Chapter 5: Brief Encounter

“I am sorry, Ellen, but doctor has been called away for an emergency. He should be back by 3 If you can wait.”

Disappointing, but I decided to wait since I had come all the way downtown for the appointment. I have had this doctor for many years, and he is a favorite. I have something like a schoolgirl crush on the handsome and charming gynecologist. I just haven’t wanted to change doctors even though we now live quite a distance out in the suburbs.

In fact, the regular visits have become a refreshing outing since I have a visit to the Art Institute, an elegant lunch somewhere in the city and a leisurely train ride back to our home in the suburbs. My favorite collection at the Art Institute is The Impressionists. I always begin there lingering before old favorites and wondering at the artists’ feelings as they painted such exquisite versions of what they saw. The lily ponds of Monet, the young lovers in the haystacks of Van Gogh. Beyond that collection, I head in other directions.

I remember standing before Le Bain by Manet, which pictures two men fully dressed picnicking in the park with a nude girl on the blanket and one in the lake beyond. I wondered what it would be like having two men take me on a picnic with me in the nude, lounging between them. An erotic thought and visiting the strangely erotic images in the modern art section by Egon Shiele or The Kiss of Gustav Klimt, prepares me for my naughty daydreams of my handsome gynecologist.

I always dress like the big city girls used to dress, that is, a lovely dress, high heels and of course, given the nature of my visits, perfect and pretty underwear, as if my doctor would ever see it, including real stockings held up neatly by a garter belt! Somehow this made me feel much more feminine and more in keeping with the beautiful women shown in much of the art I visited. All this is my little secret about my outings. I don’t feel so much like a country bumpkin after these visits.

The doctor arrived at last and the nurse took me into the examining room and smiled, “You know the routine, right?” She indicated the screen and handed me a robe. Dr. Ben tapped gently and entered with his usual smile. I recalled the sweet moment when he kissed my cheek and whispered a word of encouragement after my children’s delivery.

He Made his examination and asked questions looking for any possible problems I might be having. And then turned away.

“You can get dressed, Ellen and then we’ll talk a bit more,” When I was ready, he returned and told me everything looked good and he saw no problems. “Are you finding time for exercise?” I replied that I did a little at least.

“I think it is a good target to work up a bit of a sweat, say five times a week.” He then paused and said, “sex is as good as any exercise, so that counts! So that’s my advice.” He managed a slight smile and I smiled back into his lovely blue eyes.

“It’s also a good time for marital arguments if they arise ... Sometimes I think that there should be a rule that all such discussions would be held only in bed and both partners naked. Do you have any questions, Ellen?” I laughed at this suggestion, but it was clear that he was serious. I wondered if he knew by some magic sense that there had been troubles in our marriage, or did he just assume it in marriages the age of mine?

So, the examination had been reassuring and very pleasant, and I glanced at my watch. I walked out into the sounds of the city. It was now the middle of the rush hour, and I decided to wait a while before going to the train station. I slipped into an old familiar hotel nearby, and its nice lobby bar. The lighting is subdued, and I waited a moment at the door for my eyes to become adjusted to the gloom. Then took a stool at the end of the bar.

“Could I have a glass of water first?”

Then I ordered my favorite drink, a Manhattan and sat going over in my mind my conversation with Doctor Mellnor. The cocktail tasted delicious and warmed me as it went down and I was soon feeling a bit more mellow. All the edges of life seemed less annoying. I loved the feel of a very good city bar, I always have. The bartender returned with a second drink and leaned close to say,

“The gentleman at the other end of the bar would like to buy you a drink. Is that OK?” I glanced down to the man and nodded slightly. “He will probably want to come down and talk to you. Just warning you.”

“We’ll see about that,” I replied coolly.

And of course, he did come to my side with a smile. He was an elegant looking guy, handsome and showing the end of day signs of wear, tie loosened, but still neat, a hint of a day-old beard, just right to seem manly and handsome, and his manner was confident. I decided he was probably in sales or marketing.

“Hi, my name is Bob.”

“Ellen.” I permitted a tight smile.

