The Doctor Robusto 5: the cocktail

It had been a month since my last visit to Dr. Robusto's office. Every now and then, his words resonated in my head like a hammer pounding against an anvil: "you won't see me again". Whenever I remembered them, I became furious.

But the truth was that I did see him. In my dreams. I had dreams that not even Tarantino in his prime could have made into movies. There were nights when I woke up feverish, my body sweaty, my ass arched, and a hard-on like a bull. I jerked off thinking about the Doctor. Then I fell asleep like a baby.

As I climbed the staircase of the National Palace, I remembered the doctor's words again and opened the door of the National Art Museum of Catalonia with a violent push.

What a place to hold a posh event. Many of the guests had already arrived and were chatting in the large room, holding glasses of cava. The men were dressed in suits, the women in evening gowns.

As was necessary, I was also dressed up as a posh guy for the occasion. I wore a dark blue linen suit that fit me perfectly: it accentuated my package and my ass. It wasn't that I had chosen the suit for that reason, it's just that no suit could hide my attributes. But yes, the linen was a fabric with a particularly suggestive drape.

Our research team, which I worked with, had been nominated for an innovation award, and that night was the award ceremony. Several teams were competing for the first prize.

My boss, an Andalusian woman from the upper class with an aura of power that made even the toughest person stand at attention, greeted me with the education that characterized her. She couldn't help but scan me from head to toe, stopping a second longer than necessary on my bulging crotch. I smiled. What a stuck-up bitch.

"Ángel, it's great that you're here," she said in her usual fake tone. I rarely attended extracurricular events, but this one was a fantasy I couldn't resist. "I want to especially thank you for the excellent work you've been doing for the research center all these years. Without you, the results wouldn't look as good as they do, nor would they have the diffusion they have."

A tray full of glasses appeared suddenly in my field of vision. I looked at the waiter who was holding it, and my pupils must have dilated like a hole on poppers.

Damn, what a stud. He was a muscular, dark-skinned man in his thirties, just as tall as me, with a goofy smile that could have melted even the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

I took a glass from the tray while holding his gaze. A gaze between straight strangers doesn't last more than a second. This one had already lasted more than two.

"Thanks, Mariana, I appreciate your kind words," I replied to my boss, reluctantly moving my gaze away from the dark-skinned man. The Director was one of those people who didn't give compliments lightly. On the contrary, she usually found faults in everything.

Before greeting her h...