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| Site contents Copyright © 2005-2015 Bridget Midway All Rights Reserved |
"Walls"
After the failed tryst with Dr. Wooster, I didn't trust any man whose hands were too soft, too
delicate.
I don't even remember how that whole thing started, whether I picked him up or he went after
me. That’s what happened when there were too many men to remember. I started to lose
track. Too bad I couldn’t forget the few times I had been with Wooster.
I think with us, it started off with a flirtation with the eyes. He looked at me a certain way and
knowing me, I probably smiled back, a bad habit my mother taught me.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with smiling at a man,” Mama would say.
It was when the guy wanted something in return. You can never get something for nothing.
Learned that a long time ago. Wooster punctuated that fact to me, too.
One night when I was knocking off and The Good Doctor was about to leave, he caught me in
the elevator. The car had been empty but I believe that even if there was a whole audience in it,
he still would have jumped on me the way that he had.
His hungry mouth kissed me but from him it felt like a means to an end instead of an erotic
gesture. His tongue darted in and out of my mouth until I wanted to gag just to get him to stop. I
thank Mother Nature for my full lips. It cushioned the harsh blow dealt by Wooster’s thin lips
crushing against mine.
He slithered his hand under my blue scrub top without warning, too. As soon as his hand
touched my breast, I jumped, not because his touch surprised me but because his hand was so
soft.
It felt like a woman’s hand, like my having my breast examined by my primary care physician. It
didn’t matter that his hand matched the size of a defibrillator paddle. When I closed my eyes, I
had a lesbian moment. I felt like I was being pawed by another woman.
Not that I have a problem being handled by another woman. Although I’ve never gone that route,
my body wasn’t expecting that type of contact. So whatever happened beyond that didn’t
interest me.
But I had to hand it to Wooster. Not one to give up so easily, instead of taking me in the
elevator, he pulled me into an empty exam room. He didn’t lock the door. Guess he was trying
to heighten the sexual excitement.
An antiseptic stench filled the air so that now every time I smell rubbing alcohol or iodine, I think
of Wooster. That wasn’t something I could admit to him and have it sound like a compliment.
I couldn’t even get wet, and that’s never a problem for me. I’d been known to soak through my
panties on a good episode of ‘Survivor’. Something about a man eating rice like a Neanderthal
and seeking immunity turned me on every time.
And Wooster fit the profile of a fairly good-looking man. In his late forties or early fifties, his gray
hair had specks of black in it to give him that salt-and-pepper look, deep, soulful brown eyes,
and great tanned skin. I think he got the tan from a tanning salon but he would never admit it.
Pressed up against the wall, he did without much foreplay and pulled down my pants.
“Take off your shoes,” was the only thing I remembered him saying.
I remember kicking off my clogs. As soon as I had them removed, he pulled my legs through my
downed pants and panties. Then he lifted my naked legs and wrapped them around his hips. I
guess fighting ex-wives for alimony payments and dodging paternity suits made him so strong.
He plunged deep inside of me. Without being prepared with a welcoming and needed
slickness, his entry made me wince in pain. He didn’t stop. I like it rough like the next woman
but I like it rough and good, not rough and shitty.
No kissing. No talking. Just all heavy breathing. The darkened room cloaked our expressions.
Thank goodness. I yawned and he must have thought it was a moan. He went faster.
The shelf beside us shook, knocking over a few vials. The clinking glass containers rolled on
the metal shelves until eventually a few dropped to the floor. He didn’t stop. Just to give him a
taste of his own rough medicine, I grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head back. He
didn’t stop.
For a dude with soft hands, he did fuck like a machine. His thick dick had a time of it sliding in
and out of me but he kept his rhythm consistent, stroking the inner walls of my cunt until I
eventually constricted around his shaft.
The friction eventually made me damp. And to be tucked away in an empty room at the hospital
where anyone could walk in on us did accelerate my heart, although I had to pinch my nipples to
stimulate them. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
When Wooster came he let out a growl that sounded more like he’d been shot and not a sound
like he’d just shot a load. He slowed down until he eventually stopped. For a moment, he
leaned his head on my shoulder. Even then, after he’d fucked me like a mad man, he still didn’t
kiss me. Considering I didn’t get mine in this rough exchange, I would have thought the guy
would have given me some sort of consolation.
That was okay. I didn’t want those thin lips touching me again. It was bad enough he’d kissed
me in the elevator.
He set my feet down on the floor and backed away from me. Now that I think about it, he did say
something else to me right when he pulled up his pants.
“Don’t be late for work tomorrow,” he’d said.
