Nate (The Princesses of Silicon Valley - Book 4) (2 page)

My roommate, Mike, throws my dirty shirt at me as I sit at my desk studying. “Dickhead, you coming downstairs to the party?”

“Shit, what time is it? Man, I’ve got to put some more hours in.” I’m now in my second year at North Western. Normally that would make me a sophomore but since I’m in their six-year undergrad-medical school program, I’m technically considered a senior. There are pros and cons to the program I’m in. I like that I don’t have to apply to medical school and that it takes six years instead of eight to get my MD. But the work is intense, only to get more intense next year when I matriculate to medical school. On top of all my class work, I’m playing hockey, and I’m in a fraternity. It’s a sports fraternity and most of the guys have tutors to make it through the most basic majors. A few of us hockey players and most of the swimmers at my house are dealing with an academically rigorous program. Next year, when I move to the Medical School located at our Chicago campus, I’ll need to give up hockey. It’s was a hard decision to make when I chose this program, since hockey’s such an important part of my life.

Mike answers, “Nine p.m.—the girls are starting to show up.”

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a bit.”

Enjoying a party as much as the rest of the guys, I give myself another hour more to study before I brush my teeth, grab some condoms, and head downstairs.

The party’s in full swing when I enter our main room. The music is loud; the drinks are flowing, while the girls are dancing. Heading over to the keg, one of my buddies hands me a shot of Jack, as he says, “Nate, you need to catch up.”

Doing a round of shots with my brothers, I start scoping out the crowd. I’m getting good at picking out the right girls, that is—the right girls for me. Learning my lesson from high school, I don’t need to get stuck with another barnacle. My reputation on the ice as an enforcer gives me enough of a bad boy reputation to make the girls interested. It also doesn’t hurt that I’m a big guy from all the training and weight lifting.

Looking around, I zero in on a couple of potential girls. Still liking curvy, dark haired girls, I look to see who is drunk enough and loose enough to want a hookup. I never bring them back to my room. My plan is to either find some corner to screw them against the wall, use a bathroom, or if I’m lucky they’ll take me back to their place. That way I am free to leave after we’re done. College is so much better than high school.

Grabbing a beer chaser, I take a slow walk around the room; fist bumping my buddies as I zero in on tonight’s girl. A hot brunette with great curves, she’s showing off her rack, and gives me great eye contact and a wonderful smile. I can tell she’s up for some action. Smiling back, I give her a smile and eye contact as I head over to where she’s dancing. Learning early on that the quickest way to a hookup is honest flattery, I find the girl’s one superior trait and use it in my line.

In my most casual voice I lean into her ear and say, “Hey, I couldn’t miss you out here tonight. You have the most amazing smile.”

Wearing a tight black T that shows off the contours of my well-toned body, I can see the magic’s already working. She smiles as she runs her hands over my biceps. Appreciatively she says, “Wow, you really workout.”

Leaning in to her ear I say, “Hey, I’m Nate.”

Dancing around in a circle, she shows off her nice ass. When she turns back around she gets up on her tip toes to tell me, “Samantha.”

As we start dancing close a couple of her girlfriend’s check me out and give her the thumbs up. You don’t show up at a sports fraternity party unless you want to bed an athlete. It’s always a bit of barrel shooting to pick up a girl at one of our parties.

Samantha and I start dancing real close. It easy to see that she’s trying to turn me on, which is working. Leaning in she says, “What sport do you play?”

It kind of pisses me off that she doesn’t know who I am. The girls always know the football and basketball players. Leaning over, I cup my hand against her ear as I say, “Hockey.”

“Oh, Nate Lombard,” she says.

Well I guess I was wrong, she knows who I am; she just doesn’t recognize me without all the pads and helmet.

“Are you as much of a badass off the ice as you are on the ice?” she asks with a flirty tip of her eyebrows.

Nodding slowly as a reply, this is barrel shooting at its finest. One more dance, then we can leave the floor for a drink…and move on to the fun stuff.

