Dr. Feelgood (3 page)

The love of my life, my mom, died years ago and left me executor of her twenty-million-dollar estate. She owned a chain of Cajun restaurants called Mondays, named after me, of course. I drive a tan Jaguar to match my skin, the Creole in me. I live in her seven-bedroom, exclusive home in Palos Verdes with my little black Shitsu named Soul, who’s like my child. I don’t have kids. I have never been married and don’t want to be married, and basically, I don’t think I’ve ever even been in
love. Men are a trip. Love is a four-letter word worth about as much as that other four-letter word that starts with an
F
and ends with a
K
I say the
L
word to get what I want. Hell, I say both words to get what I want. Mainly to attract men and get what they’ve got. I never knew what it was like to be in it, love that is, so I stayed out of it. Basically, I say fuck love. I’m doing just fine, thank you very much. Sex for me is simply recreational.

Mr. Smooth Operator Makkai Worthy calls me Delicious. He tells me my stuff tastes like a warmass, apple dumpling dessert, and he crawls all up inside of it like he’d be fine if he never, ever came out. That man craves it on a regular basis. Tells me it’s the best pussy he’s ever had in his entire life, yes he does. And I ain’t mad at him.

I heard someone say that if you screw a skilled lover too often and have too many grand orgasms, you’ll bond. Must be that I was the last lady in line when they were handing out estrogen because I could give a damn about bonding. I’ll give you one and take mine and get to steppin. I don’t want to see your ass in the morning.

I met him while he was doing his rounds in the intensive care unit at the hospital. What had happened was, my ex-lover, this sixty-two-year-old man who had heart trouble, was Makkai’s regular patient.

One night my “old man” started getting short of breath while I straddled his burly face. I thought he was blowing on me like it was some new sex trick, but he was damn near doing a Lamaze breathing technique, trying to catch what he didn’t want to be his last breath. He started choking and
he actually turned blue. I sighed major attitude for feeling shortchanged, but calmed down and peeled my cheated vagina away from his lousy face, and then I hopped up to call 911.

Once we arrived in the emergency room, I saw that tall, debonair hunk of a doctor standing there in his white coat with that shiny stethoscope around his manly neck. At this point I needed oxygen myself. I followed the glorious looking doctor out to the nurses’ station.

I stood within an inch of his essence as he typed notes into his tiny electronic keyboard. Shifting my weight to my right side, I crossed my arms and flashed my legendary smile. “Being that my friend here might be on his last leg, not to give you the impression that I ever got any of his third leg anyway, but with all due respect, I need someone not only to satisfy me orally, but who can get rock hard, too, more than once every blue moon. I haven’t had a big stiff one up inside of me in a month of Mondays. By the way, my name is Monday Askins. Basically, I’m really sorry if I’m offending you and this may not be an appropriate time, but I’m horny as Samantha on
Sex and the City.”
His attention was all mine.

Actually, he didn’t look one bit offended. He kept his dark brown eyeballs attached to my vanilla chest and smiled. I gradually turned to my side with purpose, shifting my stance. As I suspected, his eyes darted to my bodacious booty view. As always, men will be men. We screwed that night … all night. Now, I will say one thing … that Superman lover needs to get an
S
tattooed on his chest because if ever I met a superhero in bed, it’s him.

He’s gotta have a cape hidden in his house somewhere. Lover boy talks more shit, but he can definitely back it up. We’ve been fucking ever since. Gotta go. I’m two minutes late for my three o’clock appointment, and that’s just plain old tacky. Ciao.

A
llow me, Makkai J. Worthy, to break it on down for you.

Red-boned Monday had me at hello. She sports a sexy gap in her teeth that turned me the hell on. When you see it you just envision her … oh well, I’ve digressed. She is tall and thick and fine, and she looks like she should be on a runway in Paris, even with her being well into her forties. But, the folks in the modeling world would’ve had one problem with Monday’s body, which the brothas have no problem with whatsoever. They actually call it a blessing. The most impressive asset about this woman is the size of her healthy gluteus maximus. You could say her ass is set, if you get what I’m saying. I mean Serena Williams has nothing on this Amazon queen.

