Abducted   (M/F+ not sci-fi)
 
There were too many frantic blips on the mobile phone's 
message bank. I'd already walked over a pile of slips 
thrust under the hotel room door. No point picking up the 
hotel phone because I didn't need to be told. I was waist-
high in deep shit trouble.

I drank a long glass of water because I needed it. After 
one prolonged sigh so I could feel sufficiently sorry for 
myself, I picked up the mobile and rang the boss.

Instantly he was shouting. And swearing. He had as foul a 
mouth as any man in all Australia, and the only difference 
today was that he was doing it louder than normal. I waited 
for him to wind down.

"Ace," he said menacingly when he'd stopped ranting. 
"You've really fucked yourself this time. There's no way 
you can make up for the aggravation you've caused me in the 
past 40 hours so don't even try. But I need to know for the 
record. What's your excuse?"

"No excuse," I said. "But I do have a story."

"A story? What the fuck use is a story? What am I going to 
tell the fucking clients? Don't fucking worry about the 
fucking contracts because fucking Ace has a fucking story?"

"But it is a good fucking story, boss. Unusual, and that's 
understating it."

Silence. Then: "You are fucking incorrigible. A real good 
story?"

"Amazing. You'll want to hear it. But it's too long to tell 
over the phone. I'm flying out today and I'll see you 
tomorrow."

"Ace, you're too fucking evil," said the boss. Which was 
good. I'd hooked him. He sighed loudly. "All right. I'll 
make up some excuse. I'll say you were abducted by aliens 
or something."

"Boss, that's uncannily close to the truth. And I am in New 
Zealand, remember?"

"Shit," he said savagely. "I fear for international 
relations. This had better be a good story. One of your 
fucking best." And he rang off.

Poor old fucking him, back in Sydney, wracked by ulcers and 
fearful of a heart condition. He'd worked too hard too long 
and his days of dash and danger were long gone. But I liked 
him and he liked me. He also liked vicariously the stories 
I sometimes told him over long lunches. And I did have a 
story to tell.

Abducted by aliens. They sure were strange, these New 
Zealand sheilas. So upfront. Must be something in the 
water. That, or it's a byproduct of Kiwi male culture. I 
mean, have you ever met a New Zealand male who didn't claim 
to have trialled for the All Blacks? Perhaps they ought to 
pay a little less attention to the pigskin and a little 
more to the local fauna. And I'm not talking sheep.

I was in Nelson, at the top of the South Island. Nice quiet 
place. Good seafood. Famous for its scallops. At lunch 
two days ago I'd eaten a couple of hundred. And that night, 
fairly early, I'd been sitting in the lobby bar of the 
hotel with a quiet drink but not a chance of an appetite 
and looking through a few business papers when a woman 
plonked herself in front of me opposite the little low 
table.

"You've got to help me," she said.

Very direct. She wasn't smiling so it wasn't a joke. In 
fact she looked anxious. Pleasant looking woman, apart from 
the frown. Mid-to-late twenties, maybe slightly chubby but 
no problem, well-dressed for sleepy Nelson town, and a 
broad and open face not immediately pretty but probably the 
next best thing. In other words, a reasonably average 
routinely desirable female. Why would she need help? The 
query was on my face.

"I need a place to stay the night," she said, continuing to 
look at me earnestly.

"Ah, look," I said carefully. "I'm not a local inhabitant. 
I'm staying here at the hotel."

She waved her hand impatiently. "I know that. I'm the 
reception manager. I know who you are."

"So why can't you just take a room? You're hardly full up."

She jerked her head minimally over her left shoulder. "You 
see him?"

I looked. All I could see was a guy in a chef's uniform. 
"The chef?"

"That's him," she said. "If I take a spare room he'll know 
about it."

Indeed the chef seemed to be hovering suspiciously on the 
other side of the room. He was thickset and looked like a 
mutineer on the verge of it. He also had a No.1 haircut and 
that's never a good sign.

"You could go home," I suggested.

"He'd follow me."

"Bad news?"

"Very bad."

"Why me?"

A smile twitched on her face. "You're passing through. And 
I like you."

"You don't even know me."

"I like you anyway."

Well, this was sheer waste. I'm not called Ace for nothing. 
I know how to flick the switches on a girl. I'm good at it, 
and I'd been having a very good run lately. A wise man had 
told me a year or so previously that if you treated women 
with politeness and respect, they'd more often say yes than 
no when you asked them. He was perfectly right, and I'd 
been having a lovely run. But this Kiwi sheila had simply 
turned up out of the blue and said ready when you are. It 
was deflating, like knowing the full-time score before the 
game.

"So you want to go to my room?" I asked politely and with 
respect.