The weather outside is really cold; I pull Samantha close. I’m probably not giving her any body warmth, but at least I can block some of the wind. We finally make it to her dorm; of course it’s not as close as she made it out to be. Walking a mile in cold weather can kill the libido. In the stairwell of her dorm I unzip my jacket, pull her tight and kiss her again, hard, just to get my juices stirring. She grabs my hand as she leads me up the three flights to her floor. Luckily, there aren’t too many people hanging around, I really hate being checked out by sober people when I’m on my way to a hookup. As she opens her door, she places a red hair thing on the outside doorknob. Walking past her into the room I hear her lock the door. Leaning against it, she gives me a big flirty smile. Reaching over I turn on the lights as I block her in and get myself going with another deep, hard kiss. When she pulls away she says, “Don’t you want the lights off?”

“Baby, you’re hot, I don’t want to miss a minute of your body,” I tell her as I shed my coat and unlace my boots. With a big smile she drops her coat. Backing up I watch her undress for me. She has a rocking body. Taking her lead I start pulling off my clothes making sure to grab a couple of condoms out of my pocket. Our eyes are busy checking each other out. My eyes are paralyzed by her perfect tits and my next favorite spot on a girl, the arc from rib cage to hip. Girls’ curves just drive me wild. Moving close again, I lean down to kiss her as she wraps her legs tightly around my waist.

Pulling away from the kiss I hear my voice get gravely as I ask, “Which bed is yours?”

Pointing to the left, I move her quilt away with one hand as I lean her down to her pillow. Then I place the condoms under her pillow, which I’ve learned is an easy place to find them later. My hands are now all over her wonderful curves and soft smooth skin, as we continue to kiss. I’m rock hard but want a taste of her tits before I come. Moving down I get one breast in my mouth while I fondle her other breast. It’s amazing what I’ve learned in college, she must be at least a C. Hearing her moan and arch her back just turns me on more. Reaching down I stick a finger inside of her. Knowing I need to play around down there to turn her on, I locate her clit. Thanking the Internet for providing such detailed information on how to get a girl off. With my mouth on her other tit, I reach under the pillow for one of my condoms. Tearing it open I roll it on. As I position myself over her I make sure this is cool, “Baby, you want this, right?”

She reply’s with a deep moan, “Yes, Nate, yes.”

I smile, just what I wanted to hear. She feels warm and tight against my cock, which just gets me off. She’s moaning a lot so I figure she’s must be enjoying this as I lose all control and come inside her.

When I get back, the party is winding down, just the dregs. A few of the guys are working on a coyote; I have no idea why they don’t get a nice fresh girl earlier in the evening. As I pass a buddy of mine he shakes his head, gives me a high five, and calls me a dog. Yeah, probably, but I never promise the girls anything and come on; no girl can be so stupid to think they’re going to find relationship by hooking up with some guy they met an hour ago. We both know all we want are a couple of hours of no string attached sex.

At the gym a couple of the guys are showing off their new tattoos. In High School I thought tattoos were lame. Something a dumb ass would get. College has sure changed my attitude. Skin art is amazing, well some of it is. One of the guys is working on getting a sleeve to chest, a number of guys have something on their chest, ankle, and back. Considering my chosen career I know I need to get something that is easily covered with normal clothes. Not too many people will feel comfortable in the hands of some tatted up doctor.

Finally, I decide on getting an intricate Celtic knot. On my first appointment I discuss my choice with the artist. When I go back for the actual work, I can feel the excitement or fear, I’m not quite sure which one, coursing through my body.

After signing some papers I’m lead back to the tattoo room. Surprisingly, it looks like I’m at the dentists. There’s a black leather chair that looks like it goes one hundred and eighty degrees, a wheelie chair, and a built in counter with cabinets above and below. Everything is very clean and smells of antiseptic. On the wall are some framed intricate designs and a diploma from SAIC, School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Yeah, I could tell this guy was a pro. The artist, Kevin, enters, tells me to take of my shirt, and then pulls out my design with his modifications already on transfer paper. We talk about placement. He puts on rubber gloves, pulls out a razor and shaves my arm, then applies antiseptic. Next he sets the transfer, making sure the location is exactly where I want it. Breathing slowly and deeply I prepare myself for the work. It hurts at first but surprisingly isn’t that bad after a few minutes. Kevin casually starts asking me what I do, as in working out, we then have a cool conversation about lifting. After Kevin finishes, he takes a picture then rubs on some ointment over the art, finally bandaging me up. That night, when I take off the bandages I’m totally jazzed. It looks better than I even imagined.

