The Infamous Ellen James (Infamous Series)

by Alcorn, N. A.

  I was facing my audience as I turned to the next slide and noticed several small smirks cross their faces as they glanced up to the projection screen. I just brushed it off and continued on discussing projected cost savings in relation to our newest policies and changes. As I looked up at the screen before turning to the next slide, I finally became aware of why several physicians and hospital board officials were no longer making eye contact with me and mostly just gawking at the current slide with amused grins on their faces. The slide that was up on the projection screen, which seemed like it was the size of a giant billboard, was a picture of me from a Halloween party last year.

  Unfortunately, the theme of the party had been sex toys. I'd been dressed in boy shorts, a lace camisole top, high heels, and a strap-on with a twelve-inch rubber cock attached to it. Right now, I was screaming, "Screw You, Amy!” in my head. I was pretty sure I was frozen in complete mortification for a good thirty seconds because I was in absolute shock. Hell, shock didn't even begin to describe the emotion that had turned me into a statue. I was literally frozen in place. An entire room of prestigious trauma surgeons and hospital board officials were currently staring at a picture of me scantily clad with a giant dildo strapped to my waist.

  Could you die from embarrassment?

  I hastily changed the slides and turned back to face my audience, who were currently in various states of emotions.

  Shock.

  Amusement.

  Awkwardly gawking at me.

  Holding back laughter.

  "Just wanted to make sure you were all awake." I cleared my throat and then gave a small, nervous laugh.

  "Well, sweetheart, you definitely have my attention," an older, heavyset gentleman said from the back of the room. This thankfully broke the awkward silence; I could hear several loud chuckles fill the room.

  I somehow managed to continue on with my presentation and gave the rest of my planned speech without the assistance of the slides. I refused to unknowingly show another inappropriate picture. I'd already managed to make a big enough ass out of myself as it was; no need to add more fuel to the fire. After finishing the presentation, I hurriedly rushed through saying goodbyes and thank-yous. I gave the excuse that I had a flight to catch. I was just too embarrassed to be in the room with those people for any longer.

  I practically sprinted to my hotel room and locked myself in.

  I called Amy and left her a very detailed voicemail letting her know the kind of damage she'd just done with that little stunt. I didn't hold back and essentially called her every name in the book while simultaneously threatening to email the entire hospital pictures of her from the work Christmas party last year.

  I started to organize the business cards that had been handed to me before I'd speedily left the conference room and notice that at least five of the cards had personal cell numbers telling me to call them.

  One in particular stated, "I'd love a personal wakeup call from you."

  You have got to be kidding me.

  You'd think a room full of hospital officials and prestigious surgeons would have had the decency to act professional, but you show them one picture of yourself scantily clad with a twelve-inch rubber cock and they might as well have jerked one out during my presentation.

  Lesson learned. When Amy emails you back and instructs you to review the slides one last time, you review the fucking slides.

  Better yet, never let Amy touch any slides for any type of presentation ever again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Just remember when you let someone frequent your back door—that back door will start to show the effects of overuse. Then, one day, you might find yourself in the hospital pushing a baby out while a whole staff of 'medical professionals' are looking at you, unable to take their eyes off of your gaping, worn-out back door. Overuse can change that thing from a bank vault to a saloon door in no time.”

  I'm currently on my third twelve-hour shift in a row and finding it hard to act remotely happy towards my patients. How many assholes are going to stroll into my ER with complaints of sore throats? Does anyone have a primary care physician these days? This shit gets old and I'm wishing someone would walk in with an actual emergency.

  Where are the shootings and car accidents when you need them?

  Yes, I'm well aware that I'm being an asshole right now.

  I know this might come off cold and callus, but I'm slightly jaded these days. Sometimes I wonder if a new job is in order. I haven't seen Trent since our night out at Murphy's Pub, but we've been chatting on the phone and texting a lot. Our schedules just haven't really matched up over the past week since he's had to take over office hours and maintain his on-call surgery schedule. I'm getting kind of angry at myself for falling for a guy so fast. My heart is telling me to jump in feet first, but my brain is telling me to slow my roll and protect myself from getting hurt again.

  One of these days, I hope my brain and heart can come to some type of agreement.

  Another thing that makes me scared to start dating him is that Trent is only in Charlotte because he is temporarily overseeing Dr. Grey's practice while he is on a medical leave of absence. Dr. Grey was injured several months ago in a car accident. He was hit head-on by a drunk driver and somehow managed to survive. The pictures of the accident itself are completely terrifying, and he is damn lucky to be alive. He sustained several injuries that have required extensive surgery and daily physical therapy sessions, but thankfully Dr. Grey is on the mend. Last I heard, Dr. Grey was doing really well and hopes to get back to his practice in a few months.

  This means that Trent Hamilton isn't a permanent fixture in Charlotte.

  He is temporary.

  Trent is originally from Seattle, and his current plans, that I know of, include moving back there once Dr. Grey is fully healed. So you can see why I'm extremely hesitant to start something serious with him. The heart wants what the heart wants, and I know deep down that my heart wants Trent Hamilton. I'm still trying to deny this fact and would never willingly admit my already strong feelings for him to anyone, especially Amy—or more importantly, Trent.

