Neurotica (19 page)

“You see,” she said and then hesitated as her eyes
alighted on a photograph of a woman with saggy breasts similar
to her own. She clenched both fists and turned back towards Alex.

“You see .   .   . Oh, what the hell, I'm
just going to come right out with it.” She took a deep breath.
“The point is, I've had two children. I breast-fed both of
them and, well .   .   . I look a bit like her.”
She pointed to the picture behind her.

“And you're frightened,” Alex said kindly as he moved
towards her, “that because of what I do, I will judge you
and humiliate you.”

Anna nodded. He took her hand and led her to the sofa.
He sat her down.

“I promise I would never, ever do such a thing.” As
he kissed her, his hand reached under her short pink suit jacket
and moved up to her breasts. Anna could feel her anxiety beginning
to melt.

“You know,” she said when they'd finished and she was
resting her head on Alex's shoulder, “I've never told anybody
in the world—not even my husband—but I sometimes
have these really depraved sexual fantasies about doctors.” No
sooner had she said the words than her hand shot over her mouth.
“Oh, God, I'm sorry .   .   . I have absolutely
no idea what made me say that.”

Alex burst out laughing. He was clearly unperturbed by
her revelation.

“What, being tied down by men in white coats, legs in
stirrups, that kind of stuff? Loads of women do. It's quite
common.”

They were quiet for a while. Alex spoke first.

“I've got an idea.” His voice was brimming over with
sexual promise.

Anna had thought several times since they first met that
Alex, with his conservative gray suits and polite, diffident
manner, might not be the most imaginative of lovers. She sensed
she was on the point of being proved wrong. Not only was she
about to be taken to rebellion's very pinnacle by committing
adultery with a man who looked like a Nazi, but it appeared
that he was going to insist they took a scenic detour round
debauchery heights. Excitement gushed through her like
millions of gallons of water filling a dam. She got the feeling
the glass of wine he'd suggested in Whittaker's was never going
to materialize.

“Stand up,” Alex ordered. There was an almost harsh
edge to his voice. Without asking why, she did as she was told.

“Take off all your clothes. I want to take a look
at you.”

Anna took off her jacket and stood in front of him in her
white top and short skirt. She could feel her face
going red, humiliation beginning to overtake her. At the same
time she was feeling indescribably horny.

Realizing she was wetter than a rainy Sunday in Frinton,
she unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. Alex didn't move
from the sofa. His eyes were on her legs and crotch. There
wasn't a trace of emotion on his face.

As she stepped out of her shoes and rolled down her
pantyhose, Alex yanked at his tie and undid the top button of
his shirt. Anna pulled the top over her head and then stood there
in her creamy lace bra and panties. She unhooked the bra and pulled
it away. Finally she pulled down her panties and stepped out
of them.

Alex still said nothing. He just stared at her dispassionately.
After what seemed like ages he got up and came towards her, but
didn't touch her. He began walking over to the surgical screens.
Anna followed him, feeling that her legs were about to give way.
He folded back the screen to reveal an examination couch.

“Climb up.” His voice was cold and matter-of-fact. Once
again Anna did as she was told. As she lay on the couch, her
head on a pillow, he caressed her belly. Then, taking his time,
he stroked each of her breasts in turn. Anna could feel moisture
seeping from between her legs.

Brushing past her pubic hair, he moved his hand down to the
insides of her thighs.

“Please, please, touch me,” she begged.

“Ssh, relax. What I want you to do now is bend your knees and
bring them onto your chest.” She did as he asked.

Alex picked up a doctor's rubber glove from a small cart next
to the couch. He pushed his hand into it. Anna heard it snap round
his wrist. Then he reached for a tube.

Christ, she thought. It's K-Y jelly. What the fuck does a
cosmetic surgeon want with K-Y jelly? He must make a habit of this.
She didn't have time to pursue the thought. Slowly, Alex was running
his finger back and forth from her bottom to her clitoris.

