, isn’t she?’ asked the doctor.
‘Yes,’ I said, for some reason ridiculously pleased that he remembered the fact.
‘I started hitchhiking. Eventually a young woman in an old Renault van picked me up. She must have been in her thirties. She was lovely, very exotic. We stopped and she bought me a meal. I told her about my predicament and she decided, there and then, that I must stay with her and her husband. The plan was that I would phone home and my parents could send me money to their address. Then I’d continue on my journey by train. I suppose I figured this would take a week or so. As things worked out, I stayed for nearly a month.
‘The woman was called Isobel. She was married to Armand, a painter, and lived in a huge rambling chateau, just north of Aix.’
‘What were they like, this couple?’ Doctor D asked.
‘Isobel was beautiful, like a young Jane Birkin, but darker, with shorter, lighter hair. Long brown legs and twinkling, acorn eyes. She was a real free spirit but tough too. I heard her once negotiating on the phone with an art gallery and she made mincemeat of them.
‘Armand was much more intense. Dark and brooding, and older, maybe forty-five. He was stocky and muscular. His hair was beginning to grey and go a bit thin – a little like your….’
I suddenly realised what I’d said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’ The doctor waved away my protests good-naturedly. ‘But he was very handsome,’ I added, trying to make amends.
‘The atmosphere in the house was intoxicating. Hedonistic. It was as if anything was possible. There were no rules except one: provided you didn’t hurt others, you owed it to yourself to grasp all of life’s pleasures. Sometimes Isobel would spend the whole day wandering around, practically undressed. And she’d ask me the most intimate questions about Jamie as if they were perfectly normal: Did he make me come? Did he like to go down on me? I’d just laugh them off, but I sort of suspected she was interested in me, you know, amorously. She’d hold my hand when we were out walking, nuzzle up to me and, once, she kissed my neck when I wasn’t looking.
‘I think that I was a little in love with her too. At least, I adored being around her and loved her brushing my hair and fooling around with her when we were swimming in the lake. I wasn’t a virgin and being with Jamie had woken a desire and curiosity that startled me. Even so, I knew little enough about making love to a man, let alone a woman.’
‘What about Armand?’
‘Armand’s behaviour towards me was bizarre. One day he would hardly talk to me, the next he couldn’t be more charming, paying me compliments and asking my opinion on everything under the sun. I found him attractive too and wondered what he would be like ….’ I looked over to the doctor ‘…. in bed. But I would never have done anything to upset their relationship.’
‘I’m sorry, doctor, I haven’t even told you about the dream yet.’
The doctor smiled at me indulgently.
‘One afternoon I was looking for Isobel. We’d agreed to go to the lake to swim, but she’d disappeared. I called out for her but there was no answer. So I started searching the house and came to the dining-room. If I had waited for a moment before bursting in, I’d have heard the tell-tale sounds of their lovemaking. But I didn’t. I barged in and was struck dumb. I can see it now as though it were a photograph. Isobel was spread naked across the table. Her legs were wrapped around Armand. He was also naked, standing over her. They were fucking – I mean, copulating – and must have stopped in mid-stroke. Isobel had one hand at her breast and the other between her legs. Armand was holding her by the hips. I was mesmerised: at once fascinated and horrified. Isobel smiled at me, propped herself up on an elbow and beckoned me over. Armand half-turned to the door and grinned invitingly.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I just stood there for what seemed like hours, unable to move, not knowing whether to stay or go. Eventually I shook my head and retreated from the room. I closed the door behind me and leant against it. My legs felt like lead, I could hardly breathe. From inside the room I heard Isobel gasp as Armand entered her again. Then I heard her mutter between her moans: “Armand …. pretend I’m Eve …. fuck me hard.” Then I heard him groaning as he pushed into her again, “Come for me, Eve, come for me.”
‘I felt almost sick …. Utterly confused. Everything in my life said that I should flee the house at once. Just grab my stuff and go. But another part of me wanted to be on the other side of the door. Not just watching, but taking part …. with him …. and her. I wanted them both and I thought – I suppose I now knew – that they wanted me too. But I didn’t know what to do about it. That evening, over supper, it was as if nothing had happened. We ate and drank and chatted. Then I went to bed. That’s when I had the dream for the first time. Since then I’ve had it several times. And that’s the dream I had last night.’
I looked over once more to Doctor Damon, wondering what he made of me. His face was a mask.
‘Do you want to tell me about the dream, Eve?’
