“She’s choking, Merle! Do something!” Doreen is shouting at him from across the table. He looks around at the other two couples who joined them for dinner, wondering why everyone expects him to play the hero. Oh right, because he’s a doctor. But he’s a podiatrist, and one who’s way past out of shape at that.
All Merle wanted was a nice, relaxing dinner at The Sizzler, but this attractive woman in her little black dress just had to go and start choking. And he was just about to sink a spoon into this dessert that he had so lovingly crafted at the sundae bar. Then she stood up with a ruckus, grabbing at her throat hand over hand. Everyone else in the restaurant is staring at the woman as she struggles, as her eyes bulge, as she silently begs for help, but at Merle’s table, everyone is staring at him.
With a huff, he drops the spoon and stands up. The woman turns to face him, hope beginning to sparkle in her eyes, and she’s even more attractive up close. He chastises himself; this is no time for that kind of frivolity. Merle tells her he’s a doctor, then motions with a finger for her to turn around. She does, and backs up, pressing her little body against him. He wraps his big arms around her and places hand over fist into her diaphragm.
Even though he’s standing there jabbing at her organs and trying to make her hawk up a piece of partially chewed foodstuff, he can’t help but enjoy the feeling of her ass pressed up against his crotch. It bounces up and down with each thrust of his hands, rubbing him softly through his slacks and her sheer dress. At this point, Merle is wishing he’d masturbated instead of watching The Cooking Channel before Doreen got home.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no.
The food flies out of her mouth, and she falls to her hands and knees coughing. Good sign, means she’s breathing again. But even before she’s caught her breath, she turns on Merle with disgust and fury on her face. “What on earth is wrong with you?” she screams.
Merle looks around the room, and everyone is looking right back at him. His face drains of colour, he starts to tremble. He shakes his head and puts his hands out to say “What?” without saying it. With a snarling frown, she points at his bulging zipper.
She doesn’t say anything, just stares with a look of contempt like he’s never seen before.
Now everyone is staring at Merle’s crotch, and his slacks have done nothing to hide that desperate, shameful erection he’s sporting. Not knowing what to do, he shuffles back to his table with his head down and shoulders up. He sits as fast as he can can, but ouch. Great. Now on top of everything, he just sat on his testicle. Doreen and his friends are staring at him with horrified disbelief plain on their faces.
The woman follows Merle back to his seat, “I demand your contact information. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” He’s never been this embarrassed in his life; he pulls out his wallet and hands her his business card. She looks at it angrily. “A podiatrist? Seriously?”
The woman storms off. The hem of her black dress swishing around her smooth, curvy thighs. “Merle!” Doreen shouts at him, and he realizes he was staring.
“Oh, one more thing,” the woman yells from across the dining room. “You can go ahead and pay for our dinner too. You perv. Come on, Janet.” The two women stomp out the door. Their sweet, toned asses — stop it, Merle!
He turns back to his table and finds only accusing eyes.
For the first time since he was six, Merle wishes he was a turtle.