"Not together," she said. "I work here. And besides...". 
She tossed her head again in the direction of the burly and 
surly chef. "I'll go now and you come a bit a later."

"You know the number? You want my key?"

"I'll use my passkey." She stood up. "Thanks. See you 
soon."

I sat there, finished my drink and had another. The chef 
had vanished. I let about 20 minutes go by and went up to 
the room, more curious than anything. I opened the door and 
the light was on. She was already tucked away in bed and 
she sat up, bare breasts swaying, with the easy welcoming 
smile of a wife. The whole scene was matter-of-fact, like I 
should be tossing a briefcase on the table and complaining 
about a tough day at the office.

She patted the bed meaningfully. "It's my day off tomorrow 
and I have prior plans," she said. "Get your gear off, 
Donald. I need to get some sleep later tonight."

Donald? Hang on, that was me. "Everybody calls me Ace," I 
said. Now if she'd said Don I would have known instantly. 
But Donald? It might have been on my passport but even my 
mother didn't call me that.

"Ace?" She raised her eyebrows. "Sounds promising."

It was time to get down and dirty. The field was under 
starter's orders. The gentlemen had started their engines. 
The contestants had touched gloves. We'd been through set-
your-marks and there was only go to go. But I was loitering 
without intent. Somehow it wasn't right. It was like a 
friend bringing you a gift of a beautiful big barramundi 
from his great fishing trip. Only you never wanted the 
fucking fish; you wanted the fucking trip.

I became tentatively and tepidly naked. A man in his prime 
is supposed to appear jauntily eager but everything pointed 
down and all my veins were running sluggish. I slipped 
quickly under the sheets, hoping to catch a wave of 
adrenaline somewhere sometime soon.

We kissed. That was easy. I fondled. No worries. She 
started to grope downwards and I was still waiting for the 
wave so I seized the initiative and submerged like a 
champion muff diver. She was delighted. Whoever she was. I 
still didn't know her name. We hadn't been introduced. But 
I knew my duty and if I couldn't behave in studly fashion 
at that moment at least I could eat her out assiduously. 
"Oh Ace," she said gushingly. "You're bad."

Fortunately it doesn't require passion to eat a girl out, 
just experience and application. The humidity increased 
under the blankets exponentially and so did the degrees of 
her delight, although she climaxed modestly and almost 
demurely. I resurfaced to replenish the oxygen tanks and 
discovered with some relief that my dick had hardened 
adequately. In fact it was so bone hard it was a menacing 
weapon. Perhaps it had been the satisfaction of completing 
a task to somebody else's satisfaction that had done it. No 
matter. I rolled on the ready condom while she watched 
approvingly. Ace could and would perform this night.

Boy, did I perform, let me tell you. On and on, like the 
Hash House Harriers. I was a dildo with handles and I 
didn't need a battery. She was already orgasmically 
inclined following a liberal eat-out and she went up and 
over pretty soon. And on and on I went. Oh no, she said 
sometime later, surprise in her voice, and climbed the hill 
again. On and on. Oh no, she said still later, and did it 
again. On and on. Oh fuck no, she said, and this time she 
sounded panicky, like she meant it.

So I faked it. I wouldn't kid you. Really. I'm reasonably 
fit but I was getting pretty tired, and the truth of it was 
I was nowhere near where I needed to be. The tide was out 
and nothing was happening. And anyway she'd moved out of 
her comfort zone and she seemed more than a little 
concerned that she'd found herself in the sack with 
Metronome Man.

I faked it. Yes, I said, though I felt no. I shook my hips, 
arched my back, lifted my head, looked beseechingly at the 
ceiling as though there was after all a God. And for 
dramatic effect I thumped the pillow beside her head with a 
savage downward karate chop. Not a bad performance. I'd 
done all these things before in real-time orgasm but I 
don't think I'd ever put them together in a choreographed 
and logical sequence. I was impressed. It looked and 
sounded to me like I'd had a damned good time. Even wished 
I'd seen in it a mirror.

Trouble was I was still bone hard, and not pleasantly so. 
The condom was empty and tight and uncomfortable. I swished 
quickly out of the bed and into the bathroom, flushed away 
the condom and scratched my head perplexed as I looked at 
my reflection in the mirror. The thing jutted out 
resolutely and unreasonably. It was like an internal gear 
had jammed and stuck me with a frozen hard-on. Something 
didn't feel right.

Because I couldn't do anything else I wandered back to the 
bed. "Jesus," she said, and there was a hint of awe in her 
voice. "You're ready to go again?"

