Doctor Dolly: The Boy Next Door

Okay, so he wasn’t a boy.  He was a man, he was 32, married and divorced already.  His explanation--I just thought she was a good fuck, I didn’t realize she was a psycho.   He had been promoted to Senior Human Resources Manager for a local defense contractor.  C.J. --it took me a blow job to coax his full name, Christopher John, out of him--went by the initials, because his father was also Christopher John; so, didn’t that really make him C.J. Jr., or C.J.J.?  He was 5’10”, had not an ounce of fat on him, brown hair, short and neatly trimmed so that all the military types who visited his plant would like him, and warm hazel eyes.  And an olive complexion that he attributed to his Italian mother.  Spent a lot, and I do mean A LOT, of time at the fitness center in our apartment complex.  That’s where I met C.J.

 

Call me Dr. Dolly.  I met C.J. when he moved into The Ridge.  The Ridge was an over-sized apartment complex across from the university medical center hospital where I was in my second year of residency for internal medicine.  I slept when I could.  I’d gone to medical school here at the same teaching hospital’s medical school, so I knew my way around, and I liked being about four minutes from my bed whenever I got to leave the hospital, especially after a 36-44 hour shift.  Somehow they thought they were doing us a favor by not letting us go 48 hours.  About 2,000 residents lived in four distinct sub-developments.  I lived in one of the townhouses, a two-bedroom, with my roommate Sheila, a surgical nurse.  There was a housing match-up, and that’s how we met.  She was sexy.  I thought it would be fun to go to clubs with her and pick up hot men.  Our schedules didn’t allow us to do that except maybe once or twice a year.  Lots of desire, but no time.

 

At The Ridge, we had doctors, nurses, med students, nursing students, surgical technicians, physician assistants, and some post-doc fellows, plus some administrators.  About 95 percent of the complex’s residents were from the hospital.  C.J. was the rare exception.  He got a transfer from his company’s facility in Maine, and he was just glad to get out of the frozen tundra.  The Ridge had great amenities and was only about 10 miles from his work.  He said, of all the things on the property, the Chinese restaurant in the retail strip and the wine shop were his favorites.  Until he met me.  Isn’t that sweet?  The things a man will say when a sexy blonde lets him cum in her mouth, right?

 

So we had a big fitness center.  No one had time to go elsewhere to some commercial gym, and some of the muscle types in the complex actually organized classes.  We worked off a lot of stress and tension there.  Stress from the life-and-death aspects of medicine.  Tension from the low pay and looming repayment of med school loans.  And then there was the frustration of not having a steady fuck buddy in my life.  I was in my late 20s then, had been on the track team in high school and college, and evolved to adding some biking and swimming, so I did some triathalons and some half-marathons.  It seemed a healthier way to build a t-shirt collection than fucking guys you barely know and then keeping the t-shirt they loan you to sleep in as a trophy.  Sometimes the latter was more fun, but a 10K never nags you to run it again the next weekend … or the next morning, as the guys I would have sex with often did.  I was--and still am, thank you very much—in great shape, if I may say so myself.  About 5’7” and maybe 125 pounds in those days.  The extra five to six pounds today are muscle.  My father was a professional athlete, had a brief NFL career, and then coached my brothers.   I turned out to have the best natural athletic talent in the family.  I can look like a real tomboy if I tuck my long blonde hair under a baseball cap, skip the makeup, and wear something sleeveless to accentuate my biceps.  So, if I’m pumped in the gym, I get looks as an athlete.  In a bikini, I get looks like a fitness chick, with a flat six pack tummy that motivates me daily, and toned runner’s legs.  I got my mother’s face--remember, dad was a pro football player, so of course my mother is gorgeous.  Who else do big jocks go for?  So Mom’s blue eyes helped me get looks.  And I had my boobs increased by a cup size.  Okay, two.  I get compliments.  I’m pretty busty, but because of the rest of my fit physique, my breasts don’t seem out of proportion. I’m guess I’m sexy.  From the amount of attention I get, I think my guess is right.

 

But that day in the gym, there was C.J., and we were doing circuit training.  He saw he wasn’t doing that much more weight than I was, so I guess I earned his respect.  He looked good.  I was sweaty and thought I was a mess.  Later on, he told me he thought I was hot and wondered if I fucked as well as I exercised.  He had no idea.

