“Hello Mike,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. “How are you?”
“Doing well, as always,” he said.
She ushered him into the hallway. “I’m afraid I have to duck out, I have a couple of errands to run,” she said. He noticed then the briefcase she held under one arm.
“She’s upstairs,” Jenny said, glancing up to the ceiling, or maybe rolling her eyes.
“No problem,” Mike said.
“Is there anything you need?”
“Not at all, off you go.”
“Thanks again. Make yourself at home, anything you need. Just shut the door behind you,” she said, then breezed off down the driveway to the waiting SUV. He watched appreciatively the stockinged legs as she climbed into the car, then gave a little wave and closed the door.
He turned about in the hallway. The staircase was halfway down it, either wall lined with family portraits and modern art. Trophies and medals sat atop a small glass cabinet to his right. On the left, the hall opened out to the living area, sunken, and the kitchen beyond it. There was a residual smell of toast and coffee from the morning.
Maybe he would make himself at home when he was done. Relax a bit. Take a load off.
He made for the stairs, whistling an old tune to announce himself as he climbed the carpeted surface. At the top he glanced both ways—at the end to his right one door sat slightly ajar, a shaft of sunlight breaking out to the hall.
Shifting the bag again to his other hand, he made for the door. He knocked lightly and pushed it open. It gave a faint creak.
For a moment he couldn’t see with the light bursting into his eyes, so he said in a sing-song voice, “Hello?”
“Hello, Doctor Johnson.”
He closed the door behind him and moved out of the line of the window. Thin lacy curtains kept it light but took away the glare.
“Ah. Hello, Mandy.”
She was sitting up, propped by maybe half a dozen pillows of different sizes. The thick red blanket was pulled up to her shoulders. To her right were splayed some scrunched up tissues around a pink box, and a thin novel lying face down, open about the halfway point. It all seemed like a well-designed Hollywood set.
Mandy put down her phone next to her, screen down, and its bejewelled white cover sparkled for a moment.
“There’s a chair,” she said. He thought there was a flash of guilt in her eyes, as though he’d caught her in the middle of something. Probably texting her friends at school.
He nodded and turned around, and she gave a faint cough. The room felt sleepy. It had all the trappings he’d expect: a small desk with books and homework scattered about, posters of bands he didn’t know, a chest of drawers with some worn remnants of earlier childhood—toys, decorations, books. There was a sticky sweet floral smell in the room, which was a little too much for him.
He pulled the chair from under the desk, and had to push a hoodie and a torn pair of jeans onto the floor. He brought the chair to the bedside, putting his back to the sun. As he sat, he realised it was actually quite warm on his back.
He put his bag on the floor between his feet and put his hands on his knees.
“Alright, then,” he said, smiling at Mandy. “What’s ailing you?”
She blinked, and her eyes shifted down towards her feet. “I just woke up, kind of not feeling great. Like a cold or something?”
He nodded, and smiled again as she looked up to him. “Well, let’s have a look.”
He bent down to his bag, zipped it open and pried the flaps apart. He pulled out his steth and draped it over a shoulder, and dug about for a thermometer. He peeled the plastic cover from a tongue depressor.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he said.
She pulled a thin arm from under the blanket and waved her hand about her face. “It’s just kind of blocked up.”
“Throat?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Okay,” he said, brandishing the tongue depressor. “You know the drill.”
Her cheeks bunched roundly as she smiled, a perfect line of upper teeth peeking from between her lips. She reached up to pull her pony tail over her shoulder—it fell silken over her singlet top, a chestnut brown stream. The blanket slid a little down her chest. She tried to catch it with her other hand but let it go as he moved towards her.
She opened her mouth and he pressed down on her tongue—the sunlight filtering in was bright enough. Mandy’s eyes self-consciously roamed everywhere in the room but his face. He hummed a little to himself before removing it. He put it in a tiny trash bag at his feet, and when he looked up again she was thumbing away at her phone. She was smiling, and he took a moment to admire how similar she looked to her mother—not just the smile, the eyes, too.
She finished what she was doing, put down the phone and turned to him, placing her hands obediently on her lap. She noticed he was holding the thermometer at the ready.
“Sorry,” she said, a residual hint of the conspiratorial smile lingering on her face.
“No problem.”
She adjusted the strap of the blue singlet as he placed it in her mouth. He adjusted it slightly and sat back.
“Just a minute or two,” he said. She nodded, and reached to grab a tissue which she rubbed between her fingers.
As she looked absently off to the corner of the room, he watched her face. Pretty, even now, but he knew she’d grow into herself yet. Her eyes were an even deeper brown than her hair, which gave them an ageless look. Her nose was so slightly upturned. Her lips were full and roseate pink, though she tended to pinch them tight as though to cover her teeth. He glanced at the thermometer with the red mercury pushing up ever so slowly.
She was watching him now, and she smiled around the glass, her face coming to life. He smiled back.
“How old are you now, Mandy? Sixteen?”
“Almost seventeen,” she lisped around the thermometer.
“Lots of homework, I see.” He leaned around to look at the organized mess upon the desk.
“Always,” she said, rolling her eyes. She looked away again, out the window.
Her neck was long, the effect maybe heightened by her top, now fully revealed. Long thin arms and gracefully rounded shoulders. Her breasts were more than budding mounds—small, but fully formed, slightly more than hinted at above the singlet’s line.
He reached for the thermometer, and again found her looking at him. He hesitated, but only briefly—mostly because her depthless gaze seemed to delve into him, seeking but not judging.
He cleared his throat and looked at the device against the light. He hummed and put it back in his bag. Turning to her again, he put his hands on his knees in a pose that mirrored her own.