“You know, Alex,” she said, gasping through the ecstasy,
“you are a power-crazed pervert. And I'll kill you if you say “Yes,
but you're loving every minute of it.' ”

A brief shadow of a smile crossed Alex's face. He turned back
towards the cart and from the bottom shelf produced two lengths
of what looked like washing-line cord.

“Lift your hands above your head,” he ordered. She moved
her hands.

“That's good,” he said. “Very good.” He moved to the head
end of the couch. She whimpered as he began gently twisting the cord
round one wrist. He wound the last six or seven inches of each piece
of cord tightly round the top of the couch leg so that she couldn't
move her arms.

Finally he pulled out some kind of extension at the end of the
couch. Anna realized the couch was now Y-shaped. This meant there
was a gap at the bottom where Alex could stand and have easier access
to her. From nowhere he produced a pair of stirrups. For a second or
two Anna found herself losing concentration.

“Christ, you're like bloomin' Mary Poppins. I suppose you've
got a lamp stand and a mirror stashed away down there as well.”

Ignoring her, he began pushing her feet into the stirrups.
Spread-eagled now, she was completely helpless. Then he picked up the
tube and put some more jelly on his fingers. By now Anna was arching
her back and writhing with the sheer wantonness of it all.

“Just let your legs flop open.”

“I haven't got much choice in these bloody things.” But she
made a conscious effort to relax the muscles in her vagina. She felt
him gently prise open her inner labia. As he slipped two fingers up
inside her she cried out.

“Good. That's excellent,” he said, pushing into her a little
harder and turning his fingers.

Rhythmically he moved his fingers inside her vagina. With his
other hand he went back to stroking her anus and clitoris in
turn. She begged him to put more pressure on her clitoris, but
he ignored her.

Anna moaned in protest. Then Alex produced two metal
phallic-shaped objects. One was much thicker than the other. The
thicker one he inserted expertly into her vagina. With extreme
gentleness and care he pushed the second one a centimeter or so into
her anus.

By now Anna's eyes were closed and she was taking sharp,
shallow breaths. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he increased the
pressure on her clitoris. Anna felt herself floating. Alex continued
to stroke her. Then, as she felt she was about to lose consciousness,
she felt the first tiny tremor inside her. She opened her eyes for a
few seconds and focused on Alex's blue eyes and flaxen hair, the
continuing cold indifference in his Aryan face. She heard herself
cry out:

“Liebchen, liebchen, oh .   .   . oh .   .   . das ist so wunderbar, mein liebchen. Du
hast ein Blitzkrieg between mein thighs gemacht.”

She came in short, electrified jerks which made her whole body
go rigid. For a few minutes, as she lay there warm and relaxed, Alex
stroked her hair. Then he took her feet from
the stirrups and began
untying her hands. Finally he covered
her in a pale-blue sheet, kissed
her on the mouth and whispered:

“Anna, you're the first woman I've met who can come in a
foreign language.”

“German's nothing. .   .   . In Latvian I really
let rip.”

Anna reached for his hand and pulled him towards her. As they
kissed, she moved her hand down between his legs and traced the
outline of his erection.

She sat herself up and let the sheet fall. She undid his belt,
but he stopped her.

“Let's go over to the sofa. There's a bit more room.”

As they stood in front of the sofa, Anna helped him off with
his jacket and shirt. Then she unzipped his fly and lowered the front
of his pants. Kneeling down, she took his penis in her hand and
brought her mouth down towards it. As she ran her tongue over the
length and tip of his penis, he let out a series of long, slow
moans.

All of a sudden his voice became urgent. “I want to feel you
again. Now. Sit on the sofa.”

She sat down while he pulled off his trousers and
underpants.

“Bend your knees and bring your feet onto the sofa. That's it.
Now open yourself wide with your fingers.”

Anna spread open her labia. He knelt down and made her lean
onto the back of the sofa. Bringing his head between her legs, he
began flicking her clitoris with his tongue. Then he turned her round
so that she was lying along the length of the sofa and pulled himself
on top of her.

Anna reached for his penis and rubbed it over the entrance to
her vagina. Urgently he kissed her face, pushed his tongue into her
mouth and pleaded with her to let him come inside her. This time it
was her turn to make him wait. Finally she relented. He let out a long
sigh as he entered her. His thrusts were long and hard.