  How long can I keep this up until I get hurt?

  That is the million dollar question right now, and I really wish I had some damn answers. I feel my phone vibrate in my scrub pocket, and I glance at the screen to see a text message notification.

  Trent: Ellie girl, I hope you're enjoying your day. I went to sleep last night with thoughts of beautiful green eyes, cleavage, and tequila shots.

  Sigh. Just one text from him and I'm grinning like a teen mom who's baby daddy just put a ring on her finger.

  I quickly text him back.

  Me: Dr. Beautiful, my day just got better.

  Another text notification causes my phone to vibrate.

  Trent: Dr. Beautiful? I guess this means you're going to let me take you out dinner tomorrow night. The only response I will accept is YES.

  I'm still grinning like an idiot and quickly text him back.

  Me: YES, Dr. Beautiful.

  He speedily responds.

  Trent: I'll pick you up at 7 pm.

  So much for trying to take things slow. I'm practically salivating at the idea of a night alone with Trent. I send another text his way.

  Me: I'll be the girl in the black fuck-me heels.

  Within a minute, I get his response.

  Trent: You're killing me, Ellie girl.

  I'm still smiling from ear to ear like a fucking moron, but I can't seem to help myself. Trent is a breath of fresh air; he makes me feel alive. I'm terrified of getting hurt again, but I don't think I can avoid these feelings I have for this devastatingly sexy man. I barely know him, yet he's on my mind constantly.

  My heart wants Trent.

  My brain wants Trent.

  My vagina really wants Trent.

  Moments like these make me thankful I'm not a guy, because otherwise I'd be sporting some serious wood right now. Not even a half-chub or semi; it'd be full-
on boner-time all up in these scrub pants.

  Let's face the facts—Trent Hamilton gives me raging ladyboners.

  After I manage to pull myself together and focus on work instead of being thrusted by Trent, I head back into bed eight to discharge a patient. I nicely give the elderly lady her discharge instructions so that she can be on her merry way. She has been diagnosed with a very serious condition called constipation. Insert copious amounts of sarcasm into that statement.

  God damn constipation.

  Who comes to the ER for that? I'm pretty sure that shitting is a daily bodily function. If you go seven days without dropping a deuce and you're not alerted by this, then we've got bigger problems on our hands. Don't worry, I've got Mrs. Forgets To Poop covered. I've given her enough laxatives and stool softeners to ensure that she is crapping herself silly by the time she gets home.

  After my emergency constipation case ambles out the door, I see a young girl around nineteen or twenty being wheeled in, and it is extremely apparent she is currently in labor. She's screaming, "The baby is coming now!" panting heavily through her contractions, and barely keeping her ass on the wheelchair.

  That's a surefire sign of someone who is fully dilated and ready to deliver.

  I instruct the transporter to wheel her into bed nine and hurriedly put on gloves because I sure as hell don't want vaginal fluids all over my hands. The last time I saw a patient come into the ER like this, I ended up delivering her baby with my bare hands. Lesson learned.

  We quickly get her into the ER bed as I continue to do my best to get prepared for a delivery. Since there is visibly no time to get her upstairs to the actual labor and delivery unit, I call their charge nurse and tell her to send supplies and staff down as soon as possible. I ask the patient several questions pertaining to her pregnancy, past medical history, age, and other pertinent information that will allow more insight into what I'm currently facing. Luckily, she has had an uncomplicated pregnancy and her due date is only a few days away. This is a huge relief. It is one thing to do a delivery in the ER, but it is a whole other ball game when you're being faced with a severely premature baby being born without the appropriate staff and equipment.

  “Oh my god, get this baby out!!!" She's screaming at the top of her lungs and now beginning to grunt with each contraction. I pull down her already wet pants and underwear, indicating that her water already broke, and encourage her to slowly breathe through her contractions. She's sweaty, panting, and extremely red-faced. I really would like her to hold off on pushing until an obstetrician arrives, but I'm sure this probably isn't going to happen. Regency has an obstetrician in-house at all times. Unfortunately for me, their call room is located upstairs on the eighth floor.

  "Screw you! I'm pushing this baby out now!!!!" Did I forget to mention that pregnant women make me so happy?

  Dr. Simon is our ER physician on staff today, and he wanders into the patient's room as she's screaming, "Ahhhhhh! My vagina feels like it's being ripped apart!" He is visibly taken aback by this, and I'm just holding my breath for his god damn Tourette's to kick into gear. The last thing I need right now is for him to yell, “Pull on my pubes!” to an angry pregnant woman.

  I get the patient positioned for delivery. Her hips are close to the edge of the bed, and her two family members are holding her legs. The baby is crowning at this point, and in about two more contractions, her little bundle of joy will be here. Dr. Simon is such an asset to me in this moment. He continues to stand in the corner of the room in shock and not doing a fucking thing to help.

  Finally, Amy walks in to assist me. I'm glad she came in, but I know once she gets a gander at what this woman has going on down below, she will barely be able to contain herself. Not only is this chick's vagina spread apart from a giant crowning baby head, but she also has the largest, most gaping asshole I've ever witnessed in my entire life. Yes, this young girl has an unbelievably large asshole, and when she pushes with her contractions, it only seems to double in size.

