Dr. Feelgood (2 page)

“Makkai,” yelled Salina.

Barely flinching his head, Salina’s husband took the blow with ease, cutting his eyes as though he wanted to chop off the doctor’s head with a meat cleaver.

Dr. Worthy shouted through his windedness, “Punk. You messed with the wrong man. You’ll never see the light of day again. I promise you.” The doctor rapidly shook out his throbbing milliondollar hand.

The paramedics literally turned the other cheek to the punch and took the man away, handing him over to the authorities who’d just arrived down the hall.

Salina simply stared at the doctor from the doorway, breathing heavily while shaking her head. “I can’t believe you denied me.”

“Who the hell are you?” Dr. Feelgood cut his eyes and leaned over his desk, massaging his cleanshaven, classic jaw, and rubbing the back of his perfect head.

“You’re the asshole.”

He pointed that same long index finger that had lovingly dabbed the olive oil from the corner of her mouth, the one that had penetrated her depths on many an intimate evening. He thrashed his words her way. “Get out of my office before I press charges against you, too.”

Salina squeezed her stare through tight eyes. She spoke with authority and certainty and promise. “I speak for all of your dick-whipped flock when I say this. One day, you’ll pay for what you do to women, Makkai Worthy. One day, you’ll pay all right.” She sliced him with her eyes and gave an about-faced, runway pivot just before his vengeful words stabbed her in the back.

“You were just another pussy that got hooked. Get over it.”

I
love me some Dr. Makkai Worthy. “Mommy, can I have some Junior Mints?” my oldest daughter, curly headed Treasure, asked with a major clump of sleep in her eyes. Considering it’s just after six in the morning, I don’t think so.

With a large mug of my full-strength, morning wake-up brew in one hand, I stood in the kitchen wearing leopard baby doll pajamas and fluffy black house slippers, stirring a simmering pot on the stove with my other hand. “No, it’s time for breakfast. Now go ahead on and wake up your sister so you two can eat this oatmeal while it’s hot. And then go wash up your faces. Now go.”

Treasure flashed an innocent, hurt, eight-year-old pout. Her three-year-old, big-eyed sister was in zombie-mode as if sleepwalking as she came out of her room wiping her right eye with one hand, dragging a Dora the Explorer blanket with the other.

“Mommy,” she cried with a soft, slow whine. “I
wanna watch SpongeBob.” With her long, jet-black hair and Indian skin, cranky was her middle name until the time of day hit double digits, which would be nearly four hours from now.

I banged the ceramic mug down on the tile counter and scooped two big spoonfuls into their bowls, adding some brown sugar and butter. “No, not this morning, now don’t play with me. We’re running late. We only have time to eat and get dressed. Now, come on and get in your high chair.”

“I want the big-girl chair.”

“Sit somewhere, just come on.” I pointed in the direction my youngest needed to place herself right away.

My heart-shape-faced baby’s name is Love Jones, named after her tired-ass daddy, Rydell Jones. I still can’t believe I actually gave her his last name. He acts like he’d rather see us on an episode of “Maury Povich” than say one word to me ever again in life. After being with him for years, he accused me of some tired-ass shit two weeks before I found out I was pregnant. Once we broke up after a dramatic and almost violent scene, I only contacted him when Love was born to ask him to sign the birth certificate. He did, but then called up here starting some mess, trying to deny paternity once he saw the girls and me in the Del Amo mall with Makkai. We’re always ending up in the same places. Whatever. Makkai named her, even though he’s not her father.

I met mister fine and studly Makkai when I was four months pregnant while coming from a doctor’s appointment at Cedars Sinai hospital.

“How are you?” He was wearing his black designer suit like it was a ten-thousand-dollar-bill. He lifted his five-hundred-dollar pair of smoky-gray sunglasses and presented me with a strong, lingering handshake. His wink lingered, too.

I replied, “Fine, and you?” The blush I’d applied earlier that morning was no longer necessary. I sucked in my belly and poked my chest out all in one fell swoop.

He nodded and looked me up and down, glaring at my chest. “Not as fine as you.”

That’s normally one tired-ass line, but this man walked and talked and smelled and looked like he was somebody. Before I knew it, I handed him the digits and it was on.

