“I’m sorry you’ve got this all wrong,” I interrupted. He looked annoyed for a brief moment but regained his composure before asking, “In what way?” I took a deep breath and responded quickly and quietly,“I don’t want a breast enlargement.” A Mother’s Love - Vol. 3.02 by Alys

“Sorry,” said the tall adolescent as his elbow jabbed into my left boob.

I winced in sudden pain and tried to wriggle a few centimetres away from my accidental assailant.

The jam packed Northern Line tube train hurtled down the track towards Camden Town Station. For what seemed like the hundredth time in the last ten minutes I wished I wasn’t dressed in a revealing blouse and short skirt in order to meet some wealthy clients.

I knew the firm needed the potential highly lucrative contract with our muslim ladies and I definitely needed the bonus especially if my work as Stephanie ended after I’d had my mastectomy.

I felt the train begin to slow, a sign of the approaching station. I tried to move away from the door to make space for other passengers maneuvering to leave but I felt myself being pushed inexorably towards it by the throng of passengers planning to exit.

“Excuse me, I’m not getting off here,” I said a bit desperately to two tall men in their twenties who were pressed against me, as the train suddenly entered the station.

“Sorry love,” said the one nearer to me, “We can’t move either.”

I felt myself being squashed against the window of the door as the tube train finally stopped. I resigned myself to having to leave the carriage with the departing passengers and re-enter once there was a gap. I tensed my body for the surge, mouthing a silent prayer I wouldn’t be bowled over in the forthcoming momentary chaotic shoving.

At the very last moment, before I risked possible injury, salvation came in the form of an attractive male voice behind me, “Quick, squeeze in here beside me.”

I looked to my right and saw that the man had managed to push against the crowd to form a little room between himself and the train wall.

There was rush of air as the hydraulics of the door opened it but, in the half second before the surge of exiting passengers, I pressed myself into the space created by the tall man who had turned his back to me to secure our position in the crush.

“Thanks,” I said, in relief at my escape.

“You’re welcome,” he replied as he twisted back towards me.

“Stephanie is it you?” he asked in a familiar voice, I looked up towards the man and instantly recognised the doctor who had helped save Mary’s life.

“Jonathan, wow, this is a surprise, how are you?”

“I’m really good, although a bit squashed at the moment,” he replied, chuckling, “how is your….. your partner and your daughter?”

I smiled at his quick verbal juggling, “Everyone’s fine thanks, both of the children are doing really well.”

He raised his eyebrows at my revelation but the noise of the train journey made further explanations impossible.

A few minutes later he lowered his mouth to my ear, “Time for a coffee and a catchup?”

I shook my head and he looked very disappointed but he cheered up when I told him I could meet for lunch later, we arranged a place and time and I left the train at Euston.

*****************

Four hours later I walked into my favourite indian restaurant on Euston road, after a very successful meeting with the al hamnana ladies group, who had insisted on dealing with a woman to organise their world tour.

I saw Jonathan at a window table and walked over towards him. To my surprise he stood up as I reached the table, hugged me and kissed me gently.

Momentarily I was stunned as I felt a surge of attraction flow through my body.

I stood glued to the spot, mute.

Jonathan looked at me quizzically, “Are you Ok, Stephanie?”

I blinked and looked at him and somehow partially recovered my composure. I sat down shakily, “Fine, fine, it’s so nice too see you again Jonathan.”

He smiled broadly, “ and you too Stephanie.”

The next few minutes were a welcome silence as we perused the variety of delicious treats on offer. I was finding it very hard to focus on food choices as I tried to come to terms with how he had made me feel with his spontaneous hug and kiss. The waitress came over and we both ordered.

“So, two children Stephanie, that’s wonderful, how did that happen?” asked Jonathan after the waitress had left.

I smiled, “Well, the usual way, Jonathan.”

He chuckled before continuing, “Sorry, a badly phrased question, it’s just I remember how ill Mary was when I last saw her.”

I explained how Mary's cancer had gone into remission after the treatment in Liverpool.

"That's great news!" he commented.

“Thanks and we’re all happy about it,” I responded.

Thinking about Mary brought back our row the previous night and, not wanting Jonathan to notice anything untoward in my relationship with my wife, I quickly changed the conversation to talk about people we both knew from the staff in Manchester Royal Infirmary.

The time passed very quickly as I enjoyed his easy manner and clever conversation. Before I knew it my phone was beeping to remind me it would soon be time to go for my appointment with the surgeon.

“Sorry Jonathan, I have to go now.”

He looked at his watch, “Oh OK, although it’s only half past two, do you have to go back to work? Can’t you stay a bit longer?”

It was such an attractive idea that I thought fleetingly of phoning to rearrange my visit to Harley Street, but the thought of Mary’s potential anger pushed this out my mind almost instantly.

“I’m really sorry, I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.”

Jonathan looked at me enquiringly.

“I’ll tell you about it next time, now I’d better get the bill?”