  "Where in the hell is L&D?" Amy asks me as she quickly puts gloves on. She was also present for my bare-handed delivery.

  "I don't have a clue. I called them over ten minutes ago," I attempt to tell her over the screaming, grunting, and crying pregnant woman.

  Amy comes over to stand beside me, and I know she's already spotted the brown winker because she isn't saying anything. I glance over at her and see her wide-eyed, amused expression. I can practically hear the wheels turning inside of her head. If I had to guess what is going inside Amy's brain right now, I'd lay money on the fact that she's got about ten anal sex jokes lined up and ready. Obviously, a large, gaping asshole is going to lead your mind in one direction—butt sex, butt plugs, anal beads, and in this woman's case, baseball bats.

  I'm more than thankful when the OB team arrives and takes over the delivery. Amy and I step back out of the way and let them do their thing.

  "So let's talk about that asshole," Amy whispers into my ear.

  I just eyeball her and give her a "please shut up" look, because I know I can't encourage her to start telling me ass jokes while we are still standing in bed nine, watching this woman deliver her baby. I'm pretty sure there is some sort of moral code of ethics that frowns up butthole talk while witnessing the miracle of life.

  "Is that the baby daddy? Holy balls, he must have a huge cock to do that kind of damage to an asshole."

  So much for not encouraging her…

  "And how did she get pregnant? Because from the looks of it, he spends most of his time using the back door."

  Oh my god, she's not going to stop, and I'm barely able to contain my laughter.

  Amy knows I have a serious problem of getting giggly at the most inopportune times, and she makes it a goal to use those times to her advantage. I feel myself start to shake with quiet laughter and have to turn away from the room and act like I'm busying myself with changing my gloves.

  I swear she is such a dickhead sometimes.

  The young girl delivers a healthy baby boy and everything goes smoothly. Well, as smoothly as pushing a small human out of your snatch can go. Amy and I help our OB team transfer the patient upstairs so they can continue her recovery on their unit. While we are assisting the baby daddy with putting the patient's belongings in their new room, he starts to ask us a few questions about getting around the hospital.

  "Thanks again for all of your help, ladies. We used the back entrance when we came into the emergency room. Is it okay if I stay parked back there?" The new dad asks us as he puts his girlfriend's purse on the bedside table.

  "Well most people use the front entrance, but if you prefer the back entrance, I'm sure it's not a problem," Amy manages to say with a straight face. I'm going to smack her when we get on the elevator.

  "Oh, okay. Well, I guess since most people don't use the back entrance anyway. I'll just make good use of it," he says with a genuine smile.

  Clueless. This guy is so clueless right now.

  "Congratulations! Enjoy that new baby boy of yours. He's absolutely precious," I quickly express to the young dad as I drag Amy out of the room by her arm before she can make any more innuendos about back doors or back entrances. That last comment he made left an opening as wide as his girlfriend's asshole, and there was no way in hell I was going to allow her to continue.

  As we walk back onto the staff elevator, I can tell she is just dying to start talking assholes. I push the button for the lobby level and lean up against the elevator wall in preparation for some ridiculousness to come spewing out of her mouth. The doors shut, leaving Amy and me alone in the elevator.

  "Go ahead. Out with it," I say to her with amusement plastered all over my face.

  "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god! Did you get a look at that asshole? I'm pretty sure I could see organs, and it seriously took me a minute to figure out which hole the baby was going to come out of." Amy is practically bouncing up and down with excitement. Her mouth is going a mile a minute, and I'm pretty sure
she is speaking some sort of asshole tongues. Who would have thought one chick's asshole could make her entire day?

  "I know, Amy. I saw it. You saw it. I think the entire emergency department saw it. I don't think it was possible for anyone to miss that girl's pooper."

  "How big is her baby daddy's dick to stretch her rectum out like that? And this brings a whole new meaning to the Shocker. Two in the pink and a fist to her stink." Amy is grinning from ear to ear.

  "You are hilarious but extremely perverse. You know that right?" I'm barely able to hold back laughter at her new take on the Shocker.

  "There is no way that girl ever gets constipated. I bet her shit just falls right out. How many times do you think she's crapped herself laughing?" Amy jokes as the elevator door opens, and an unsuspecting elderly couple overhears her.

  "All right, I get it. You've got at least one thousand more random jokes and things to stay in regards to that girl's gaping asshole, but you're going to have to hold it in until we get home. I'm running to the cafeteria to grab a quick bite to eat. I will meet you in the breakroom in like fifteen minutes. Please no more asshole talk over lunch," I beg quietly before walking towards the hospital cafeteria.

  "Speaking of holding in it! I bet I know someone who CAN'T possibly do that!" she yells to me as I walk away. I just shake my head and keep walking. I know she's hilarious, but I also know that if I give her an inkling of an idea that I'm finding any of this funny, she won't stop. After seeing Mrs. Forgets To Poop and that girl with the gaping asshole in the span of one hour, my brain is completely over hearing or seeing anything ass related.