“Isn’t it a little early for Halloween?” he snickered.
God, I loathed him. And always had. I pressed my lips thin, wanting to rip his smarmy smile off his face.
“So, what brings you here, Blake?”
Something you should be suffering with, you two-timing prick. He had cheated on my sister with one of their blond bimbo patients, and their marriage had ended in a nasty divorce. It was actually a giant step forward for my sister and had brought us—and her twin boys—closer. Cemented us as family.
Narrowing my eyes, half in pain, half in contempt, I didn’t answer him. Despising the piece of shit as much as I did, Jen jumped in.
“Matt, would you be kind enough to let the lovely Vilma here know that Blake is indeed the son of Helen and Saul Bernstein?”
“What’s it worth to you?” What a fucking asshole! I had the burning urge to bash his balls in, and if I weren’t in so much pain, I wouldn’t have held back.
My brain wasn’t functioning. Thank fuck, Jen’s was.
“We’ll take the boys over Christmas so you and Barbie can go away.”
“Her name is Bambi,” Matt sneered.
My brilliant Jen had remembered he had fought Marcy, wanting her to take care of the boys over the holidays so that he and his new bimbo whatever-the-fuck-her-name-was wife could go skiing in Aspen. His eyes lit up with score signs. Five minutes later, I was in a small, stark white examining room waiting to be seen. Jen hoisted herself up on the exam table and sat next to me, the sterile sheet of white paper rustling beneath us. She took my hand and entwined her lithe fingers with mine. Then, bowed her head, looking disheartened.
“Blake, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I should have never smeared that Dermadoo all over your penis.” Her voice grew watery. “Can you ever forgive me?”
I squeezed her hand. “Look at me, baby.” Her misty eyes met mine. “It’s not your fault. You had no idea it would have this effect on me.” I slid the leather pouch I was wearing to the side and noticed there was no sign of Mr. Burns deflating.
“But–”
I cut her off. “I let you. Besides, Ari Golden hinted at lunch that Dermadoo was some kind of sex enhancer, and Golden International was going to test-market it under another name. I was looking forward to using it.” Truth: I couldn’t wait.
“Really?”
“Really.” I gave her a reassuring kiss on the top of her head.
My tiger quirked a faint, fleeting smile. Then her lush lips thinned and she again hung her head down. As if in shame. “I knew about its other ‘benefits’ too.”
My eyebrows arched. “You did?”
She nodded, her expression forlorn. “Yes, from Chaz and Jeffrey. They couldn’t stop raving about what it could do over lunch.” She paused. “I’m sorry, my love. So, so sorry.”
I gently tipped up her chin with my thumb and turned her head to face me. I looked her straight in the eye. “Stop it, Jen. There’s no need to apologize. It’s a weird, freak thing. Let it go.”
Her expression lightened a bit, but she still wore a look of regret. “You must have had some kind of extreme allergic reaction to it.”
“Yeah.”
“Does it still hurt, baby?”
“Yeah, a lot.” A whole fucking lot.
“Can I take a peek at it?”
“Okay.” My voice was hesitant. I wasn’t sure. Make that, I was afraid. Fear trickled right down to my balls, but just in time, there was a knock at the door. My eyes flitted to the handle as it turned. The door swung open, and a stout older man in a white lab coat moseyed in. He was carrying a clipboard and wearing a stethoscope around his neck. With his wiry white hair that stuck out from his temples and bulging electron green eyes, he reminded me a lot of the Christopher Lloyd character in those Back to the Future movies.
“Hello! I’m Dr. Boris Cocker.”
Dr. Cocker? Seriously?
Behind him trailed a buxom nurse with a beehive blond hairdo and blood red lips, wheeling a cart full of gizmos.
“And this is Nurse Needles.”
Jesus! Nurse Needles? Were they putting me on?
The scary-looking woman shot me a wicked smile, exposing her razor-sharp incisors as she lifted a syringe to her eyes and examined it. “We’re all set, doctor,” she cackled, her gaze as pointed as the sharp, jutting six-inch needle. I’ll get you and your big dick too! Holy shit! At the sight of it, cold fear washed over me. I gulped and my heart almost stopped. If only this was a bad dream, but it wasn’t.