I shrugged deprecatingly, as though I could if I wanted to 
but no big deal if she didn't. I was standing beside the 
bed with an iron bar erection waving in the gentle air-
conditioned breeze and she kept switching her eyes between 
it and my face. "Small wonder they call you Ace," she said. 
"I don't think I'll be able to walk for two days. Who are 
you? What do you do?"

"I'm a fixit man," I said, giving my stock answer.

"You can say that again. Jesus. Look, I need some sleep."

"No problem," I said.

She stretched out a hand unenthusiastically. "I could, 
well, you know..."

"No need," I said. "I'll sleep too." Which I did, pointing 
my rock-hard boner away from her protectively.

She woke me by pushing me on the shoulder. It was still 
dark. "I have a good idea," she said. "Come back to my 
place and I'll make you a fabulous old-fashioned 
breakfast."

I hadn't eaten since the monster scallops lunch the day 
before. It sounded appealing. I clicked on the light and 
looked at the clock. 05.55. An early start to the day 
wouldn't go amiss and I had plenty of work to do later on.

"You've got me," I said, and rolled out of bed. The boner 
was still a boner. Diamond hard. Unyielding.

"Mother of God," she said, looking. "Don't you ever do 
anything else?"

She drove me to her house, only about 15 minutes away, and 
I was uncomfortably aware of the stiff dick that wouldn't 
go away. The bumpy ride bounced and scraped it inside my 
trousers. I'd never felt less sexually charged in my life 
and I couldn't figure out why it wouldn't die. True to her 
word, her breakfast was greasily sumptuous.

"Who taught you that?" I asked. "The chef?"

"Not likely. He's gay. Wouldn't give me the time of day."

"But I thought..."

"I made that up," she confessed cheerfully. "I needed an 
excuse to chat you up and he was in the right place at the 
right time. Fancied you from the moment you came in the 
door. Want to take a shower with me now?"

I did. I was hoping for a beneficial effect because my 
stiff penis was starting to cramp the muscles in my 
abdomen. No benefit at all. The hot water increased my 
discomfort and I backed away courteously to let her have 
the major portion of it. I flinched when she grabbed me. It 
wasn't pleasant. She soaped me with soft hands and that was 
a bit better but it still wasn't right.

She started to drop to her knees in the shower, ready to 
give me a Kiwi blowjob. But I pulled her back up. "You'll 
drown," I said. But that wasn't the real reason. I just 
knew it was going to be painful and I knew my plumbing 
wasn't going to work. She was a little hurt, I think. 
Trouble was, I'd never been less turned on in my life, 
despite the obvious evidence to the contrary.

We dried off with towels and she looked at me speculatively 
as she slipped on a dressing gown. "Listen, Ace," she said. 
"How would you like to do me a very big favour?"

What an awful thing to put to a gentleman. How can you say 
no? Besides, I was acutely aware I'd just rejected her. "If 
I can," I said warily. "What?"

"Well, I share this house with a friend. And tomorrow is 
her birthday. I was thinking I'd give her an early 
present." She took my hand and led me to the door. "Guess 
what? It's you."

Moments later, while I was still coming to terms with it, I 
was standing naked in a bedroom while a female rolled over 
in bed and sat up rubbing her eyes. She saw me, fully naked 
and wholly erected, and rubbed her eyes again. "Holy shit," 
she said.

"Wake up, dear," said the reception manageress whose name I 
still didn't know. "Here's your birthday present from me. 
His name is Ace and you'd better believe it. Don't ever say 
again I never do anything for you." She tugged me forward 
by the hand so I was standing directly beside the bed and 
patted me smartly on the backside. "I'll see you both some 
time later."

She left the room and shut the door. The girl in the bed 
started slowly to smile and then broke into giggles. "Dear 
me," she said, recovering. She swept back the covers on the 
bed. "It's rude to send back a present so I guess you'd 
better get in."

She was wearing a cheap nightgown. She was also never going 
to threaten the runner-up in a beauty contest. A small 
girl, skinnyish, with that nothing sort of hair that won't 
allow itself to be described. A mousy girl, especially at 
this time of the day, but not unpleasant. Not stupid 
either, because I could see a sharp sense of humour in her 
eyes.

"Hi Ace," she said from close range beside me. "That can't 
be your real name, can it? I'm Carol."

"Hi Carol," I said. "And yes it is. Everybody calls me 
that."

"She's a terrible person," said Carol. "But I can't fail to 
be impressed if you come with her recommendation. I could 
tell you stories about her that would make your hair curl."

"You could fix a problem for me," I said. "What's her 
name?"

She laughed, throwing her head back. "You slept with her 
and you don't know her name? It's Marilyn. Looks like you 
made more of an impression on her than she made on you." 
She laughed again, delighted with this.

"Sounds like you don't like her all that much," I observed.