 

We did some spotting for each other, which gave each of us a chance to steal glimpses inside each other’s tops and bottoms, check out our respective butts, and, in C.J.’s case, direct some of his “nice job” comments at my tits.  I didn’t think he had much of a package--until I realized he was wearing compression shorts.  They probably were crushing his poor dick, looking back, now that I’ve seen--and touched, tasted, and been penetrated by--the erections he gets when he sees me.  I introduced myself, Dolly the resident, and he introduced himself, C.J., the HR guy.  At that point in time, he was making more money than I.  A 7-year track record, four promotions since being hired from an Ivy League graduate program.  In about three years, I’d be kicking his ass, income-wise.  So, when he asked if I’d like to get a smoothie or something after the workout, I wasn’t insulted when he said, “C’mon, Doctor, I’m buying.”  When I went to work the next day, I’d be gone for nearly two days.  I had no prep time, and this guy had asked me out when I was a complete sweaty mess.  “Give me 15 to grab a quick shower?” I asked.  “They close the thing at 9.  It’s 8:30 now.  C’mon, Doc, lets go drip sweat together.”  Those Ivy Leaguers sure know how to sweet talk a girl, huh?

 

What do young professionals talk about when they aren’t planning on meeting anyone, are all nasty from the gym, and are totally mesmerized by the eyes of the person they’re talking to?  Because C.J. and I locked eyes for an extended period.  Maybe I missed my first chance to check out his hard package while we talked.  And he’d already checked out my D-cup girls, a graduation present to myself before med school.  So when you hear about someone’s daughter getting an athletic scholarship, before you start complaining about Title IX, just remember, that Title IX track scholarship allowed me to get my tits done.  Any complaints now?  Anyone?  Anyone?  Bueller?

 

C.J. noticed it was five minutes to closing, suggested some quick stir-fry take out.  Sure.  So we took our smoothies into the Chinese restaurant, ordered to-go, and finished our drinks at the bar while we waited.  “You always pick up sweaty men at the gym, Doc?” he asked, a big handsome grin on his face.  “Not always.  You offered to buy me a smoothie first.  Real old-fashioned gentleman.”

 

He thought my smile meant that I liked him.  Boys always did underestimate the situation.  That smile meant I was going to fuck him, because I hadn’t fucked anyone in a month and a girl’s got needs, I’m just saying.

 

So we’re walking down the path, and I realize he lives three doors down from me.  “Hang on,” I said, and I slipped inside my own apartment.  Bottle of Riesling in the fridge.  Grabbed it, hoped he had glasses.  He was a single guy. I just hoped they’d be McDonaldland glasses, not team-emblem plastic cups from a football game.  At least the things with Mayor McCheese were made of glass, and wine from plastic is just a shame.  Obviously, being on the track team in college, I’d been noticed by other college athletes first, and, through those energetic fucks with boys who still had maintenance-free bodies, I learned what made me cum, got comfortable with what guys like sexually, and learned survival instincts, like the willingness to eat off Chinet and drink from McDonalds glasses.  Now that I was Doctor Dolly, I’d sworn off Chinet.  But boys could still be boys.  And the Hamburglar didn’t spoil a drink.

 

So C.J.’s apartment was a lovely surprise.  It wasn’t overgrown frat boy décor, as I’d expected.  Ah yes, he’d had a starter marriage.  Got half the “stuff.”  So grown-up furniture.   He apparently took the everyday dishes, while his ex-wife got the fine china and silver, and she took the crystal but he got some classy barware.  I think I knew I’d swallow for him when I saw him put down place mats at the table and then set out coasters on the coffee table when we finished the Riesling sitting on his coach.  “Do you have a roommate?” I asked.  Most everyone in the complex did.  I did, that sexy nurse Sheila.  I wondered if C.J. had already met and fucked her.  And none of the places was a one-bedroom unit.  But surprisingly, “Nope.  Use the second one for a guest room.  No guests yet, though.”

 

I was feeling the wine.  I leaned in and kissed him.  A nice, young, new-lover kiss, mouths slowly opening, a bit of caution for a second, and then we totally went deep with tongues.  I could feel the dried salt on the back of his neck.  “I’m way too grubby for you to be kissing me so nicely, C.J., I told you to give me 15 ….”

 

He stood, took my hand, lifted me to standing, and started to turn toward his stairs.  “Why sir, do you take me for a common harlot, whom you may romance and seduce with bean sprouts and bamboo shoots?”  All that Shakespeare in high school had taught me that it could be fun to use mock Elizabethan cadence when I spoke to a gentleman.  And I had every intention of proving to be far more of a harlot than Shakespeare ever imagined.

 

“My lady, thou wishes to be cleansed, and my plumbing would be honored to cleanse thee.”

 

I don’t think I had giggled with a boy like this since the first time Donny Coppolella went down on me in high school and tickled the shit out of me trying to figure out a woman’s anatomy.  C.J. had answered back in kind, and I was his.  And he was mine.  We were going to have a Shakesperean fuckfest.

