For those of you who liked Simplicity (in the Nude Day contest) thanks for the feedback. Some of you asked for background on the surgeon in that story. This is a transformational episode in his life. Hope you enjoy.

Copyright 2010. All rights reserved.


“Call Pat’s momma,” rasped Bedlock, “and tell her that slip-on shoes were a mistake. Her 23 year old boy can’t tie a damn knot!”

It was Friday of my second week as the senior medical student assigned to Dr. George Bedlock’s service. Bedlock, a fireplug of a man whose service in Korea cost him most of his left cheek, was reputed to be the most talented surgeon in Illinois. His adoring patients considered him to be their “Bedrock”. But the senior medical students unlucky enough to be assigned to his service had a less affectionate sobriquet: “Bad-Luck”.

Bedlock was impossible to please and his critique was merciless. From the moment a student set foot on his service, there was a never-ending quiz about embryology, anatomy and physiology. He’d tolerate ignorance—but only once. Forgive and remember, he’d say. Four days ago, when the intern had overlooked a key lab test for the second time, Bedlock turned on him.

“You’re either lazy or stupid, and frankly I don’t care which. Get off my service and don’t come back.”

Just like that, the intern was history.

There’s no such thing as a reserve intern. Bedlock informed me that the intern’s responsibilities were now mine. From now on, he continued, eating and sleeping took a back seat to patient needs. I was expected at the hospital at 4 a.m. to do work rounds. Next, I had to find the chief resident to okay new orders (I was just a student, remember.). Then, I had to show up in the operating room by 7 a.m. when the first case started.

My job in the OR? Holding “the learning sticks”—large retractors — for about eight hours while Bedlock, his chief resident and his scrub nurse Maria waged war on cancer. After the OR, there were tomorrow’s patients who needed “H and P”s—history and physical exams, and then evening rounds. Finally, a sign-out to the on-call intern. By the time I finished, it was too late to go back to the dorm. Not that it mattered-my girlfriend was away on vacation with her parents. By Friday, I could no longer tell day from night.

The OR trivia game had gotten much harder. Bedlock quizzed me about the patients, the operation, the history of surgery—whatever the SOB could think of to nail me. That’s not what tripped me up, though—it was piece of 3-0 silk. He told me to tie off a bleeder. I broke the first silk suture, watched the second one fall off when I tied it too loose and the third– well the third time was the absolute charm. I got my finger stuck in the knot.

Bedlock cut me loose, reclamped the bleeder, and told Maria to tie it off. If there had been a convenient hole to crawl into, I would have gladly done so and pulled the dirt in after me. No such luck, only Badluck growling to Maria.

“Pat damn well better know how to tie a knot by Monday morning.”

Better to quit before the bastard had the chance to fire me, but Maria somehow intercepted the thought.

“Don’t even think about walking away,” she whispered and pushed a piece of paper in my hand “10 a.m. tomorrow.”

The flip side had the address of a nearby apartment building. When I looked up, she was gone.


Six hours sleep hadn’t done much for my disposition or my perspective. Still, learning to tie a knot seemed more interesting than doing the laundry. I walked over to the address Maria had given me.

Rang the buzzer at the top of the hour. No answer. Checked the address. Rang again at 10:05. And again at 10:10. Decided I’d wasted enough time and turned to leave, just as Maria headed up the walk.

It was the first time I’d seen her outside the hospital. She was wearing faded jeans and an open turquoise shirt over a black tank suit. Medium height with broad athletic shoulders no longer disguised by shapeless scrubsuit. Her stride matched her voice–purposeful, unambiguous, direct.

“Sorry I’m late, swim meet ran over. Come on in.”

I hesitated before crossing the threshold.

“You’re still angry,” she sighed. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“What I’m getting is exhaustion.”

I stared into her coal black eyes. She wasn’t the enemy.

“I’m sorry, you’re trying to help me.”

She stared back.

“That’s right. So leave the chip on your shoulder at the door.”

She motioned me inside, led me up the stairs and into her apartment. The interior was more hacienda than Chicago–three pastel rooms with terra cotta tile floors. Rough-hewn, grey-bleached furniture and woven rugs completed the Southwestern décor.

“Echo of home?” I asked.

“South of Santa Fe,” she replied, “and yes it reminds me of when I was a little girl.”