"She's my very best friend. But that doesn't mean I can't 
hate her sometimes."

"Look," I said. "This is all quite silly. I can just slip 
away quietly and you can tell her what you like."

"Oh no," she said. "I've never been one to look a gift 
horse in the mouth. And you're quite dishy." She put out a 
hand and ran the heel of it hard down my chest and stomach. 
"You have a very nice body." 

She sat up straight and peeled the nightgown over her head. 
"Unfortunately I don't," she said, looking directly at me.

"You do all right," I said. What else could I say? And 
anyway she had the right things in the right places, which 
after all is all that is ever required.

She peeled back the blanket and sheet and looked at my hard 
penis. "You certainly give a girl all the right signals. 
Nothing ambiguous here." She took hold of it softly but 
still I winced. It was not so much painful as tender, like 
a swollen spider-bite.

There was nothing for it but to do it. How could I not? If 
I tried to explain she'd think I was turning her down 
because she was plain, and I just can't hurt females like 
that because they're too plainly vulnerable. Never did I 
feel less like fucking, but that was the way it was going 
to have to be.

I moved through the preliminaries with polish and 
confidence, secure in the knowledge that whatever I felt it 
wasn't going to matter a damn to the never-ending erection. 
She was the one to be warmed up. I didn't need it. I didn't 
need anything.

Wait. There was something I might need. "I don't have a 
condom," I said.

She blinked at me, focusing. She was pretty warmed up. 
"Oh," she said. She reached out, snapped open a drawer on 
the bedside chest, withdrew the item and flourished it in 
front of my face. "There you go," she said. "I knew my 
emergency supply would come in handy some day. Just don't 
look at the use-by date."

I'd been dreading it but it was not so bad. As long as I 
kept it long, slow and smooth the discomfort was minimal. 
It was even soothing. On and on I went, long, slow and 
smooth. Still no sign of a tidal surge, though. Not a 
tingle. Nothing. She was a whimperer, this one. Never been 
certain about whimperers. It always sounded like the noise 
you made when you thought you ought to be making a noise. 

On and on from me. Whimpering from her. Time passed, long, 
slow and smooth. She reached around me and stuck her 
fingernails into my back. Never been certain about back-
scratchers. Ditto reason.

Something had to give and it wasn't going to be me. She 
started to give and she stopped whimpering and scratching. 
But she was thrusting, and doing it vigorously, and it 
hurt. I looked searchingly and hopefully into her eyes 
looking for a sign but she was dull and unfocused. And out 
of nowhere she did it, tensing and shuddering and curling 
her lip. I stopped, gratefully.

"Holy shit," she said, and she was damp all over. "That 
almost never happens."

"Let's try for a double," I said, resigned to it, and 
started again. Long, smooth and slow.

"Holy shit," she said. And it took no time at all. 
Comparatively. And to complete the job I faked it again, 
getting it simultaneously right on cue. I was too sore to 
go on.

"I'm a sex machine," she said a little later, pleased with 
herself. "Always wanted to be but thought I'd never make it."

"Happy birthday, sex machine," I said.

"Ace, you are..."

"What?"

"An ace, I guess. Either that or an alien."

I rolled away, tired, and lay face down so she couldn't see 
I was still bone dry and bone hard. I dozed. She talked a 
bit but I didn't hear the words. I thought I dozed but I 
must have slept, because I woke suddenly, knowing it was 
much later, and aware of two women standing beside the bed. 
I looked at my watch. 12.25. Shit. I was missing 
appointments.

"Gotta go," I said to Marilyn and Carol. "Where are my 
clothes?"

"We were hoping you'd stay," said Marilyn.

"No," I said. "Can't." I sprang out of the bed. Too 
energetically. The erection from hell bounced painfully and 
I sat back on the bed, ashen-faced, and waited for the 
shooting muscle spasms in my abdomen to subside.

"Now, will you look at that," said Marilyn. "We were 
wondering whether you were up for a wee bit more action and 
now I guess we know the answer."

"Ladies," I said. "I really do have to get to work. My 
clothes?"

"Not telling you," said Carol. "Consider yourself 
abducted." They both laughed hugely.

I didn't. "No, really," I said. "I have work to do."

"Indeed you do," said Marilyn. They both laughed again. 
"Come on," she said, taking my hand and pulling me upright. 
She towed me down the corridor and I hoped I was being 
shown to my clothes. Alas no. In the lounge sat a woman 
looking anxious. Her eyes widened as I was led to the 
centre of the room, erection thrusting before me.

Carol had a hint of triumph in her voice. "Lesley," she 
said, "I want you to meet the incredible Ace."

