All the Queens Men

Good Morning Doctor.

It's 6:30 in the morning on Friday. The heat is at maximum, and I can still feel a chill on my skin. I pull into the parking garage of the biggest children's hospital in the city. It's still hard to believe I work here; at 32 years old, I can now say I'm a doctor, a cardiovascular surgeon for children. Graduating in the top five percent of my class, I'm thankful for being here. Even though I got here by sleeping with the head surgeon. I have worked for this hospital since October 2009, starting from the very bottom as a volunteer in the department. Since my first day here, I have parked in the same spot, used the same elevator, and strolled the same halls. My daughter was born here. This place has turned into my second home. It also has served as a hunting ground for new cock.

I climbed out of my black Tahoe, my first purchase with my sign-on bonus as a physician. Flipping down the mirror, I checked my face, applied some makeup to my flushed skin, and then eyeshadow to make my beautiful brown eyes sparkle! Lastly, lip gloss had to be simple today. I grab my iPhone, coffee, keys, and name tag from the passenger seat. As I opened my door, I felt the morning air chill again. I am freezing. I fumble out the door onto the Sylvan Leather Platform Pumps, also an item I didn't need, but they were Michael Kors. I promised myself they were the only pair I would buy. Besides, they made me go from 5'3 to 5'6. My long, wavy black hair was a disaster. A messy bun and glasses would do as I stood there looking into my window. From the back seat, I grab my bags.

With my hands full, I'm more of a mess than usual. I entered the elevator. I began to rethink the night before; I couldn't help but smile. My father, a retired cardiologist, has held box seats for the local NHL hockey team for as long as I can remember. It was tradition to attend. Last night I drank too much. Let's face it: this week, I drank too much. Birthday month, that's how I'll justify it! With it being the beginning of March, the team is finally doing well, which means there will be many late nights to come. Hopefully, they will stay on track this year. Our box is one of the largest ones. Being the middle child of five, my family is large, plus friends and children fill our section pretty quickly. It was so much fun to experience it with my daughter; her father passed away in Iraq when she was 20 days old, so being mom and dad, I learned to juggle both titles. She grasped the love of hockey just as quickly as I did.

The elevator seems slower every day I ride it. Rolling my eyes with disgust, I realize my phone buzzed. I bet it is Jeff with my "Good morning, beautiful" text. He and I have talked for longer than I initially assumed we would. I still don't know how to categorize him. He is 5'8, 160 lbs, with light brown hair and blue eyes. Not the most enormous cock I have seen, but he can use it. Jeff is a perfect guy. He divorced over a year ago. He has a great job in a local factory; he's been there for ten years. Jeff can't have children due to a genetic disorder; his ex-wife cheated and left him because of this. I met Jeff during a lost bet and had to try online dating. What a horrible week that was. I like the attention I get from him and how he turns me on at night during Facetime calls. He loves jerking off for me. While I fuck myself with a toy. He has admitted to loving me. I say it back, but who knows if I mean it. I don't.

The worst part is he isn't the only one.

The stuff in my hands was slipping, and the bags fell slowly off my shoulders when the elevator door finally opened to the 3rd floor. I instantly become cold; goosebumps cover my tan arms. Why do I always forget a sweater? Everyone always assumes I'm a mixed race until I correct them with my fluent second language, Italian.

I hate patient days. I never know what to wear. It's much easier to put on scrubs and focus on the surgery. I can feel my nipples pressing hard against my lace, 32 DD, light blue bra. This white button-up dress shirt is the only thing clean I could find, and tucked in my black pencil skirt, it's way too tight. The lace blue thong was probably not the best choice for panties. I can feel it sliding inside my freshly shaved, plump pussy lips, becoming tight and stuck there till who knows when. God, I need to have sex.