by S. E. Law
“Seriously, stop, Wan. I appreciate your concern, but it was just dinner. And if you want to know, the doctors invited me because they were specifically terminating our physician-patient relationship. They wanted to make sure that I knew I was no longer a patient of theirs, so that everything we did in the past and everything we do in the future is as private citizens.”
Wanda grumbles.
“Well they certainly know how to protect their handsome asses,” she mutters. “I’m not surprised.”
I shrug.
“Maybe they do, but it doesn’t matter because I wanted everything that happened. Besides, once they made clear that I wasn’t a patient anymore, then we were free to do as we like. And Wan,” I say, lowering my voice to a hush. “I made love to them.”
The confidential tone has no effect because immediately, my best friend is letting out another hyena-like shriek.
“What?” she screams. “You had sex with them? What? How?” she sputters.
“Wan, are any of your roommates around right now?” I ask in a stern tone. “Seriously. You know how much I hate other people knowing my business, and the way you’re screeching right now is bound to attract attention.”
She stops abruptly.
“No, no one’s around,” my friend says in a tight voice. I let out a sigh of relief. Wanda’s a talented reporter, except that right now, journalism doesn’t pay even if you are good at your job. The American publishing industry is in huge upheaval, and it seems that customers don’t want to pay for digital content anymore. As a result, Wanda doesn’t make much and to make ends meet, she splits a three bedroom with two random girls she found off craigslist. By contrast, I’m grateful to have my cozy, rent-controlled apartment that I share with only my son.
Wanda’s breathing fast. In fact, she’s practically hyperventilating on the other end of the line.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she finally manages in a strangled tone.
I’m perplexed. Why does she sound pissed? It shouldn’t be affecting her like this.
“Wan, if anything you should be happy for me. I’ve been on such a huge string of dating disasters that it was really nice to make love for a change, and for something to go well. Doctors Stephenson and Stevens are turned on by my womanly figure, and when I started lactating in bed …”
Uh oh. I’ve already said too much, but it’s too late. Wanda goes ballistic again.
“What?” she screams. “You lactated? In front of them? During sex?”
“Cool it, cool it,” I soothe. “They’re doctors so I bet they’ve seen everything under the sun. And it was fine. In fact, they were really turned on and, well, they sampled a little of my breast milk,” I say in a hushed voice. “I mean, it sounds weird, and it is weird but at the same time, it felt so … I don’t know, erotic.”
Wanda’s trying to make sense of this.
“Holy fucking shit. You’ve gone off the reservation,” she declares into the line. “They’re your doctors. They never should have touched you.”
This is where I step in again.
“Doctor Stephenson and Doctor Stevens were my doctors,” I correct her in a firm voice. “But they’re not anymore, and anything that happened at our first appointment is water under the bridge. Remember? Because I’m okay with it, so it’s fine.”
Wanda’s still breathing hard.
“I can’t believe it,” she mutters on the other end of the line. “I can’t fucking believe it.”
Oh no. My friend’s reached the point of no return. Sometimes this happens with her. She gets fixated on something, and can’t let go. It’s like a dog with a bone. She’ll chase it to the ends of the Earth, grab it between her teeth, bury it, dig it back up, and then gnaw on it some more. Wanda just can’t let go, which makes her a really great investigative journalist, but a really bad friend sometimes.
“Wan, please,” I say patiently. “Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out.”
“But this is so wrong!” she screams again. I can practically see her red hair standing on end in protest. But this time, I set my foot down.
“No, it’s not wrong,” I say, my voice a little cold. “I told you. I’m okay with what happened, and Ranger and Ryder made me feel wanted and cherished. Yes, threesomes aren’t exactly standard in the United States –,”
“A threesome?” she shrieks, nearly blowing my ear off. “You had a threesome with two hot physicians?”
Now, I’m really puzzled, but Danny starts crying on my lap and I do my best to shush him by rubbing his back in soothing circular motions.