Fucker.
Copyright © 2005 by Bridget Midway. All rights reserved.
delicate.
I don't even remember how that whole thing started, whether I picked him up or he went after
me. That’s what happened when there were too many men to remember. I started to lose
track. Too bad I couldn’t forget the few times I had been with Wooster.
I think with us, it started off with a flirtation with the eyes. He looked at me a certain way and
knowing me, I probably smiled back, a bad habit my mother taught me.
“Ain’t nothing wrong with smiling at a man,” Mama would say.
It was when the guy wanted something in return. You can never get something for nothing.
Learned that a long time ago. Wooster punctuated that fact to me, too.
One night when I was knocking off and The Good Doctor was about to leave, he caught me in
the elevator. The car had been empty but I believe that even if there was a whole audience in it,
he still would have jumped on me the way that he had.
His hungry mouth kissed me but from him it felt like a means to an end instead of an erotic
gesture. His tongue darted in and out of my mouth until I wanted to gag just to get him to stop. I
thank Mother Nature for my full lips. It cushioned the harsh blow dealt by Wooster’s thin lips
crushing against mine.
He slithered his hand under my blue scrub top without warning, too. As soon as his hand
touched my breast, I jumped, not because his touch surprised me but because his hand was so
soft.
It felt like a woman’s hand, like my having my breast examined by my primary care physician. It
didn’t matter that his hand matched the size of a defibrillator paddle. When I closed my eyes, I
had a lesbian moment. I felt like I was being pawed by another woman.
Not that I have a problem being handled by another woman. Although I’ve never gone that route,
my body wasn’t expecting that type of contact. So whatever happened beyond that didn’t
interest me.
But I had to hand it to Wooster. Not one to give up so easily, instead of taking me in the
elevator, he pulled me into an empty exam room. He didn’t lock the door. Guess he was trying
to heighten the sexual excitement.
An antiseptic stench filled the air so that now every time I smell rubbing alcohol or iodine, I think
of Wooster. That wasn’t something I could admit to him and have it sound like a compliment.
I couldn’t even get wet, and that’s never a problem for me. I’d been known to soak through my
panties on a good episode of ‘Survivor’. Something about a man eating rice like a Neanderthal
and seeking immunity turned me on every time.
And Wooster fit the profile of a fairly good-looking man. In his late forties or early fifties, his gray
hair had specks of black in it to give him that salt-and-pepper look, deep, soulful brown eyes,
and great tanned skin. I think he got the tan from a tanning salon but he would never admit it.
Pressed up against the wall, he did without much foreplay and pulled down my pants.
“Take off your shoes,” was the only thing I remembered him saying.
I remember kicking off my clogs. As soon as I had them removed, he pulled my legs through my
downed pants and panties. Then he lifted my naked legs and wrapped them around his hips. I
guess fighting ex-wives for alimony payments and dodging paternity suits made him so strong.
He plunged deep inside of me. Without being prepared with a welcoming and needed
slickness, his entry made me wince in pain. He didn’t stop. I like it rough like the next woman
but I like it rough and good, not rough and shitty.
No kissing. No talking. Just all heavy breathing. The darkened room cloaked our expressions.
Thank goodness. I yawned and he must have thought it was a moan. He went faster.
The shelf beside us shook, knocking over a few vials. The clinking glass containers rolled on
the metal shelves until eventually a few dropped to the floor. He didn’t stop. Just to give him a
taste of his own rough medicine, I grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head back. He
didn’t stop.
For a dude with soft hands, he did fuck like a machine. His thick dick had a time of it sliding in
and out of me but he kept his rhythm consistent, stroking the inner walls of my cunt until I
eventually constricted around his shaft.
The friction eventually made me damp. And to be tucked away in an empty room at the hospital
where anyone could walk in on us did accelerate my heart, although I had to pinch my nipples to
stimulate them. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
When Wooster came he let out a growl that sounded more like he’d been shot and not a sound
like he’d just shot a load. He slowed down until he eventually stopped. For a moment, he
leaned his head on my shoulder. Even then, after he’d fucked me like a mad man, he still didn’t
kiss me. Considering I didn’t get mine in this rough exchange, I would have thought the guy
would have given me some sort of consolation.
That was okay. I didn’t want those thin lips touching me again. It was bad enough he’d kissed
me in the elevator.
He set my feet down on the floor and backed away from me. Now that I think about it, he did say
something else to me right when he pulled up his pants.
“Don’t be late for work tomorrow,” he’d said.
Fucker.
Copyright © 2005 by Bridget Midway. All rights reserved.