Lesley was obviously flustered and embarrassed. She was an 
older woman, perhaps 40, with tired lines at her mouth and 
around her eyes. "Oh my God," she said faintly. "You 
weren't joking. I thought you were."

"Lesley lives next door," said Marilyn to me. "Her husband, 
who is a jerk, has lost interest in her and found it in 
somebody else. We keep telling her it's not her fault but 
she doesn't believe us. We tell her she's as sexy as all 
hell but she doesn't believe us. We tell her to screw other 
guys but she won't. Ace, we want you to show her how sexy 
she still is. What do you say?"

What did I say? What could I say? I was caught in a loop. 
There was no possible escape. The human obligation 
outweighed any other consideration. I just can't hurt 
people like that. I can't. "It would be my pleasure," I 
said.

Lesley said no with her voice and her hands but it was 
plain to see she was thinking maybe. She was looking to be 
coaxed. And while they coaxed her I stood in the middle of 
the room with a hard-on watching her and she sat on the 
sofa with a coy smile watching me. She was older and 
heavier and not in pristine condition. But there was a sexy 
slyness about her that was appealing. That, and the way her 
body moved and the way her breasts hung substantially low 
under the scooped neckline of her simple dress.

"Come on," I said to her. I stepped forward and took her 
hand, raising her from the couch, and she came without a 
look back.     

Lesley was shy about getting undressed, which I thought was 
unreasonable given my manifest condition. She wanted me to 
look away while she took off her clothes and slipped 
between the sheets. "Shit no," I said. "Looks to me like 
there's a power pack under there and I want to see it 
stripped down." 

She emerged from her clothes hesitatingly, her eyes 
flicking back to me, wary about the way she was being 
received. She didn't need to apologise. She was built 
solidly the way a lot of women tend to be when they 
pack the weight and worry of a few years on their figures. 
They lose their girlish waists somewhere. The waist slips 
down, I think, to the hips and disappears. But Lesley had 
fine good legs and full and rich tits which bobbed and 
swayed with her every movement. I swear if I hadn't had an 
erection for 16 hours I would have raised one in an 
instant. This was a fuck-me type of woman.

I messed her about a bit on the bed and soon she was 
rolling her hips impatiently. I snatched another condom 
from Carol's bedside drawer and slid easily into her 
without delay. Long, smooth and slow. It didn't hurt but 
neither did it summon any hope of emission. I could tell. 
Again, it wasn't going to happen. Sighing internally, I 
settled down to do another job of work.

Lush Lesley was like a thunderstorm coming in from the 
west. Warning rumbles, a rising moan like a fast 
approaching wind, and then it was on her in a flash. The 
bed shook. She shrieked. Violence threatened. And just as 
suddenly it was past and she was still and calm. She 
slanted her eyes at me. "Oh fuck," she said softly and 
apologetically. "I think I made a lot of noise."

One of the girls banged on the door and shouted: "Way to 
go, Lesley."

"I think you did," I said.

"Oh my Lord," she muttered. "How embarrassing. I'll never 
live this down."

"You might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb," I said, 
beginning afresh.

I had to fake it again but she got an hour from me, on and 
off, before it became necessary. I did my duty. And it 
hurt, but I put off thinking about it because there nothing 
I could do but run away.

I was allowed to dress in my clothes. At the door Lesley 
kissed me slushily before wandering back home. Marilyn and 
Carol drove me back to the hotel. I waved goodbye, walked 
inside and straight out again. I'd seen, just around the 
corner, a medical clinic and that's where I knew I ought to 
be. The stiff thing had been with me for more than 20 hours 
and something was definitely wrong.

It was late and the receptionist was clearly reluctant. Two 
of the doctors had already left and the other was seeing 
the final patient. Just passing through, I said. It was 
urgent and I'd pay cash; which did the trick. After 15 
minutes an old lady shuffled out the door and I was shown 
in to see the doctor.

She did not look thrilled to see me and I was horrified to 
see her. I had set myself for an embarrassing consultation 
but I had not set myself for a female doctor. I guess it 
showed on my face.

"Yes?" Her tone was irritable.

I was speechless. Not only a woman was she but she was more 
than a woman to me. She was very good looking. Very. About 
30, at a guess, with yellow-blonde hair swept back tightly 
into a knot behind her head. She looked up at me with cool 
hazel eyes over the rim of her tiny gold reading glasses. 
Thin lips. High cheek bones. Arched eyebrows. I love it 
when they look severe like that.

"Yes?" She snapped it again, more irritably.

I grimaced and her frown deepened. "I'm terribly sorry," I 
said. "I just wasn't expecting to see a female doctor. I'm 
a bit taken aback."