Past tense was right—she was long past the little girl stage. Her raven hair and caramel skin contrasted with deep red lips and the whitest teeth I’d seen in a long time. She kağıthane escort paused a beat when I asked her age—it turned out that she was 14 years my senior—but smiled when I told her that she wore her years very well indeed.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day—but then everyone else was trying to beat my time in the freestyle. Let’s get to work.”

She brought a 6 x 10 inch piece of wood from the other room. An array of hooks and pieces of rubber tubing were drilled and secured.

“My practice board,” she said.

“You practice knot-tying?”

“Who do you think helps Bedlock after he fires everyone else?”

She handed me a pair gloves –from the corner of her sink.

“These aren’t surgical gloves,” I protested. “They’re heavy and clumsy and…”

She sighed, “Pat, if you can tie with those on, you’ll be able to tie anything, any time.”

She donned a smaller pair of sink gloves, picked up a piece of suture, and tied a dozen flawless knots.

“Your turn,” she said and turned away to the put something in the oven.

Just as well that she didn’t see me gaping. She was smoother than Bedlock.

For the next forty-five minutes or so, I tried to duplicate her moves. Nothing worked. The harder I tried, the worse it got. I began to mutter hostilities about “Bad-Luck” and surgery.

“What did you just say? What did you just say about Bedlock?”

Maria was standing two feet away. Her expression was cold enough to freeze boiling water.

“Stop what you’re doing, shut up and listen. And if you ever repeat any of this to anyone, I will personally rip your tongue out.”

She had my attention.

“Pat, you’re so wrapped up in what you think you can’t do that you’re blind to what’s going on here. You wouldn’t know good luck if it came in a box labeled in two inch letters and tied with a red bow.. Why do you think you’re on Bedlock’s service? You think it’s bad luck? Some goddamn accident? He hand-picked you like he hand-picks every one around him!”

Maria flushed with anger.

“You think you know Bedlock, but you don’t. He has one mission left in his life, and only one—and that’s to turn out surgeons who are better than he is. Pat, you don’t have a fucking clue.”

Maria went on, “He takes a dollar a year salary—he’s independently wealthy—for the privilege of trying to make raw recruits into leaders. He survived Korea only to lose his kid when a car struck his bike. His wife had a nervous breakdown and hasn’t said a word for ten years. Whose luck seems bad now, Pat?”

Maria’s voice softened.

“I was the student nurse on duty the night his son died. He begged God to take his life and spare his son. No deal, so he’s still here and his boy is six feet under. So if you’re still looking for sympathy, try the dictionary. You’ll find it between shit and syphilis.”

The oven timer broke the silence and Maria went over to pull out whatever was baking.

“One more thing you ought to know.” She turned to face me. “Bedlock says that you’re the best he’s ever seen.”

She stopped and gave me an appraising look.

“I wonder.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Maria shook her head. She cut a slice of whatever she had baked, sliding it across with a small cup of chocolate. .

“I told you to be quiet. Let’s see if you can follow some simple instructions. Don’t say a word. Eat. Think.”

The first forkful exploded in my mouth—butter, apples and the densest cinnamon I’d ever tasted. I caught her gaze but held my tongue.

“Pretty good, eh? Mom’s recipe. Finish it and drink up.”

Suddenly, the week’s physical and emotional drain caught up with me. The cinnamon kicked in and I started to sweat. My arms felt like they weighed 100 pounds each.

“I don’t know what to say,” I started, “except that I need to lie down for a moment.”

She looked at me, threw a large towel on the couch and motioned me over. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.


Maria was out when I woke up. There was a note next to the practice board.

“At the market. Back soon. You’ll feel better after a shower. Clean set of scrubs is for you.”

I found the bathroom and peeled off my clothes. Ran the shower hot, then bracing cold. As I toweled dry and stepped into the cotton pants, I caught the sweet scent of fresh peaches. It wasn’t the scrubs, though–the fragrance was coming from her cotton robe hanging underneath the scrubs. I picked up the robe, held the collar close to my face and inhaled.

Maria returned.

She called out, “Lunchtime. Practice your surgical skills on those vegetables and make us a salad while I work on the dressing and some lemonade.”

I started to say something but she stopped me, indicating that my focus should be on lettuce and tomatoes.

We ate in silence. Once again, I started to say something, but she just shook her head, and nodded towards the practice board.

“Let me help with the dishes!”

Maria turned to face me.

