His Baby

After all, that was a prostate exam and then some. I went in expecting some wizened old lady with arthritic hands and a cold, cackly laugh. But instead, I got a sweet brunette with a fucking filthy mind. Oh yeah, this isn’t some innocent virgin who’s never been touched. This is a feisty female who sucked my dick and crammed three fingers into my butthole at the same time. Not only that, but she came hard without me touching her. Holy shit. I didn’t even know that was possible. Of course, girls cream around me all the time, but I’ve never had one come solely from arousal and excitement, without me stroking her clit or plunging deep into her depths.

So yeah, I have to get more. I have to see Melissa again, and fortunately, my follow-up appointment is tomorrow. Whistling, I arrive home, glancing at the clock with my mail scattered on the counter. Less than twenty-four hours before we meet again. Perfect. This time, I intend on kissing her pussy, and maybe sucking a boobie or two before making the brunette come … with my dick stuffed deep into her cunt this time.

Because I’ve dated up a storm in my life. You don’t get to four decades without meeting a lot of women. Plus, the fact that I’m rich with my own construction outfit seems to draw the ladies like bees to honey. It’s as if they can smell greenbacks in the air, their spidey sense going off like a siren when I’m around. Rich man alert! Alpha male on the premises!

But there are very few keepers in life, and I haven’t had the good fortune of meeting the right one yet. Which kind of worries me, to be honest, because it’s not for lack of opportunity. The ladies throw themselves at me non-stop, so why haven’t I encountered a girl who’s wholesome and sweet, yet dirty as fuck at the same time? It seems they’re either one hundred percent hooches, or plain Jane duds with the personality of clay. There hasn’t been anyone who’s really caught my eye in a while, although plenty of women have tried.

Except now, I’ve met Dr. Melissa Carter. Shit, she was beautiful. And talented. And intelligent. And obviously, dirty as fuck with how she gave me a prostate exam. In fact, did that even count? Or is my follow-up going to be just more of the same? I’m torn because I want more of the same, and yet at the same time, prostate cancer is a real problem in my family. In fact, it’s made me re-think some of my priorities because if I need to battle a serious illness, then what should I be focusing on during the here and now? If I have a limited time on this earth, then should I really be chasing skirt and acting like an asshole, or should I be finding a good woman to make babies with?

After all, I can’t have kids while going through chemo. I can’t have kids when I’m doing radiation, the UV’s gonna burn a hole right through my scrotum. So if this disease actually becomes a reality, I’ve gotta get on it. I’ve got to find the right woman and start breeding her stat before my treatment starts. Because I want children for sure. Always have. I’ve always envisioned myself with a passel of rugrats, at least five or six underfoot. And my family’s medical history has suddenly lit a fire under my ass, making the prospect of babies with the right woman sounds awfully good right now.

But before my thoughts get carried away, an envelope on the counter catches my eye. Oh shit. It’s from Melissa’s office. She’s not rescheduling, is she? My body tingles from the mere thought of that sweet female form, and I rip it open, impatient to see what’s inside. Some papers flutter to the ground. What the hell is this?

Bending over, I pick up the sheaf of notes. Hmm, lab results. It’s all gibberish to me and I scowl, my eyes barely able to focus on the tiny print. Thank god there’s a cover letter explaining what this is all about.

But then the air leaves my chest because shit! The letter’s clearly a form letter, but still, the news isn’t good. Please call our office immediately to discuss your lab results, the first sentence reads. Oh fuck. What the hell? The way these doctors work is that no news is good news. So when you get something with words like this, it means the shit has hit the fan. FUCK! What do I do?

My hand fumbles with my cell but the damned thing drops from my fist and skitters across the kitchen floor. In a rage, I get into my car and drive like a demon down the highway. Sure, my appointment is tomorrow, but I can’t wait until then. I need to see Melissa now.