A White Coat Is My Closet (35 page)

The mental critique I began of my aesthetically challenged bedroom was interrupted by soft snoring. In the same instant, I immediately remembered where I was. I slowly rolled to my right side, conscious of trying not to rock the bed, and looked at Sergio. He was still fast asleep. I raised myself on an elbow to look at him more closely. In the first glimpse of morning, it was like seeing him for the first time, and I found myself taken aback again by how handsome he was. In the depth of sleep, his expression was relaxed and peaceful. His eyelashes rested on honey-colored lids, and his unshaven jaw framed a mouth worthy of a toothpaste commercial. He had a well-sculpted nose that complemented the rest of his features perfectly, and hair that, though tousled by sleep, fell over his forehead like it had been intentionally combed that way.

Damn,
I thought,
how did I get to be so lucky?
I was tempted to wrap my arms around him and let myself drift back to sleep but knew I had to get to the hospital. This morning, the ever-dreaded “chief rounds” would begin promptly at seven thirty.

Chief rounds were a medical education tradition firmly ensconced in the archives of the hurdles of humiliation one had to survive to complete a residency. They consisted of compiling the entire medical team, from the department chief, to the head of the residency program, to the chief resident, to the senior resident, to the interns, and finally down to the medical students. The participants would convene in the conference room on the pediatric ward, where, for the benefit of the medical students, introductions were made, and then a list of all the patients on the ward would be given to the chief of the department, Dr. Eugene Franklin. The list was organized by room number, each specifying the last name of the patient, the gender, the age, and the diagnosis. When the formalities were over, the fun began. The team would slowly start its migration down the corridor, stopping outside each of the rooms.

When all participants had assumed the appropriate erect and attentive posture, the job of the medical student was to formally present the history of the patient hospitalized behind the designated door. One of the essential lessons of a medical education was how to present. The presentation had to be succinct and accurate, void of extraneous information, but with enough detail to give a listener who was unfamiliar with the patient rapid familiarity with the case. It had to contain a brief history as to what the condition of the patient had been at the time of admission, which presenting symptoms warranted hospitalization, and what the progression of the patient had been subsequent to being hospitalized. Relevant test results and lab values had to be summarized, any complications had to be mentioned, and the presentation had to conclude with either a definitive diagnosis or a list of possible diagnoses. Finally, based on the presumptive diagnosis, the intended plan of management had to be outlined.

The anticipation of having to present on chief rounds had driven many a medical student to the verge of vomiting. It was worse than stage fright, because in addition to having to memorize buttloads of information, you knew that at any given instant, you could be interrupted. You might be asked to clarify a piece of information, or you might be expected to launch into an extemporaneous discussion as to which other disease entities might disguise themselves by presenting with similar symptoms. The most anxiety-provoking aspect of all of it was that you never knew what you might be asked.

And if it was bad for the medical students, it was frequently worse for the interns. Some senior physicians derived great pleasure from drilling interns with questions until, rattled with uncertainty, they would just as soon shit themselves as have to endure the condescending stare that berated them for their ignorance. As a senior resident, if I liked the intern and thought he or she was a hard worker with a good attitude, I would try to shield them from some of the abuse. I would either interject with hints, or, as diplomatically as possible, challenge the relevance of the question as it related to the care of the patient. Sometimes this strategy then resulted in me becoming the target of the inquisition. It mattered less to me, however, because I knew I had become respected for my management of patients, and I had fewer qualms about honestly saying I didn’t know something.

Either way, I knew I had to be on top of all the patients before the rounds began. I could tolerate not being able to list which seven anticonvulsants would be effective in treating a specific type of epilepsy, but I couldn’t tolerate not knowing the details of the care of the children under my charge. I pulled myself out of bed before the digital clock clicked over to five thirty and turned off the alarm. If I took a five-minute shower, I could be at the hospital by six, grab a cup of coffee, and would thus have an hour and a half before rounds. Hopefully, all the patients on my service would have been stable overnight. There was nothing worse than having to start chief rounds by explaining an unanticipated complication from the night before.

