Troy poked his head in one last time, voice dropping into that soft, respectful tone he saves for the serious ones.
“Last one of the day, boss. Marcus. 50-year-old retired pro ball player—played power forward back in the day, made a name for himself. Biracial Black man, handsome as hell in that Michael B. Jordan kind of way… but older, deeper, like life put some real weight on him. Widower for three years now. Still hits the gym every single morning, eats clean, keeps that 6’8” frame carved. But he’s been drowning in the lonely. Scruffy beard, messy curly fro, chest hair spilling out the top of his sweater. Came in for his ‘yearly,’ but the way he’s moving… he needs more than a check-up. He’s wearing an Armani leather jacket over a tight ribbed sweater that’s hugging every muscle, light gray sweatpants that ain’t hiding shit, and those black leather Ugg moccasins. Looks expensive… and exhausted.”
I nodded, already feeling that protective alpha instinct kick in hard. “Give me two minutes, then send him back.”
When the door opened, Marcus ducked in slow, that tall, powerful frame filling the room. Handsome face—strong jaw under the salt-and-pepper scruff, warm brown eyes carrying a heavy cloud, full lips pressed tight like he was holding everything in. The ribbed sweater clung to his broad chest, dark chest hair curling over the neckline, and those light gray sweatpants showed the heavy, soft swing of a thick uncut cock and low balls as he moved. Even in the fancy leather jacket, his shoulders looked weighed down.
“Marcus,” I said, voice low and steady, shaking his big hand firm. “Dr. Don. Good to finally meet you. Heard you’re here for the yearly, but tell me how you’re really feeling, big man.”
He sank into the chair first, elbows on his knees, running a hand through that messy curly fro. “Been… rough, Doc. Three years since I lost her. Gym, diet, style—keeps the body right, but the rest of me? Just ain’t functioning. Can’t sleep right, can’t focus, and down there…” He gestured vaguely at his lap. “Haven’t felt much of anything in months. No drive, no morning wood, nothing. Feel like I’m broken on top of everything else.”
I kept my eyes on his, dominant but gentle, letting him feel the weight of my attention. “You’re not broken, Marcus. Grief does that—shuts shit down. You’re still built like a beast, still taking care of yourself. That’s strength. Let’s get you on the table and see what’s going on. Jacket and sweater off, sweatpants down when you’re ready. I’ll make it easy for you.”
He stood, shrugging out of the Armani jacket and peeling the tight ribbed sweater over his head. Fuck… the man was still a specimen. Broad, muscular chest covered in a thick mat of dark, curly chest hair that swirled over his pecs and ran in a lush trail down his defined but soft stomach. Arms thick from years of ball and weights, abs still visible under the hair. He pushed the gray sweatpants and briefs down together, and his heavy, uncut cock flopped out—thick even soft, dark foreskin covering the head, nestled in a wild, curly black-and-gray pubes fro that matched the hair on his head. Low-hanging balls, hairy sack swaying as he moved.
I helped him ease that 6’8” frame onto the warmed table, dimming the lights a little more. “Just relax for me, handsome. Gonna start with the basics.”
Gloved up, I ran my hands over his chest first, feeling the strong heartbeat under all that soft, curly hair. Then lower—palpating his stomach, tracing the trail of hair until I reached his groin. I cupped his heavy balls, rolling them gently, thumb brushing through the dense curls. His thick cock twitched once… then started to thicken slowly, the foreskin peeling back as it filled out against his hairy thigh.
“See that?” I murmured, voice low and reassuring, giving his cock a slow, firm stroke from base to tip, peeling the foreskin fully back to expose the sensitive head. “Your body still knows what it wants, Marcus. It’s just been waiting for the right touch… and the right person to remind it.”
Marcus let out a deep, shaky breath, one big hand gripping the edge of the table. “Doc… it’s been so long. Feels… good.”
I kept the rhythm steady and confident—long, twisting strokes, thumb circling the head while my other hand massaged his hairy balls. His chest rose and fell faster, that thick mat of hair shifting with every breath. His cock swelled fully in my grip, veiny, dark, and leaking steadily now.
“Let it out, big man,” I said, dominant and protective, leaning in closer so he could feel my presence. “You’ve been carrying too much alone. I’ve got you right now. Cum for me.”
His whole powerful body tensed. Those deep brown eyes locked on mine for a second, then rolled back as the orgasm hit hard. Thick, heavy ropes of cum erupted from his uncut cock—splattering across his hairy chest and stomach in powerful pulses, some even reaching the base of his throat. He groaned low and long, deep and guttural, hips bucking as years of pent-up grief and loneliness poured out of him. Spurt after spurt, messy and abundant, coating that beautiful curly hair on his torso until he was glistening with it.
I didn’t stop until the last weak throb, then grabbed warm towels and cleaned him slow—wiping every streak off his chest, his stomach, his still-twitching cock—while my bare hand rested heavy and comforting on his thigh.
Marcus lay there panting, eyes wet, the heavy cloud in them lighter for the first time. “Fuck… I didn’t know I had that in me anymore.”
I smiled, cocky but sweet, squeezing his leg. “You do, Marcus. And you’re gonna keep having it. Grief doesn’t get to take everything from a man like you. We’re gonna do this again—regular ‘check-ups’ until you’re feeling like the king you are. Gym, diet, style… and me making sure you get drained proper so the depression doesn’t win. Sound good?”
He sat up slow, towering even on the table, and gave me a small, real smile through the scruff. “Yeah, Doc. Sounds real good.”
I helped him dress, straightening that Armani jacket on his broad shoulders before he left. At the door he paused, looking back with those warm eyes. “Thank you… for more than the exam.”
“Anytime, big man. You’ve got my number now.”
Door clicked shut. I leaned against the counter, letting out a long breath, already feeling that protective pull toward the lonely giant who just needed someone strong enough to hold space for him.
Troy slipped in a minute later, eyes soft. “How was the last one?”
I just smirked, but there was real weight behind it. “Needed that one more than he knew. Book him for every other week, Troy. We’re not letting that cloud win.”
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