My terrified gaze moved back to the doctor as he read over his notes. “So I understand we have a little bit of a problem here.” The corners of his thin lips curled up into a sadistic grin.
“I would call it more of a big problem.” I quivered as Jen slid off the exam table and took a seat on the chair in the corner.
“Can I stay, doctor? I’m his wife.”
“Don’t leave me, tiger,” I mentally cried out as the words of the WebMD article collided in my brain. My fear morphed into into panic. The big needle is coming! Then the knife!
“Of course, Mrs. Burns.”
Goodbye forever, Mr. Burns. My pending, unthinkable loss filled my every thought as the doctor and nurse took my vitals. A shiver skated down my spine and my heart thudded as the doctor relayed the results.
“Your blood pressure is slightly elevated . . .”
Slightly?
“But that’s to be expected. Everything else seems normal.”
Another insidious smile. I swear that the art of the reassuring smile was a part of every doctor’s med school curriculum. A requirement. Cocker had for sure taken the advanced course: Smiling 501: Dude, Your Life is Over.
“So let’s take a look-see, shall we?”
My seven-year-old voice screamed in my head. Run, Blake, run! Get the crap out of here! Except, shaking from head to toe, I was too paralyzed with fear to jump off the table and sprint out of the room as the mad doctor expertly undid the three-inch safety pin fastening my kilt.
“Nice plaid,” he commented. “A Buchanan.” Jen’s mother’s maiden name. “Our side of the Cocker clan can be traced back to eleventh century Scotland. Our family plaid is a Black Watch. I wear my kilt to every family gathering. It drives my wife crazy . . . I mean in a good way. Say, have you ever been to Scotland?”
In freak-out mode, I was in no mood for small talk. Jen answered. “We haven’t, but my parents went earlier this year and loved it. They brought Blake back this kilt.”
“Good for them!” the doctor beamed as he removed the gold pin. Setting it on the table, he slowly opened the flap of the skirt and blew out a breath as his eyes landed on my exposed organ and widened.
“Whoa!”
My heart beat like a jackhammer. “Is that a good ‘whoa’ or a bad one?”
“Just a big one.” His eyes narrowing, he studied my cock. “Do you mind if I touch it a bit?”
“Do you seriously have to?” I sure as hell didn’t want some crazy ass doctor poking around my dick.
“Yes, it’s an important part of the examination.” My eyes stayed trained on his hands as they performed a pat down on my rigid shaft, as if Mr. Burns was a criminal and concealing some kind of weapon.
“Ow!” I yelped as he ran his fingers over a particularly sensitive spot.
My empathetic tiger scrunched her face. Angst etched all over it. “Doctor, please be gentle. My husband is in a lot of pain.”
That was an understatement. My cock was raging! Bursting at the seams! It was going to implode!
“I can see that,” said the doctor as his dexterous hands moved toward the crown. He squeezed the tip, causing me to wince yet again. Fucking sadist!
“Well, I know now which type of priapism you have,” he stated, taking his hands off my cock.
My brows shot up. “There are different kinds?” In my mind, I already knew the answer: the kind that can kill you and the kind that can’t. I was positive I had the former. Before long, both
my cock and I would be ancient history. A feeling of impending doom pulsed through me. I felt lightheaded, sick to my stomach, as the doctor continued.
“Your penile shaft is rigid, but the tip is soft, leading me to believe you have the most common kind. Ischemic.”
“Ischemic?”
“Yes. Low flow priapism . . . the result of blood being trapped and unable to leave the penis.”
Trapped? While every nerve in my body crackled with fear, the scary man in the white coat began to ask me a series of questions, writing down my responses on his clipboard. Was I on meds for any condition? Had my penis sustained any recent trauma? Had I ever been diagnosed with sickle cell anemia, leukemia, or diabetes? Was I on any kind of antidepressant, blood thinner, or hormone? Had I recently been bit by a spider? Did I ever experience erectile dysfunction?