And the years have been kind to her butt, figuratively. Her hips are wide and her cheeks are large and high and firm and yellow and soft and heavy. Playing with her rear end is like winning the booty lottery. She has the ass of life—all other
asses should have come from this ass. Cheeks are too deep to get my dick through the depth of her meat to find her pussy from behind, and I’m not at all lacking in that department, so most times I just lay her on her damn back. And the funny thing is … her last name is Askins. I call her Ms. Asskins, and apparently folks called her mother that as well. They all come from a long line of behinds, and they joke to each other about it. They add an extra
S
to their last name on purpose. No wonder she smothered that old man. She’s not sitting on my face for all the ass at Mardi Gras.

Okay, so I guess you can tell that I have a fetish for her Asskins, but even with all she’s got going for her physically, the woman’s a trip to deal with.

She’s a pathological liar. She has some serious secrets, and I have no problem telling you what they are. But, I’ll just enjoy letting her make a fool out of herself a little bit longer. You’ll find out. And by the way, we met as she was coming out of a private, residential swingers’ club and I was going in. I knew she looked familiar. She didn’t approach me at the hospital to tell me about how she needed to get some lovin’ because she was starving. I saw her in the hospital, but she never told me the bold-faced lie about her being love starved. She was already getting plenty of the shaft.

It was an underground, after-hours spot early one Sunday morning. Folks called it
Sex in the Suburbs.
It was a three-story Miami Vice–style house in Holmby Hills, which was owned by an ex-pro football player. Mainly it was people who’d swear they’d keep the goings-on to themselves. What
happened there stayed there. Some were famous, most were just horny. I only stopped by maybe twice a year to watch. I tried to be an incognito-Negro. Didn’t want folks who violated the privacy rules talking about me in the paper the next day, so I kept as low a profile as I could, being that this was the hottest secret freak castle of Los Angeles.

All you had to do was pay your hundred dollars and you were in. It had hidden rooms everywhere, all decorated in some wild color scheme. Soft, cushiony, loud colored lounge chairs with netlike canopies filled the bedrooms, game room, den, and living room. Security monitors were visible so folks tried their best to behave, and huge plasma televisions played the hottest brown sugar porno you’d ever want to see. Dim reddish lights, candles and soft jazz set the mood. The smell of jasmine incense hit my nostrils when I stepped into an enclosed sunroom.

I saw a woman grinding her hips as she sat on the edge of a violet and black sofa, and then I saw a head between her thighs. My eyes widened, but considering where I was, I knew they were not deceiving me. The head was braided down like Iverson.

As I zeroed in on an available love seat nearby, I turned back to see the attractive, smiling woman, looking me dead in my eyes.

“Hello there, Doctor,” she spoke loudly with lust eluding from her vision.

“Excuse me?” Maybe it was my ears that were deceiving me now. Shouldn’t she be focusing on her nut?

“Fancy seeing you here. But, I’m not surprised.” She continued talking without even blinking. Her hips kept up the sensual grinding without hesitation. And the gentleman who was on his knees pleasing her with closed eyes, didn’t skip a beat.

My mouth was wide open, yet I replied, “Why do you say that?” I hadn’t even taken a seat yet. I couldn’t budge. But, my little buddy was at full attention.

“I know a stud when I see one. White coat or not.”

“How about if we continue this conversation a little later on. Like when you’re done.” I looked to the side, semi-embarrassed for her, and for him. And I wasn’t about to cock-block.

“Oh, I’m just about done,” she responded, slowly shutting her bronze eyelids and giving out a sexy moan, grabbing hold of the armrests and turning her head from side to side. She squeezed her thighs so tight around her giver’s head that he jerked, and then she jerked, and then I jerked, and then she gave a lengthy, throaty sigh. In a split second, she spoke as if having gotten over it. “Can you pour me some gin?” She pointed her long, curved nail to the cherrywood side table where a lead crystal pitcher rested upon a tray.

“Sure.” Sheer shock put me in slow motion. My hardness started to settle.

Her young man of a partner stood up, adjusting his baggy jeans and nodding my way. I nodded back. He wiped his moustache with the back of his hand and headed outside. Brotha lit up a blunt, staring out over the hillside view of the city lights.

