David M.
This is the final entry in a three part series about doctors. In this case, I will use a real name and a real speciality. The only reason I can do this, or that I feel I can, is because he is already dead.
I don't remember when I started to see David. I don't recall if it was my mother who took me or if we went there because some other doctor had recommended him to us. I needed a doctor for my spine problems as I had been diagnosed from scholiosis. What I didn't know is that I'd end up tangled up in such a weird and beautiful and fucked up relationship, until life (and death) took us on separate paths. Maybe I was 19, 20, 23. Maybe he was closer to 50 then. I never knew and honestly it isn't important anymore.
At first we always went with my mom to those appointments. Then one day, she said I should go alone. Just because I was already big now, and because maybe I would maybe seduce the doctor. Puhlease sister - I still get red anytime I give a lecture. Who the fuck does that seduce?
But I did go alone. And I started to talk more with him. I told him I spoke French and that I wanted to be a teacher someday. We talked music and books and all those things. I had such a limited experience with men that at first I didn't notice the sexual tension in the air: it was soft at first, and then it grew until I couldn't stop not noticing it anymore.
On the day I turned 25, I had an appointment with David. I told him it was my birthday that day and he kissed me on the cheek, close to the lips. We were both shocked, and we knew there was no going back after that.
A week after that kiss, I went back, alone. I had a blue miniskirt and flimsy panties. I was so incredibly wet that I could barely walk when I stepped into his office. I lay on the examination table and I felt his fingers teasing the waistband of my panties - please please please. Please do whatever you want to me. Please don't stop. Please.
We said goodbye and I kissed him when he was sitting down, talking to him in French and going down his neck. We started to make plans to meet in private and we did. That first time was so amazing, and so incredibly hot and so sweet -he said that we weren't fucking, but making love (one of the very very few times I've heard it) - and cold because we were in a cabin in the middle of the woods. He took me to eat afterwards and was just so incredibly sweet to me. Looking back, I felt it was like a father taking his daughter to a nice meal. Who said father figure? Those kinds of fixations never go away.
And so we started to fool around and screw each other whenever we could. In motels, in his office. I don't remember anymore how many times I went down on him while I went for my fake checkups: five minutes of real checkup and 15-20 minutes of going down on him. Of him licking my tits and fondling my ass. Of him grabbing my hair and pushing me deeper until he came inside my mouth and I swallowed and left the office looking like a kid in a candy shop. With a vicious smile in my face, and no trace of what we had done.
One of the best times we had was the day I left for Sweden. Exactly six hours before I was to get on the plane, I went to his office. It was a Saturday.
We fucked on the floor like animals. He went down on me, I rode him. We came loudly and I didn't care if everyone heard us. I was going away for a month, why should I care?
Then I left for NY, and we stopped seeing us for a long time. I got fat, then slimmed down, then got fat again. Things broke. I realized I wasn't attractive for him anymore because I had changed too much, and not for good.
I can't remember the last time we had sex. I think it was good, but I can't remember anymore. I remember the way his hands moved up and down my body on a shower. How he was able to make me orgasm with those gorgeous and full lips of his whenever he went down on me.
How much he wanted to fuck me from behind, and I never let him. Why do men have such a fixation with anal sex? That still bothers me in a way.
September 2019 was the last time we saw us, before I left. I was weighing over 80 kilos and I just wasn't myself anymore. We had made plans to meet before going to Berlin, but that never happened. Maybe he was already sick then, and didn't want to tell me anything. We didn't speak again while I was in Europe and I thought that was fine, until I came back and found out that he was dead from cancer.
That his ex wife had cared for him in his final days. That he died before his own mother.
That his sons wouldn't have him in his life anymore.
It broke me in a way. It made me realize that nothing is permanent and nothing is sacred. That people can come and go of a life, and that all we can do is enjoy. Because there is no going back for me now.
