His cut had already been cleaned and closed with stere-strips, and non-lint gauze had been applied, the bandage to hold it in place. As soon as the doctor secured the bandage, I wrapped my arm around the boy and stroked his sweat-drenched hair and, little by little, he eased his crying and eventually stopped entirely, his hands trembling and eyes searching the room.
Although I wanted to stay there until his parent or guardian arrived, there were others to attend to. I gave the boy a warm smile, and he rewarded me with a smile of his own, and a brief nod as if he somehow understood why I had to leave him.
These kids—in fact, most Sri Lankan people I’d encountered—were wonderful and grateful for our presence, and sometimes all they needed was some light medical treatment and a little love to make them forget—however briefly—the horrors of the tsunami. I know that sounds gushing and incredibly naive for me to have thought anything else, but I guess even as I tore myself from my former life, Tom’s ill-conceived prejudices hung on to me like a bad smell.
As the triage department directed us to cases in order of severity, we managed to bring the situation under control, the volume of wailing and crying and demands for attention decreasing as the hours ticked by, and by day’s end, none of the kids needed to be hospitalized. Since many were orphans, they now lived with aunts and uncles and neighbors, but the extent of the destruction had brought communities together, and I heard not one grumble or “why me?” as adults were called in to collect their wards.
By the end of my twelve-hour shift, my empty stomach growled, my bladder bulged, and my feet ached as a testament to a day without a break longer than the occasional five minutes needed for hydration. Still, I returned to my room unable to shake the satisfaction of a job well-done, and my warm smile remained fixed in place as I closed the door behind me and fell on the couch simply to relax for a short while.
When some of my strength and energy returned, I walked over to the bathroom to take a bath. Not always a great idea in a tropical climate, but some habits are hard to shake.
I took off my clothes and lay back in the warm water as the bubbles gently rose, drenching me in a tropical bath of liquid sensuality. All tightness and aches drained from my body. Just as I thought I’d successfully drowned all my tensions in the warmth of the foam bath, he suddenly appeared, right there in the middle of my peaceful thoughts.
In my mind’s eye, I saw the naked man on the birthday card my mother had sent me … only he was alive, and he started moving. When he turned around and fixed his eyes on me, an electric current traveled swiftly through my fingers as I recognized his face.
The naked man I’d mentally summoned as I lay there in the warm bath water was Logan.
4
I involuntarily moved my hand over my breasts and the erection of my nipples as I beheld the naked splendor of the mental image and it continued to flash through my mind. I didn’t even attempt to banish Logan this time, and when I slowly moved my hand down to my crotch, my heart beat rapidly in my chest as if I lay right in front of him.
I stroked my clit between two fingers and knew there would be no stopping. For some reason, this man had firmly planted his image in my thoughts, and I could no longer fight it. Perhaps I would make another attempt to forget about him sometime later, but right then, I gave myself over totally to him and stroked myself faster and faster until I’d set my entire body on fire. The pressure built and my knees braced on the sides of the bath, my feet flexed, pushing at one end of the bath, so my back straightened against the other, arching as Logan found the exact rhythm I needed right then.
I finally reached a mind-splitting climax and couldn’t help but sigh out loud with deep satisfaction, a satisfaction that manifested as a near whoop. Settling back into the water, I worried the other people in the hotel might have heard my exclamation of pleasure, but as I relaxed, I found I really couldn’t care if they were listening or not. It felt wonderful to have had that kind of release, and I lay back and let my mind go for a minute.
I saw the blond surfer’s face again and imagined what it would be like to lay in his arms after making love to him … then I finally got a hold of myself and hunger dragged me out of the bath to towel off and get dressed.
As I prepared a pan of rice to fry up with a little chicken and sweet chili, I was a brand new person and proved my act of self-gratification had been long overdue. Who cared if I’d fantasized about a man I would probably never see again? I was over the whole sexual infatuation with the surfer boy now and prepared for at least another six months of celibacy. Tom Delaney had been my personal tsunami, and I rebuilt my defenses high enough so no one would ever drag me down like that again.
I walked over to my bed and pulled the romance novel from under my pillow. I looked at the title as if reading it for the first time. A Real Man. The reason for the title was that the male hero in the book represented everything a “real man” should be—whatever that meant in the modern world. But that wasn’t the reason the title had suddenly caught my eye.
My entire experience in Sri Lanka still didn’t feel real to me. Perhaps because I didn’t say anything or complain when my mother sent me those thousand dollar gifts in my bank account. Or because I could return to a life of luxury if this didn’t work out, unlike the Spanish girl, Bella, who’d saved up all her money for the flight to Sri Lanka, not even knowing if she’d be accepted by Doctors Without Borders once she made it to the tsunami-stricken outland. Bella was all-in, to use a poker term—the moment when they bet all their money on a hand of cards.
I was not all-in. I traveled to Sri Lanka to rebuild my life, and I could leave anytime I wanted. I thought about it some more and realized I would have to make some mental investment if I truly wanted to become a part of what we were trying to achieve here.
Why not learn to surf? The thought surprised me with its quick arrival, and I had no immediate defense to the simple sense it seemed to make. I would have to commit myself to staying in Sri Lanka for as long as it took, and I would not be able to leave without learning this skill. Unless I admitted that I couldn’t do it.
