She was a pleasant looking lady, the sort who had her hair done at least once a week, belonged to a card club-bridge-who, with her husband, often went to the ‘club’ for dinner when she would be involved during the day. Nice smile, poised, ready to begin the intake part that is essential to form a new patient/surgeon relation-ship. I smiled back, picked up her almost empty folder, put it down then asked my usual first question.
“What brings you to me, other than a referral from your G.P.?” I Smiled.
No answer but, typical of suppressed nerves, a comment that has nothing to do with her medical problem.
“I believe you know my son….”
A glance at the chart shows her last name to be “Jones” which was of no help.
“Your son?”
She fumbled in her purse, took out the mandatory leather wallet that contained everything including pictures of her family.
“Yes.” She handed me a picture. “Jeremy.”
Well I certainly know the face but….the name? No. Well, yes but in my memory bank, he’s “Jerry” which, I suppose, is short for “Jeremy”.
“This is Jeremy? Uh…...looks very familiar….might have played squash with him at the gym….also the name….”
“Oh, yes, he likes to be called, ‘Jerry’, mothers just stick to the name they gave them.” Smiles, knowing she’s right, that I’ll agree.
I certainly do know him but the game we played wasn’t squash or at a gym. I met him at a very private party given by a boyfriend of a former lover of mine. This is information I am not going to share with his mother however it set me to thinking about ‘Jeremy’ or ‘Jerry’…..
Another visitor from the wallet, this time a picture of an un-groomed Poodle, Standard size.
“Here’s Poppy, my poodle….Jeremy babysits him when I’m going to travel abroad.”
He certainly does; Indeed one memorable time, Jerry was in her residence with Poppy when I was...uh, visiting. For reasons we needn’t discuss in addition to leaving my coat over a chair, the rest of my clothing was strewn in a path to the bedroom. That’s where Poppy, the poodle, tried to nip my nuts. He missed but it was a close thing.
What to do? I got on all fours to nip his. I didn’t miss all of which sent Jerry into paroxysms of laughter to the extent that he fell from the bed onto the floor. That’s where I nipped his nuts. Actually, I took the whole ball bag in my mouth to start licking his furry sack….sort of a suggestion as to what I’d like to do to and/or with him.
He took the hint, whirled around which displaced the dog but put him in prime position to take my manly bits in his mouth. Of course the next step involves losing the balls but orally climbing the stalk in which lives the crème de man. Sperm. Cum, Juice, the Good stuff.
Poppy, the Poodle-remember him?-whined as he wasn’t being included…..which, if I hadn’t been ‘involved’, would have caused me to wonder just what sort of ‘babysitting’ Jerry had done with this hound in the past. But, as I said, I was deeply involved with his babysitter...
“Doctor?”
Mrs. Jones interrupted my memories of her son. Also made it impossible for me to stand for the bulge in my pants would have caught on a desk drawer pull not to mention being pointedly (poor choice of words) obvious that, apparently, I, too, had memories of Jeremy/Jerry.
These are the moments when, A. You wish to continue your memories but, B. Need someone to run interference. Which means, C. Move the problem elsewhere. I buzzed Annette, my nurse, then said into the speaker,
“Uh, Mrs. Jones needs to go to the Lab for a quick work up, could you escort her, get the usual forms…? Thanks.”
I gave her thirty seconds….wrong by fifteen.
Once the coast had been cleared I grabbed some sterile wipes, shucked down my cock then breathed that sigh of fulfillment after the deed is done, the results now drying in a tissue. Thoughts of Jeremy/Jerry were very much on my mind in terms of that night in what I now knew to be his mother’s home as well as, probably, her bed. (A psychiatrist or Analyst would have a field day with that….)
And thought about Jeremy/Jerry…..
If the sex with him was never less than great!!! then the man himself exceeded that. He was that person who was a buddy, a chum, the companion for everything from barebacking to a ball game on a hot summer afternoon. Golf? He had a six handicap...only exceeded when he, laughing hysterically, pulled you into a water hazard to suck you dry. You wanted to sit next to him in a sports bar while ‘the game’ (the sport didn’t matter) was on as his enthusiasm was like a welcome virus; Every guy in there was for whatever he was for….even when he wasn’t sure who or what he was for. Jerry was the guy I called when I saw a case of despondency headed for me which needed avoiding. Tell him just that and…..it seemed like moments later he was by my side, solicitous in his concern but also determined to raise my spirits. (A good start to that involved lowering my pants…) Those evenings were quiet dinners at places that served good food. Odd, isn’t it, it’s just then plus there, that one can cogently spill just what’s wrong to a truly interested listener. His trick? Let me solve my own problem having thoroughly vetted it. Out the door after a couple of Brandy’s, his arm over my shoulder, headed for a hotel, a really good hotel, then an apres dejeuner party of wild sex. Next morning? Big smile on his face while his naked body stood like the best butler holding a tray with food, coffee as well as the paper. That was it, his therapy. When I’d finished, he was gone, bill was paid but there was a note….”You were boffo, wire when you’ve got the chimps trained….Jerry”. Always leave ‘em laughing.
Why didn’t we ever become lovers? Don’t know, never occurred to either of us not to mention his legions of friends who must have wondered the same thing. He’s a great guy who realizes that the more the merrier is his style. How lucky am I to be able to access him when he’s needed or….I’ve got two tickets for something or other; Who could be a better companion?
Annette announced that Mrs. Jones was ready to see me, all the tests were done, I’d have the results shortly.
In she came, wreathed in smiles, anxious to speak to the doctor. I smiled back, moved around my desk to sit on the edge for our conversation, seems more intimate, important, personal that way.
Looking up, another smile, she said, “Doctor…..Can you come to dinner on Friday? I’d like you to meet my son…..”
