Dr. Feelgood (13 page)

“Oh, sorry. Yes, Doctor.”

“My lungs?” she asked.

He replied, “Yes, Mrs. Reynolds. Your chest pain could have little to do with your heart, as Dr. Pratt suspected, but more to do with your lungs, which control breathing. I want to make sure we have a biopsy done as well.”

“Biopsy?”

“I know that word sounds invasive, but what we do is we insert a slender scope, called a broncho-scope, through your nose or mouth, and down your throat to look inside of your airway and lungs so that we can take a small sample.”

“But, why?”

“Mrs. Reynolds, this procedure doesn’t take long at all, and it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“What are you checking for?” she asked, looking confused.

“I’m just checking you out so that I can narrow things down.”

“But, you’re not sure of what I could have?”

He responded, “No, ma’am. Not yet. Based
upon your symptoms, we’re just taking steps to rule some things out.”

“I see.” Her eyes shifted into sad mode and she simply laid her head back. “I’m ready.” She looked at the doctor again. “Hey, but aren’t you a heart surgeon?”

“Yes, I am. But, cardiothoracic surgery involves diseases that affect organs inside of the thorax, or the chest. And that includes the lungs.”

“I see.” She managed a surprising wink at Makkai. “From what I hear about you, you can work miracles. I read that article about you winning an award. It was in the
L.A. Sentinel
recently.”

Well, I’ll be. She was charmed by him, too. By the great Dr. Worthy.

Mrs. Reynolds looked a lot like my mother. She was light-skinned and thin and quiet, but I could tell she was strong. I reached under her arm and grabbed her right elbow as she scooted up for her exam.

After Makkai stopped blushing, he stepped to her and attentively looked into her left ear with the penlight. He then checked her with his stethoscope, listening to her heart. If I didn’t watch myself, I was going to start catching feelings for Dr. Feelgood, too. I knew he deserved that nickname, bless the heart of whoever gave it to him. If I could sing like Aretha Franklin, I’d have been serenading the world about his prowess myself.
That man can sure make me feel real. That man takes care of my pains and ills.

He spoke to Mrs. Reynolds with his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be just fine.”

“You promise?”

“You’re in good hands.” “Yes, Dr. Worthy, I know that.” He smiled, looking at her and then looking at me as he exited the room with his slow and suave Denzel walk.

Damn that Makkai.

S
ome say what happened to me when I was fifteen could be considered a good thing. But, I definitely consider it a curse.

See, I used to hang out with my little sister Fonda all the time. So much that we’d play the same games together. Which meant sometimes, like when we were younger, she’d play with my army men, and sometimes, I’d play dolls with her. She’d play with my race cars and I’d help her bake on her electric oven. Well, one Saturday morning, after being gone for two days straight, Dad caught her and me practicing one of Fonda’s dance routines in the living room to an old Supremes track. He didn’t say a word but gave me a look of disdain as he walked by in slow motion. Later that day, my play uncles ended up coming over to take me outside to play baseball.

I stood there in the tight, stonewashed Levis jeans I was growing out of, and a big white T-shirt, with the wooden bat in my hands, ready to swing.

My Uncle Milton said, “Boy, dat dere pussy is the best thang in the world. I’m tellin’ ya somethin fa real.”

Uncle Leroy high-fived him. “Once you get a chance to stick your dick into that wet, tight tunnel, you’ll be chasing it morning, noon and night.” Needless to say I swung the bat about two seconds before the baseball reached me.

“What’s wrong dere, boy? You ain’t even smelt dat yet?” Uncle Milton asked.

I looked down at my weather-beaten tennis shoes. “No.”

“You haven’t tasted it then, huh?” Uncle Leroy inquired. He surprised me more than anything.

“No.”

Uncle Leroy continued, “You will. We promise, you will.”

The next evening, my dad told me to go for a ride with him. We drove all the way to St. Petersburg and pulled up to an old, small frame house. We turned into a long, winding driveway. Dad parked his Caddy behind a silver Ford Mustang. As we got out, a small brown, wide-eyed poodle ran up to him, wagging his tail and barking. Dad patted him on the top of his head, as the dog continued to run circles around him. We walked up to the side door. Dad took out a single key from his pants pocket and opened it, walking right in.

“Roosevelt, is that you?” a woman spoke from somewhere.

