THE VET

Mature, Virgin, Romantic, Humour

After a morning call-out, Saul enjoyed a short coffee break and flicked through a magazine back at the workshop.

Ads are ads in a magazine. Occasionally, the full-page lingerie model stopped you; otherwise, flick, flick, keep flicking through the celebrity gossip, the three-course healthy meal in thirty minutes, the useless star signs.

His phone rang. It was his dad. He had been minding Charlie while he was up country on a government contract at a hydro dam for the last nine weeks. Saul had intended to pick Charlie up this afternoon.

His dad said he'd gone off his food; his dog Charlie seemed sick and best taken to the Vet.

Saul thought: Charlie was never ill, though his pet was getting on.

Yeah, ten years old, his puppy from his teens. Great fun by the river and in the bush. A scruffy border collie cross, his real mate.

The local Vet was a local legend, his dad's weekend drinking mate. Old Bob, who liked a joke but now was truthfully a rambler, soon to retire, a bit absent-minded; the widowed Robert Clutterbuck. Saul decided to take Charlie.

Between them and drinking, Christ, his dad, and Bob might accidentally put Charlie down.

Saul drove into one of the parking spots behind the clinic. The carpark was empty. He bundled up Charlie in his arms and headed for the rear entrance. He was at the desk, waiting. He realised: damn, these one-man, county-run small clinics. Bob would probably be out the back, solo, neutering some poor creature or maybe out on a call, combined with the usual country small-town failure to lock anything.

Double damn; thought Saul; did I lock my workshop.

Then, who cares.

He put Charlie down on the counter, his collie listless; not good; poor dog.

Saul then couldn't country boy help himself in his impatience and yelled. Bob was probably taking a nap:

"Bob…Bob…you old coot… are you flogging the monkey back there?"

Just male bonding rural nonsense.

No reply.

He was probably nodding off. Taking a kip.

One more try, thought Saul, then home and come back later. Maybe try a phone call. It could be a serious farm call-out Bob was on.

Yet the buck in him went for fun.

"Put more fibre in your diet if you are constipated or can't you get it up back there; forget your Viagra. Come on…get the fuck out here," he called tongue in cheek.

Bob and his dad went way back. So did Bob and Saul. Charlie had been fortunate with a tick as a puppy. The Vet knew his stuff when he was younger and awake.

No sound from the surgery room.

Saul hoped Bob hadn't been taking a tipple as he playfully added:

"Stop choking the chicken mate… you're a Vet …you shouldn't be killing the kitten… you'll need a skin transplant on your knob if you overdo….,"

Saul blushed.

He commenced a quick verbal transformation to, "Oh sorry…oh sorry…" said caught out, all rough and male deep, then trying effusively gushingly bashfully polite: "So sorry…no excuse. So sorry…even if I thought it was Bob back there."

Then, ashamed, embarrassed silence.

"Mmm," the woman said, then added, "So you must be the town's resident deviant pervert?"

Yet, she smiled.

"No, that's not me; I'm Saul. Saul Mathews, local plumber, and this is Charlie."

"Well, let's take a look at Charlie; bring him through to the surgery, and you; well, bring your manners," but she grinned.

The female Vet had to be over thirty, but not the forty side of the thirties, thought Saul.

For a twenty-five-year-old male, the new Vet, he assumed that she was — she was not beyond his sexual interest radar.

Getting a genuine handle on her shape under the white lab coat, the hint of jeans and sneakers was complex.

Incomplete, to get an idea of her hair, it is currently tied up and netted. Also, it was impossible to see her hands stumpy or refined in their current gloved state. There was no hope of engaging her eyes shielded behind dark glasses. Her smile, though, remained instantly appealing. Maybe it was a sweet insight into her mind because her lips were thin and attractive without makeup.

Saul had nothing to sum her up on.

He did tell himself off and to respect her as a professional.

However, his eyes took in what they could as an unattached male in a female's company who wasn't geriatric. He lived in a small community with only the Watson sister's riverside whoring; maybe she was worth a retake.

Did you get a second chance after a filthy opening blast like his?

He should have come in the front and seen a new sign. He looked around; all the wall certifications still said Bob Clutterbuck.

