~*~
This story is purely FICTIONAL. All characters are over the age of 18. Some of the places named in this story are real, others are fictional. In my little fantasy world there are no STD's or AIDS, but we live in the real world so please practice safe sex.
©All rights reserved.
This is my first online story so please send some feedback. I live in South Africa, so my spelling differs somewhat to American English. The story contains a ton of dialogue, so if you're looking for something that jumps straight to the sex part, it might not be for you.
For PTA East's hot orthopaedic surgeon and stand-in guy who inspired this story. I sincerely hope you never read this 'cause this might harder to explain than the time I fell in ICU and fractured my ribs.
Hugs & Happiness to All,
Daniella
~*~
Having had many shunt revisions in the same hospital with the same neurosurgeon (I think I hold the record of 10 operations in 2 years), I was likely to meet the stand-in surgeon as neurosurgeons actually have lives, well sort of.
Eventually the inevitable happened; I met Doctor James M. Neeson: orthopaedic and spinal surgeon, the stand-in guy. Wow, what can I say? Firstly, he's ridiculously tall; that's the first thing everyone notices. Secondly, he tends to be full of shit; the neuro says one thing and his attitude is like 'Fuck you, I run the show now and you're not going anywhere!'
My first face off with him came one Saturday morning a few months back; I had surgery that Thursday and he took over for a few days, whilst Dr. Smith went to Cape Town for some much needed rest. Dr. Smith tends works 'til stupid-o-clock most days; and it's not unlikely to find him wondering around the wards at 2 in the morning, planning the next day's surgeries. Ask me, I've been found out by him more than once, walking through the neurosurgery ward at all hours of the night. I'm a chronic insomniac and the beds are fucking terrible. And the pills SUCK!
I was I.C.U., desperate to get back to regular ward just so that I could be free of all those damn cuffs and tubes, and of course those bloody bedpans. Here I was hoping Dr. Neeson would be my white knight in shining armour and busted me out of there; I was sorely mistaken.
"Hi, hoe gaan dit?"
{'Hello, how are you?'}
He asked. Living in Pretoria, almost everybody speaks Afrikaans. I can speak Afrikaans, it's my second language, but I tend to speak English most of the time; and I refuse to speak Afrikaans to people unless I know them well. Like my mom, although most of what we talk about should never be repeated in front of anyone that lives outside of our home. EVER.
"Fine, thank you."
"Any problems?" He asked. Even if I had any problem I wasn't about tell him about them.
"No. Do you think I can go to the general ward today?"
"No. You're only on day 1 post op."
"Please?" I whined like a 4 year old, "Dr. Smith said I could go to the general ward today." In these few moments I realized 2 things. Number 1: doctors lie; number 2: I wasn't going to change his mind, not that it stopped me from trying.
Basically we repeat the same conversation every time I saw him. I only ever wanted to be move to a normal ward or go home. My attitude in life has always been 'You go in there, you get the job done and you get the fuck out!' Being in hospital was no different. I had spent so much time in hospital the last few years I could practically run the place.
However, the more I spoke to him the more I started noticing small things about him. Like how big his hands are(it got me wondering what else is big). The unusual colour of his eyes. The way you could see a tiny glimpse of his chest hair sticking out just above the buttons of his shirt. The slightest hint of grey starting to show around his temples. The fact that he never wore a suit, I loved the way his ass looked in his khakis and his faded blue jeans. My favourite part of his rounds was when he had his back to me; I swear I could spend hours just staring at that ass.
I had come to enjoy these little battles of will between us. He had become my favourite opponent and secretly my favourite fantasy when I masturbated...
*****
About a month ago I got tearful phone call from my best friend, Jason. His long-time boyfriend, Chris had just broken up with him. Apparently he needed some space, although I reckon he was more than likely cheating. I had never actually liked Chris from the first day that I had met him, and the feeling was mutual but I love Jason, so I tolerated him.
My family had bought a few restaurants over the last couple of years and I had come to know most of the staff, from the doormen to waiter and the cooks. So, I decided to have one of the doormen drive me down from Pretoria to Randburg.