“Lonely down at theater end of the bar.” He smiled a very winning smile which reminded me of the doctor I had just left. “Do you mind?”

I am basically a people person and naturally friendly, but of course cautious, in a case like this. And so, I smiled demurely and said, “I’m married.”

“Oh, so am I,” he grinned. “Want to exchange kids’ pictures?” He laughed.

I thought the conservatively dressed woman from the suburb in my two-piece suit and pretty blouse buttoned to the neck wouldn’t attract such a man. I noticed him taking all this in, including a longish glance down at my legs. I looked down and saw that the dark band of stocking tops was just peaking from under my tasteful but somewhat short skirt. I made an inadequate tug at the skirt and relaxed against the barstool.

“Actually, I would like to just enjoy my drink. And thank you for it, by the way.”

Disappointed, he stood up and very politely nodded, “Oh, sure, well, it was nice talking to you.” He smiled that easy, confident smile, then touched my wrist just very lightly and turned back to his end of the bar. Our eyes met once again at a distance.

The music was recorded and was Sinatra singing. “In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning” very softly in the background. You could almost imagine him singing it right there in this beautiful, rich bar. He always described himself as a Saloon Singer, and indeed this opulent setting would have been perfect.

I had started my second drink when I asked the barman for directions to the Ladies’ room. He indicated the direction with a gesture of his head. “Just down there to the left, Ma’am.”

The direction took me along the long bar and past Bob, the man who bought my drink. I was sure Bob noticed me, but he gave no indication. I was slightly relieved that he seemed absorbed in his lonely drink.

The hallway was very dimly lighted, and I found the door handle to be locked, so I leaned against the wall to wait. I felt someone’s presence and half turned to find Bob coming down the hall.

“Problem?” He asked.

“It seems to be occupied.” He reached around me, and the door opened for him.

“Turned it the wrong way, Maybe?”

I was shocked. We were so close together. It was an easy move for him to kiss me. He didn’t force me, but we were suddenly both inside the Ladies room in a subdued lighting ambiance, and I found myself kissing him back. Slowly I put my arm around his neck, and his hands were unbuttoning my blouse, just as quickly.

“I could scream!” I warned in a weak voice.

“But ... you won’t,” he said quietly.

It seemed almost a dream in slow motion, his hands scooping my breasts out of my brassiere, and his tongue probing my lips for entry. I opened my lips, and our tongues started playing together. That terrific zing of the stranger’s French kiss zipped from my lips all down my body. I could tell that my nipples had responded immediately to his fondling, and they were now sensitive to the lace brassiere cups and his caressing hands. One hand went away and immediately was evident under my skirt, teasing and fondling the nylon stocking until it found the top. He toyed with my garter snap momentarily and then caressed the white flesh smoothly above the stocking top.

My fingers were in his hair, now pulling his lips and tongue deeper into my willing mouth. His hand found the crotch of my panties. I heard myself taking a deep breath as his fingers teased me through the silky fabric between my legs.

“We shouldn’t,” I moaned tightly. But he pressed the panty gusset aside and found my wetness already betraying my protest. I heard the door lock snap behind me, and it seemed like a loud clank standing out over Sinatra singing ““On the ceiling, near my bed ... I whisper ... go away, my lover ... it’s not fair...”

My blouse was unbuttoned entirely, and suddenly my brassiere felt like it was a size too small. His hand returned from locking the door and he eased my breast out of the cup and pushed the bra strap down my arm. His mouth took to my nipple and made it feel magically like a crystal chandelier tingling and jutting out into his mouth. Sounds like a mixed metaphor, but that is how it felt. Bob kissed and sucked one and then the other of my breasts. Incredible zooming sensations roared straight down to my clitoris.

Inside I heard myself protesting, “this isn’t happening!” But it was surely not a dream ... The sensations were altogether too intense. My nipples felt wonderful, my breasts full and lovely. What was happening, I asked. But I didn’t care for an answer; it was just a verbal reaction to the sensations from my good catholic girl upbringing. The nuns warning against French kisses and not wearing patent leather shoes because they reflect up under your skirt like mirrors and disturb the boys!