Now I know why people get so many tattoos. I start planning my next one. Maybe I’ll extend this tattoo over my shoulder and around my pec.

Over the summer, Mike, my undergraduate roommate, and I spent a month traveling around Eastern Europe. We travel by train and stay in youth hostels and low-end hotels. There aren’t that many Americans traveling in Eastern Europe, while surprisingly we run into lot of Australians. I learn real quickly that Australian women are pretty, friendly, and are totally open to vacation hookups.

My father thinks that taking Latin will help me with all the medical terminology. Staying on for another four weeks in London, I take a series of intensive Latin courses. Having no idea if my limited Latin will help, I still enjoy my three-week interlude.

Returning to Chicago, Medical School is a big change from undergraduate school. I’m now living in downtown Chicago, sharing a two-bedroom apartment with Dave—a friend from my undergraduate program. We’re living in a modern high-rise about four blocks from school. Initially the biggest change is the meal plan, there isn’t one; Dave and I are now responsible for cooking. We’re not complete idiots, but having to shop and cook food takes a lot of time. We’re learning to eat what’s fast, cheap, and easy which is frozen pizza, pasta, sandwiches, and cereal. One big lesson is that angel hair pasta cooks the fastest. I can have a hot dinner in less than ten minutes by boiling up pasta and microwaving sauce.

Our building has a workout-weight room, pool, and hot tub, which is great since I can take the elevator down to workout at any time of day or night. Dave is not much of an athlete. I’ve been pulling him into the workout room, getting him on the elliptical, and lifting. On one of our early forays a hot women in her late twenties hits on me. Amy’s a bottle blond, not my usual type, but I’ve never hooked up with someone more than a couple of years older, so I think this could be fun. When Amy finds out I’m a medical student she invites me to come up to her place for dinner. I’ve always heard that the best way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Though I am not interested in her for my heart, now I’m a sucker for any meal I don’t have to cook.

Showing up at Amy’s place, she has the dinner table all set with a tablecloth and wine glasses. It kind of freaks me out since it feels so adult and much more like a date than my typical hookup. Amy broils a steak, which is great, then spends most of dinner talking about her job and telling me how much she hates her boss. I’m just trying to figure out when she’ll stop talking so we can move to the bedroom, since I’m really not interested in becoming her new best friend. Helping Amy clear the table gives me an opportunity to put on some moves, which quickly puts us up in her bedroom. After a couple rounds of sex, we snuggle for about a half an hour. I’ve now got my quota of personal touching and take the elevator back up to my place. Thinking that hooking up with women in the same building is great; I soon realize that I have a lot to learn. Amy now thinks we’ve shared something special, and has become my own personal stalker. I’m trying to be cool about it, but in the future, I probably should avoid women in the same apartment building.

Never having partied with Dave back when we were undergraduates, he’s starting to learn what a hound dog I am.

“Why did you go up to her apartment in the first place if you didn’t want to be with her?” he asks.

I’m kind of astounded by his attitude. “Don’t you just want to be with a woman, but not have to deal with a woman?”

“I figured that it’s a total package. If you want to be with one you also need to deal with one.”

“I don’t have time for all the crazy.”

“Then choose one that you like. One that doesn’t make you crazy.”

“Yeah, I think my way works best. I’m way too busy to deal with a girlfriend.”

Dave shakes his head, “I’d rather be a lot more choosy and find someone who I enjoy hanging out with. Haven’t you met a woman you want to be with more than just for the night?”

This conversation is now moving into the feelings category. Something I don’t do. Dave’s a lot more serious than I am, which makes me miss my fraternity buddies…and makes me miss hockey.

I’m too young for any of the men’s hockey leagues. To find a substitute for the physical contact and thrill of playing, I start going to a local Mixed Martial Arts studio. I’m looking for the competition, strategy, and one-on-one match up of strength and speed that hockey gave me. MMA might not replace it, but it sure fits my need for that level of physical and athletic contact.