He responded with his Barry White voice, speaking loudly in her direction. “Yes, it’s me.” He crossed the threshold taking small, slow steps.

“Her name is Erskalene,” he told me without looking back at me. “Don’t let the dog in,” he told me.

I made sure to close the screen door in the poodle’s little sad face.

“Oh, little Makkai is with you? Great. Roosevelt, your Aunt Ethel called here looking for you. I don’t know how she got this number, but I am listed.”

“Oh, she did. That’s strange.”

The house smelled of the corned beef and cabbage that simmered on the stove, and the faint fragrance of Egyptian musk circulated through the air. Erskalene came into the kitchen, wearing only her scarlet panties and a sheer top. She had to be in her forties, well into her forties. Clearly her large, wide breasts hung flat like pancakes, outlined by deep stretch marks. Her tummy bulged and her waist was as wide as her hips. She had suffered from Noassitol disease, as she had no butt whatsoever. But, she did have the shapeliest, longest legs I’d ever seen, and Dad was definitely a leg man. I was able to check her out intently because by the time she handed us plates full of cabbage and corn bread, and we devoured them and asked for seconds, Erskalene was standing in front of me, blocking my view of “M*A*S*H” as I sat on the sofa. She bent down on her knees. Dad sat on the burnt-orange reclining chair across the room. She leaned her majorly endowed chest toward my face, surely which had been her best asset years earlier, and I looked at my father with eyes that begged him to make her stop.

“Son, tonight you’re going to become a man.”

My eyes spoke louder than my words. “Dad, she is your friend.”

“Tonight, she’s your best friend. Enjoy yourself and learn.”

She handed me a tinted shot glass filled with some brown liquor. I sniffed it and looked at my dad again. He swigged his glass, and I followed suit. Next thing I knew, in between my coughing fit, Erskalene had my zipper down and my young hardness deep in her mouth. My eyes shut by themselves. The feeling was like heaven. I had jacked off before to a few magazines I found under the driver’s seat of my dad’s car, but this nut was coming fast, in spite of the fact that my own father was watching. I squirted in her mouth, and she looked up at me smiling. She didn’t miss a drop. She pointed her tongue along my swollen tip, wiped her mouth, and then leaned up to put her tittie in my mouth. I licked it like I was licking a Popsicle.

“Pretty good,” she said, glancing over at my dad.

“Lay on your back, Ersk,” he instructed her.

She obeyed him, pulling down her lace panties and lying next to me with her curvy legs spread eagle.

She played with herself, inserting a finger at the same time, until her entire hand was swallowed by her own hairy opening.

His voice was monotone and no nonsense. “Kiss her pussy, son.”

“Dad.” My word was tainted with a question mark.

“Roosevelt, maybe you should leave the room. I can show him.”

His firmness was evident. “Will you let me handle my own son, please?” He cut his eyes from her to me. “You, my son, are going to be a man tonight. Playing girlie cheerleader routines with your sister. Now eat that pussy. And eat it right.”

I leaned up and put my mouth between her legs. She had a wild, unshaven middle, and it smelled like sweat. I kissed it with closed lips.

“Open your mouth and give her the tongue so you can taste it.”

I parted my lips and stuck out the tip of my stiff tongue, squinting my eyes. The tanginess was odd. I backed away. The
P
word was staring me in the face.

“Move over, son. I’ll show you how to do it. And you watch closely. No son of mine is going to be guessing about how to please a woman. You will not ruin the Worthy reputation by acting like you’re afraid.”

He yanked me up and then bent down with his knees to the floor. He scooted her hips toward him and parted her lips with one hand. She reached over and took a hit off a homemade cigarette, replaced it, and then leaned back.

“You don’t just go right to it, you approach it. You tease it, you enjoy it, you marinate it, you watch her movements, you feel her wetness, you pay attention to her breathing, to her moans, to her ass tightening, to her legs straightening, to each muscle contracting, to her eyes rolling back in her head. Like this.”

And Roosevelt Worthy stuck out his long tongue, and licked and teased and worked his mouth and his razor-stubbled chin and his cheeks
and his dark brown, aged, professional fingers all around Erskalene’s vagina until she contracted her legs and burst out with a scream that sounded like she had been stabbed. She bucked wildly and her breasts started flopping. He held tight to her ass cheek and had one hand on her stomach. She screamed again and called out his name. It was as if I wasn’t there.

