Someone Like You

Chapter 1 - Priapism

It had been a pretty slow night in the emergency room. A homeless guy had been brought in around 8 pm and was sleeping off a bender in the isolation room. A 52 year male with chest pain, who had come in around 9:30 pm, was waiting to go upstairs to a telemetry bed in room 4, and there was a sweet, little, old lady (LOLs as Dr. Kingman called them) who had broken her hip earlier in the day, and was still waiting for surgery in room 5. As a third year Family Medicine Resident, a doctor in her final year of training, I was used to seeing a little more action when I worked in the ER. But slow days are few and far between, so I wasn't complaining.

When Sheena, the charge nurse, handed me the clipboard she said, "there's a new guy in room 3."

I looked up from my book, the latest in a series of sexy romance novels by my favorite author of intelligent smut BG Davies, and "uh-huh'd" appropriately.

"What's he here for?" I asked, while glancing at his face sheet.

"Oh, you'll see...," she said with a devilish grin.

Thinking for sure this meant that he was either intoxicated or had "accidentally-on-purpose" stuck something, now irretrievable, into his rectum, it was with a fair amount of trepidation that I pulled back the curtain to ER room 3 and moved forward to introduce myself.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Jennifer Par..."

And that is as far as I got before my jaw stopped working, leaving my mouth in a ludicrously fish-shaped configuration.

Before me was the most beautiful human I had ever seen in real life.

Ever.

He was sitting on the hospital bed, hands folded on his lap, in a gown which was ridiculously too small for his enormous frame. He must have been at least 6'4", easily 190 pounds, crafted of the finest imported slab of pure, unadulterated hotness. He had dark, curly brown hair, which framed his face and gave him an almost cherubic appearance.

That is, if cherubs looked like CrossFit instructors cut from cloth made of sin.

His eyes, a sort of slate blue-grey, shot out from underneath the longest, most luxurious lashes ever to grace an orbit. He had at least a three day beard, two or three shades lighter than his hair, with flecks of gold, brown and red that surrounded the most beautiful, full lips in existence.

I think I probably stood at the end of the bed looking at him for two minutes before I managed to become verbal again.

"Uh... Sorry... Hi, I'm... uh... Dr.... uh..." My mind went completely blank and I started to panic. Fuck! What was my fucking name? I felt mesmerized by his beauty, and by the way his eyes seemed to follow me around like some sort of eerie, vintage, porcelain baby doll. His gaze was so intense I thought he might actually be hypnotizing me.

My capacity for coherent speech finally returned to me and I was able to say, "My name is Dr. Jennifer Parks... who are you?" This last was said in a dreamy, philosophical voice, like I was talking to the Great and Powerful Oz, and not at all detached and professional the way that doctors are supposed to sound.

"I'm Andrew Robertson," he said confidently.

"What are you doing in the ER?" I asked, thinking that if he did have something stuck up his ass, I was totally down to go looking for it.

He turned his head and laughed, shaking it slightly in a look of dismay. Resolve washed over his face, and he caught my eyes, giving me a look as powerful as an alien tractor beam.

"I'm here because I have an erection that won't go away," he said, shifting uncomfortably in his gown, with a remarkable amount of dignity, considering what he'd just blurted out.