It would take ninety seconds for the exposed black sheet to pass through the chemicals—developer, stop bath, fixer—and finally the machine’s dryer. Even with his back flat against the door, there was no way to avoid physical contact. Viola’s upper back was flat against his chest, her hair brushed his face, and her rump pressed against his thighs and crotch. Tom’s mouth felt parched, but his palms were coated with sweat. Within thirty seconds his heart was pounding. He could feel her chest expand with each breath. To his alarm, his penis shifted, then grew steadily against her tight skirt. He didn’t know whether to apologize or to try to move away; any movement would only aggravate the problem. He was acutely aware that the rest of the office staff were outside the door, not to mention the twenty or so patients in the clinic. Yet in the cavelike darkness of the X-ray room, it was as though the two of them had stepped from a mother ship into deep space.
When Viola began to turn in place, Tom experienced something between panic and exultation. When she was halfway around, her hand slid up his arm, her fingers searching along his shoulder, his collarbone, and then his neck, like the hand of a blind woman. When her fingers found his mouth, she probed it with a fingertip, then rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. Tom’s back flexed against the door as the shock went through him. Then he recovered himself, and the wood behind him creaked as he wrapped his arms around her. He squeezed hard enough to crush the breath from some women, but Viola only slid her fingers up into the hair behind his head and pulled his mouth harder against hers.
The sharp taste of her stunned him, so different was it from what he’d known most of his life. Her tongue and full lips sucked his own, and her teeth bit his flesh. Despite the cramped quarters, they were not still. Their bodies slid, twisted, and probed, pressing together until no pocket of air remained between them. Their movements had a frantic quality, driven by the knowledge that after years of denial they might only have a few moments in this protective darkness. Tom wanted to squeeze her breasts, but he held back until he heard her skirt slide up her stockings. Thus encouraged, he unzipped the back of her white uniform dress and pulled it from her muscular shoulders. A low-pitched purr rose from her throat, then she reached back and unhooked her bra. Tom wasn’t sure how to proceed in the confined space. Viola solved his dilemma by entwining her arms behind his neck, pulling herself up, and closing her thighs around his waist.
Even through her stockings, the heat from her pubis felt like the coffee mug he sometimes set between his legs as he drove to work. Despite being married for four years, Viola had never borne children, and her breasts were firm and high. As Tom kneaded them, he noticed they felt made of muscle rather than fat. He bent his neck and sucked a swollen nipple into his mouth. She moaned deep in her throat, then choked off the sound as though suddenly remembering the danger.
“There’s not enough room,” he whispered. “The door’s going to break open.”
“Let me down,” she said. “Scoot back. It’s locked.”
Tom pressed his back against the door so hard that the wood groaned.
As Viola slowly turned away, she said, “There’s not enough room to take my stockings off.”
“It’s all right,” he replied, not meaning it. “We can wait.”
He heard a swish of polyester against nylon, then a sharp ripping sound. Blood throbbed in his veins.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
He reached down, seeking out her hand in the dark. His fingers slid across her bare behind, found her grasping fingers. He pressed them against the swelling in his pants. She deftly unzipped him with a nurse’s confidence. When she closed her hand around his penis, he sucked in his breath, afraid he would lose control then and there. He felt her rise on tiptoe, tugging him forward, under her rump.
“Jesus,” he whispered, bending his knees. “Will they hear us?”
“They’ll think we’re working on the machine. Just push.”
He pushed.
She sucked in her breath sharply. “Lower down.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh,” she groaned, much too loudly.
He’d plunged into her virtually without resistance. When her weight settled back against his pubic bone, she shuddered along the length of her body. He took hold of her hips and began to thrust into her by flexing and unflexing his knees, gently rocking in the confined space. Almost no other motion was possible.
“This won’t be good for you,” he said.
“Rub me,” she whispered, pulling his right hand from her hip and guiding it to the rip she’d made in her hose.
As his fingers slipped between her thighs, Tom received one of the most profound shocks of his life. Viola’s pubic hair was softer than any he’d ever felt. Even after years of giving pelvic exams to Negro women, he’d unconsciously assumed that their pubic hair was coarser than a white woman’s. With Viola, at least, the opposite was true. He was still pondering this when he discovered her swollen clitoris. She jerked as though he’d shocked her, then flung her head to the right and bit his upper arm as though only this could keep her quiet.