Dr. Feelgood

by Marissa Monteilh

  Now, I’ll be the first to tell you he has a reputation for throwing down in the bedroom. You could say he’s an animal in bed. Yes, my Makkai has this way about him. It’s a way that no man in my life has even been able to come close to. It made me fall in love with him.

  “I love kissing you, baby,” he said as he planted his lips on mine, looking me dead in the eye with a provocative longing to please.

  I was drunk with lust. This man stole my will every time he’d come near me. The scent of him fucked me up, but good.

  “Your skin is like milk chocolate.” He said he loved the fact that I had meat on my bones. Everything about me is thick, from my lips to my ass. And what I loved about him was the fact that he was long and strong and down to get the friction on. He’s giving and good-looking, and he always smells like the manliest scent of musky, peppery testosterone juice I’ve ever sniffed. It was like a drug. It was absolutely fucking intoxicating.

  I lay on my back upon my cream colored sheets as Makkai gave me a slow tongue bath. I slyly tossed the fluffy, in-the-way pillows onto the floor and focused my attention on his handiwork. His perfect mouth traveled to the right side of my neck, one of my most sensitive spots, and then to my goose-bumped breasts. He has a way of twisting my nipple with his thumb and forefinger while lightly flicking the other nipple with his tongue, and then adding just enough saliva to make it super slippery as he meets my nipple with his nipple. It’s so damn erotic to watch and feel. Almost as if he’s playing with my erect clit.

  He never rushes, always takes his time when he’s about to … go down. He moves to my belly button, sticking his tongue inside, and then over to my hip bone where it almost tickles, it’s so sensitive, doing all of this while parting my legs with his hand, making sure to rub around my entire area, and slowly slipping one finger inside to check for wetness. He sticks that drenched finger in his mouth and moans, “That is the sweetest taste in the world.” Makkai kisses my upper thighs and then moves in toward my middle, but just as he senses that my wide hips are sending a hurried signal of anxiousness, he travels back down my thigh, still fingering me lightly. He’s the damn tease master.

  He glances up at me with those long eyelashes and big brown eyes, and then looks directly into the crevice of my vagina as if it has eyes, and approaches it slowly. The treat that I’m about to receive is one that makes me want to burst already. My heart races, and all I can do is lean my head back and enjoy, while shutting my eyes to brace myself.

  I feel a hot, wet tongue, traveling around my outsides, and then flicking my clit. I feel my vulnerable peak pulsate with pleasure. He licks my outer lips, bends my legs back and secures himself in that position, lying flat on his belly with his head in between my legs. He then takes my stiffened clit into his mouth, and he sucks it in a way that makes me look down to get a visual peek at exactly what this expert is doing. If I were gay, I’d want to know how to do that shit. How does he make me feel like I could cum in his mouth within two seconds? Dammit.

  I feel my ass tighten, and the blood starts to flow from the minute he secures it in his mouth. His tongue is doing something … some kind of magical, secretive trick that most men would pay money to learn. Hell, their women would fork over the money themselves in a heartbeat. His teeth are in on it. His lips are in on it, too. His tongue is the ringleader. And then he stops, traveling to my sweet sticky hole, sticking his tongue inside while using his long, wide index finger above my mound. He then moves up to the clit again and lowers my legs straight so that he can get a direct hit. I point my toes and flex my quads, and he separates my wet lips with both hands, the same hands that have repaired ailing hearts his entire career, and rests his elbows on my thighs.

  This shit is what he does that no other man can do. This shit is what no other man takes the time to do. No other man gets it quite right because their asses are lazy. No one can compare to the hard work of Dr. Feelgood. “Ahhh, Makkai, I love the way you do this, baby.”

  He inserts three fingers inside of me while he sucks in a swirling, flicking motion, yet the brotha can still speak. “I know you love it. Tell me what it feels like.” He speedily moves his head from left to right with a deep groaning sound that’s almost barbaric.

  “It feels like I’m going to explode.”

  “Go ahead and explode then. Explode for me now, baby. Give it to me. Give it to me good.” He holds steady, focusing on my build up, taking it all into his mouth while saying, “Uh huh, uh huh.” He’s even a damn cheerleader.

  “Aahhhh, baby, I, I … Ooooooo, aaaawww, ahhh, Makkai.” I try my best to keep it down, but hell, fuck the dumb shit. “I love you, Nigga.” I tighten up and then I literally collapse. I could have sworn I heard this talented pussy master chuckle between my legs.

  Yet and still, knowing I’m in sensitivity mode, he tickles me with his tongue and then gives it a fond farewell kiss goodbye.

  I jump and flinch, still coming down as I turn to the side in an effort to escape.

  “That’s my baby. Now it’s ready.” He moves up, reaching over to the black lacquer nightstand for a condom. “That clit throbs in my mouth like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  I reach down to the floor to now grab that same discarded pillow just as he lies on top of me. I scoot back to rest my sweaty head on the pillow.

  He lifts my legs up and back, as I take on the pleasurable role of missionary wide receiver. All of his thickness and width enter me as he grunts. “Yeah. This is the best pussy I’ve ever had. Damn, it’s nasty wet.”

  The feeling is intense and almost illegal. He should be arrested on the spot. Well, maybe after he’s done. “You do it so good, baby. Only you.”

  “Only me?”

  “Yes, only you. It’s all yours.”

  “This is my pussy.”

  “Always, Makkai, always.”

  He pulls out as he speaks. “Oooh, shit. I don’t want to cum yet. Put your leg over my shoulder.”

  Like the master he is, he scoots me to my side and enters me again. His position is at an angle that’s hitting something. Call it a G spot, or an XYZ spot, but it is making something heat up and throb and rush. I squint my eyes, trying to fight it, but the faster he pumps, the faster it comes, and it makes me dizzy. The room is spinning all around me. I put my own hand over my mouth as I release a burst of throbbing and wetness that’s almost frightening.

  “Get that nut, baby. Damn,” he says as I feel his thickness expand and go deeper, and then expand again. “Oh, yeah, that’s my baby.” He freezes and his tip seems to hit my deepest point. He then gives way on top of me.

  He moves my leg flat, climbs off of me, and turns over on his back. He breathes hard and looks over at me. I breathe hard and look over at him. And we shake our heads at each other. Damn, that man can sure make a woman cum.

  Okay, so now you know. The situation with him has served me just fine, actually. I get the oral sex of the century, and he gets, from what he tells me, the best pussy he’s ever had in his entire life. That man loves to fuck him some Georgia Mae Manley. Me, to be honest with you, even though he is packing, I could take or leave the dick. But, I have to give him his props because he is the only man to get enough of a deep, continual rhythm going to ever give me a vaginal orgasm. Truly, I could fall asleep right after I came in his face and feel totally fulfilled. Like my name, I like it dirty south thank you very much. Anyway, he’s already snoozing, and I need my sleep before these two girls wake up in the morning, driving me crazy. But, of course, he’ll be gone by then. But, it’s all good. For now anyway.

  Chapter 2

  Monday

  Here’s my deal. I’ll tell you as I drive toward the Marina for my weekly wax and electrolysis at Sheena’s Spa and Salon because I’m always on the run. It’s a beautiful day and the sun is shining, a slight breeze is blowing, and all is sweet.

  See, I am a wealthy, attractive, sophisticated forty-year-old woman. Okay, I’m forty-four. I like men who are actually and factually one step away
from being afraid of me, yet who can stand up to me anyway. I let ‘em know I don’t have time for no childish-ass games.

  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.

  Chapter 3

  Allow 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 s
ay 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.