He smiled, when I implied we’d meet again, “It’s OK, you go, this can be my treat.”

I gathered my belongings and stood up to leave. Jonathan stood up and embraced me.

It felt so good. I looked up at his rugged masculine face and our lips met once again. This time the kiss was deeper and I felt myself melting with the unexpected strong attraction. I felt my nipples begin to harden. This was such a shocking development that I managed to regain enough self control to push myself away and take a deliberate step back.

“Call me please,” I said in a soft voice before turning away and forcing myself to walk out of the door. I paused outside and turned to see Jonathan still standing at our table. He smiled and raised his hand to wave, I reciprocated and then turned to walk down the street to the nearest tube station.

*****************

Half an hour later I stood outside the impressive modern building of ‘The London Bridge Clinic’ on Harley Street. The journey had gone very quickly as thoughts of my encounter with Jonathan filled my mind and I was only half aware of the other passengers on the train.

I looked at the appointment details on my phone, checked that I was only a few minutes early and then steeled myself to press the button on the entrance intercom.

A distorted female voice responded, “Hello can I help you?”

A spoke into the microphone grill, “Yes, it’s Stephanie Jones to see Doctor Wilkins, three fifteen appointment.”

There was a short wait then the voice spoke again, “Yes, that’s correct, please pull the door when you hear the buzzer.”

A few moments later I’d entered and walked along the short passage to a very sumptuous reception area. Plastic surgery in London was clearly a very profitable business, I began to be concerned about the potential cost of any surgery.

There was no-one else waiting and so after filling in a few forms and paying the £200 for the initial appointment I sat down on one of the comfortable chairs.

The reading matter available being appropriate to the well-heeled, and not myself being interested in horses and shooting, I just sat back and reviewed for the umpteenth time my hour and a half with Jonathan.

I didn’t understand where the strong feelings had come from. I was happily married, even with some recent tensions, and I had two lovely little children. What did it all mean?

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t notice the receptionist calling my name the first time she did so. She was forced to repeat herself, more forcefully.”

“Ms Jones, Doctor Wilkins will see you now.”

I apologised for my inattention and then walked the few steps to the door marked ‘Doctor Wilkins’ in expensive gold lettering.

I knocked, waited for the faint “come in,” and then opened the door.

Doctor Wilkin’s office was even more expensively furnished than the reception area while at the same time seemingly well equipped medically.

“Good afternoon, Ms Jones, if you would disrobe behind the screen, I’ll examine you and see what we can do for you,” commanded the tall man, in his late thirties or early forties, sat behind the large desk.

Rather shocked by his abrupt approach, but being mindful of the briefness of my booked appointment, I opened the curtain to enter the small area in the corner of the room that had been screened off. I quickly removed my clothes, apart from my panties, and put on the light gown hanging on the back of the chair.

“Whenever you’re ready Ms Jones,” said the somewhat impatient doctor.

I stepped out from the screen to see Doctor Wilkins standing waiting.

“Is it OK to examine you now?”

I nodded my assent.

He carefully pulled the top of my gown apart and, after a long few seconds staring at my breasts, he carefully squeezed each one in turn.

Since it had been a few hours since I’d last expressed some milk, my breasts were fairly full and Doctor Wilkin’s squeezing caused me to begin to leak.

I felt his distaste for the liquid dribbling onto his hands, “Ah, still feeding your little one, how long before he’s weaned.”

“Just about to start,” I replied.

“Very good, in that case I should be able to do something for you quite soon then.”

He gestured me to sit in the chair and resumed his seat on the other side of the desk.

“This is quite a common situation, I imagine you were fairly small breasted before you had your child and you’ve got used to the feel and the look of being somewhat larger. I think about three hundred centimetre implants would let you retain your current figure. I assume you’re not planning to add to your family although that is not an insurmountable…” he prattled on.

“I’m sorry you’ve got this all wrong,” I interrupted.

He looked annoyed for a brief moment but regained his composure before asking, “In what way?”

I took a deep breath and responded quickly and quietly,“I don’t want a breast enlargement.”

Doctor Wilkins arched his eyebrows at my announcement, “I’m a little confused, so what are you here for then?”

I took another deep breath, “I need a bilateral mastectomy.”

The suave plastic surgeon almost fell off his chair on hearing this, “You want what?”

For the next five minutes I explained my personal situation. At first Doctor Wilkins refused to believe my story and constantly interrupted me with questions, eventually he seemed to grasp the reality of my life.

“Ms Jones, I have to say this is the strangest story I’ve ever heard. When you walked into my office the only thing I saw was an attractive woman. Now even after your explanation I still see an attractive woman.”

I felt strangely comforted by the doctor’s compliment, but the sting in the tale was his next comment.

“Since you are so convincingly female I’m not sure such a drastic change is something you really want. Under these circumstances I’m afraid that unless you have a psychiatric assessment which proves the medical need for such an operation it would seem to be an exercise in self mutilation which I’m not prepared to be part of.”

End of Vol. 3.02