‘It’s just that when I do, I don’t think that you’ll like me.’
‘I’m not here to like or dislike you, Eve. I’m here to help you.’
‘Alright. Just a moment.’ I rubbed my hands together, then wiped the sweat from my lip. I closed my eyes, took two more deep breaths and began to recall the dream, moment by moment.
‘This is what I dreamt …. I’m lying on what feels like grass and slowly waking up. It seems as though I’ve been drinking and I don’t know where I am. I open my eyes. Silver prisms of sunlight are shining through leafy trees and crashing into my eyes like shards of glass. I wince at their brightness. A warm, almost breathless, breeze tickles the skin on my arms. Only then do I realise that I’m at the lake. There has been a picnic – with wine – and I’ve fallen asleep. I turn onto my side and see that Isobel is lying beside me. She too is awake. She points behind me and I look over my shoulder. Armand, bare-chested, is stretched out, snoring contentedly.
‘I want to ask her something but Isobel puts her finger to my lips to hush me. In my gut I can feel desire stirring, like a hibernating beast woken at springtime.
‘Isobel is wearing a long, tie-dyed vest as though it’s a short-sleeved dress. It would reach her thighs but it has ridden up her long, beech-brown legs to her hips, revealing a triangle of dark curls beneath the hem. A thick, buckled belt girdles her waist.
‘When Isobel draws me towards her, I make no pretence of resistance. Her lips on mine are coolly refreshing, and taste of summer, sleep and wanting. She tilts my head, framing my face in her hands, and kisses me again. Our tongue tips meet, part and touch again. She looks into my eyes and what she sees is consent.’
I looked across at the doctor but his face displayed only concentration. I lay back again and re-entered the dream.
‘Isobel unclasps the belt and, raising her midriff, pulls up the vest to her breasts. Then she sits up and hauls it over her head. For a moment she lies stark against the velvet grass: all eyes and legs. Then she pulls me on to her so that my left leg parts her thighs. I can feel her mound, as soft as moss, against my hipbone. We kiss again, sucking the sweetness from each other’s lips, like a pair of drowsy bees feasting on pollen. Now her hands are in my hair, around my neck, and then they’re lifting up the back of my teeshirt. She drags it off my shoulders, and up and over my head. Freed of it, I feel my nipples prickle and harden against her bare skin as my body eclipses her own and our mouths consume each other once more.
‘My lips trace a trail down her throat across her chest to her breasts. They’re small and firm and as hard as my own. The nipples are a bruised mauve, each aureole a purple halo. I take a nipple between my lips, bite lightly on it and then suck it in hard. It’s as stiff as a stone as my tongue flicks across it teasingly. Isobel lets out a little stuttering sigh. And then another. My lips surrendered her breast to my fingertips and receive its companion eagerly in its place.
‘Isobel takes my hand from her. I pout with disappointment. But she grins impishly, straightens two of my fingers and slides them down her stomach, between her legs and into her moist, slim slit.
‘ “Mmm,” I mew appreciatively as my fingertips disappear to the knuckles. She works my fingers as though they’re her own, cooing quietly, as she rides them. With her free hand she pushes my head lower until it lies on her hip.
‘As she pleasures herself with my fingers and I begin to strum her clitoris with my thumb, I look up and see Armand lying beside us. Now he too is awake, watching us avidly and grinning like a wolf.
‘ “Taste me, Eve,” Isobel says, oblivious to Armand’s interest. She takes her fingers from my own and cradles my head in her hands.
‘I smile at Armand, enjoying his attention, lower my face to Isobel’s crotch and lap at her, almost delicately, like a deer sipping from a pond. The breadth of my tongue slides within her dark pink opening, up and around her clit. Isobel squirms contentedly as I lick and suck, flick and tongue her. Now my lips are laying siege to her clit, my fingers exploring the depth of her slit. And all the time I wiggle my bottom, performing my own little dance for Armand’s amusement.
‘I can sense Armand moving behind me. I hear the zip of his jeans and then feel his hands on the waistband of my shorts. Without undoing them, he drags them over my hips and down my thighs. I gasp as I realise what’s to come. Armand pulls my shorts over my knees, down my calves and tosses them aside. He takes my buttocks in his palms and begins to massage them vigorously with thumbs and fingertips. The need in me is rising and rising, craving every touch he confers on me. Meanwhile, Isobel is holding my head firmly to her as I devour her salty sweetness.’