At school our curriculum includes computer simulation work. Even so, the first week of class they give each of us a cadaver. Mine is Gloria; she died at seventy-six. Gloria should have taken better care of herself when she was alive. She’s the physical equivalent of what not to do. She’s the first dead human I’ve ever seen. They must do this first off to try to weed out the students who can’t handle this kind of physical and visual experience. What I find repulsive is the smell. Surprisingly, even though they shoot the cadavers with red and blue ink, all the tissue is gray. It feels like were dissecting in a room with a light that doesn’t have any color spectrum. Another thing I’ve learned is that you don’t need to have any eye hand coordination to get into medical school. It’s shocking to see how some students mangle their cadaver. Exercises usually consist of identifying some part of the anatomy. Mine usually looks textbook perfect since I’m patient and am into using my knife for fine, exacting detail. One of the guys near me has no ability to gauge how deep or hard he cuts. His cadaver looks like it’s been through a meat grinder; I sure hope he doesn’t want to be a surgeon.

We also have one, four hour clinical session a week. The clinical is held at the local hospital. We’re either going on rounds or taking patient histories. I’ve followed each of my parents around enough to get a good idea what it’s like to work in a hospital. Though interacting with patients is cool, they are usually really nervous; surprisingly it doesn’t take much to put them at ease. Most people just want some eye contact and for you to listen to their questions.

Dave and I are a couple of twenty year olds, whereas most of the other students are three to four years older. Most medical students are very serious; it’s a vocation that attracts contemplative, conscientious people. Dave has a big crush on a fellow classmate, Melissa. She’s twenty-three, strawberry blond hair, and has a Texas twang. She treats Dave like a little brother, but this doesn’t seem to deter him as he fights to get her to join our study group. Dave goes out of his way to invite her over for dinner and out to the bars with us whenever we cut loose. It doesn’t take Melissa long to pick up on my MO.

Surprisingly, I like hanging out with Melissa and Dave. Melissa keeps telling me that one of these nights I’m going to get hijacked into white slavery, since I make a point of always going back to the girl’s place. While I just try to avoid hooking up with women that live far away since I don’t really want to be taking the “L” at three in the morning, or having to stay with the women until the next day when they can give me a ride back.

By February, Dave’s persistence has paid off and he and Melissa are now officially a couple. We still study together and hang out all the time. Melissa gives me more grief about getting home at three a.m. from one of my hookups then any guy ever has. She also tells me that when I finally meet the right girl I’m going to fall hard. Yeah, I can’t see that happening.

By our second year, I now have two roommates—Melissa’s moved in. My rent goes down since it’s now split three ways. We now all chip in for a housekeeper to come once a week, a requirement of Melissa’s. The housekeeper is a great improvement over our standard of living, since Dave and I never cleaned the apartment. The only time dishes got washed was when we ran out, same for clothes. We don’t own a vacuum cleaner, and the first time my bathroom was cleaned, was when the housekeeper did it.

Surprisingly, Melissa is great to live with. She and Dave have their issues, but they’re not my issues, so I really don’t care. The three of us work well as roommates. Dave and I do most of the cooking. We’ve been branching out since there’s only so many frozen pizzas and boiled pasta anyone can eat. I’m now an expert at cooking chicken about a hundred different ways.

Chris, my buddy from high school—the guy who moved to Canada to play hockey—has finally made it to the majors. He’ll be in Chicago when his team plays the Black Hawks. He even manages to get me a couple of tickets, and we make plans to get together after the game. I invite my former roommate Mike to join me since Dave isn’t into hockey. It’s a great game and we have a good time with Chris afterwards at a bar. Working so hard in medical school, when I get together with Chris I wonder about the road not traveled. Only five years ago, Chris and I had similar talent and skill. He’s now a professional athlete. My medical career will just be starting when he’ll be trying to figure out what he’ll do next.

Surprising Melissa, I make it all the way through medical school without getting a girlfriend, just maintaining what she calls my lone wolf predator ways. After graduation I fly down to Texas for their wedding. I’m the best man, even though Melissa keeps on joking that I really should be her maid of honor. Happily, I let her sister do that. At Melissa and Dave’s wedding, I joke that after three, almost four years living with me, they won’t make it on their own. I’ll miss their camaraderie when I head off to Minnesota, and they head off to New York City, for residency programs.