I caught my reflection in the mirror on the closet door as I climbed out of bed. I was still a little unaccustomed to sleeping naked. Traditionally, perhaps due to the residual modesty from adolescence, I had always worn gym shorts to bed. By this time, Sergio and I had now been sleeping together at least three or four nights a week. I remembered that a few weeks before, after having had incredible sex, I was floating in and out of that amazing postejaculation dream state. Sergio had cleaned us both off with a warm washcloth and had then lain down with his head on my shoulder. I remember him whispering that he liked that I still smelled like him as he brought his arm up to rest across my chest. Just before I succumbed to the pull of sleep, I tried to gently push him off of me, saying I wanted to pull on a pair of shorts so I could sleep.

“Are you crazy?” he asked, pushing his weight down more heavily on top of me. “You’re going to sleep just like this. I don’t get to sleep with you every night, so when I do, I want to be able to feel as much of you as possible.” Then, to ensure I didn’t resist, he dropped his hand down to my crouch and grabbed my dick. “You try to move, you lose this!” Thus began the new tradition of sleeping naked.

Seeing my reflection in the mirror did, however, result in a fleeting sense of approval. Looking at myself objectively, I saw the results of the long hours in the gym. My chest was muscular and well-defined. My pecs themselves had short blond hair that met in the center of my chest, then traveled in a trail down the center of my abdomen. I didn’t even need to flex to appreciate that my biceps formed firm, roundish mounds, and my stomach was definitely beginning to look cut. It wasn’t yet a six-pack, but it was flat and was developing acceptable definition. Even my hair, bleached a lighter shade of blond from my runs on the park trails, was looking pretty good. I critiqued my appearance a few moments more.
Not bad,
I thought.
Really, not too bad
. Either my self-esteem was improving enough that I could acknowledge I really was reasonably attractive, or Sergio’s adulation of me had started rubbing off. Either way, I leapt into the shower with a smile on my face. Maybe love did mean seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. Was I really falling in love?

I intentionally set the shower to a temperature a little colder than I would have liked—nothing like a blast of chilled water to immediately wake me up. I poured shampoo into my palm and briskly worked lather up through my hair. That complete, I shook the shaving cream can, spread a thin layer across my face, then grabbed my razor and shaved quickly without the benefit of a mirror.
Ahh
, I thought,
hands of a surgeon
. Just by passing my fingers over my face, I could identify the places I had missed, correct them, and still maintain a fairly symmetric sideburn line. I congratulated myself for having perfected the process of an efficient shower, and after running a bar of soap through the most intimate of crevices, I rinsed thoroughly and grabbed a towel.

I tried to sneak soundlessly back into the bedroom, intent on not disturbing Sergio, but when I peeked over at the bed, I saw it was not only empty but had been neatly made. The surprise of noting meticulously folded hospital corners on the bedspread evaporated when the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon wafted by my nose.
What the hell? How did he accomplish all that when I couldn’t have been in the shower for more than four minutes?

I reached into my gym bag, pulled out a clean pair of underwear, some socks, and my scrubs. Though it only took mere seconds to apply deodorant, rub some moisturizer into my face, get dressed, and comb my hair, by the time I was finished, Sergio was flipping two eggs, bacon, and some toast with butter onto a plate.

He only had on a burgundy terrycloth robe with its tie knotted haphazardly around his waist. Even tied, the robe did little to cover the front of his body. For an instant, his raw handsomeness caught my breath. Bronze skin, sharply defined muscles, and little wisps of dark hair peeked out from beneath the cloth. Just beneath the tie, where the edges of the robe fell open, his dick was also welcoming the morning. When he heard my approach, he looked up and gave me his famous crooked grin. In doing so, he rotated his hips a little, and I’d be damned if the tip of his dick didn’t almost graze the edge of the plate he had just put on the table for me. Again my breath caught, and for a moment I entertained the idea of skipping the eggs entirely and having him for breakfast instead.

