Wake-Up Call. Joaquin De Torres

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      “I apologize, Doctor,” Tuckman said finally with a straight face. He held out his hand and I took it. “If there’s anything I can do for you, financial or otherwise, please let me know.

      “You can start by calling Doug your son.” I smiled respectfully. He still had not released my hand, and gave it another few shakes.

      “Thank you for helping our son, Doctor Flores. Please keep me informed, and call me if you need anything else.” Just by the sincerity in his eyes my opinion of him softened somewhat. He wasn’t smiling; he was hopefully, edified. He released my hand.

      “Are you sure you can’t join us for lunch?”

      “No, really, but thank you. Maybe some other time, when I have some news for you. Good news, of course.” I glimpsed Brittany’s eyes widen with anticipation.

      “Honey, the Richardson’s are coming over!” called out Faye. “You need to start the grill!” He waved to her.

      “Doctor, Brittany will show you out, if that’s alright?”

      “No problem.” Oh God. He left and went back out to the main patio. I turned and headed back into the massive ten-bedroom house. Brittany took my hand, then hooked her arm in mine and snuggled her body next to me as we walked. I was aroused again, but held my own from one massive room to the next. When we reached the main hall, I noticed the family portraits on the wall. Dozens of them of various sizes and time frames. There were no photos of Doogie. Not a one. I made a mental note of that.

      When we reached the large mahogany front doors, elegantly carved with inlaid brass and etched glass, Brittany moved ahead of me and quickly turned around, blocking my path. She slid cozily up to my body, her face less than an inch from mine. She looked into my eyes without fear.

      “Brittany,” was the only word I was able to get out before her tongue slid into my mouth. My body tensed up like an old tree as she slowly explored my mouth and lips; probing, licking and kissing me. She wasn’t rough; she was gentle and passionate, making my body’s auto-receptor impulses expand. I began to relax and accept what was happening to me. She sensed this and took both my hands and guided them around her waist and down. She placed them on her buttocks; taut and perfectly round. My fingers instinctively slid beneath the bikini and nestled at the valley of her tight crevasse. I felt her panting in my mouth as she took one hand away and brought it up to one breast. She flipped up her bra cup and suddenly my hand closed around a naked breast that was equally firm with hardened nipple. Her breathing increased as I squeezed and groped her. Her hands, gently holding my face, dropped down to her sides and began sliding her bikini panty down. They were at mid thigh when she pulled the hand I had on her buttocks around to her vagina and spread her legs slightly. My fingers were now entangled in a moist forest of hair. She moaned lightly as her tongue lolled deeper down my throat.

      “Take me, Doctor,” she panted belabored. “On the couch, over there!”

      I hadn’t had sex with a real person in years. My case load and book writing were to blame for that. But I’d learned to hold it together when I needed to make some free time for myself. I had a nice collection of girls on my hard drive thanks to free Internet porn and the ‘Save image as’ function.

      But this was huge; this was live! This was real flesh, heat, saliva, hair. So, not only was this a massive surprise in my life, with a massively hot, young woman; it was a massive turn-on that was over-taking my better judgment.

      It was also wrong.

      I opened my eyes and like a machine, I shut it all down. Years of suppressing my emotions during the most heart-breaking therapies forged in me this ability. It took such power when dealing with countless people-shunned by society; shut out of life itself-whose only fault is to be born with mangled brains, hideous physical deformities, or nonexistent sensations. For the first decade of my practice, I would lock myself in my office, go into bathroom stalls, or broom closets to sob for my patients. I had wondered for years how I could muster the mettle to go on, day after day, looking into their lifeless, dull eyes, or trying to find warmth or reflex in limbs so atrophied that they felt like bony pieces of rotting meat. How does one look at another human being and immediately know that their lives are forfeit? That they will never know love, challenge, fun or victory? That they will never taste the fruits of life, health or knowledge? It took everything I could in my soul to be able to distance myself emotionally from these innocent, defenseless and pathetic creatures. But somehow, I made it work. I became successful. I could suppress emotions like a light switch when I needed to; when I had to.

      I released my grip on her breast and pulled back. She looked at the couch.

      “Come on. We can take our time.” Her voice was a seductive whisper.

      “No, Brittany. I can’t do this.” She looked at me confused.

      “Why? Are you married?” She began kissing my lips softly. “Don’t worry. She’ll never know. You can trust me.”

      “No, I’m not married.” Then she pulled back and looked even more confused.

      “Then, why?” She was genuinely surprised at my refusal.

      “I’m here to solve the case of your brother. I have to focus on him.” She dropped her head, but I raised her chin with my fingers. “Hey, don’t look like that. I really appreciate this. Believe me, as a man old enough to be your father, I’m completely flattered!”

      “But you’re not my father. You are so handsome, and in shape, and. . .” She kissed my lips again. “unbelievably intelligent.” I silently thanked God that I had started swimming and bicycling last year. She leaned in closer as if to tell me a secret.

      “I want you, Doctor Flores,” she breathed. “I want you so badly.” The sensation began bristling between my legs again, but I suppressed it with a hard swallow.

      “I feel the same, but Doogie comes first.”

      “Doogie?”

      “It’s what his therapists called him. He doesn’t answer to Doug; he likes Doogie.” The fire of the moment was now extinguished. Her brother had entered the scene, which is what I intended. She nodded in acceptance. She pulled her panty up and adjusted her bra; her lips pursed, her eyes fixed on the floor.

      “If I can find and help your brother, then I’ll be back.” I gave an encouraging smile and she returned it.

      “Maybe we can have lunch or dinner sometime,” she suggested in a more mature and professional tone.

      “I’d like that.”

      She let me out and watched me get into my car. I waved as I drove away, knowing that I would most likely have to come back one day. . .to tell them that Doogie was dead.

      Chapter 2

      Village Idiot

      In retrospect, if I had knowledge of Doogie’s condition back when I first saw him, he would have already been under my care and I wouldn’t be driving around the Bay Area like an idiot.

      I had been following his movements for about two months around the East Bay before I lost him. To my regret, I never bothered to stop and talk to him when I took these photos; never bothered to offer him help, or a ride, even in the rain. That’s not like me at all, but my case load was stacked, and I only СКАЧАТЬ