The Cleanliness of Dr O

Dr O. We have known one another for several years now. Longer than some of my intimate relationships with ladies. Now, there is an achievement for her. Dr O. Not her real name of course but the name I have given her since it is something that can be said quickly or typed swiftly and lends itself to such use in a variety of entertaining ways. Her real name? Well, her full name was provided to me when recommended by Dr M. When I first met Dr O, I ascertained that the name that had been provided to me was anglicised since her looks and the ever so slightly discernible accent she have told me that she was not born on this sceptred isle. I was right. I found out that her name is Slavic and in fact her first name is most mirth-inducing and what it actually means neatly explains why she embarked upon being held to the whims of the misleading and false mistress. That fact has always made me smile. Her middle name finds considerable favour with me, given its meaning. Her surname is imperious and I do like that. Once I gained this prime piece of intelligence it was ever so satisfying to sit down in one of my sessions with her, fix her with my unwavering stare and then ask how Dr First Middle Surname was. Her eyes widened and she averted her gaze. I did not need her to do that to confirm that this was her name. The material which “had come my way” readily confirmed her real identity. What interested me was why she had chosen not to use this evocative name of her roots and instead opt for one which was admittedly elegant but a clear attempt to distance herself from where she had come. “So, you know my name,” she said with an edge of defiance as she titled her head, her ponytail, shiny as always, after no doubt having been washed, conditioned and subjected to some expensive oil treatment or such like, dipping downwards. The gesture showed me her throat which was bare. No necklace or pendant, her crisp blouse open, her vulnerable throat exposed to me, just for an instant, but it had, way back then, increased my need to sink my teeth into it. Was this need literal or figurative? “Yes, I know your name,” I responded to the always clean, always well-turned out Dr O. Her cleanliness has always been inviting to me. The Shieldmaiden is uber clean and I do not doubt she would vanquish Dr O when it comes to a comparison of how they go about their daily lives with regard to achieving and maintaining that level of cleanliness, purity, free of dirt, disease, stench and infection, yet both are champions of the hygienic. Dr O has an enticing scent about her. I am certain she never wears fragrance as in an eau de toilette and definitely not the heavier eau de parfum. No, her scent arises from whatever she uses to wash with. On numerous occasions I have deflected from her questions as I sit and consider how she goes about her morning routine before she arrives at her consulting rooms. Doubtless she goes to her en suite (most be an en suite bathroom and a large one at that) straight from her bed (after all there was nobody initially there to keep her in it) and seamlessly into her beauty and hygiene routine. I would picture the spotless white tiled bathroom, with every glass, chrome and ceramic surface free of any kind of contaminant. Dr O discarding her night wear (blue and white gingham cotton pyjamas in winter and camisole and shorts silk and white for summer) before twisting the tap and allowing the fierce jets of water from her shower erupt and reach the optimum temperature before she enters the waterfall. I remember how pleased I was when The Shieldmaiden told me that after a prolonged period away from her home, she would always run the shower with the bathroom door closed for fifteen minutes (and close and cover her mouth as she set this in motion) to ensure that any bacteria that would cause Legionnaire´s Disease would be removed. She did as I did and told me this without any hint or suggestion that this was also my routine. I also remember that when she told me this, I had wondered the same about Dr O and whether she utilised such an approach with regard to her shower. Given her high standards of cleanliness and overall aversion to contamination, I formed the conclusion that she is indeed a follower of this precaution. Accordingly, I would envisage Dr O attending to herself in her shower and I would ponder the relevant products which she might use. As she would question me and I listened in our session and as I answered, my triple-tracking mind also reflected on that image of her ensconced in the rising steam and jetting water, liberally and fastidiously applying the relevant body wash to her skin. Yes, Dr O. Very much a clean doctor. Looks clean. Smells clean. Dresses clean. She moves in a clean way.  A certain serenity and grace to her movements. Not awkward, not spasmodic, but flowing. A clean, unpolluted river. Thus, whilst in our early interactions I found that gentle cotton-scent one of which I approved, that the fresh fragrance which draped behind her as she occasionally moved about the room at the beginning and end of our sessions was one of which I endorsed and the absence of anything being out of place on her, no smudges, no marks, no creases, no stains were all matters which gained my ratification I always wanted to know. Where lay the filth?