The answer to every question was a terse no . . . the decibel of my voice rising until I was shouting out the answer to the final question so loudly the walls shook. I wasn’t going to tell him about the Katrina drug-induced impotence incident. It didn’t count!
“Doc, I’m dying here. Can’t you just unbig me?”
“Just one more question . . . did you and your wife engage in sexual intercourse last night?”
“YES! We fucked like bunnies, if you honestly need to know.”
Jen’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. “Dr. Cocker, we made love for hours and used a lubricant. A new-to-us moisturizer.”
Cocker cocked a brow. “Can you tell me the name of the product?”
“Dermadoo.”
Evil Nurse Needles, who had been a quiet observer all this time, suddenly lit up. “Dermadoo!! My husband and I use it all the time! The best sex ever!”
The doctor pivoted to face her. “Did he ever have this reaction?”
“Actually, once. And it came along with an asthma attack. With a half hour of icing and a few whoofs of his inhaler—badda bing!—his erection went down and he was back to being his normal, horny self.” Flashing that frightening overbite smile, she made a circle with her left thumb and index finger and inserted the needle held in her right hand in and out of it. Pumping it faster and faster. Getting off on it. Me, wishing she would stop. The vision of her poking the needle into my cock was vivid in my mind. I silently screamed. Please, stop!
“Interesting.” The doctor turned back to face me as Nurse Needles finally ceased her needle-fest. “Excuse me, Blake. Sit tight while I text my brother, Morris. He’s a proctologist.”
Seriously? There were two alta cocker Cocker doctors—Boris and Morris—and one actually specialized in cocks and balls? Anxiety crawled back inside me like an army of ants as I watched the doctor pull out his phone from one of his lab coat pockets. His nimble thumbs texted deftly. I wondered what he was typing. He hit send and a ping sounded shortly. His brother had responded. And then one more round of back and forth texts.
Mad Nurse Needles held up the monstrous needle again, her venomous eyes aglow. “Doctor, should I prepare to aspirate?”
Over my dead body! Visions of last night’s nightmare flashed in my head. I was going to lose Mr. Burns for good! My cock was a goner! A nauseating mixture of adrenaline and apprehension zipped through my bloodstream. I was ready to leap off the exam table and make a mad dash out of the room when the doctor responded.
“Nurse, no need to numb and aspirate. Let’s try icing and a dose of terbutaline.”
“Injectable?”
Gah! Another needle!
“No, let’s do oral. My brother thinks it could work.”
One hour later, I was hugging Dr. Cocker and Nurse Needles. My former nemeses were now my new best friends! Thanks to a half hour of icing and a dose of terbutaline, my dick, though a little sore, had returned to normal. It had unbigged! I wanted to mentally high-five it but didn’t dare, thinking it might rise to attention again.
Ready to check out of the ER, I had my marching orders. I had to take warm baths nightly, be on terbulatine for five days, and refrain from sexual intercourse for a week. Under any other circumstances, I would have protested the no-sex edict, but I was thankful to have my dick back to normal at any cost. Oh yeah, I also had to wear an elastic constrictor around Mr. Burns—kind of like a brace to keep him in place. It was terribly uncomfortable, but hell, if it was going to help regulate my cock I was game.
“Doc, what’s the long-term prognosis?” I asked before leaving the hospital.
“I’d say it’s looking good.”
Thank fuck, the irony of the two words I said to myself not lost on me.
“Say hello to your parents for me, Blake.” Then, a wink. “Oh, and be sure to wear your kilt more often.”
Chapter 10
Blake
Conquest Broadcasting was closed for the rest of the day. With a possible arsonist still on the loose, the LAFD had told my father it was too risky to keep employees on the lot. The search would last through the night. Hence, everyone was given the day off and high-level executives were urged to take all important meetings off-site. Instead of reconvening the Board meeting at a different location, my father invited all the members to his palatial Beverly Hills house to play golf. With no reason to head back to the office, Jen and I drove home to our condo. After my ordeal, I was glad to be home. And stay home. Worn-out Mr. Burns needed bed rest. But I needed something more.