“Yes, I thought I said that. I made love to them. Why, what did you think was happening?”
“I don’t know!” she practically spits in my ear. “I thought that you made love to the two guys separately, like you were one-on-one with each man.” Her voice is practically shaking, she’s so emotional. “But instead, you had sex with two gorgeous, rich doctors who thought your pussy was tight,” she says in a quaking voice.
“That’s right!” I chirp cheerfully. “And they confirmed my initial diagnosis – I do not need a vaginoplasty, thank goodness.”
Hearing that, Wanda hangs up with a click, and I sigh again while putting my cell phone down and re-balancing Danny in my lap. My friend is so dramatic sometimes, and this was just another example of her antics. Everything is always on maximum overdrive with her. She’ll get over it though. After all, I’ve gotten over it, so she should too. This is my life after all, and while everyone has different opinions on how to live, why should someone dictate what I do? Why does it matter if I’ve chosen to date two men simultaneously? Why does it matter if I’ve chosen to give myself to two men who treat me well, and who cherish and care for me? If anything, it’s double the love and energy.
After all, I’ve been dating Ranger and Ryder for a few weeks now and the experience has been been amazing. We have incredible conversation ranging from current events, to politics, to the costumes worn at the Met Gala. And I mean costumes, because some of those outfits weren’t meant for real life.
“What, you think people should wear huge ostrich feather peacock hats while walking down the street, like Celine Dion did?” I ask Ryder teasingly while nuzzling his neck. We’d just finished a session in bed, and I’m cuddled between the two of them, my curves flushed and sated. Both men are huge, bronzed, and incredibly gentle with me as they press soft kisses against my neck and shoulders.
“Well, maybe not down the street,” drawls Ranger.
“See?” I squeal triumphantly. “If you can’t wear it out in real life, then it’s a costume, and not just fashion.”
Ryder chuckles deep in his chest.
“But even if I wouldn’t wear ostrich feathers out in real life, it doesn’t mean that someone can’t. Maybe Rihanna or Cardi B. Or maybe Celine herself. After all, I thought she looked good,” he says diplomatically.
I think back to the paparazzi photos I saw of Miss Dion. They were engaging, for sure. Celine is obviously in her fifties, and yet this is a woman who knows herself, and who does what she likes. She wore a glittery, showgirl outfit to the Met Gala, complete with a three-foot tall headpiece and dramatic yellow make-up. Yes, canary-yellow shadow highlighted her eyes, which was strange, and yet compelling too.
I think a bit more. Miss Dion has my respect, definitely. Maybe I don’t love her songs because her English has always sounded a bit weird to me, and the tones tend to soar for minutes before coming back down, but I have to respect her for what she’s achieved.
“You know, I think you’re right,” I say slowly. “Heck, Celine could wear that headpiece down Broadway if she wants. She’s a superstar, so why not?” I muse.
Ranger drops another affectionate kiss on my shoulder.
“Exactly,” he says. “There’s a place for everyone in New York, so if you want to swan about, then wear what you please,” he adds. “Make yourself happy, as long as it’s not something offensive.”
I giggle a bit, but then grow serio
us again.
“You know, I think I really respect Miss Dion because it doesn’t feel like she’s trying to sell me anything when she wears eye-catching clothes. I get the feeling she wears them for her. She’s not getting paid, and no one gave her any of that stuff for free.”
The doctors eye me, puzzled.
“Why would anyone give her free stuff? Oh you mean as complimentary promotional items?”
I nod.
“Exactly. I guess a lot of celebrities get free stuff in the hopes that they’ll wear and promote them in the public eye. But Celine Dion is different. She said that she buys all her clothes full-price. After all, she did a residency in Vegas and is allegedly worth a billion dollars, so she can afford it,” I add ruefully.
Ryder lets out a whistle.
“That’s a lot of money.”
“A heckuva lot,” agrees Ranger.