Damn it; this was a new woman in town, probably left permanently unexplored by boyish joking stupidity.

Hell, why did Bob retire on impulse while he was up-country?

"Charlie, was it?"

She saw Saul nod; "he's not well; the eyes tell me that much. Can you leave him for a couple of days? I'll run some tests. I may have time to start this afternoon, Okay?"

"Sure, thanks; whatever you think."

She put Charlie on a drip and kennelled him. Saul just watched her specific professional skills.

"Marcia Grainger," she said, removing and disposing of the latex gloves.

Slender cock manicuring fingers; crossed his mind; then the politically correct; guys are hopeless, seeing every part of a woman's body as a sexual response unit. Her fingers were just elegant and attractive.

Then Marcia removed her lab coat to reveal a hand-knitted light-yellow jumper. Saul was agog; two hidden mangoes shaped her chest. His eyes went down, then back up. Fondle frenzy crossed his mind; then control yourself, mate; she's probably met the local parish priest and sings in the choir.

Next off came the hair net, and her locks were shaken loose.

Delightful, bouncy, shiny, shoulder length, brunette fringe, so cute.

Why did he think? Do guys then think matching pubes? 

He needed a cold shower, he told himself.

Respect the Vet.

Finally, the surgery glasses were off.

Oh, the fates don't play fair when you make that initial awful first impression, he thought, because her eyes were a liquid delight.

Brown was his initial thought.

Saul amended himself, a descriptive insult.

They were light chocolate melters, gorgeous.

Sexy beyond sexy, but without a lewd attached thought.

Only the wistful: Why hadn't Bob retired earlier? 

"How long have you been in town?" asked Saul, in no hurry to leave.

"Two weeks; yesterday, it's nice. I like the river. Everyone is friendly; the parish priest introduced himself. It's busy enough, work-wise."

"Where are you staying? Got a place or…?" Saul ferreted for detail.

"The guest house, run by Mrs Watson. Are those Watson girls more to your taste? Bernadette and Colleen, potty-mouthed like you."

Ouch, that was tough but fair, "Fair call," said Saul, "However, look, can I…can we… share a drink at the pub after you knock off. Can I get to know you on the right foot?"

She hesitated. There was the classic awkward silence. It was quieter than the nuns circulating the grounds at the local Retreat, where he had done a few plumbing call-outs. Saul turned to leave. You have to know when your first impression has killed you. He felt like a failure with women; it looked like another night of drinking alone at home. Then wank, followed by the lonely sleep.

He stood at the door, nearly through it.

"Okay; be back here at five when I lock up, okay?"

Softly spoken.

She had a great smile.

A broad grin came back from Saul.

Life was okay.

He stalled outside at the front.

Oh man, his Ute was round the back.

Should he go back or the long way round, through the alley?

Marcia opened the centre door: "Come back through, okay."

She took him in more fully.

Younger than her, maybe several years. Perhaps too young, possibly immature, a tad boyish.

Though she chided herself: at thirty-four, girl, stop being so choosy; stop being over-selective; your time will pass.

Then the melancholy; maybe it has already, and will my age turn him off?

"Yeah, stuffed that one too," said Saul as he headed out the rear door to the clinic's back car park.

He added unsurely, "Are we still on for five?"

Marcia screwed her face with lines on her forehead and just around her eyes. The deep think.

Saul saw her creases and thought; still looks okay.

Then she was okay, he pondered, coming from a guy who hadn't scored even a kiss in the past three months.

"Look, are you sure? I'm not going to hide it. I'm thirty-four; okay; are you okay with that?"

A number or a woman.

Saul took the girl.

"Sure; see you at five. I'm not in training pants. I'm twenty-five; okay; catch you later."

Saul used the time to shower and freshen up. He left his two-day stubble. The decisions a second chance guy has to make; if he shaved, she might think he was after her pussy tonight. Too pushy. How did you operate with an older, experienced woman? He had no idea.

Of course, he was after pussy like any guy meeting up with a woman; but you don't make it overly obvious.

The games we play for a one-off night or more.

He tidied up his workshop till five. He was in the practical, the impractical, their age gap; who knew?