“Oh, I’ll get it,” she said with a sweetness to her voice, standing up pantiless and pulling down her cocoa silk skirt to pour her own drink.

“I would have gotten it.”

“You’re too slow.” She brought the glass to her red lips and sipped and swallowed the liquor like a pro.

“Excuse me, but you didn’t give me time to move.”

“Slow is good, sometimes. I’m not complaining. Monday’s the name.” She shook my hand. We each squeezed a tight grip.

“Makkai.”

She still had on her silver, ankle-strapped heels. Her round breasts winked from behind a silvery bra that shimmered from underneath a dark coal blouse. The matching short skirt looked like it was pulling from behind, just from the pure width of her backside. Her legs were bare and tanned and firm. A wide, gold belt cinched her small waist. Her reddish-brown hair was hanging along her slender shoulders. Her scent was gardenia.

“You are very beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She softly squeezed my bicep, offering a snuggling embrace, flashing her sexy gapped teeth.

I gazed into her mouth and then examined her thick, supple looking lips. I felt as though I might have been staring a little too long. I swallowed and breathed out and then looked around toward the patio area. Her giving friend was gone. “I see you didn’t waste your money getting in here.”

She popped her lips. “Please. I don’t pay to get in here.”

“Oh, excuse me.” A pregnant pause took over. She continued to absorb the dark liquid while giving me her full-on, seductive, inviting eyes. Her full-on, inviting, seductive eyes. “Hey, what do you say we get out of here,” I suggested. I felt my little buddy start to rise again.

“Lead the way.” She grabbed her Chanel bag and took my hand, one step behind me.

“Hey, Laurinda,” an older, scantily dressed woman said, as we exited the front door and she went in.

Monday did not reply.

The woman asked, looking at me like I had a pork chop hanging from around my neck, “Damn, who is he? Can I come with you two?”

Monday shook her head no without looking back.

We stepped down the front stairs, and I said, “That’s good because I don’t party with any more than two, including myself.” Even though I felt that maybe just watching her get eaten couldn’t hurt. “Hey, I thought you said your name was Monday.”

“Laurinda’s just a name I use when I’m here.”

“You say so.”

And that was our first night together. The first of many more to come.

M
y name is Nurse Mary Jane Cherry. I was born a Cherry. I’ve never been married, though I was proposed to by a really sweet, shy, kind of square man who could have been everything I’d ever wanted if I’d been ready. But, he was like twice my age and I was only twenty-five. He had grown children and agreed he was too old to raise a kid all over again. And I definitely want kids.

I’m thirty-four now, and if I ever want to have those kids, I need to find a husband. I love children. I have two younger brothers who really look up to me. I try to set an example for them. My mother and father both died last year, so my brothers and I are even closer now. See, my mother was admitted into the VA hospital after having shortness of breath, and before we knew it, she died of kidney failure. I felt so bad because obviously I think we should have seen it coming, but I never encouraged her to go to the doctor. I just thought she was out of shape when she’d start breathing hard after walking up a flight of stairs. I do go
through a lot of guilt over that. She was only fifty-two years old. She never seemed sick with more than a cold her entire life. My dad had a fatal heart attack three months later.

Now I work in the cardiology department at Cedars Sinai hospital in West Hollywood, California, but also as an RN in the pediatric emergency room. Both of my brothers still live in San Francisco. I don’t want to be too far from them, so I wouldn’t consider relocating too far away, but they’re both married and my youngest brother, the twenty-seven-year-old, just became a father. I’m now Auntie Mary Jane to little Yardley Cherry. I told him that girl will have some serious problems when she submits a resume. Folks will think she’s an adult porn star.

Anyway, I’m here to talk about Dr. Makkai Worthy. He’s sort of my boss but not really. My real boss is a powerful sister named Dr. Lois Taylor. She supervises three units, oncology, cardiology and pediatrics. But, the reason I know Dr. Worthy so well is because we’ve gone out and, well, here’s what happened.

“Why were you so reserved when I said good night to you this evening?” I asked, riding in the passenger seat of his fancy whip. He’d just picked me up at my place.

He gave his eyes to the southbound lanes of the San Diego freeway. “Just wanted to be discreet. That nosey little male nurse was all ears.”