"Yes, well," she said, with irony laid on so heavily I 
could not have missed her intent if I had been a three-toed 
sloth, "we may not be the most progressive country on earth 
but we have reached the stage where we let the occasional 
token female into the medical profession."

"No no," I said hastily. "I have nothing against women 
doctors. I just didn't expect this evening to have show one 
my penis. Especially in its current state."

I did not think it possible her frown could become 
frownier. But it did. "And what state is that?"

"Um, it's erect."

"I see." There was enough ice in her voice to drop the 
temperature in the room.

"No no," I said hastily. Again. "Look, doctor, it's been 
that way for 20 hours. It won't go down and I'm in 
considerable discomfort."

At least an appearance of interest crossed her face. She 
looked at me dubiously for a moment and glanced down at her 
desk. "Mr...ah...Dyson." She looked up again. "Have you 
been taking drugs?"

"Drugs? No."

"Do you ever take drugs?"

"No."

"Viagra, for example?"

"No."

"You say you've had a constant erection for 20 hours?"

"Yes."

"And you've taken no drugs of any kind over the last 48 
hours?"

"No."

"Have you done anything at all unusual in the last 48 
hours?"

"Well." I stopped and looked at her anxiously. It was not 
going to go down well.

"Go on," she said.

"I've had sex with three women."

Her cool hazel eyes did not even flicker. "And you didn't 
lose it?"

"No."

"Did you ejaculate at any time?"

"I couldn't. It's a long story, but I couldn't manage it. 
Didn't even come close. Tell you the truth, doctor, it was 
most disconcerting. Not enjoyable at all."

She was puzzled. "So why do it?"

"Obligation. A long story. Doctor, you wouldn't believe it 
if I told you."

She sat still in her chair and studied my face carefully. A 
slow smile started on her mouth and it broadened until she 
was grinning at me. "Oh dear," she said. "And to think I 
nearly sent you away." She stood up and came around the 
desk. "Well, Mr Dyson, we'd best investigate. Let's have 
your trousers off."

Dr King, for that was the name on the plate on her desk, 
sat on the chair I had been using and peered at close range 
through her gold-rimmed glasses at my inflexible problem 
while I stood bottomless beside her. She was tall and slim, 
wearing a white linen suit with jacket open and a pink tee 
shirt under it. While she studied me at the lower level I 
stretched my neck to look down her front as she leaned 
across from the chair. I saw something lace-topped but that 
was about it. Not a voluptuous woman, the good lady doctor.

She stood up and walked across to a cabinet. Nice walk. 
Good legs. "I can tell you're not lying about having sex," 
she said wryly, as she pulled on light and transparent 
plastic gloves. "You smell like a whorehouse."

"Sorry about that. I came straight here without going back 
to the hotel."

She returned to her seat and prodded the base of my penis 
with a gloved finger. "Is that tender?" It was; felt like a 
deep bruise. She stood up and went back to her desk. "I 
know what it is," she said, "but I don't know why it 
happened. Mr Dyson, you have a case of priapism."

"Is that serious?"

"It can be if it's not fixed. You can do permanent damage 
to your reproductive capacities."

"Can you fix it?"

"As a matter of fact I can, because I've seen and dealt 
with it before. But he was a diabetic old man who got it as 
a drug byproduct. Why you should get it at your age and in 
your obviously fit and healthy condition is a mystery. I 
should tell you priapism has no direct relation to sex or 
sexual urges. Blood flows into your penis and causes it to 
swell as you become erect. What's happened to you is that 
the blood flow has been restricted somehow. It's trapped 
and it can't get back out, so you simply stay erect. And 
you'll stay like that until we get that blood out."

I winced. "Sounds painful."

"Not necessarily," she said. "First we'll try a simple and 
common anti-inflammatory drug. There's a good chance that 
will do the trick. But if not I'll have to draw out the 
blood with a needle."

"Quick," I said shakily. "Give me the drug."

I took two tablets with a glass of water. "It may take a 
little time to work," she cautioned. "In the meantime try 
to think about anything unusual you ate or drank in the 
past 48 hours or so. I'm still puzzled about why it should 
happen to you."

"Well," I said, considering, "I did eat an enormous lunch 
of your splendid Nelson scallops yesterday."

She laughed. "Wouldn't that be something? Nelson could 
become a world mecca for impotent men." She drummed on the 
desk with her fingers as she thought about it. "Listen, Mr 
Dyson, I think I'd better take a blood sample, if you don't 
mind. I'll get some tests done. You never know, this could 
make an important medical paper for me."

"I appreciate your help, doctor," I said. "Take anything 
you want."

