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Sabrina. Her name is Sabrina. Sabrina with the long blonde hair and the perky tits and the ass like it was sculpted by God himself…
I just keep seeing her as Venus in my head, is all.
It’s not that I’m not accustomed to beautiful women. Before med school, I could have a different woman in my bed every night of the fucking week. But since I started working the night shift…
I wouldn’t say that I don’t see many beautiful women anymore.
Just that when I do, they’re usually trauma victims being rushed through the ER and straight into surgery. Car accidents, mystery tumors, domestic violence injuries…when I see beautiful women, it’s usually on the worst days of their lives.
These days, when I’m inside someone, it’s because they’re laid out on my operating table instead of in my bed.
As it turns out, it’s hard to see a woman as a potential dinner date once you’ve pumped her stomach and picked pieces of her front windshield out of her major organs.
So, dating—dating isn’t much of a reality for me anymore. It doesn’t bother me much, except for when it does.
I’ve always wanted to be a father. But as far as my career is concerned, that’s a dream that was destined to be dead on arrival.
I need to let it go…even though that’s fucking hard sometimes.
Especially after seeing Aphrodite incarnate naked in the laundry room last night.
I probably spooked the hell out of her, walking in on her like that. I’m still kicking myself for not being smoother—or more charming—or for not getting her fucking number, for that matter.
On one hand, it’s funny how alike we are—apparently, we both work hard enough that when we do laundry, we wash everything we own all at once.
On the other, the second I laid eyes on her gorgeous tits and her waspish waist, that long blonde hair and those broad, curvaceous hips…
I popped an erection so intense it nearly ripped through my best slacks. I fucking know she noticed it, too.
As for the smell of wet cunt on her when she came over to shake my hand…
For my own sake, I’m telling myself I imagined that.
I feel like I ought to apologize, even though it was just one hell of an erotic coincidence. But as it turns out, Hallmark doesn’t sell cards that say, Sorry for accidentally seeing your tits.
I gave her my lab coat, which seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do.
And now I’m folding her laundry, which I’m hoping makes up for the rest.
I used to be such a fucking playboy in my youth. I think that’s why I enrolled in med school in the first place, truth be told. I fancied myself Doctor Playboy, thank you very much.
Figured that I would have sexy nurses and adoring patients swooning over me left and right while I played the hero and saved a shitload of lives.
It’s fu
nny how shit changes as you get older. Wiser. Less fucking cocky and more in tune with the responsibilities of the life your younger, dumber self chose for you.
I wouldn’t change it for the world, of course…
Even though I’ll always regret never becoming a dad.
It’s a reality that hits me twice as hard as I finish folding the last of Laundry Room Aphrodite’s La Perlas…
And unearth what has to be a pair of maternity pants.
Christ. Either Dryer Sheet Venus is one yummy mummy…or some lucky bastard has knocked her up already.
Of course, her body doesn’t look like she’s ever had a kid, and it’s not like she’s started to show.