“Definitely enough to buy ten wardrobes filled with designer clothes,” I say cheekily. “Anyways, I’m just happy that Celine’s not trying to sell me anything. At least not obviously. Maybe she is trying to get me to listen to her songs, but if she is, then she’s going about it in a very subtle, classy way.”
The two men pull me close, nuzzling my throat and cheek again.
“You’re smart, sweetheart. You’re really good at breaking this all down because Miss Dion probably has the best PR and marketing people out there, not to mention fashion stylists and buyers. But it seems that you understand how this works,” remarks Ranger in an appreciative tone.
Ryder continues.
“Have you thought about going into marketing, Bethie? I think you could be really good at it,” he adds. “I mean, you just highlighted exactly what you like and dislike about the style choices of a professional singer. You know, they hire people for astute opinions like that.”
I blush.
“Who, me?” I giggle. “No, I’ve never thought of it. In college, I studied entomology. A whole lot of good that did me,” I snort.
Doctor Stephenson waggles his brows.
“What, there aren’t enough insects in New York for you? What about all the cockroaches in the subways? Or those fucking water bugs that always climb up the shower drain?”
I shudder a bit.
“I always handled specimens when they were in glass jars, and trust me, New York City cockroaches need a team of people to attack that problem, not just one girl. But no, I haven’t used my college degree in my working life. You know that I’m just a corporate secretary over at Gen-Armor, right? They do plastics and polymers, although even after all these years, I don’t really get what that means. I just know it’s not my thing.”
The men are silent for a moment, just thinking.
“Tell me, how did you get the job at Gen-Armor?”
I smile a little embarrassed.
“Well, I originally thought I was going to come to the city with, I don’t know … an idea, I guess. You can tell it wasn’t very well-formed since I can’t even remember what that original idea was.”
Ranger nods, non-judgmental.
“And what happened after you got here?”
I sigh.
“Well, I had a little money saved up from my job during college, so I lived on that for a while. My friend who was temping at Gen-Armor left to move home, but before she took off, she recommended me as her replacement. I think they didn’t really want to spend much time recruiting because I think I was the first person they talked to, and they hired me on the spot.”
The doctors nod.
“So you’ve been with the company four years now?”
I nod.
“I was always going to leave,” is my subdued explanation. “I never saw it as anything but a temporary gig while I looked for a real job. But one year turned into two, and then I got pregnant with Danny and I needed health benefits. Since they’re a big company, insurance is pretty generous at Gen-Armor. And then, I just stayed,” I say simply. “I guess I’m a pretty good secretary because everyone seems okay with my work. I mean, I’m not stellar or anything, but I’m not terrible either. I’m neat, efficient, and get my work done.”
The doctors are silent, merely stroking my hair for a moment. I relax between them. It’s so funny. In the beginning, I was a little bit embarrassed about my curves, not to mention the way I have of screaming loudly during sex, and the way I squirt so generously each time. But these men make me feel desired and feminine, and as a result, I’m completely comfortable with them now, jiggly parts and all.
“Hmm,” muses Ryder while stroking my back. “Well, I definitely have some ideas.”
“Ideas?” I cock my head at him, even while gazing at that handsome face adoringly. How did Mother Nature create such perfection in a man? His black brows are straight, highlighting the piercing blue of his eyes. His cheeks are chiseled, and that mobile mouth has kissed me everywhere and anywhere. My pussy spasms pleasurably just at the memory.
“Yes ideas,” adds Ranger from the other side of me. I turn to look at him. He’s just as gorgeous. Maybe a little bigger than Ryder, with his muscular build and powerful arms and legs, but just as intelligent and persuasive. “We’ve been looking for a marketing assistant for a while.”
I blink at them.
“Marketing?” I ask dumbly. “But for what?”
The men laugh, Ryder slapping my bottom playfully.
“For our office of course,” he says. “Epinine Medical.”
“But you’re the best,” I say, shaking my head. “Everyone knows that already. What marketing is there to do?”