“Thanks for being there for me, tiger,” I said for the umpteenth time as she heated up the matzo ball soup we’d picked up at Nate ’n Als on the way home. “That was scary. I don’t know how I would have made it without you.”
I was now casually dressed in loose-fitting sweats and a UCLA Bruins T-shirt and barefoot. Her hair gathered in a high ponytail, Jen was wearing a pair of my cotton boxer shorts and a cropped top that exposed her long, toned legs and taut abs. On her feet were her favorite Ugg slippers. Pink and furry. Damn, she looked cute! So fuckable. Mr. Burns thought so too. I fought my erection. Yeah, Mr. Burns and I were in a wrestling match and I had to hold him down. The stupid brace wasn’t helping much.
As the battle between my legs raged, Jen spun around and met my gaze. Holding a big wooden spoon in her hand, which I found crazily erotic, she said, “My love, I’ll always be there for you.”
I drew her closer to me, wrapping my arms around her tiny waist. “Tiger, I have to ask you a question.” Her eyes melted into mine and I paused. “If I lost my manhood . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if I got permanent ED and I could never have an erection again and fuck you properly—and give you multiple orgasms—would you still love me?”
She furrowed her brows, looking taken aback. “Blake, what kind of question is that?”
“A long, hard one.”
“Well, the answer, not at all like your cock, is short and sweet: Of course!”
I was stunned into silence as she continued.
“Blake, we took a vow. To love each other in sickness and health. You’ve loved me every way possible, even knowing I might have life-threatening cancer and not be capable of giving you a child, and I’m committed to doing the same.”
“But that’s different.”
“How is it different?” she challenged.
“Because I couldn’t live without you no matter what the circumstances.”
Setting the spoon on the kitchen counter, her arms flew around my neck.
“Blake, in case you don’t remember, I didn’t marry you for your cock though I must say it’s pretty spectacular.”
“Just pretty spectacular?” I asked, feigning hurt.
“No. Amazingly . . . incredibly . . . unbelievably . . . mind-blowingly. But you’re missing the point.”
“The point being . . .”
Her hands moved to my face, cupping my cheeks, and with a tilt of her head, she looked deep into my eyes. “Blake, I married you for you. For all of you. Most of all for your big, beautiful heart, which fills every fiber of my being every second of the day. Beca
use I love you so, so much.”
My heart was melting. Turning into goo. Ready to pour into the empty sixteen-ounce soup container on the counter.
Her hands still cradling my face, I leaned in to give her a hot, passionate kiss, and as our mouths and tongues connected, an unsavory smell wafted up my nose. Jen smelled it too and broke away. Holy shit! The matzo ball soup was burning! The chicken broth had totally evaporated and the two big doughy balls were sizzling. Just like mine.
“Oh my God,” we screamed in unison. Acting fast, Jen beat me to turning off the flame of the gas stove.
“Phew!” she exhaled.
I drew her into me again. “You are an arsonist!”
She laughed, holding me tight. “And you’re on fire.”
She was right! I was on major fire. I was so hot, so hungry for her I thought I would combust.
With the possibility of burning down the building over, I lifted Jen onto the kitchen counter. I nuzzled her neck, tasting her sweetness, and inhaled the intoxicating cherry-vanilla scent of her hair, which increased both my appetite and libido. Which could be one and the same.
“Jen, baby, I’m starving for you.”
“But, Blake,” she moaned, “Dr. Cocker said you can’t have sex until next week.”
I rolled my tongue down the slender column of her neck, arousing her further, while a hand moved beneath the waistband of the boxers. My fingers crept down to her caressable triangle. God, she was so hot and wet for me.
“Tiger, maybe we can’t fuck, but I still can do a lot to you. I haven’t eaten all day and I’m ravenous.”
Still flicking her neck with my tongue, I slid down the boxers until they fell to the floor and then went down on her, burying my head between her thighs. I kissed. I licked. I sucked. I tongue fucked.
THAT MAN 7 Page 6