She looked at me keenly. "Let's do a deal," she said. "The 
drug could take an hour or two to have the desired effect. 
I'll take you back to my place, cook us a meal, and you can 
tell me the whole story. Then, if we have to, we can draw 
out the blood from your penis physically. Otherwise I'm 
going to have to wait around here to see what happens. And 
I'm hungry. I skipped lunch."

"Uh, the whole story? You mean, with the women?"

"All of it. It could make a fascinating paper. Of course 
we'll waive the fee."

"I guess it's a deal," I said. "I really do need not to be 
like this any longer, and you seem to know what you're 
doing."

Alison King lived close by and not usually alone, but she 
was that night and for the next four days because her 
husband was playing in an annual rugby tournament in Fiji. 
She accepted Ace as my commonly-used first name only 
grudgingly. I had to show her my business card before she'd 
believe it. She would not let me start my story until we 
had eaten a reheated mutton stew, which was wonderfully 
good. Then, while I assured her the thing in my trousers 
was not showing signs of relaxing itself, she set up a tape 
recorder and urged me through the details. All the details. 
Who, where, when, why and how. Especially how. How long, 
how many times, how it felt and how they behaved.

"Wow," she said. "That's quite a story. Now if only I can 
link it to Nelson scallops. I'd better get that blood 
sample while I think about it."

"Look, Alison," I said, "do you think I might be able to 
take a shower? I am acutely aware that I haven't done so 
since early this morning."

"Oh sure," she said. She led the way to the bathroom. I 
waited politely for her to leave but she leaned casually 
against the wall. "Go right ahead," she said. "I need to 
check out your equipment anyway. I'll just take that sample 
when you're finished."

Mercy. The flag was at half mast. Still plump, but drooping 
downwards. The drug was having an effect. "Magic," I said 
happily. "It works. Or rather, it doesn't work."

Absurd scenario. I stood naked in the lady doctor's 
bathroom looking down with more than casual interest at my 
slowly declining penis while she watched approvingly. 
"Good," she said. "For your sake I was not looking forward 
to the other procedure."

I turned on the shower and hopped into the stall, spirits 
buoyant but troublesome appendage not. I washed happily 
until something popped into my brain. "Hey Alison," I 
called out. "You still there."

"Still here. I'm waiting to take a blood sample."

"A question. Now that finally it's gone down, is there a 
statute of limitations on when it can safely come up 
again?"

She laughed. "As far as I know, once the blood is flowing 
normally everything else is normal. I don't see any medical 
reason to believe otherwise. As far as I know, that is."

I slid open the shower cubicle door. "It's completely 
down," I said, showing her. "Do I have to lay off or 
anything? Should I give it a rest?"

She was still leaning against the wall. "To tell you the 
truth, I don't know," she said. "But as I said, I see no 
medical reason why you should not operate normally 
forthwith."

I closed the door, thinking about it while I washed my 
hair. The door slid open and a body bumped me aside. I 
wiped shampoo from my eyes in great surprise. Yikes. The 
doctor was in the shower with me, entirely without clothes.

"Thought we might find out," she said. "It's in the best 
tradition of medical research. If you're willing to put 
yourself in my hands, that is."

Alison King had a body like an art photographer's model. 
Nothing extravagant but very tidy. Economical. 
Proportional. Symmetrical. Elegant. Lovely. And she had 
blonde pubic hair. Well, near enough. And candy-pink 
nipples. She stood in the shower stall with me, our bodies 
brushing, and reached back to untie her hair. It fell 
straight to her shoulders.

"Goodness gracious me," I said.

"I know that song," she said. "That's supposed to be my 
line."

Never got my hands on a doctor before. Didn't know it was 
possible. Without ever thinking about it, I'd more or less 
ranked lady doctors second only behind nuns as 
unattainable. I put out my hands and she grabbed them 
and pulled me to her. We kissed, she with her back against 
the tiled wall of the shower recess and both of us under a 
hot waterfall.

One slippery kiss was all she wanted. She reached up and 
turned off the taps. "Come on," she said, stepping out of 
the cubicle and tugging me behind her. I followed along, 
admiring her from behind. Very trim. Lovely vee-shaped 
back. High buttocks. The doctor was in excellent health.

She drew me into her bedroom and right up to the big bed, 
letting go my hand to give me a gentle push in the chest. 
My knees hit the edge of the bed and I fell backwards. "And 
now," she said, body and hair dripping wet, "once again 
it's time for Ace to perform."

I looked up at her open-mouthed. "I thought you were taking 
a blood sample. You mean, you want to have sex? With me?"

"You bet," she said, hands on hips and clearly meaning 
business.

"But I'm all wet."

"So am I. Delicious."

"But I'm not___", I said, pointing at my problem. And 
stopped. Well, hell's bells. I was. "When did that happen?"

