Dr. Winthrop Samuels

Author’s Note:

Do not Google the term arroycoo. It is fictionally contrived and has no known real meaning.

***

Dr. Winthrop Samuels

“So are you familiar with the practice of arroycoo, Dr. Samuels?” the voice husky, the accent well disguised.

The girl is composed, comfortable in speaking to a full adult some fifteen years her senior. The uncharacteristic deep voice serves to remind me that Sunny Sudenskaya is not the child she appears to be. The woman has an effervescent disposition and short styled hair which enhances her youthful presentation... bringing one to think in terms of adolescence. If she were indeed under eighteen years of age many of my thoughts would border on criminal. I cannot, for example, help wonder whether I could grasp enough hair at the back of her head to properly direct her during doggie style sex. I am concluding that I would need to hold onto her ears...

Sunny turns and lifts her face to blow a puff of smoke into the upper reaches of the nearly empty restaurant. Though well before the dinner hour, the maitre d’ notably gasps and hustles toward us. Smoking is banned by law. Sunny’s naughty smile suggests she is well aware of her transgression and stubs out the cigarette on the bread dish before the animated form arrives. All ash trays have been relegated to a makeshift smoking area... a patch of sidewalk at the entrance of the Upper East Side bistro.

“I forgot,” Sunny’s words contrite but her look one of playful mischief.

The maitre d’ wordlessly removes the soiled dish and snaps his fingers to a busboy.

The momentary event is telling... Sunny having this inclination to challenge rules and authority and yet to so quickly and easily capitulate.

“I have read of arroycoo. Some tribal ritual involving the suspension of the body,” I cautiously reply as the busboy places a clean bread dish before her.

I demure in saying more. As a medical professional my penchants must be kept quiet lest I endanger my license to practice. Though I am in research and do not treat patients, conventional wisdom suggests I not imperil potential return on my investment, the many hours and tedious study which anointed me with advanced degrees. Sunny Sudenskaya came to learn of my ‘hobby’ and enticed me into this off hours meeting. Just a little talk at a quiet restaurant long before the dinner crowd, so she said.

I could not resist her charms.

Sunny smiles. So cute, so disarming when juxtaposing the subject matter with a girl who appears so childlike in many respects.

Sunny reaches into her purse and removes pictures torn from some magazine.

“Your reputation in the community precedes you, doctor. I would think you’d have more interest in something like this.”

She pushes the packet my way. I glance through a couple and immediately push the remainder back toward her.

“Someone has been telling stories out of school,” my tone one of rebuke.

Though in being torn from some mainstream nature publication, possibly as mundane as National Geographic, the pictures bring concern. Even with the bistro being void of customers, I dare not broach more of the matter in which Sunny attempts to immerse me.

“I think you can do something like that. Tribes have been safely engaging in it for years. Certainly modern science and medicine can do the same... perhaps more easily and quickly,” her tone of voice shifting to alluringly beseech.

Yes, she verbally challenges then coquettishly concedes. She is a minx. And as much as she is aware of my ‘reputation’ in the community, her own precedes as well. In fact, as she entices, her posture shifts, her shoulders roll back in retreat to exhibit evidence of sizable mammary glands... exceeding expectations for a girl aptly described as svelte.

She performs a tease. When she licks her lips, I understand with clarity her intent. I am being seduced.

But in the ‘community’, as she references my occasional weekend recreation, seduction has twists.

Sunny Sudenskaya is a masochist. And sometimes, as the old adage goes, when a masochist begs to be flogged, the role of the true sadist is best fulfilled by saying ‘no’.

So I shake my head, acknowledging her message and communicating my reply. She sulks then leans forward, finally aware of my concern for discretion despite the limited presence of others.

“I will fellate you. Yours to command,” she whispers in a sultry voice.

I smile. Though a medical professional should be more insouciant, the thought of warm, smooth and wet feminine skin engulfing that which brings the ultimate masculine pleasure can bring enthusiastic visions. I begin to understand that Sunny Sudenskaya is in earnest. I sit back in contemplation, more fully focusing on the emptiness of the restaurant and becoming more comfortable.

“You have family, Sunny?”

She shakes her head.

“Distant cousins in Bulgaria. I would not recognize them if we shared a cab.”

My question spurs more discussion. This could work. I have an old friend who enjoys ‘adopting’ miscreant young girls.

“No one would know,” she emphasizes. “I could work during the day. Nights I would be yours.”

She has me thinking and she knows it, letting my imagination percolate. Many factors rush through my mind. Career, social life... both vanilla and in the community..., my ‘hobby’. Finally the time required, procuring supplies and the apparatus necessary for arroycoo.

Sunny seems to read my thoughts.

“I have a loft. Not quite Nolita,” she says. “The building has not been fully gentrified. It’s quiet... but large.”

Sunny references the latest New York apartment phenomenon... the transition of what was once one of the seediest areas of Manhattan... north of little Italy (Nolita)... where only the specters of Bowery bums remain. Now quite the trendy area, she is merely nearby, I am sure the modesty of her digs mandated by limited income.

“It will be painful. I will not administer anesthetic,” I forewarn.

She nods, her ostensible reluctance mixed with that peculiar inward frisson when a masochist encounters the eventuality of pain... the body’s need to avoid... the mind challenging it to endure.

“And expensive, Sunny. You’ll offer more than fellatio. But you will enjoy it.”

She beams, but then feigns concern... playing the role of Scarlet O’Hara... imagining what a manly brute would force from her helpless form. I know that vulnerability excites... as does the unknown. Yes... a minx... and one whose proclivity so nicely complements mine.

“I will need some time... for equipment,” I conclude.

Sunny happily blushes as I reach forth and gather the packet of pictures.

“And you will need to practice... opening a zipper... with your lips and teeth.”

***