“Get you a good nut, baby. That’s my baby Ersk,” he said. “Girl cums so hard.” He looked over at me as he stood up. “And you gotta talk to ‘em. Tell ‘em they’re the best, that they cum just for you. Make ‘em feel relaxed and free to pump that cum right into your face as though if they peed on you, you’d sop that up, too.”

Erskalene breathed short, quickened breaths and tried to sit up.

Dad directed us again. “Now, it’s his turn.”

I traded places with him, realizing that I had the biggest, stiffest hard-on ever. It didn’t even look like my dick. It was twice as big as usual, and it was ready to blow again.

He looked down at it. “That’s my boy,” he said, walking back to his seated view while I leaned on my knees with my pants to my ankles.

She grabbed the book of Lucky Strike matches from the abalone ashtray, fired things up and took another hit.

I stared at her soft, long thighs and then her womanly hips and then flicked my tongue up and down her southern lips.

“One thing I did that you didn’t see is I found that pearl. That clit. Ignore that, and you’re worse than gay, because to a woman, it’s like a dick is to
us. And the best and quickest way to make a woman cum out of control is to suck it, and move your head up and down. You got it. Suck it. Don’t lick around it, don’t kiss it. Just purse your lips like this. Look at me.” And I did, all eyes and all ears. “And curl your tongue so that the clit fits in the circular space of your tongue, and under your upper teeth, and flick that tongue while you suck at the same time. Don’t be lazy. And then, stick three middle fingers inside with your fingertips upward toward an area where every woman has a spot, and it’ll be just a matter of time. It’s called going to work.”

I remembered everything he said, always was good at remembering, and did it all to the tiniest detail. Before I knew it, her opening seemed to be getting slipperier and juicier. And then, she let out a long groan and lifted her hips toward me, pushing herself deeper into my face. I could barely breathe from my nose, but I moved my face upward and then back downward, when it needed to, inhaling deeply.

“There you go. That’s how you do it. Now talk to her.”

“You like how I’m getting you off, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh.” Her eyes were closed.

“Am I making you feel good?”

“Yes,” she purred as she jerked her head to the side.

“Don’t ask her that. If you have to ask, you’re not doing your job.”

I talked some more, trying to get it right. “I want you to cum in my face while I write your name with my tongue.”

My dad was silent.

Her eyes opened. “Okay.”

I started with the
E
and before I could get to the
K
she exploded in my mouth, squeezing her thighs so tight around my head that I thought I was going to pass out.

Without even being told, I leaned up, spread her legs even more and entered her wetness, burying my length inside of her. She was wide and deep enough to take it, but it still gripped me like no other feeling I’d ever felt. I pulled and pushed rapidly, in and out, over and over, on and on.

“Move one of her legs up over your shoulder, and scoot her on her side.” I did.

“Move fast and don’t cum no matter what. Not until she cums first.”

She made a revving sound as I sped up, and her eyes rolled back and she grunted. She looked up at me and actually had subtle tears flowing from her eyes.

I shot my juice inside of her and gyrated up against her body, grabbing her breasts as I gave her my last drop. At that moment, I liked her. I liked her a lot.

“That’s my boy. That’ll get you hooked. Good pussy is only as good as the man who can treat it right. And make sure to avoid the booty sex. That hole ain’t good for nothing but an exit. That’s what gets folks in trouble.” He glared at my wide-eyed expression. “And never, never, ever say I love you if you don’t, even if they say it first. That’ll make ‘em start acting stupid and crazy. I mean it. And lastly, don’t bring more than one
woman into your bed at a time. You’ll surely hear about it later. It can only spell trouble. It’s just not worth it.” My expression did not change. “Yeah, you’re hooked all right. Now you know how to make ‘em feel good.”

I’d hoped she did feel good. Not just physically but where she needed it most, emotionally. Not sure my dad knew how to give that. And now the chip off the old block was introduced to the feel good techniques, missing the mark at making her feel good emotionally as well, I’m sure.

I still smelled her musky scent and salty sweat, even the entire way as we drove home slowly. It seemed like the drive took forever. We only stopped for gas and some fried chicken and lemonade. This time, there was no radio, and no talking at all. That is, until we pulled into the driveway.