Admit Tom was right.
… a spoiled rich girl like Jenny won’t last a week.
But I knew myself. I would never give up once I’d started something like that, as I would rather die than admit I couldn’t do something after putting my mind to it.
“You’d just be doing it for the surfer boy,” I heard my father’s voice say as clearly in my mind as if he’d been standing in the room.
For some reason, I could always anticipate what my father’s opinion would be of anything I did or planned to do. I guess it all stemmed from how he’d always acted in an overly protective manner and never held back on telling me exactly what he thought would be best for me. “Life is not all about thrills and excitement. Tom is a fine doctor, and he will make a wonderful husband.” That was my father’s take on the cheating bastard who’d ground my self-confidence down to zero with his shenanigans.
Fortunately, my mother had a long talk with me one night, right after I’d broken off the engagement. She told me how my dad used to walk three miles from a neighboring Texas farm whenever he wanted to visit her. My dad worked as a farm hand at the time, although he later made his fortune as a horse breeder. My mother told me how he used to arrive all horny and how they used to make crazy love in the stables outside so her father would not catch them in the act.
“Your father certainly didn’t mind walking three miles a day to have his thrills and excitement as a younger man,” my mother said that night, and all I needed to hear.
My father’s advice was not as honest as it sounded, a “do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do” scenario and my mother’s support gave me the strength to stay with my decision of breaking up with Tom, despite my father’s loudest protestations.
“I don’t care why I feel like learning how to surf,” I spoke out loud as if my dad could hear me. “I’m gonna do it.”
Having no clue as to what the first s
tep would be since surf schools were a long way from returning to the tourist scene here, I booted up my laptop and started reading up a little about surfing on the internet—the internet having been reinstated faster than running water.
The article I read discussed the difference between long boards and short boards, and the various techniques I would have to master before I would be able to stand up on the board for even a short period as the wave carried me toward the shore.
“It’s the kind of thing one would need a surfing coach for,” I whispered to myself and fell asleep with the laptop still open next to me on the bed.
5
Together, Bella and Eduardo made the perfect couple, Bella having been justly rewarded for investing all her money and dreams in coming to Sri Lanka. Eduardo was one of the two businessmen I’d seen chatting to Brenda and Bella the day I met Logan, and although Brenda hadn’t cared to hold onto the guy she’d been talking to, Bella had sunk her claws deep into Eduardo, and he seemed delighted with the mark she left. They were so taken with one another that they invited all the staff of the hospital to a beach party, and everyone not on shift turned up. More than one local commented Arugam Beach had never seen so many people together on its golden sand before.
“Do you think Eduardo’s hot friend will be here tonight?” Stacy asked, and I looked at her with a smile. She wore a bikini top with her skin-tight blue jeans, and her voluptuous curves threatened to spill out. As it turned out Eduardo and his business partner had arrived in Sri Lanka two days earlier, seeking ways to assist the communities in getting back on their feet. They ran a large, Italian tech company together, and besides the fact they truly seemed to have a desire to offer genuine help, their efforts would obviously also make for excellent PR.
“I do think he’ll be coming around,” I said, “but be careful Brenda doesn’t scratch your eyes out if you move in on her prey.”
Stacy laughed. “Brenda had her chance with the guy and moved on, so he’s fair game.”
From Stacy’s perspective, every man who came within twenty feet of her was fair game, so I was not surprised to hear she planned on making a move.
By eight o’ clock the Galaxy Lounge packed itself to capacity and a massive bonfire flared and crackled on the beach, crowds of people standing around with tropical drinks and beer. I sipped a margarita and Stacy held a gin and tonic, both of which were going down nicely. She surveilled the scene the way a hungry lioness might keep her eye on some defenseless animals at a watering hole. It wasn’t long before the first men edged closer to try their luck.
“Lovely party, isn’t it?” a young man with heavily tattooed arms said, and smiled his most winning smile at us, but at Stacy more particularly.
“Is that the best you can do, tiger?” she replied with a smile, and immediately touched the guy lightly on his hand to show him she was kidding.
See, that’s how you do it—a fine balance between cocky and playful, I thought to myself as I admired Stacy’s aplomb at playing with her man-toy, having seemingly hypnotized him from the start.
The poor man resembled a particularly inexperienced deer caught in the bright glow of a sports car’s headlights, and pretty soon he melted like putty in her lava-hot hands. The worst of it all was that he wasn’t Stacy’s type—too skinny, too new and shiny—so the poor guy had no chance with her. I guessed Stacy intended on using him to fetch drinks for the rest for the evening, and sure enough, soon he happily sauntered off to the bar to get us another round.
“You’re terrible,” I said with a naughty grin, pushing away the guilt of leading him on, and for enjoying the lesson Stacy dished out.
“I know, and that’s why you love me,” she replied, and we laughed together like two high school girls at a prom dance.
“Still, is it okay to let him think he’s getting some tonight? My mom sent another care package last week. We can afford drinks.”
“It’s the sport, honey. Besides, there’s still chance for him to convince me he’s up to the task.”