I still look for the traits that I found in David in other men, consciously or not. These men marked me, and I am cursed to look for them over and over again, as long as I live.
I don't remember when I started to see David. I don't recall if it was my mother who took me or if we went there because some other doctor had recommended him to us. I needed a doctor for my spine problems as I had been diagnosed from scholiosis. What I didn't know is that I'd end up tangled up in such a weird and beautiful and fucked up relationship, until life (and death) took us on separate paths. Maybe I was 19, 20, 23. Maybe he was closer to 50 then. I never knew and honestly it isn't important anymore.
At first we always went with my mom to those appointments. Then one day, she said I should go alone. Just because I was already big now, and because maybe I would maybe seduce the doctor. Puhlease sister - I still get red anytime I give a lecture. Who the fuck does that seduce?
But I did go alone. And I started to talk more with him. I told him I spoke French and that I wanted to be a teacher someday. We talked music and books and all those things. I had such a limited experience with men that at first I didn't notice the sexual tension in the air: it was soft at first, and then it grew until I couldn't stop not noticing it anymore.
On the day I turned 25, I had an appointment with David. I told him it was my birthday that day and he kissed me on the cheek, close to the lips. We were both shocked, and we knew there was no going back after that.
A week after that kiss, I went back, alone. I had a blue miniskirt and flimsy panties. I was so incredibly wet that I could barely walk when I stepped into his office. I lay on the examination table and I felt his fingers teasing the waistband of my panties - please please please. Please do whatever you want to me. Please don't stop. Please.
We said goodbye and I kissed him when he was sitting down, talking to him in French and going down his neck. We started to make plans to meet in private and we did. That first time was so amazing, and so incredibly hot and so sweet -he said that we weren't fucking, but making love (one of the very very few times I've heard it) - and cold because we were in a cabin in the middle of the woods. He took me to eat afterwards and was just so incredibly sweet to me. Looking back, I felt it was like a father taking his daughter to a nice meal. Who said father figure? Those kinds of fixations never go away.
And so we started to fool around and screw each other whenever we could. In motels, in his office. I don't remember anymore how many times I went down on him while I went for my fake checkups: five minutes of real checkup and 15-20 minutes of going down on him. Of him licking my tits and fondling my ass. Of him grabbing my hair and pushing me deeper until he came inside my mouth and I swallowed and left the office looking like a kid in a candy shop. With a vicious smile in my face, and no trace of what we had done.
One of the best times we had was the day I left for Sweden. Exactly six hours before I was to get on the plane, I went to his office. It was a Saturday.
We fucked on the floor like animals. He went down on me, I rode him. We came loudly and I didn't care if everyone heard us. I was going away for a month, why should I care?
Then I left for NY, and we stopped seeing us for a long time. I got fat, then slimmed down, then got fat again. Things broke. I realized I wasn't attractive for him anymore because I had changed too much, and not for good.
I can't remember the last time we had sex. I think it was good, but I can't remember anymore. I remember the way his hands moved up and down my body on a shower. How he was able to make me orgasm with those gorgeous and full lips of his whenever he went down on me.
How much he wanted to fuck me from behind, and I never let him. Why do men have such a fixation with anal sex? That still bothers me in a way.
September 2019 was the last time we saw us, before I left. I was weighing over 80 kilos and I just wasn't myself anymore. We had made plans to meet before going to Berlin, but that never happened. Maybe he was already sick then, and didn't want to tell me anything. We didn't speak again while I was in Europe and I thought that was fine, until I came back and found out that he was dead from cancer.
That his ex wife had cared for him in his final days. That he died before his own mother.
That his sons wouldn't have him in his life anymore.
It broke me in a way. It made me realize that nothing is permanent and nothing is sacred. That people can come and go of a life, and that all we can do is enjoy. Because there is no going back for me now.
I still look for the traits that I found in David in other men, consciously or not. These men marked me, and I am cursed to look for them over and over again, as long as I live.
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