"In the shower," she said. "Look here, Ace, are you going 
to co-operate or am I going to have to jump you."

We grappled urgently on the top of her bed and her 
intentions were immediate. She wanted me inside her. "You 
don't want to play around a bit first?" I asked her, 
because she was wet and sexy and I did.

"Can't wait any longer," she said. "I've been on the boil 
for an hour already."

She told no lie. She was smooth and slick and I slipped 
into her with the ease and style of a long-accustomed 
lover. "Damn," I said. "The condom. I forgot the condom."

"But I didn't," she said, wriggling to accommodate me. "Ace 
will go bareback tonight. I know all your little tricks, 
remember."

Man, she was good. An experienced woman, and armed with 
knowledge. She was firmly insistent and I was humble enough 
to take directions from a woman who knew her body very well 
and probably mine better than I knew it myself. Little 
nudges, shifts and murmurs let me know what was good and 
what was even better. It was an instructive and 
constructive meeting, and sooner than I wanted I was 
feeling the urge to let myself go. I backed off, trying for 
control, but she knew all about it.

"Don't worry about me," she said. "Give it all up, Ace. I 
want it."

I opened my eyes because I had them screwed up tight and 
she was grinning at me. "You dope," she said. "You don't 
have to play the stud for me." And she reached around 
behind me and stuck a finger directly into my anus with 
professional simplicity.

The dam burst instantly. I rammed into her so hard we 
nearly ended up in the next room. It just kept coming up 
from the depths, wave after wave. I had a cramp in the 
soles of my feet and I had no breath. I think my hair 
turned white. Even when I thought it was over it kept 
coming in little aftershocks.

"Jesus," I said with considerable feeling. I found I was 
lying on her heavily, my face against her neck. I wasn't 
sure how long I'd been there, and I moved to ease myself 
from her.

She put her arms around my back. "Just stay," she said. 
"Rest. Don't leave me." My body stayed but my spirit went 
flying away somewhere into a dark place. I know that 
because I woke some time later, shrunk and about to fall 
out of her. "Welcome back," she said, and wriggled out from 
under me.

"Sorry about that," I said as I sat on the side of the bed 
and tried to get my brain to work. "I am usually much more 
attentive. You didn't get anything there."

"Don't worry, I got heaps," she said, looking and sounding 
smug. "All that I wanted and much more."

I was getting the feeling, not for the first time in the 
cosy town of Nelson, that everybody knew the rules of the 
game except me. "Hey," I said to her, one eye closed 
suspiciously. "What's going on?"

"Procreation, I hope," she said, and laughed as I looked at 
her blankly. "No need to look so stunned. I'm trying to 
make a baby. With your valuable help, of course. Prospects 
are good because I am at peak fertility right about now."

"Doctor, you're married." I was indeed shocked.

"And quite comfortably, too," she said. "But he has a low 
sperm count, though he doesn't know it. I've been on the 
lookout for a while now for a suitable cuckoo, and you, 
dear Ace, are the perfect candidate."

"Perfect? How so?"

"You're just passing through, you're not attached, you're 
tall, you have the right sort of facial features, you're 
good looking, you have a strong and healthy body, you 
attract women, and you're selfish, streetwise and clever 
with a rat-cunning instinct for self-promotion and 
survival. They are all genes my baby will need in the big 
wide world. In a word, Ace, you're perfect."

"Gee, thanks, I think," I said. "You had me fooled there. I 
was thinking maybe you just fancied me."

"Oh, but I do," she said. "When you were telling your story 
I had great trouble keeping my fingers from sneaking into 
my pants. And when I saw you getting in the shower I made 
up my mind to have you."

I scratched my chest idly. "Makes me sound easy."

"It was never in doubt. But just to make sure I hid your 
clothes when you hopped into the shower. Looks like you've 
been abducted again, Ace. You should count on staying the 
night."

There are women and then there are special women. Alison 
King had beauty and brains and she knew what she wanted, 
including a baby fathered by me. What more can a strolling 
vagabond want out of life? That night I did my best to meet 
her expectations, knowing it was unlikely I would ever be 
flattered to such a degree again. Once more I performed, 
this time to my satisfaction and to hers. I gave her my 
best concentrated shot and she gave it back to me. But in 
the morning, in the cold light of day, she was all 
business.

"I have surgery to get to," she said. "You can have 
breakfast back at your hotel. I'll drop you off."

She didn't even cut the engine of the car. "Goodbye, Ace," 
she said. "You were lovely but there's no need to hurry 
back."

I bent and looked back into the car. "Alison, can we at 
least stay in touch?"

"Goodbye," she said, gunning the pedal.

Pretty town, Nelson. But it was well past time for me to 
get the hell out of the place.