I paused to catch my breath. I could feel the sweat above my lips and on my brow. The doctor too noticed and offered me a glass of water, but I shook my head. I wanted to know whether he was aroused but the notepad covered his lap. I continued with my dream.
‘Armand parts my legs, flat against the carpet of grass. He lies between them, his cock resting along the gulley between the cheeks of my bottom.
‘ “What a lovely arse you have,” he mutters against my hair.
‘Isobel is moaning, more loudly now, from the attentions of my fingers, lips and tongue.
‘ “Ohhhh yes,” I whimper as I feel Armand’s cock sliding along the cleft of my buttocks. My fingers push hard into Isobel’s needy slit.
‘ “Don’t stop,” she pleads.
‘ “On your knees, my darling,” Armand whispers into my ear. He sits back on his haunches.
‘I can feel the shame burning my face. But penitence, I tell myself, can come later. All I want now is to experience the same pleasure that I am giving Isobel; and for that, I need Armand inside me.
‘As I scramble to my knees, my mouth and fingers continue their endeavours.
‘I hear Armand’s voice, low and measured.
‘ “Cunt or arse?” he asks, as if we are at breakfast and he is offering me croissants or bread.
‘Isobel raises my face from her lap. My mouth and cheeks are steeped in her juices.
‘ “Cunt, my love?” she murmurs. I nod and lower my mouth again to her yearning slit.
‘She groans as my lips reclaim her clit. “Cunt, Armand,” she rasps. “Eve wants you in her cunt.”
‘I hear him spit into his hand. Pressing my forehead against Isobel’s cunt, I look back between my legs and see him wetting his dark, heavy cock with saliva. He doesn’t need to; I’m wet enough for both of us.
‘He eases my slippery lips apart and dips in two fingers. In and out they slide easily.
‘ “Yeah … yeah …. yeah,” I’m groaning from somewhere deep in my throat, my lips pressed hard again against Isobel’s clit.
‘Armand removes his fingers completely. Then I feel him – all of him – warm and thick and hard, entering me, filling me. I feel him slide into that ever expanding channel; I feel his balls slap between my legs; and, as he withdraws – slowly, slowly – I feel his cock sucking the air from every cell in my body.
‘The next thrust is harder, then harder still. With each, it’s as if an electric current is running through the three of us. I hear Armand’s groan, my own weeping sigh, and then Isobel moaning words that exist only in the private realm of her pleasure. Soon I have to abandon myself to my own fulfilment. My fingers are still in Isobel but my tongue is beyond my control. Frustrated by my neglect, Isobel takes my face in her hands and grinds herself against my jaw. Armand pulls me onto him by the hips as he fucks me relentlessly. Each rampant invasion of his cock slams me forwards, buffeting my face against Isobel, setting off shuddering spasms that rake through our limbs.
‘ “I want to come. I want to come,” Isobel is begging. My wrist is sore, my jaw aching. I can feel her limbs stiffening, her body arching and bucking with the rhythm of Armand’s fucking as it resonates through me to her. As if by chain reaction, I begin to sense my own coming beckoning me. Not long now, not long.
‘Then, above our panted groans the jangling buckle of Isobel’s abandoned belt rings out. Armand is waving it behind me. I realise what is to happen only as I hear the belt cut the air. Then, just as I brace myself for his next thrust, I feel the scorching spark of the strap across the top of my leg. I scream out in anguished ecstasy. Rippling pain courses through me, drenching me in sweat and blazing heat.
‘Isobel is howling too, as if in sympathy.
‘ “Yes …. Yes …. YES ….” I hear myself yelling.
‘ “That’s good. That’s good,” says Armand.
‘Another burning stripe across my bottom, another lunge and, as he pounds into me, my face drives hard against my lover’s cunt.
‘ “Aah! …. Aahhhh!!….AAAHHHH!!!”
‘Isobel is wailing, “I’m coming! I’m coming!”
‘ “Good girl. Come for me. Come now.”
‘Another crack of thunder. Another flash of lightning through my every vein. Armand’s cock nestling hard and deep.
‘ “Coming! Coming! C-C-C-C ……”
‘ “Me too …. Me too ….” ‘
I broke off and started sobbing. I was writhing and panting, beyond exhaustion, almost broken – like a medium who has been in contact with the departed.
Doctor Damon offered me the glass of water again. This time I took it gratefully. Then he gave me a tissue. I wiped my eyes.
‘Are you alright, Eve?’
‘Yes,’ I said weakly. ‘I’m fine.’