He seemed to get off on doing me with a baby on the way. He’d back me up and hit it from behind, digging in deep while I lay on my side. And then he’d love to suck on my wide, tender nipples, trying his best to milk me like I was a dang cow. My poor baby would be jerking like she was having a conniption fit. I think doing that man on the regular brought her on eight weeks early. I’m blessed to even have her. She only weighed three pounds.

At first, he was right there. He was even in the delivery room. He checked in on my older daughter when she stayed with my mother while I was in the hospital. My mother seemed to fall in love with him.

“Now that is a good man,” she’d declare like she’d have dibs on him herself if she could do it without stabbing me in the back.

Yes, he can charm us all, young, old, gay, straight. But, being that I was on screw lockdown
for six weeks after Love was born, I didn’t see Makkai much.

Anyway, enough about my kids. Right now I’m not even trying to focus my energy on telling you anything other than what Dr. Makkai Worthy is all about.

See, by the time Love was maybe three months old or so, Makkai and I got back to our regular routine of him coming by after work, usually around midnight or one in the morning while the girls were sleeping. He’d crawl into my bed and work his magic. Like Charlie Wilson, he’d perform his tricks on me.

Now, I’ll be the first to tell you he has a reputation for throwing down in the bedroom. You could say he’s an animal in bed. Yes, my Makkai has this way about him. It’s a way that no man in my life has even been able to come close to. It made me fall in love with him.

“I love kissing you, baby,” he said as he planted his lips on mine, looking me dead in the eye with a provocative longing to please.

I was drunk with lust. This man stole my will every time he’d come near me. The scent of him fucked me up, but good.

“Your skin is like milk chocolate.” He said he loved the fact that I had meat on my bones. Everything about me is thick, from my lips to my ass. And what I loved about him was the fact that he was long and strong and down to get the friction on. He’s giving and good-looking, and he always smells like the manliest scent of musky, peppery
testosterone juice I’ve ever sniffed. It was like a drug. It was absolutely fucking intoxicating.

I lay on my back upon my cream colored sheets as Makkai gave me a slow tongue bath. I slyly tossed the fluffy, in-the-way pillows onto the floor and focused my attention on his handiwork. His perfect mouth traveled to the right side of my neck, one of my most sensitive spots, and then to my goose-bumped breasts. He has a way of twisting my nipple with his thumb and forefinger while lightly flicking the other nipple with his tongue, and then adding just enough saliva to make it super slippery as he meets my nipple with his nipple. It’s so damn erotic to watch and feel. Almost as if he’s playing with my erect clit.

He never rushes, always takes his time when he’s about to … go down. He moves to my belly button, sticking his tongue inside, and then over to my hip bone where it almost tickles, it’s so sensitive, doing all of this while parting my legs with his hand, making sure to rub around my entire area, and slowly slipping one finger inside to check for wetness. He sticks that drenched finger in his mouth and moans, “That is the sweetest taste in the world.” Makkai kisses my upper thighs and then moves in toward my middle, but just as he senses that my wide hips are sending a hurried signal of anxiousness, he travels back down my thigh, still fingering me lightly. He’s the damn tease master.

He glances up at me with those long eyelashes and big brown eyes, and then looks directly into the crevice of my vagina as if it has eyes, and approaches it slowly. The treat that I’m about to receive
is one that makes me want to burst already. My heart races, and all I can do is lean my head back and enjoy, while shutting my eyes to brace myself.

I feel a hot, wet tongue, traveling around my outsides, and then flicking my clit. I feel my vulnerable peak pulsate with pleasure. He licks my outer lips, bends my legs back and secures himself in that position, lying flat on his belly with his head in between my legs. He then takes my stiffened clit into his mouth, and he sucks it in a way that makes me look down to get a visual peek at exactly what this expert is doing. If I were gay, I’d want to know how to do that shit. How does he make me feel like I could cum in his mouth within two seconds? Dammit.

I feel my ass tighten, and the blood starts to flow from the minute he secures it in his mouth. His tongue is doing something … some kind of magical, secretive trick that most men would pay money to learn. Hell, their women would fork over the money themselves in a heartbeat. His teeth are in on it. His lips are in on it, too. His tongue is the ringleader. And then he stops, traveling to my sweet sticky hole, sticking his tongue inside while using his long, wide index finger above my mound. He then moves up to the clit again and lowers my legs straight so that he can get a direct hit. I point my toes and flex my quads, and he separates my wet lips with both hands, the same hands that have repaired ailing hearts his entire career, and rests his elbows on my thighs.