I took a few strides to close the distance between us, pulled him into my arms, and gave him a deep kiss. When I pulled away, I was rewarded with an almost blinding sparkle from his amber-colored eyes, and my body responded to the warmth of his skin where I’d slid my hand beneath his robe to pull him into me more tightly.

With an appreciative pout, I said, “You were supposed to stay asleep. I intended to slip out without waking you.”

The sparkle in his eye shifted immediately to a loving though indignant fury. “Like I’d send you off to work without something to eat.” His features softened. “And without a kiss good-bye.”

I pulled him more tightly against me, let my hands run more freely across his back, and then sank into a deeper kiss. When I pulled back, I dropped my hand teasingly down and gave his dick an affectionate squeeze before sitting down. “I said I didn’t want to wake you, not that I didn’t intend to kiss you. And,” I said, letting my eyes gaze up and down his body appreciatively, “had I known that’s what you’d be wearing to make breakfast, I would have given myself more time!”

Fork now in hand, I pulled him against me with my free arm and buried my face into his stomach, enjoying the warmth and the smell that was uniquely Sergio. He pushed his hands through my short hair, then pulled my head more greedily against his warm skin, forcing me to rub my cheek almost seductively against him.

Suddenly, fearful that pursing this innocent interplay even one more second could lead to a fifteen-minute diversion that would result in my being late to work, I turned my face and playfully blew a raspberry into his belly button. Then I pushed myself back into my chair and begin to shovel eggs into my mouth. By freeing my other hand from around Sergio’s waist, I was able to use the toast to fully load my fork. The technique wouldn’t win any etiquette awards, but it was efficient.

Before even swallowing completely, my gaze wandered back to his muscular form. He was pushing a steaming cup of coffee within my reach. I hungrily volunteered, “If you promise to wear nothing but that robe while you cook for me tonight, I’ll spring for some Grade A steaks.”

Despite a slight blush creeping into Sergio’s cheeks, I was rewarded with his best seductive smile. “I have to work late tonight, so I won’t be able to cook. That being said, however, if you want me to come by your place after I get off, I’ll show up wearing only this robe and see what I can do to get you off.” He punctuated the last part of the invitation by innocently pushing the edges of his robe a little farther apart and allowing the tip of his dick to rub the top of my arm as he reached for my empty plate.

I swallowed with some effort but held his gaze. “I’m gonna report you to the health department. I’m sure there are regulations about pubic hair being in such close proximity to food service.”

“Hey, I served you eggs,” he retorted. “It’s not my fault you took more interest in my meat.” He smiled smugly, dropped the dishes into the sink, and started washing them. “Besides,” he said, stifling a chuckle, “the health department has already been here. They rated me 100 percent prime.”

“Perfect.” I pushed myself away from the table, snuck quickly up behind him to kiss the back of his neck, and whispered, “I agree with their rating.” Dramatic pause. “But I’m still gonna have to taste you for myself. See if you can leave work early. I wanna have plenty of time for an extended evaluation process tonight. Now, lemme go run a toothbrush across my teeth and get out the door. There are lives to be saved.”

When I got out of the bathroom, Sergio had my gym bag in one hand, my car keys in the other, and was waiting by the door of his apartment. The tie from the robe was on the floor around his feet. “Everything’s packed,” he said. “I wanted to save you a little time in case you thought of anything else you might wanna do before you left for work.”

“Bastard.” I grinned. “Forget the health department, this is a violation of the Geneva Convention. Cruel and unusual punishment. You could go to jail.”

“Really?” His grin widened. “Will that require handcuffs?”

“Yes,” I quipped, “but without the benefit of conjugal visits. We’ll see how smug you are wearing that robe but with your hands handcuffed behind your back and with no one around to help!”

“Hmmm.” He smirked, his cockiness unwavering, “Guess I’d just have to depend on one of the guards for a hand.”

“Fine.” I retreated, feigning defeat. I stole a quick kiss as I ran out the door. “Did I mention that all the guards were fat lesbians?”

“Now look who’s being the bastard.” I could still hear his laughter as he closed the door.