 

I stripped him first when we got to the shower.  Nice.  He worked out, wasn’t a muscle-head or some guy who substituted muscle for brains.  Just looked good.  When C.J. reciprocated and stripped me, he did make my already wet pussy twinge and tingle with his eyes growing wide and his “wow” comments.  “Doctor Dolly, my lady, thou art a bangin’ hardbody, let me soap and rinse thy heavenly body.”  I broke the old English:  “Flattery will get you everywhere, but you’ve figured that out probably,” I said as we stepped into the shower.  Kissing him under the showerhead was fun, and his fingers spread liquid soap from my tits down to my pussy, then his fingers started exploring.  Nice to feel a strong hand that wasn’t mine down there. 

 

As C.J.’s fingers worked a soapy twiddling tune on my clitty, he embraced and sensually rubbed me literally and figuratively into a lather.  Our kisses became deeper, more familiar; our mouths moved together, rapidly ascending a learning curve that our hands and bodies followed.  I found his cock to be thick, impressively hard with a large circumcised head, pointed upward in excitement. His knees started to buckle when I lightly cupped his balls.  He was very sexually sensitive, and his cock twitched in response to my hands stroking his thighs, his shaft, his ass.  I ran my hands all over his body, up his chest, and teased his nipples.  He had strong shoulder muscles, and our embrace under the wonderful warmth of the shower brought our bodies together.  The sensation of his cock brushing along my labia, tantalizingly close to just pressing into my body.  I felt my inner desire hungering for him.  I parted my legs, really inviting him to enter me, raw, potent, dangerous.  I knew I shouldn’t.  I hadn’t wanted a bare, uncovered cock in me like this in a couple years, since the last time I’d been monogamous for more than six months.  Fuck buddies require condoms.  So what was C.J. doing to my discipline?  I’d just met him; surely, I wasn’t presenting my unprotected womanhood to him for breeding?  But, oh God, he could nibble my ear and nuzzle my neck in a way that left me powerless.  And I am never powerless.

 

I took his cock in my hand, stroking it, controlling it, keeping it the hell out of my pussy in its unsheathed, dangerous condition.  I knelt, allowed the water to stream any soapsuds away, and began to lick the underside of the head.  A shower blowjob is all about cleanliness, a lack of flavor, and getting my tongue into a sensitive unity with my lover’s cock.  I felt the micro-twitches, the tension in his body, his strong legs, his abs as they tightened to hold his core steady.  Yes, I love playing a man’s body with my tongue the way a concert pianist’s fingers make music on the keys.  His gasps, mini-convulsions, grunts, and hands gripping and clawing at my wet body, all such a power trip and reward for a woman like me who prides herself on sucking cock like a porn star.  I looked up at C.J. and saw bliss.  My hands up and down his legs added to the sensuality, and wow, what a tight, compact, hard-as-a-rock ass on that boy. I wanted sex. I wanted to provide sex.  I wanted his body coming together with mine.  And I really wanted to find out that he had condoms and planned to use them.  Because I needed this so badly, and he felt so good.

 

“Let me take you to my bed,” he said, and I moaned “Yesssss” into his mouth.  I needed more kisses with him.  We shut off the water and grabbed towels to dry our wonderfully clean bodies. I sighed with relief and desire when I saw him open his medicine cabinet and grab a box of condoms.  Who doesn’t keep those by the bed?  Whatever, I was going to get wonderfully laid by this fit handsome man and not risk the things we use condoms to protect us from. 

 

I lay down on the bed, my towel hung on a hook in the bathroom before he led me to his bedroom.  His sheets smelled like Bounce fabric softener sheets, I told him.  He’d had a housekeeper in that day.  Once a week, she did his sheets and towels while she was there, C.J. told me.  This classy sexy bachelor had a housekeeper.  God, I was hoping the usual correlation between kissing skill and pussy eating would prove itself true with him.  He was a wonderful kisser.  I wanted the same for my eager little girl down there.

 

He took his time on my nipples. His fingers finding sensitive body areas on me.  He kissed my stomach.  His tongue circled my navel.  “Dolly,” he started to say, “tell me what you want.”  With excitement, I groaned, “Kiss me down there.”