“Pat, use your brain and do as I ask. I know how to do dishes, and I know how to tie knots. You only know how to do dishes. Work on the knots.”

I struggled with the practice board for another 15 minutes while she washed, dried and put things away. Finally, she walked over to see how I was doing. I had to say something.

“Maria, I really screwed up. I’ve been an idiot about Bedlock. I’ve been blind to how much help both of you have tried to give me. You have every reason to kick me out of your apartment this second. Why you haven’t, I don’t know. But I need to ask—make that beg—for another chance.”

I glanced up at the clock.

“I have about 33 hours to learn how to tie a knot. Please go through the knot tying again—this time in slow motion–so I can learn from you? I promise I’ll leave once I get the idea.”

An odd stare. Wordlessly, she took a seat next to me, picked up a piece of the suture and motioned for me to do the same. Her fingers danced and then she slowed them down.

“Cross the strands first. Move your fingers, not your wrist, Pat! Push your finger to the knot, don’t pull up! Back and forth so the strands fall square! That’s better, but use your fourth finger, not your third…”

Her coaching continued, interrupted only to take a breath. After about 15 minutes, the motions became fluid and her patter slowed.

“Keep at it, Pat, just keep going. My turn in the shower.”

I must have thrown another thousand knots. Not only was I getting the hang of it, I was almost afraid to stop. I didn’t notice her looking over my shoulder until she spoke.

“Not bad,” she offered, “not bad at all.”

Her hair was wrapped in a towel and she was wearing the robe.

“Time for a break.”

She put an LP on the stereo, and Frank Sinatra’s voice filtered into the kitchen .

“Come in here,” she said as she pulled the sheers together to diffuse the late afternoon sun at the living room window. ” I want to dance.”

“I’m not much of a dancer.”

Hands on her hips, she stared at me once more. But I got with the program.

“If you’ll be patient with me, I’d love to try and learn.”

First smart thing I’d said all day.

Maria laughed. She pulled me close, and let the melodies take over. The room darkened with a late afternoon rain. Her head fell gently to my chest as Ol’ Blue Eyes sang his signature closer, the one about one more for the road.

With the last mournful notes, I caught the scent of fresh peaches again. I inhaled and smiled. She looked up at my breath.

“Your fragrance is wonderful. What are you wearing?”

She met my eyes, pulled the towel from her hair, and shrugged out of her robe, letting her it slip to the floor.

“Nothing. Nothing at all,” she murmured as she nodded towards the bedroom. “Time to see just how good you really are.”


Telling me that I was overdressed and to fix the problem, Maria turned to light half a dozen candles. I kicked off the scrubs and stared. She turned to face me, caught my gaze and asked what I saw.

“Want a list?” I replied. “Start with a gorgeous smile, add an exotic neck, perfect breasts, legs that won’t quit…”

Maria giggled,crossed the room in three steps and pulled us down onto the bed. Her mouth was honeyed and warm. I began to explore with my tongue. She guided my mouth towards the hollow of her neck and my hand to her thighs.

“Let’s see if you can follow some simple instructions” she laughed again, “Kiss my neck and my ears, and stroke my thighs.”

I brushed her neck with my lips, and explored the hollows of her throat. With her head cradled in my left arm, I caressed her thighs with my right hand, moving up one side and down the other. Her mouth found my left earlobe, sucked for a moment, and she began to trace out the contours with her tongue.

“That’s marvelous, you do have a lover’s touch,” she sighed, pulling my mouth to her right breast, “and I want to feel your breath.”

I circled the brown areola with my tongue, sucking on her right breast. My fingers reached for her other breast and started to play with it, but she guided my hand back between her thighs.

“Don’t stop stroking. I need to feel you down there.”

Her pussy was dripping wet. As my fingers glided between the lips towards her clit, she arched her back and began to moan. She led me to where she was most sensitive as I continued my gentle strokes.

“Slide your fingers in,” she said as she guided me. “I want to feel you inside me.”

I left my thumb to play with her clit as my fingers slid and out. She thrust gently to meet me, letting me play with her clit, cervix and G-spot all at once, grinding harder with each rotation. I kissed her deeply and roamed around the inside of mouth, gently biting her lips. It wasn’t hard to anticipate her next instruction.

” Eat me. Eat all of me,” she growled.

I let my tongue trace her chin, down her neck and the cleavage between her breasts. She giggled once as she pushed my head past her navel, simultaneously sliding a firm pillow Pateath those luscious hips.