This shit is what he does that no other man can do. This shit is what no other man takes the time
to do. No other man gets it quite right because their asses are lazy. No one can compare to the hard work of Dr. Feelgood. “Ahhh, Makkai, I love the way you do this, baby.”

He inserts three fingers inside of me while he sucks in a swirling, flicking motion, yet the brotha can still speak. “I know you love it. Tell me what it feels like.” He speedily moves his head from left to right with a deep groaning sound that’s almost barbaric.

“It feels like I’m going to explode.”

“Go ahead and explode then. Explode for me now, baby. Give it to me. Give it to me good.” He holds steady, focusing on my build up, taking it all into his mouth while saying, “Uh huh, uh huh.” He’s even a damn cheerleader.

“Aahhhh, baby, I, I … Ooooooo, aaaawww, ahhh, Makkai.” I try my best to keep it down, but hell, fuck the dumb shit. “I love you, Nigga.” I tighten up and then I literally collapse. I could have sworn I heard this talented pussy master chuckle between my legs.

Yet and still, knowing I’m in sensitivity mode, he tickles me with his tongue and then gives it a fond farewell kiss goodbye.

I jump and flinch, still coming down as I turn to the side in an effort to escape.

“That’s my baby. Now it’s ready.” He moves up, reaching over to the black lacquer nightstand for a condom. “That clit throbs in my mouth like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

I reach down to the floor to now grab that same discarded pillow just as he lies on top of me. I scoot back to rest my sweaty head on the pillow.

He lifts my legs up and back, as I take on the pleasurable role of missionary wide receiver. All of his thickness and width enter me as he grunts. “Yeah. This is the best pussy I’ve ever had. Damn, it’s nasty wet.”

The feeling is intense and almost illegal. He should be arrested on the spot. Well, maybe after he’s done. “You do it so good, baby. Only you.”

“Only me?”

“Yes, only you. It’s all yours.”

“This is my pussy.”

“Always, Makkai, always.”

He pulls out as he speaks. “Oooh, shit. I don’t want to cum yet. Put your leg over my shoulder.”

Like the master he is, he scoots me to my side and enters me again. His position is at an angle that’s hitting something. Call it a
G
spot, or an
XYZ
spot, but it is making something heat up and throb and rush. I squint my eyes, trying to fight it, but the faster he pumps, the faster it comes, and it makes me dizzy. The room is spinning all around me. I put my own hand over my mouth as I release a burst of throbbing and wetness that’s almost frightening.

“Get that nut, baby. Damn,” he says as I feel his thickness expand and go deeper, and then expand again. “Oh, yeah, that’s my baby.” He freezes and his tip seems to hit my deepest point. He then gives way on top of me.

He moves my leg flat, climbs off of me, and turns over on his back. He breathes hard and looks over at me. I breathe hard and look over at him. And we shake our heads at each other. Damn, that man can sure make a woman cum.

Okay, so now you know. The situation with him has served me just fine, actually. I get the oral sex of the century, and he gets, from what he tells me, the best pussy he’s ever had in his entire life. That man loves to fuck him some Georgia Mae Manley. Me, to be honest with you, even though he is packing, I could take or leave the dick. But, I have to give him his props because he is the only man to get enough of a deep, continual rhythm going to ever give me a vaginal orgasm. Truly, I could fall asleep right after I came in his face and feel totally fulfilled. Like my name, I like it dirty south thank you very much. Anyway, he’s already snoozing, and I need my sleep before these two girls wake up in the morning, driving me crazy. But, of course, he’ll be gone by then. But, it’s all good. For now anyway.

H
ere’s my deal. I’ll tell you as I drive toward the Marina for my weekly wax and electrolysis at Sheena’s Spa and Salon because I’m always on the run. It’s a beautiful day and the sun is shining, a slight breeze is blowing, and all is sweet.

See, I am a wealthy, attractive, sophisticated forty-year-old woman. Okay, I’m forty-four. I like men who are actually and factually one step away from being afraid of me, yet who can stand up to me anyway. I let ‘em know I don’t have time for no childish-ass games.