‘What happened then? Can you go on?’
‘Then I woke up. That’s when I always wake up.’ I blew my nose on the tissue.
‘How did you feel after the dream?’
‘Dazed and confused. Just like in the dream, I didn’t know where I was. I reached out for Isobel. She wasn’t there. Nor was Armand. The room was shrouded in thick blackness. It was all so vivid that, even though I’ve had the dream before, only then did I realise that that’s what it was. I could barely believe it. The bedclothes were saturated with my sweat and …. you know …. my other stuff.’
I sipped again at the glass of water.
‘Did you feel anything else?’
‘Yes. Desolate …. cheated …. desperate.’
‘What do you mean by desperate?’
‘You know, for them …. him and her. For ….’ I glanced over at the doctor. ‘Sex.’
‘What did you about it, Eve?’
‘I …. I …..’ I looked across at him again but avoided his eyes. ‘I masturbated.’
‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a healthy, young woman. Did it help?’
‘A little. It removed the need. It made me calmer.’
‘How do you feel after re-living it now?’
‘Not so confused. But ….’
‘Aroused? Has the dream reawoken that sexual need?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Yes, it has.’
The doctor paused in his questioning, and then he asked: ‘Would it help to masturbate?’
‘Now? In front of you?’
‘I want to see if it makes you feel better.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are you wearing panties?’
‘Slip them off.’
Obediently I slid my black, silky knickers down my thighs and went to drop them on the floor, but the doctor stopped me.
‘Here, I’ll look after them,’ he said. ‘You look hot. Why don’t you take off your blouse?’ I unbuttoned and opened it, but left it on.
I closed my eyes again and lay still for a few moments. Then I slipped my hand under my skirt.
‘No. Pull up your skirt, Eve,’ said the doctor matter-of-factly. ‘I want to see what you’re doing.’ I hitched up the skirt over my hips. My skin looked white and virginal against the black stockings and suspender belt. The doctor sat up in his chair in order to have a better view.
I reached between my legs and soaked my fingers. I was desperate again: desperate for sex.
I closed my eyes and tried to will myself back into the dream. But it was no good. The geometry of limbs was all wrong. Instead I concentrated on my other senses: the taste of Isobel’s skin …. her mouth …. her cunt …. her juices dribbling off my lips …. the press of her thighs upon my cheeks …. her hands jamming my chin against her clit …. Armand’s fists gripping my hips …. his groin pummelling against the soft pillow of my arse as he plundered my cunt …. the snap of the belt …. the scolding, melting, searing liquid agony that roared through me with every thud of his cock and lash of leather.
I slipped in two fingers as, in the dream, I had done to Isobel, and Armand had done to me. My slit was warm and welcoming. With my thumb I massaged my clit. It was hard and swollen. My other hand rolled and plucked and pressed teak-hard nipples. I had never been so wet. Soon I could feel the tide swelling deep in my stomach. Rising and falling, rolling through me relentlessly. Higher and higher. I curled my fingers so that they pressed against my pelvis, launching foamy waves of pleasure through me.
‘Mmm, mmm.’ I bit my lip. My fingers worked harder, rubbing my clit, pincering my nipples.
I heard the doctor’s notebook fall to the floor, and then the unzipping of his slacks.
My legs were stiffening and shaking, my body braced against the flood. I could feel it coming. The roaring rush – the promise of release. I looked over at the doctor.
With his right hand Dr Damon was pleasuring himself. With the other he reached across and took my own left hand in his fist. I turned towards him and smiled thankfully as he pressed my fingers.
‘Mmm …. Mmm ….. Mmm.’ My eyes were shut tightly but still sweat stung my eyes. My heart was racing.
The dam was bursting, drowning me, flooding every part of me. Deeper and deeper I sank.
And then …. and then I was floating weightlessly …. riding the joy …. surfing an endless wave of ecstasy. My fingers slowed, drenched with cum. My body eased, relaxed and surrendered itself to the flood of euphoria that was consuming me, wrapping me in its warmth.
I lay still for moments that seemed like ages, relishing my orgasm. Only my fingers moved, gently brushing my clit and setting off little eddies of pleasure swirling through my limbs and setting them aquiver. Slowly the tide ebbed, leaving me becalmed.
My mouth was as dry as my body was wet. Across from me, the doctor’s eyes were tightly shut. His fist was pummelling his cock.