“Is everything alright at school?” he asked.
She opened her mouth to speak, then rolled her eyes to the side. “Okay, I guess.”
The phone by her pillow vibrated and flashed. Her eyes darted to it, then she looked back to him.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “you don’t have to tell me. But I need to be clear on the story I give your mom.”
She quirked one side of her mouth and breathed a laugh, partly embarrassed at being found out, partly relieved to cast off the pretence.
“Sometimes things just…get on top of you,” she said.
He sat back. “Yes. I know how that can feel.” He looked back at her desk again. “Do you think you’ll need tomorrow off as well?”
She laughed. “You’re the best.”
“Alright,” he said. “Well why don’t you sit yourself up on the edge of the bed.” She arched her eyebrows. “While I’m here I might as well make sure everything’s in working order.”
She shrugged. “Well okay.” She pushed the blanket down to her hips and spun with her legs together, then slid herself to the bed’s edge. She then peeled the blanket from her legs and sat, feet together, with her toes just off the ground.
He noticed she was wearing a pair of pink checked cotton shorts, with a small slit up the side of the leg.
“Perfect,” he said.
“Hmm?”
He sat up from his bag holding a reflex hammer. “Just where I need you,” he said.
“Really?” she said, smirking.
“Absolutely.”
“That thing is old school.”
He turned it to look at the wooden plexor. Sure, it was a little notched and beaten up, but it still did the trick.
“Not everything old is useless, you know.”
She pressed her lips together and looked out the window. He tested her reflexes, watching all the while the shifting of the muscles in her legs. She was still a keen sportswoman, it seemed.
Beside her on the bedside table, he saw peering from under a paper a box of contraceptive pills.
“Okay,” he said, placing down his hammer. “You can relax. Are you sexually active, Mandy?”
His heart fluttered as he asked, wondering at his motive for the question. Knowing, all the while, that he might in some way be betraying the implicit trust in him as a doctor.
She blinked and flushed slightly. “N-No,” she said. “Well, I mean, I have…but…”
“That’s okay,” he said, making an effort to sound neutral. “I have to ask. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Not at the moment, no.” She tilted her head at him, a gesture that virtually brought her mother to life. He felt himself flush now as he nodded. She blinked slowly at him, that gaze turning deep again.
“If you could just stand up for me,” he said hurriedly. He was relieved when she nodded and looked away…even more so when he noticed a tingle of taboo pleasure in his groin.
He shifted slightly as she looked questioningly at him. “Can you touch your toes?” he said. His heart pounded now as he knew he was abusing his position, but the image of this girl in front of him was sending signals that bypassed his brain and shot straight down to his guts, and lower.
“Mmhmm.” She bent straight down from the hips. Her thin torso and tanned arms straightened like an exquisite machine. Her heels remained planted firmly as her legs stretched and straightened. As her fingers brushed her crimson lacquered toenails, her shorts rode up at the back and he glimpsed the subtle curve where her legs joined her butt.
“Fuck…” he breathed.
His eyes stroked up and down the schoolgirl’s fine athletic legs, and up to the glimpse of midriff where her top parted from her pants, then further to where the outline of her breasts hung against the soft singlet. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to run his hands down the girl’s soft, warm skin, to hold her against him and feel her bones and muscle beneath.
“Did you say something?” she said, sounding a little strained.
“No,” he said.
“Is that all you wanted to see, Doctor?”
“You can stand up now. That’s great.” He squeezed at his brow with thumb and forefinger, hoping she wouldn’t notice the hardness pressing at his trousers.
She turned to face him, her chest pushed out as though she’d just won a race.
“Please, sit down. Are you still doing your running?” he asked.
“Yeah. And I’ve taken up pole vault, too. My coach says I’ve got the build for it.”
Don’t blame him. “Well, let me just write this certificate out for you. Will your mom be home soon?” he asked as he scribbled away—something about a virus, a day or two.
“She won’t be home for hours.”
He looked up at Mandy when he heard the tone of her voice. She was staring at him again, but now instead of that unreadable look, she watched him with an intensity. An open question?
Holy shit, this might be about to turn serious, he thought as he looked at his watch—not even noting the time. Every part of his professionalism was calmly telling him to sign the paper, close his bag, and bid Mandy farewell.
Only there was another part—a large part, at this moment—that was screaming to touch this girl, to press his face against hers, to touch her all over her smooth young flesh, to press his cock into her fresh wetness…
Her phone buzzed again. She glanced to the side but didn’t turn away.
She leaned towards him. “I really do appreciate you helping me out, Doctor Johnson,” she said, gazing up at him with doe eyes as she placed her hand on his thigh.
His limbs stiffened, but he didn’t move her hand. Maybe she should take up acting as well as athletics, he thought.
His cock twitched as he watched her hand shift. It was obvious now—no hiding it. She lowered her eyes to it as she leaned further, and he stole a glance down her singlet where it drooped, her breasts hanging tight and smooth within the shadows.
She hummed a high pitched note and their eyes met once more. As their gazes locked, he felt her hand move again, then off his leg. He breathed deep to sigh, but as his lungs filled he felt pressure fall on his straining cock.
His breath caught, but he couldn’t speak. He looked down to see her small fingers brushing over the protruding trousers.
“Ah-h,” he stammered, then released his breath in a gust. “Mandy—“ he said as she shifted along the bed for better reach. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, thinking to himself, what a stupid thing to say!
“Just seeing if everything is in working order,” she said.
She looked up at him again and smiled, showing him again that fine line of pearly upper teeth.
It was then that he gave in.
