I’m getting a shiny new set of boobies tomorrow.
I’m scared to death and hoping vanity isn’t my undoing as I walked in to meet my anesthesiologist last night. I’m having surgery in a specialty hospital, and it’s a little odd adjusting to the “business” side of medicine. He opens his office door and smiles warmly.
He’s fucking hot. Like… melt the paint off the walls, hot. Also lecherous as hell. He’s grinning at me like the Cheshire cat and I’m a little unnerved by it. We went through my medical history, any drug related complications and a short chat about worst case scenario, because I’m a single mother and I’m absolutely terrified that vanity is going to land my Dumpling in another state, raised by strangers. Kanye’s mom, y’all.
At any rate, he alleviated my fears and answered a billion questions before stunning me silent.
M- So I don’t usually mix business and pleasure, but you’re beautiful. Would you like to have dinner sometime?
J- Uh… I’m inclined to say no until after I wake up in recovery. Plus you get to see me naked before the first date… which is extremely unorthodox for me.
M- Fair enough. May I have your number?
J- You have it already.
M- I’d like it for personal use.
I don’t even know what to say. It’s been so long since someone actually flirted with me that I’m awkward, silent and blushing. Also? Fucking annoyed. Why, in the name of Christ, is it always the wrong fucking guy?? I’d give a kidney to hear these things from my favorite man and sadly… I don’t think it’s ever going to happen. Sigh…
So I gave him my number and made the long trek home in the dark… to the sound of my phone BLOWING THE FUCK UP.
Doctor M is a passionate overtexter and he is making his interest, known.
Instant response time. I get a half dozen texts before I can send him one back and I woke up to 3 more. I answered a question he’d asked after I fell asleep, and he was there again… wishing me a happy last day with old implants.
Doctor Miles is kicking ass and taking names with his text game.
He tells me his car has a full tank of gas and he could be at my house in an hour and a half.
I politely decline, which sends the texts through the roof. Men can be so predictable. The harder you are to gather, they more they hunt. Wealthy men are not my favorite, but Dr. M can spell AND perhaps he’d make a good crutch to hobble away from Incredicock, on.
I told him I’d consider dinner after I wake up tomorrow, safe & sound. Seems like the best kind of insurance policy and my beloved Miss Fancy is driving me tomorrow, so I know I have protection from any overly excited advances.
Which is when a dick pic comes rolling in.
It’s not a bad dick, its just not the one I want, and I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable putting my life in the hands of a man who’s taking time away from work to snap some public bathroom porn.
For fuck’s sake.