Brimful of Asher
“Look at my hand, mama.” Asher held out his right hand. It was perfectly still.
“Yes, they are not shaking anymore. But what about the children?” his mother fretted and frowned at him. “Would it not be better to take the consultant's job in Scotland and not go through with the divorce?”
“I'm a neurosurgeon, mama. Would you want me to waste years of training to sit behind a desk? Some people shouldn't get married. I told you before you brought Vishaka from India. She has the house, the children, an excellent supply of money. All I want is my little flat and my freedom. Can't I just have that?” he rubbed his thigh as he looked at his mother quizzically.
“Oh Asher. You were always such a good boy, but families should stay together.” The tall and rather glamorous psychiatrist shook her head. “Vishaka needs you. The children need a father.”
“Vishaka needs me like she needs a hole in the head. She has friends now, and the children. They are all much better off if I see them on Sunday and live my life, mama. They were driving me crazy. I can't live a lie. It's not for me.”
“I think you will regret it.”
“You let me worry about that, mama. I'm just happy to perform surgery again.” Asher picked up his mug of tea. “You wouldn't want me to have to lie to her, would you?”
“You shouldn't have to lie.” Asher's mother looked faintly horrified. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Some things just aren't compatible with marriage.”
“You weren't having an affair? What do I tell her parents?” Her eyes widened.
“No, I wasn't having an affair, mama. I was going crazy. Life is not crazy now, and I have my hands back.” Asher smiled at his mother. “Now I can take care of Vishaka and the children properly and relax, and she can spend time with her friends. Maybe she will meet someone better.” He meant taking care of her financially, of course, which his mother would not agree with, but life was so much better now. “I will see you next month, mama. Give my regards to dad, when he gets back from Delhi.”
“Yes, darling, of course.” Asher's mother was glad to see him so much more relaxed, despite her misgivings about the divorce. She rubbed his back as she followed him to the door. “Love you, baba.”
“Love you too, mama.” Asher smiled and went out to his car, an old jaguar he had retained from his illustrious past.
Asher, a formerly shy and disassociated man due to the rigours of his lengthy medical training, was now so at peace with himself that he was able to follow a strict daily routine. First he would adjust the angles of all the items in his flat until they were just right. Then he would put on his tracksuit bottoms and his flip flops with a suitably scruffy t shirt, a look he had borrowed from the man who sat behind the counter at the local corner shop, go for his morning swim, enjoy a coffee with his newspaper before meeting with a different lady every morning. The lady would then tell him her requirements and he would provide them, filming the results. By lunchtime, he would upload his edited videos from the previous day and then he would don his suit and stroll into his hospital department feeling relaxed and refreshed and ready to face his day.
Generally he would be finished by late afternoon, and he would recheck his channel, enjoy the work of his online colleagues and arrange to meet more ladies in the days ahead. He was an entirely more relaxed man, a feature noted by his colleagues.
“Asher, my boy, it is good to have you back.” Asher's elderly surgical forbear warmly greeted him.
“Those hands back to their best, I hear?” The old man smiled.
“Yes, it is good to be able to concentrate.”
“I used to have a little ritual that helped me. I used to throw dice across the office and write down the numbers until I could see straight.” the old surgeon twinkled. “Did you find your little ritual?”
“I think I can safely say I have a ritual that works, sir, but I couldn't possibly say what that is.” Asher smiled back.
“That's my boy.” the old man laughed. “Anything I can help you with just let me know.”
“Thank you, sir.” Asher proceeded to his clinic. He had a particularly serious case of aneurysms to look at today.
“No Vishaka, I'm sorry, I cannot take the children tomorrow, I am fully booked.” Asher felt bad for not taking them, but he knew his nerves wouldn't take it. He had done his duty by her, he reasoned, she could easily afford a babysitter if she needed one, and he didn't want to start shaking again. She railed at him, her voice rattling his ear down the phone.
“I cannot cancel. I will see them on Sunday.” Asher squeezed his eyes shut. “Call Vibhuti if you have to.” He ended the call, feeling a little selfish, but noting that his heart rate had returned to normal.
He returned to editing his videos, a painstaking and surprisingly time-consuming job he liked to do in the evening when his flat was warm. Pixellating his face and removing any extensive chatting was always important, as was checking on the channel comments, some a bit misogynistic, some racist, some telling him how brilliant he was. His little channel was building up, he was cautiously pleased with his progress. He checked the picture for the lady he was due to meet the following day. She looked pleasant. Long, dark red hair. Pretty, a little plump, which he quite liked, but really he liked them all, especially now he was less nervous around them.
The next morning he went around the small art items in the flat, dusting and positioning them, taking account of the morning light, donned his usual disguise, and went for his swim. The lady behind the counter smiled at him. He smiled back, changed, did his 50 lengths, a few stretches and went into town for today's date. He did not have quite enough time for his coffee today.
The lady had given him an address in North East London, which was not far, but her requirements so far indicated that she needed at least two hours, which was unusually long.
Once off the bus, he went into a newsagent and bought a large bottle of water, which he drank as he walked along the street. He hoped that this would be enough, since he had not had his coffee this morning. Perhaps a diuretic might be useful? He opted for more water, since he was probably dehydrated from the swim.
As he reached the address she had given him, he realised that she had invited him to her home. They sometimes did this, but he really preferred the ones that travelled in, that stayed in hotels. This ensured that he would not hear from them again, as he really preferred not to.
He rang the doorbell, noting the messy film of black oil on the letterbox. He hoped that it was cleaner inside. She came to the door. She looked just like the picture. She motioned him inside, fiddling with her dressing gown.
“Are you ready?”
“I think I can probably start with your last requirement.” Asher smiled at her. “If that suits?”
“Oh yes, thank you! I have so been looking forward to this!” She beamed. “I can't wait!” She motioned him to the shower unit, removed her dressing gown, crouched down in the cubicle and looked up at him.
“OK, open your mouth please.” Asher looked at her sternly, pulled down his tracksuit bottoms and positioned his camera. She opened her mouth. Asher preceded to carefully micturate into it. She did not spill a drop, although her mouth was, at times, very full.
“Very good. Now we can go to the bedroom.” She came out of the cubicle almost prancing, led him to her untidy room. “Would you mind terribly applying the back of the hairbrush to my bottom now?”
“We can do that if you wish.”
The paradox of this transaction was that Asher had to do as they asked, despite his being 'in charge.' He did his best to sound stern. The last thing he wanted was complaints. Submissives were surprisingly demanding and bossy people, he found, although being told what they wanted was extremely refreshing after the incessant complaints of his ex-wife.
Two hours later, as he had calculated, they had run through her list of wishes and he had his footage. It had been a pleasing morning, she neither talked too much, nor too little and had appeared very pleased with him. Asher enjoyed the sensation of contentment as he made his way home to change for work.