After a few minutes Anna insisted they change positions. She
eased herself from under him. On top now, she rose and fell on him
he while he cupped her breasts. His breathing became faster and
faster. Anna watched him as he finally held his breath and his body
quivered and shook. His orgasm seemed to last for ages. Finally he
half opened his eyes and kissed her.

They lay with Anna still on top of him for several minutes.
Then he moved himself to one side.

“Open your legs again.” He ran his fingers over the moisture
on the insides of her thighs and then parted her. She came in seconds.
Afterwards Alex covered her face and breasts in kisses.

“You are very, very beautiful. Promise me you won't ever try
and change your body. It's perfect just as it is.”

Anna was about to quote from
Shirley Valentine
and
declare that “men are so full of shit,” but she thought it might
be ungracious. Instead she smiled, promised and pulled herself back
on top of him, as she was about to fall off the edge of the sofa. For
a while they lay there saying nothing. Anna rested her head on Alex's
chest and he stroked her hair. After a while her gaze was drawn back
to the before-and-after pictures on the wall. She began studying the
face-lifts. She couldn't quite put her finger on why, but the surgery
seemed to have given the women a strange, timeless quality. Anna
decided there was something unnatural, even mutantlike, about
their faces. Lacking both the character of middle age and the
filled-out plumpness of youth, it was as if they existed in some kind
of strange, ageless limbo.

She turned her head back towards Alex. She couldn't help
noticing he looked a bit pale.

“You OK? You look like the excitement's been a bit too
much.”

“No, I'm fine.” Alex was rubbing the center of his chest with
his fist. “I think I may have a bit of indigestion from all those
cream cakes.”

Anna thought it best to climb off him. She stood up and walked
across the room to pick up the sheet she'd dropped on the floor
next to the examination couch. She wrapped it round her. She found
another one folded on a chair next to the couch. Perching on the
edge of the sofa, she covered Alex with it. He was still rubbing his
chest.

“So,” she said, “have you operated on anyone famous? Are
there any soap star secrets a tabloid hack should know about?”

“Even if there were, you know full well I'm not allowed to
tell you.” He tapped the end of her nose with his forefinger.

“Anyway, to tell you the truth, I haven't really done
anyone famous,” he went on. “The nearest I got was last year. An
American writer, some sort of feminist academic I think she is, came
to see me and ended up having a whole load of work done. If I
remember she had breast, cheek and chin implants, a bottom lift,
liposuction, the lot. Why she didn't have the work done in the
States, I've no idea.”

As her brain suddenly lurched into top gear, Anna leaped up
from the sofa. Her mind and heart were racing. It couldn't be. Then
again it just fucking might be.

“This woman,” she said, trying to sound as casual as she
possibly could, “I think I might know who she is. Alex, I know you
can't tell me her name, but if I say who I think it is, do you think
you could just wink at me if I'm right?”

“Can't imagine why you're so interested in some obscure Harvard
academic. She's not exactly tabloid material.”

“Alex, if this is who I think it is, she writes these shrill,
severely holier-than-thou books denouncing women who've had cosmetic
surgery and calling them traitors to the feminist sisterhood. She's
due over here soon to publicize her latest book, which is on
adultery. Alex, please, please, this is really important for me to
know. Just blink if I'm right. .   .   . Is her name
Rachel Stern?”

He blinked.

“Hang on, was that a blink blink or a yes-it-was-Rachel-Stern
blink?”

Alex blinked both eyes like Benny Hill, making a funny face at
the same time.

Anna hugged him tightly and kissed him on the forehead.
“Gotcha, you hypocritical bitch,” she muttered, punching the air.
Running her fingers through his hair, she began turning over in her
mind how and when she would release the story. Curiously, Alex had
said nothing; she was expecting him at any moment to start blustering
about patient confidentiality.

It was as her mind was running amok that she noticed he seemed
to be reacting rather worse to having revealed a patient's identity
than she had thought.

His face was turning white, then whiter. Beads of sweat were
beginning to appear on his forehead.