“He’s not your type.”
She pulled a mock-offended face. “I’ll have you know he’s borderline my type.”
I knew what Stacy liked in a man. She was real flexible and liked any guy who looked a bit like Keanu Reeves … that’s Keanu Reeves now, like John Wick, not Bill and Ted-era. She went for men with what did she call it? Edge. She liked edge. Despite the wannabe’s tats and decent arms, he was a pretty one. If his stubble grew out during the next three drinks, he might win Stacy’s approval.
Might.
“I’ll be back in a jiffy, I’m just going to the ladies room,” Stacy said, and started walking off.
About to follow her, I heard a vaguely familiar sound behind me. At first, I couldn’t quite place it, but then recognized the violin music.
“Hello, Logan speaking.”
I froze. The voice came from right behind me. When I thawed enough to turn around, there he was. The violin music played as his ringtone, and he stood there as if he knew where to find me. He spoke into his damn phone again, and my tongue nearly swelled to a size big enough to block my voice, like the first time I’d let him get away. But then I kicked back into gear and suddenly remembered how to do this thing called flirting.
“I don’t like the way you keep talking on your phone when you should be speaking to me,” I said without thinking.
“Jenny. I was wondering when I would run into you again.” Logan seemed to forget all about his phone conversation.
“What do you mean? You just disappeared the other day without saying goodbye properly.”
“Well, I had to rush off to the hospital. I was on-call that day.”
“On call? You’re not a doctor. I work at the only hospital around here, and I’ve never seen you around.”
He flashed me the smile that had first manifested that tingle of excitement, and I had to concentrate not to show him how attracted I felt to him right then.
“So after you nearly run me over in the hospital corridor, without stopping to see if I was all right, you go and insult me by calling me a liar.” He laughed, and for a moment I still didn’t quite get it.
Then it slowly started to dawn on me, and the beach sand grew unsteady under my feet, shifting, swaying.
It was him! The nurse I’d nearly run into when I went to fetch the bandages didn’t just look like Logan. It was Logan.
“But how … why what are you doing at the hospital?”
“Please excuse my friend, she always stutters like a klutz around hot guys,” Stacy declared, a fine way to announce her return from the ladies room. She carried fresh drinks but had dispensed with her pretty suitor. “I’m Stacy, what a pleasure to meet you.” She confidently held out her hand for him to shake.
“Logan … Logan Storm.” He shook Stacy’s hand briefly.
I was annoyed at the sudden pang of jealousy that flashed through my mind, and I nearly said something, but then caught myself.
I’m not in Sri Lanka to party and find some guy to screw. If Stacy ends up with the guy, then so be it.
Yeah, I totally believed that.
To my utter surprise—and I also think to Stacy’s—as the three of us chatted, Logan seemed more interested in me than in her. It wasn’t that he didn’t flirt with Stacy now and then, but he ended up standing in such a way that he was facing me directly. After a while, it became so obvious he was more into me than into my curvaceous friend that Stacy turned and walked away like a naughty schoolgirl who couldn’t get what she wanted. She busied herself with hunting down her tattooed non-Keanu lookalike, who seemed happy to accept her back into his orbit.
With Stacy gone, Logan and I fell into an easy flow. I discovered he arrived five days earlier, dispatched by Doctors Without Borders to shore up our contingent. This explained why we’d missed one another up to that point, except for the time when I nearly ran him over in the corridor, of course.
While I talked, I experienced flashbacks, both visual and physical,
of my self-pleasuring session in the bathtub, and it made me feel seductive in a way I hadn’t such a long time as if I knew a secret about us which Logan didn’t.
The way he dodged some of my questions, though, gave the impression I was not the only one here to avoid something back home. He wouldn’t tell me much about the reason why he decided to join up. He wasn’t some world-famous doctor or anything, just a medic with experience in the sorts of trauma experienced here. I asked him about some other stuff like surfing and happened to mention I’d considered taking it up myself. Logan suggested I accompany him one day so he could show me the ropes, and that settled it.
Logan would be my instructor, and I would become a surfing nurse. Like some secret identity. A nurse by day, surfer by…well, by day off.
Although the electricity between Logan and I crackleed so thick and tangible you would have been able to chop it in half with an ax; I resisted the temptation of allowing it to develop any further that evening. I know this might seem a bit prudish, especially considering I’d allowed myself an X-rated fantasy which included a wild session of masturbation, but we would have a lot of time together now we’d talked and made arrangements.
Being perfectly honest, I also bore the scars of my time with Tom, and I didn’t feel confident in my sexuality. Although I wouldn’t call myself inexperienced by any stretch of the imagination (I had my own “slutty phase” at college during which I experimented with everything I dared), I didn’t want to disappoint a guy like Logan in bed, and walk away feeling even more undesirable than I had before the breakup.
Logan walked me back to the hotel, and when that awkward moment arrived for us to part ways, I gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and waved goodbye before the situation could become uncomfortable.
6
Every once in a while, you meet someone, and they keep surprising you by always in your corner. Without question. No strings. I’m not talking about Logan; the person who kept surprising me this way was Stacy.
My Doctor Without Borders Page 2