‘I last masturbated on Sunday night.’ Alexandra put a stethoscope to his chest and listened. ‘And what did you masturbate over?’ ‘Um,’ Geoff looked embarrassed. ‘It’s okay,’ smiled Alexandra, her face close to his. ‘This is a sexual research clinic, you can tell me anything. I’m assuming it was breasts you masturbated over?’ Geoff nodded. ‘A real pair? A photograph? A memory?’ ‘A photograph,’ said Geoff. Alexandra tied a blood pressure monitor around his arm. ‘And who was the lucky lady in the photograph?’ ‘It was,’ Geoff gulped, ‘It was you, Dr Harding. ‘Is that so?’ Alexandra seemed neither offended nor surprised as she pumped up the arm band. ‘That picture of you in the brochure you sent with the application materials,’ Geoff continued. ‘The top you’re wearing.’ Alexandra laughed. ‘I told them not to use that photograph. I wasn’t wearing a bra that day, and you can easily make out the shape of my areolae through the fabric. But it’s flattering to know I got you hard enough to cum,. The kiss stopped, she stood still, in front of him, her hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes, as both his hands worked at the clasp on her waist band, and worked at lowering the zipper, and then, as I watched, by now with my own slacks open, my own erection in hand, her skirt fell away, sliding over her slip, to the floor. She stepped out of the puddle of that material, and again faced him, now clad in undergarments only. I, and he, I was sure, could see the dark shadow of bikini panties and pantyhose the slip – it added to the erotic image. She stopped being passive: his shirt was unbuttoned now too, and she was pushing it down his arms, He broke away from that, released the cuffs, and removed it, now before her in a tee shirt. Barbara – I knew she’d do this, she did it with me – pulled some of the pillows from the sofa to in front of the fireplace, and knelt, then lay there, her head resting on them, drawing Walter down with her. He, on his side, looked at her, on her.
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