 

“Sexier, Dolly, say it sexier”  Oh, a dirty-talk kink!  I could do that.  Funny, though, I hadn’t slept with many single guys who’d asked me that.  A couple of married guys during medical school when I was too busy to want a relationship and decided to just keep my sex life recreational.  I liked the results, and I’d learned to do some dirty talking to satisfy the married guys, Doctors, whom I used to satisfy my hungry pussy back in the day.  Sure, C. J., here goes:  “Mmmm, lick my hot pussy, C.J.  Tongue-fuck me.  I want to cum on your pussy-eating face, Baby.  Yeah, you know you want to taste my sex .…”

 

He picked up the pace, and ooooooh yessss, sucked my clit.  I could feel his body starting to tremor from excitement.  I love getting this boy hot. “Taste me, that’s right, oh yes, shove your fucking tongue so far up me you could take my temperature … I’m so fucking hot and wet for you.  You make me fucking cum like this, so wet.”

 

It wasn’t my favorite tactic, but he was so into it, and now I was going to enjoy him being a slave to my love spot.  I held his head steady and really humped the shit out of his face.  Slammed myself against his lips, quickened the pace, and noticed his cock was starting to drip his precum from the excitement.  I placed my fingers next to his mouth on me. “Don’t stop, Baby, I’m close.  I want you to feel my hot juice when you make me cum!”  When HE makes me cum?  Oh Dolly, you really are a porn actress, aren’t you?  Internally, I winked to myself.

 

I really was a soaking mess down there, and, bless his heart, he must’ve known he just wasn’t getting me there as we were going, though he had gotten me close.  So he upped the ante, slathered my thick, slick sauce on two fingers and worked one, then the other, into my bunghole.  “Oh shit yes, finger fuck my ass” I told him, hearing but not caring about the bad pun of my using the word “shit” when he entered my ass.  He worked me, I worked me, and a rattle and hum started in my pubic bone, it seemed, then spread, outward, downward, into my sex organs, my thighs, down my legs, up my back, across my neck and shoulders, and down my arms ….  The earthquake hit my entire body, extremities included, at the same time.  In a show of the wonders of sex, the same pleasure curled my toes, arched my back, twisted my head to the side, and straightened my arms, as I cried out and dug my fingers into his hair just before my body stiffened and then went limp.  Fuck, I’d really needed to cum.  That felt freaking awesome.

 

Poor C.J.’s face was a mess, his body was all sweaty, and he hadn’t cum.  I kissed him, to thank him, express my feeling for him, and yes, to taste that wonderful flavor of mine off his well-pussied face. “I want you in me, I’m so wet for you, you need to cum,” I eagerly told him.

 

He had a condom ready next to the bed.  I scratched his balls lightly with my nails, licked that well-deserving cock, and then rolled the condom onto him.  I got on my elbows and knees, ass in the air, and he slid right into me.  Damn, I can never get enough of that feeling.  C.J. was pretty well sexually beat up by me by this time, and he pumped and fucked, gyrated his hips, worked it, slammed it home, and then kinda went ape-shit and pulled my hair, pushed me down to the mattress, and really fucked the hell out of me until he collapsed and spasmed inside the cover.  His chest felt good against my back, and he grabbed my hand, as our fingers interwove, and squeezed.  He bit my earlobe.  Hot, sweaty, desperate sex between virtual strangers, really. 

 

We showered together, but were too worn out to do a standing shower screw.  He invited me to stay, but I went Elizabethan on him one last time that night, “My Lord, thou hast taken my virtue, made my body thine own, and pleased me greatly.  I hope I have brought pleasure to you as well.  But methinks it best to bid adieu and retreat to mine own cottage, the better to rest and rejuvenate, so that I may be worthy of more of my Lord’s noble savage fucking again soon, Sexy!”  I grinned and laughed, having totally broken character with that last line.  I kissed him, toweled off, and put on enough clothes to make it a few doors up to my place.  I was commando and carried my underthings in my hand. 

 

There’s a hell of a lot of sex that goes on in an apartment complex filled with doctors, nurses, med students, nursing students.  We’re all young, driven, stressed out, and enjoy playing high stakes games.  We all have knowledge of the human body.  Then this human resources guy comes along, stumbles into our little sex village ….

 

It was a few nights later, again when I had a rare night between long shifts, when I stood at his door in scrubs, naked beneath, with a glass of Merlot in my hands.  I’d taken the time to shower, shave everything—yes, everything was baby smooth – and this time I planned to spend the night.  “Look at that, delivery service, and you even bring your own drink.  You’re a great date, Doctor Dolly.”  We’d made the arrangements by email the night before, but I loved that he feigned surprise.  I’d come up with a nickname for him, combining C and J into a single-word that sounded like “siege” but which I supposed was spelled with a C and a J.  “Ceeje,” I told him, “you don’t even know how great its going to get.”

 

To be continued ….

 

Fictional Fantasy for your reading pleasure...Enjoy!

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