I climbed off the couch and knelt between his legs. I prised his fingers away from his cock. It wasn’t large but it was thick. The veins stood out like those in a bodybuilder’s arm. I ran the backs of my fingers from tip to base and back to the tip again. I drew down his skin so that it sparkled like stretched satin. Then I cupped his balls in my hand, squeezing them deftly. He groaned with gratitude. I bent forward. My tongue glided up his shaft as lovingly as, so many years ago, it used to lick an ice lollypop, catching each sweet droplet of juice. But his cock was warm, and throbbed and quivered with his need. I raised my head.
‘Which feels better, my lovely doctor? Your hand or my mouth?’
‘Your mouth. Don’t stop,’ he pleaded.
My lips devoured the pink-purple head and sucked on it hard. Then my restless tongue flicked back and forth across it, stabbing into his slit, and working its way along the ridge on the underside of the head. Doctor Damon was writhing and bucking with pleasure.
I drew my lips back to the very tip, sucked on it harder still and then plunged down another inch. Under my guidance, in and out his cock slipped. I squeezed his balls more tightly. He groaned loudly and pushed up into my mouth. I held him down and took in all of his cock. Then I drew back and teased the head again.
His protests were even louder now. His limbs were stiffening. I could feel he was about to burst. I wanted him to spill his seed into me but, for some reason and at the last moment, he held my head in his hands and pushed it from his lap.
I drew back, but too late. A milky spume of cum splashed the side of my face. I felt his body slacken and then, breathlessly, he sank back into his seat. I was exhausted by the dream, my own coming and now sucking him off. Utterly spent, I leant my forearms on his thighs and watched his cock slowly shrink until, like a little mouse, it crept back into its undergrowth. I leant forwards and kissed its pink head. Then I sat back, my knees bent beneath me, and stroked Dr Damon’s thighs.
The doctor opened his eyes. By now beads of his cum were dripping from my chin and dribbling down my throat.
‘My God, Eve, I’m so sorry …. I didn’t mean to ….’
‘Don’t worry,’ I smiled. ‘It’s supposed to be good for the skin.’
He wiped a smear of cum from my cheek and offered it to my lips. I sucked on his fingertip as daintily as a child tasting a snowflake. He cleaned my face and neck with his hand and massaged his cum into my breasts. My nipples glistened like rubies.
The doctor glanced over to the clock.
‘That was incredible,’ he said at last, ‘but our time’s almost up.’
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘You were incredible.’
He reached across to his desk. ‘Four hundred, as usual?’ I nodded and he produced eight fifty pound notes.
‘I’ve never seen you come so hard,’ I said. He smiled, almost bashfully.
‘You were like a volcano. Isn’t that worth a little extra, sweet, sweet doctor?’
He laughed. ‘You think that you can wrap me round your little finger, don’t you?’
I brushed the back of my hand across his cheek. ‘I thought you liked it when I wrapped round my fingers. If you want, you can keep my knickers …. as a memento.’
‘Alright,’ he sighed. ‘You know I can’t refuse you.’ He produced another two fifties and I slipped the five hundred into the pocket of my skirt.
‘Same time next week?’ he said, zipping up his slacks.
‘Of course. Do you want me to tell you another dream?’ I buttoned up my blouse and tucked it into my skirt.
‘Yes, I like your dreams though I wonder where dream and reality merge.’
‘So do I,’ I agreed wistfully. I checked my face in my compact mirror. My neck was flushed and I looked a little sweaty, but no worse than most clients who have spent a distressing hour with their psychiatrist. I combed my hair and straightened my skirt.
Doctor Damon helped me to my feet, fetched my jacket and went to open the door. I put my foot in the way.
‘One thing, doctor. I was thinking of asking out Juliet – just for a drink. That would be alright, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose she’s old enough to look after herself,’ he said reluctantly.
Then, for reasons that I can’t really explain, I did something that I’ve never done before and which broke all the rules – I kissed him on the lips. He looked surprised, but pleased. We shared a long, chaste kiss and then he showed me back into the waiting room.
Outside, Juliet was busying herself filing.
‘I hear that you are new in town,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘How about a girls’ night out? I can show you around.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘What about 7.30 tomorrow at Jacob’s Bar. Dr Damon will show you how to get there.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said. Her face coloured and her breasts seem to swell within her sweater. Mmmm, Romeo and Juliet, I thought to myself.
‘Yes. I’ll look forward to it too,’ I answered, as I covered her hand with my own. ‘I might even dream about it.’