Lockdown Day 16: Tuesday 7th April, 2020

I hold the door open for Charlene as she wrestles herself and the baby out, then let myself into the surgery.

There has been nothing done to this room since it was pensioned off and it has not aged well. The wrinkled blind is drawn, cataract illumination slipping through the frosted glass panel lifts the gloom. As Viv and Jack spent most of their retirement in the Spanish sun, they never bothered converting this space back into domestic use. Fatigued wallpaper peels faintly in the far corner and around the dusty windowsill. On the floor in the corner is a freshly discarded tissue, smelling faintly of milk and baby and fear. Charlene looked so pallid and underfed I wonder if the baby gets any nourishment. What sustains the child when the parent wastes herself away? Drugs might be fine when they’re fun, but addiction is just so so sad. I can’t speak junkie, I just don’t understand it.

The room is barren, deserted, dead. A shiver runs down my back as finger ghosts stroke my spine and chill my soul. I recall the ascerbic aroma of this room, Novocaine for the brain, the smell of amalgam being mixed on the block, the faint blood, a tang of disinfectant and mouth rinse, the odour of hot drilled enamel. All mingling with Auntie Viv’s perfume as she bent over me, looming ever larger in my eyes to do unspeakable things with sharp instruments to my mouth.

  I have never cried for the dead and do not intend to start now, yet as the vision unfolds alive around me, I am tempted. This is forever part of me as I am part of it.

  I am her last appointment of the day. She dismisses her assistant on gaining my promise to help her tidy up. I sit in the examination chair and the check-up takes five minutes, no more. The surgery is bright and cool as a spring breeze filters through the swaying elms and in the open window. She notes the dental work required and I begin to rise from the chair. Seeing this, she smiles mischievously and pushes me firmly on the chest back onto the seat, raising the leg rest quickly till I am near horizontal. She gazes strangely into my eyes then rotates the equipment tray away so she can stand by my side. I open my mouth to say something – I’ve no idea what – when she grasps my head in her hands then kisses me passionately.
Shocked, I lie there. Then respond slowly, uncertainly.

  She runs her hands through my long brown hair and whispers it is beautiful, too lovely for a boy, so fine and delicate. She strokes my smooth chin then kisses me gain, deeply, juicily. I am captive to her ardour and completely lost for words.

  She pulls back and casually unfastens her white tunic, button by button, teasing and pleasing. As she drops the starched smock to the floor it reveals her firm body adorned in black silk bra, laced French knickers, delicate suspenders and sheer silk stockings. She has a magnificent body, undreamt of promise. The brocaded bra is so fine it provides little support for heavy, pendulous breasts that stand upright so naturally. Beneath the lace, dark areola rims strutting nipple. My blood is rushing. I hear my heart stop. Her cheeks are scarlet, her breasts firm, full and swelling. My body responds. I hear nothing but the quickening blood. I see nothing but her.

She slides her hands down luxurious legs draped loosely, dark satin sitting sensually on broad thighs. Her left hand lingers over the sweetness of promise as she introduces her middle finger in a satin sheath till restrained by the moistened fabric. 

  She turns her back towards me, slips fingers inside ecstatic lace, shakes her hips and slides her modesty slowly to the ground. The exotic curves of her revealing body excite me beyond words, so full and lush and smooth. Her firm buttocks hypnotise me as she grasps my left hand and strokes it across them, stoking my ardent passion. Her skin is warm and intense yet goosebumps rise across her. She is as nervous as I am. She leans her back to me and I unhook dark pleasures. She swirls before me naked. My heart races as she strokes my thigh and draws her moistened lips across my cheek. Her firm breasts stand proud, nipples swollen and begging. She has no need for constraining corsets or hard-wired support to present her falsely. She is all woman, natural and real. Her hand glides across my crotch and I wince painlessly. I feel I will explode.

  Suddenly there is a loud thud in the hallway, as the front door slams shut. Uncle Jack has returned early. We freeze, a single breath held in fearful anticipation.  

  Convention defends us. When the surgery door is closed he does not enter, respecting the privacy of the consulting room. Undeserved sanctuary for the sinners. We hear his footsteps recede along the corridor.

  She continues. I am petrified and guilt-ridden and excited all at once. I almost cry out as she kisses me so she gags me with a firm breast and I suck deeply, playing my tongue endlessly over her ripe nipple. She tastes of exotic promise and teenage dreams, forbidden pleasures and adult experience. I have never savoured its like before. Love and lust are strange bedfellows. 

  She pulls me forward and as I stand she draws my shirt over my head and casts it into a corner. She traces her fingers across my chest, her long nails gently paining me, then licks her tongue across my erect nipples. Electric shocks carve my body and force an involuntary gasp. I am almost numb, save that her every touch scores deeper incisions across my grateful body.

  I gaze at her naked form, firm and wonderful. We kiss gently as I explore her welcoming curves, less fervently but still fanatical, slower ecstasy still euphoric. I must explode soon. I can’t contain myself. I rise and she positions herself on the chair, her silken body silhouetted by the black leather, her loosened hair fair and surging over her shoulders, caressing her breasts. I follow its lead. So firm, so pure, I massage the unadulterated weight of my guilt as I knead her beauty.  

  I bend and trace my tongue slowly along her thigh, down from her hip then gently up the inside. She spasms as I near that mound of golden promise. My hair falls on her waist and she grabs it and massages it over her dripping thighs. Sweet scent of passion fills the room, the aroma of our animal nature, undeniable in its ardour.

  “Fuck me” she whispers in my ear, clasping me close, kissing me deeply again and grabbing my firm buttocks tightly towards her.

  I kick aside the footrest and lift those long legs high. I lick a bead of sweat from her inner thigh and continue up her calf to kiss her ankle. I rub myself across the sweet blonde hair and she groans while opening to my touch.

  I thrust inside her. She is moist and welcoming, electric and exhilarating. I am lost inside her. Sliding my hands under her buttocks, I thrust deeper and deeper till I can penetrate no further. I savour the warmth, that inner ocean, the soft sensations of the joining of two bodies in such desperation.

  Grinding and pounding in wild animal passion, we continue until our mingling sweat streams down my back, speckles foreheads and trickles from her neck between the bared cleavage of her dancing breasts. We are awash, her pleasure cascading down our legs. Her faint sighs grow louder till she gasps deeply with each succeeding thrust. The pleasured groans terrify me as I fear they can be heard out in the street, never mind in the apartment. I try to free a hand to smother the moans but she pins them both firmly beneath her. I cover her beckoning mouth with mine and we kiss passionately, feverishly, fantastically as we climax together, to explode in the end with a bang and her whimpers as I erupt inside her.

  There are no words.
We say nothing while I lie in her arms as she strokes my head.

  Still in silence we collect our discarded clothes and dress.

I leave without facing my uncle. I haven’t the heart or the guile.