Marcia closed the clinic at five.

She opened the front door and let Saul in.

By the Saints, he thought; she looked serious.

Saul was sure she had processed second, probably in his case, third thoughts.

"Sit down," she said.

He wondered if it was necessary. It was like she was getting ready to give him the goodbye speech, the dumping before they started.

Life was playing unfair; he hadn't even tried to kiss her.

"Saul, Charlie has diabetes," she let it sink in, then added, "It's treatable with injections and diet. Okay; are you okay?"

Saul paused silently, processing Charlie and ten great years, from pup to best mate to this.

"Yeah, can I see him?"

"Sure, but he's resting. I gave him a sedative for my tests."

Saul stood near the kennel.

Marcia waited behind him.

Charlie rested rather limp.

Saul's shoulders slumped.

Marcia put her hand on his arm to comfort him. Pure compassion. Touch for concern.

Saul turned, and his life became buried in her eyes.

Charming and caring.

Her warm chocolate pupils melted into a slurry of kindness.

He wanted to taste her, a strange thought, not her skin, taste her soul. 

Marcia saw an appeal beyond boyish good looks.

He gathered compassion under his gutter-brash, untrue exterior. Sky blue eyes held back tears.

She moved closer.

Saul did, too; very close, at the same time.

Eyes devastatingly sealed their mutual future. Just like that. The start of a lifetime together.

Still, a lifetime is a lifetime, composed of moments, and initial intense time is also held in a frenzy.

Their mouths scooped up each other. Tongues dredged space and sucked and explored in their intense rapid mutual invasion, barely breaking for hot, rushed gasps of air. They wanted to hollow each other out, be inside each other—tongues as exquisite foreplay. Genitals would soon engage them, staggering them with their pleasurable delights; they would emerge as lovers.

Marcia was gently eased from her clothes by Saul. She let him do it. Unlike their kissing, this had to be slow; this was romance. Her jumper, her jeans. Then she reciprocated; his pants and shirt—both down to their underwear; two adults in underwear.

She looked good for her age, a silly thought from Saul; corrected to, she looked great. She had on a matching lilac bra and panties, appealing. Still, her large, copious breasts were true beacons of allurement. He had no idea they had never been touched. He unhooked her bra. Tender fondling and kissing all over her breasts followed, including subtle, sensuous nipple kisses. She purred.

She ran her fingers through his hair. Then, her hands down his back. She rested there and pushed into his nice firm butt. This made his stiff penis push into her.

Their privates, though, remained separated by lace and boxer silk. The surge was there. Connecting ardency could not be contained.

Desire was explosive. He licked and kissed her beautiful, bountiful breasts, and the swellings of desire gained momentum further down, locking in their close, then closer bodies.

She had never held a male penis. It was in the instance affirming her feminine self, its hardness encapsulating all her softness, that she was ready to give. He petted her labia, so wet, surrounded and smothered by her pubic bushiness.

She wasn't sure what to say. Was it virgin confession time? How would he react to a mature virgin.? Would she disappoint a young, experienced male?

Marcia never had self-touched. It wasn't herself, wasn't her comfort zone, yet she wanted male. Always had, in the general sort of female need for maleness in a rounded life. It gets lost steadily in increments; senior college big boob shyness, lost in waning confidence when ignored at parties at Uni behind glasses, lost in your twenties as it slips by in securing a professional workplace.

There is always work; you are good at your job, let your job define you, and allow your sexual self to hibernate, but it is a dormant volcano. It doesn't take much to get inactive genitals active.

It only took a tongue gliding and sliding around her fleshy space. God, she was aroused and stirred. Hot, randy and worked up. Was this herself? She knew the science, the biology, the skin and organs; she clinically understood to pass exams and operate and save animal lives, but the lived sensation—nothing—absolutely nothing in life had prepared her for her first orgasm.

She felt the intense rise, accepted the pleasure coming and the expansive holding at a plateau. It seized her innards delicious, then unexpectedly explosive, as she peaked through the shattering discharge of bursting delight. It came. It held. It gathered into her core being. Circling and swooning through her. As it undulated, Marcia became aware her thighs squeezed his head between her legs; so intense was the pleasure.

