At the pinnacle of her career, orthopedic surgeon Ava King conquers the lucrative medical field of London.
A wild and intimate night with competitive Formula One driver James Ellis ends with Ava being stood up. The rejection leads her straight into...
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Hello sexy reader.
It's your boy, Sebastian.
Yes, yes you've all wanted to hear from Ava's sexy sidekick, so here I am.
Apart from being Ava's glorified PA, I'd also like to think of myself as her friend and confidant.
So how did a handsome, delectable, fine gentleman such as myself devote my servitude to Doctor Ava King, you might wonder?
One word: Fate.
My dad owned a boxing gym in Brixton. Dad's family are African, Ma's family are Caribbean, Haitian to be specific. Dad said he watched Muhammed Ali's Rumble in the Jungle fight when he was a kid. I'm not entirely sure how true this story is, but Ali certainly inspired dad.
I was boxing and skipping like a champ by the time I was 8, school wrestling champ at 10 and then I got into mixed martial arts, initially as a form of fitness but then it became my calling.
Dad wasn't too thrilled when I came out, although my crossover to MMA definitely softened the blow.
When it came to my sexuality, he said I need to be a man. So I won the lightweight championship the next day just to shut him up. He just huffed and nodded and made some remark about making sure I always know how to defend myself because people will be judging and sneering at me for the rest of my life.
Valid point.
Ma just prayed for me. Her Haitian background has made her rather superstitious. She initially prayed that the spirits rid my body of its sexual deviances. But she eventually came around and just asked that I figure a way out to give her grandkids one day.
There was always the fear of me not being manly enough and I fucking hate that. I have the same chromosomes as any other cis-male.
It didn't stop me from winning title after title, I had a sponsor and everything, on my way to the big time. Then I blew out my ACL during the third round of a championship fight. It sounded like a fucking gunshot. This beautiful doctor was on call and told me the honest truth; "I'll fix your knee but you're out for 6 months, return to the ring any sooner and it'll blow out again."
So what did I do? I blew it out again, the second time both ACL and medial meniscus repairs were needed and my MMA days were effectively over.
I still work most nights at the gym; dad feels like it's more of a civil duty as it keeps the kids off the streets, gives people a sense of belonging and purpose... lord knows that it was my safe haven on many occasions.
During one of my follow ups, my angel of a doctor found herself stranded. Her current secretary ran off to Greece with some billionaire patient, and Doctor King was in a right spot: phones ringing, patients lining up not realizing they needed to get x-rays first, appointments needing to be booked.