“Now start and don’t stop until I tell you!”

More of a command than a request. Yes ma’am!

I let her feel my breath and teased her for a few moments by kneading her inner thighs. Spreading her pussy lips, I made my tongue as wet as I could and dragged it up and down her cunt, mapping it its contours and crevices. Her hips were split wide apart. Pushing my tongue deeply inside so that the sweetness began to flow, and then, pulling her hips to me,I pulled back to search for her clit with the tip of my tongue.

Maria’s words became guttural moans. Pretending that I was tying suture with my tongue, I wandered back and forth across her swollen clit, pushing and then sucking, drinking her juices. She began to shudder as waves of orgasm flowed from her brain to her groin and back again. The more she bucked, the deeper my tongue dove. I didn’t stop until she pulled my mouth away after about twenty minutes and maybe a dozen climaxes. Skin flushed with pleasure, eyes saucer-wide, breathless.

“You do follow instructions—exquisitely! Your turn….”

Maria pushed me back on the bed and asked me what I liked best. Not a question that I had ever given much thought to, and my head was spinning so fast that the best I could come up with was “your choice”. She smiled tenderly –and then wickedly.

She reached above me, her fingers danced for a moment, and suddenly my wrists were tied to the headboard. A few seconds later my ankles were similarly bound.

“Here’s another good reason to practice your knots,” she offered,” now just relax and enjoy.”

She watched me squirm for a few minutes as she played with my balls, her tongue dancing the length of my cock. Turning away from my hips squaring her shoulders above me so her breasts swayed just over my mouth, she commanded,

“Pay attention, now. You’re with an older woman who knows a lot more than your girlfriends. Just relax, and we’ll both have a great time.”

Not much choice given that I was “bound to please”. So I smiled, stopped struggling and let her do everything.

The next half hour or so are etched forever in my memory. Never before had any woman given me such pleasure. Maria collapsed the world into my cock, bringing me to the edge, cooling me down, and bringing me to the edge again. Each time she would bring me back, my cock grew more swollen, more tender. My pleas for relief were deliciously ignored. I begged her to let me come.

She stopped for a moment, squeezed my now purple cock and said, gently, “No.”

Gentle perspiration turned to rivers of sweat. Blood emptied from brain, engorging my cock and balls. My moans became screams.

She took me—all of me—into her mouth and throat. She tugged on my balls and kneaded the soft tissues Pateath. Every nerve in my body exploded as she sucked up and down my shaft, pumping my cum and swirling her tongue around my cock-head.

When I awoke a few moments later, Maria was bathing my now-shrunken cock with a cool cloth.

“Back from the dead, are we?” she laughed. “Experience counts.”

She untied my hands and feet and wandered off for a moment into the kitchen.

She returned with two glasses of lemonade. She asked me to hold both for a moment, one in each hand.

Except it wasn’t just a moment.

She pushed me down and grinned again, saying “Don’t spill!”.

My hands might as well have been tied as she started licking my shaft. After a minute or two, she got the desired response — my cock was again fully erect. With a delicious and delighted smile, she squatted over me, straddling my shaft. Gently, slowly she wrapped her hips and her cunt around me.

Calling me her stallion, she rose up and sank down on my cock, pressing down on my chest with one hand and reaching behind to caress by balls with the other. Finally, I had the presence of mind—no small accomplishment with this gorgeous creature astride—to offer her a drink.

“Thought you’d never ask!”, finally taking her glass and drinking it down in one long pull.

I did the same and she set the barware aside. I pulled her to the edge of the bed and had another long taste of her hot juicy cunt. I looked up at her, hair splayed and back arched. Impossibly erotic and momentarily vulnerable. I kissed her for a long minute in silent thanks.

She pushed me away only long enough to tell me what she wanted.

“Fuck me now, Pat. I need your hard cock inside me. Hold me. Feel me. Take me. Make love to me now.”

I slid the head of my cock between her swollen lips, her hips coming up to meet me. I teased her through a few half strokes and then buried myself to the hilt. Her pelvis tilted higher with each thrust. I finally pulled her long legs over shoulders so that my slides of my cock would meet her clit, the deepest reaches of her sex, and everything in between.

Maria’s breathing quickened. Her cunt muscles rippled around my cock. Her eyelids became dark violet as her climax welled up out of her pelvis. We both began to shudder and groan and finally scream with the pure joy.

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