She only wanted to give in return. The obvious. The exquiste natural. It was through her pussy.

She whispered, "Saul, gently, please. I'm still a virgin."

Saul, who had already been reduced to a tender male by Marcia's sweeping orgasm, softly reassured her, "It's okay. I want you."

Their bonding setting featured stainless clinical steel. Surgical white walls and generic tiled floor. Antiseptic nasal clean. They lay coupled on the surgery table, where pets were neutered or finally put to sleep.

There is a fine line between life and death; in between, there are our genitals.

It was seeking genitals and wrapping genitals. Nothing clinical about this moment. It was a dual emotional engagement. Saul's cock was glistening with precum, he was excited, and it was Marcia's rich pelt and her exposed fleshy lips that had excited him. 

Here was a woman who wanted something of him, plus his cock. It's the premium reassuring thought before sex.

It hurt her just slightly as he eased in, slowly, inch by inch. She was wet but constricting. Tight, yet not entirely relaxed. The tightness can push both ways, feel good or feel uncomfortable. Yet tight intimacy creates delight. He needed her to relax, for it to feel right tight. Marcia was unsure; she felt his penis in her; it felt fantastic but cramped too. Intimately releasing, but still, in the instance, bodily restricting.

Just for a moment, she thought, what is the fuss; where is the addiction? Where is the pleasure that brings you back and back repeatedly to this?

Then she felt his rhythmic moving stiffness as her girly bits relaxed by themselves, thank God.

Then sex launched intoxicating.

The friction of life pulsated in and out of her; she bent her legs up.

God knows why, but he went deeper with her doing this.

Cock deep in her, his body weight above her, feeling cock in herself.

Marcia sighed, flabbergasted that bodies could adhere to each other like this. A traction for two; her natural grip on a penis surprised her, as did the gyrating exertion of them paired.

Marcia felt euphoric, then thought, am I divested of decency; am I easy, readily surrendering myself in all places, my workspace? Will he respect me later? 

Yet she accepted their hungry sexual embrace and was glad to be separated from her virginity; frankly, she knew it was long overdue.

A woman over thirty, single, unattached, something will give.

Hopefully, not self-esteem; the self is brittle, fragile like genitalia; her crinkly folds of layered flesh resting on each other, hidden from all, yet now given to one.

Would he respect her? 

Respect echoed underneath her pleasure.

When you haven't had one ever, the cock operating inside you, in the immediate instance, feels perfect.

She didn't care about its size or shape; it was erect and ready and in her. Marcia embraced the crucial bit; being you; cock for you; she savoured that part; her pussy was single no longer.

The thoroughly sensed feel of maleness was great; it dominated everything.

Yet she momentarily thought: Who are you now? You are the same, yet forever different; this is wonderful, this is embraced, this is you, this is Saul, and this is the two of you.

Saul groaned, and his body pressed harder into her; his penis jerked and jerked, it moved faster, and he felt terrific to be with Marcia.

Marcia panted, happy.

She wrapped her legs and arms around Saul. She didn't want ever to let go.

He accepted the holding.

Marcia thought this is nice; this is comforting; maybe, he will respect you.

Saul edged up on his elbows.

He only wanted to look into her fully melted chocolate droplets. Still, he glanced, drawn by the smear of blood on the surgery table.

However, he took Marcia at the moment as Marcia. Only Marcia.

...

He invited her home to sleep with him.

Respect is mutual. Here is love's beginning.

They sleep together and make love as one until they are married in the spring.

….

The rhythm of a close-knit community meanders on like its river. The Watson sisters get dogged regularly by itinerant shearers and seasonal fruit workers after the pub closes in the evening, always by the riverbank.

Bob and Saul's father share beers quietly on a sun-drenched veranda, knowing their town will live on. Marcia is pregnant, and the local gossips ensures the whole town knows the news.

Life, its tempos, the gelling of separate selves to one unit of sharing. Shared right now, fully today, and planning for tomorrow.

Sex is beautiful when respectfully shared.

If you have the love, hold the romance; live the intimacy daily, like Saul and Marcia.