“Everyone does know that we’re the best,” concedes Ranger, “but it’s because we make sure they know it. Because even if they know now, it doesn’t mean that they’ll remember tomorrow, or even next year when they finally decide they’re ready for that face lift. It’s marketing that does the trick. We send out materials all the time, and we’re often mentioned in all sorts of publications, from professional journals to drugstore-counter women’s magazines.”
I nod, realization dawning.
“Oh right. When I read Glamour and such, the articles on plastic surgery often have quotes from real doctors about different procedures. Wait, have you guys ever been in Glamour? Maybe I’ve read your stuff!”
Ranger chuckles.
“We have, indeed,” he remarks. “Many times, and we’ve even gotten to know their health and beauty reporter quite well. But see, it took a professional to put us in touch with the right person at Glamour, and it takes a professional to keep us in constant contact with the right people too. Otherwise, everyone forgets, and then Epinine is just going to be another chop shop tooting its own horn. The press provides us with awareness, and also legitimacy.”
I nod, taking this information in. Evidently, marketing is a relentless string of promotional activities that can take many forms. It sounds like a giant level of responsibility, and I don’t know much about it. But maybe I am the girl for the job because I’m ready to learn. I want to better myself, and to make something of myself, which isn’t going to be possible given my current dead-end job. After all, there’s no path up at Gen-Armor and anything from a layoff to a recession could mean devastation for me and Danny. I should give this new job a try, just because there’s the promise of opportunity and the ability to go someplace.
“Well,” I say in a timid voice. “If you’re serious about the job offer, then I’d be interested.”
The doctors look at one another over my head, as if communicating silently. Evidently they agree because then Ryder tweaks my nipple, making me gasp a little, before pressing another kiss to my lips.
“We are serious,” he says, raising his head. “Give us a month or so because we need to define the position a little more, and figure out benefits and salary and all that good stuff. But I think this is going to be a good fit for you, sweetheart, both professionally and personally. I think you’re going to be really happy.”
I don’t say anything in return, merely pressing my
lips to his and then turning to do the same with Ranger. Delight suffuses my form because these men are everything to me. They go out of their way to make me happy in bed and out, and now, they’ve offered me a solid job with benefits on top of everything else. Granted, nothing is set in concrete yet, but I can already feel a heady buzz from the tips of my fingertips down to my toes. After all, these men are becoming everything to me now, and I hope they only feel the same about me.
15
Ryder
“Great work,” I say to Ranger while reading a patient’s chart. “You made the right decision.”
“Thanks,” he grunts, not looking my way. “Yeah, Mrs. Jackson was high-maintenance, but I think she’s really happy with her eye lift.”
It’s Sunday, and Ranger and I are working on some charts at home in the privacy of his living room. Papers are scattered everywhere, in addition to files and medical charts. It’s a goddamn mess.
I wish Bethany were here, except she’s taken the day to visit her mom in Pennsylvania, and she won’t be back until late at night.
The last few months dating the brunette have been amazing. She quit her job at Gen-Armor after our last conversation, and started working as a marketing assistant at Epinine. It’s gone well. Better than well, I should say.
“I thought we were going to digitize all this stuff,” I remark, looking askance at the heaps of paper.
“We are,” says Ranger. “Thank goodness we have Bethie, man. I’m mean, she’s done wonders with the marketing stuff already, but she’s also done so much more. Before, we were barely hanging on when it came to general administrative issues. Plus, accounting? Holy shit, Christine could be robbing us blind, and we wouldn’t know.”
I shake my head ruefully. Christine is our office manager. She’s not robbing us blind because we’re audited each year, and the external accountants would have detected any irregularities by now. But still, I know what Ranger’s saying. He and I practice medicine, but we were never trained to be businessmen. That’s why running our own practice is challenging. It’s like we have to be managers on top of seeing patients, and that’s not exactly something you’re ready to do after performing a face lift and a rhinoplasty within the last twelve hours.