Date: Sat, 13 Apr 2019 19:33:22 +0930 From: Larry Ryder Subject: Both Chapter 6 Hope you enjoy this story as it continues. All copyright is reserved to me Larry Ryder larry.ryder@mail.com [always happy to receive your comments with any suggestions! I'd like that too! Tell me how you like the story so far ] I am sure that you understand that such stories are legally managed in many jurisdictions. If you are too young (under 18 or 21), or forbidden by law, then go to (https://www.artsy.net/artist/jackson-pollock) and enjoy other artistic pursuits. Everyone suggests, and I do as well , that you should support Nifty financially [http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html] Let's face it after twelve hours of surgery I was off my head I strode through the station and people were coming both ways. I let my hand fall carelessly, and groped the guy coming towards me. I just kept walking. It was crazy. The guy just kept walking. We were all there for the same reason, but walking in the opposite direction. It was still daylight. After ten minutes I slipped off to the side, and just put my head in my hands and cried. I couldn't do this. I don't want to do anonymous sex (any more!!). I need something a bit better WTF had Margie told me about Luke? What did I want? I felt I was being sucked back into a relationship with a world I had left behind I was fairly well rooted. A night's worth of work was totally degenerating . I felt physically exhausted. What on earth was Margie trying to convey and why had she dropped the Eric bomb? I didn't like any of the pursuivants that were being posited I arrived back in the apartment to find he was busily reading. A side of him I had not appreciated. "I spoke to Margie today, she's on the operating team" "Yes, I know," he said, "I went to school with her. Did she tell you that her brother likes to get his cock sucked?" I noted but left the comment unanswered. "She probably told you I was with another guy," how the fuck could he know this? "Err well..." I stammered, already I knew he was on to something "I have always known you were up for it....its called Gaydar...you're such a whore boy...we are both dirty little fuckers" I didn't really think I was up for this at all despite what he was telling me. What indeed was he telling me? The Gaydar stuff was crap, was it telling him that I was plummeting into a bottomless pit? Was it telling him that I thought my life was coming to an end? It seemed crazy, but I turned and fled. What the fuck was I doing fleeing my own house. "Don't go, " I heard him shout, "it's not what you think. You need to grow up" But I had already closed the door and was down the stairs. No idea where I was going. Here I was, a thirty something, and a kid was telling me to grow up. I headed back to the Sancta Mater, at least there I could still be useful. And there was lots to do, it would take my mind off it all Drrdon! Drrdon! Drrdon! O fuck it was my `phone. It was either him or the hospital. I didn't need it from either of them. "What?" I answered abruptly, "It's not what you think, " I heard him say, I pushed the button and headed back to work. He rang again and then I just turned the `phone off. I had never felt like this. certainly I had broken up before, and even rejected unwanted advances but I had thought this was different. It was good to get back in and immerse myself in the tragedy that I had been trying to sort out only hours before. And as it turned out I had no difficulty keeping occupied. The infant Margie had operated on had developed a fever and it took a bit of a time to scrutinise what was going on. The had done a really good job, but in my opinion the kid needed to see a paediatric surgeon, and get some specialist know how. I rang Pat Duckett, who knew about the accident but had not been called in. "I'll come in," he said, " it sounds serious enough" "Oh you don't need to that jut tell me what to look out for." I could hear him chuckle in the background, "That's the trouble with you god-surgeons," that's what they used to scathingly call us, "you think you can deal with anything. The trouble is you've got great clod-hopper hands, and his is baby." We both laughed. I trusted him enough to know he knew his job; and also that he was right. I was actually the generalist and he was the specialist in this case. It took us a couple of hours, but he spotted straight away that the little guy was not quite set the way he should be, and I was glad to `assist' him. He was the real boss in this situation. Had a better touch and intuition, and though it was tricky he worked a magic I just couldn't possibly have done. As we left the theatre and hit the showers, I could feel myself being overwhelmed. I started to sob and couldn't stop myself. To be sure this is not uncommon amongst surgeons, we get to the end of a long day and the emotion is totally exhausted and we crack. It's not weakness, it's raw emotion and the best thing you can do is let it run its course. The best professionals, and Pat was certainly one of those, just know that you let it run its course and stand there with your buddy until they are able to move on. It was curious we were standing in a change room with small towels wrapped round our middles and he just put his arm around me. I didn't feel anything other than gratitude for what this man was doing, I didn't get hard. I didn't want or need to kiss or be kissed, I was just totally reassured that he was there. We hit the showers and did what we had to do and then headed back to dry off and dress. "So, do you need to talk?" he asked. "I think I probably do." And began to spill out what had happened. I m not quite sure why I told him a lot of personal stuff, I've always liked him but we lived in totally different worlds. "Well then you're telling me," he said, "that a junior colleague saw you with this guy she used to go school with, and then that she'd seen him with someone else; and that's about the extent of the conversation" "And then you went home, tired as shit, might I say, and half-accused him of having it off with someone else." As he re-explained it it seemed pretty lame, and I felt fairly pathetic. "Is the problem," he asked, "that you are all of thirty eight, and he's ten years or so younger?" "I suppose," I offered, " I just don't know. He didn't tell me what this was all about." Pat screwed up his face, "Not quite true, he did say that it was not what you think." "Well if you put it like that." "Don't you think we should deal with it?" I was unsure what he was suggesting. "Give me your phone". I passed it over to him and could see him flick through the numbers "Eric, you say?" I mumbled an assent and saw him wander off to the other side of the bathroom, and certainly he was engaged in conversation. As he threw the phone back to me he smiled and walked away. "He'll be here in half hour. Get dressed. Or not. Depending on how you think this is going to go." Hope you enjoy this story as it continues. You can send any comments to me Larry Ryder larry.ryder@mail.com. There are a couple more instalments in my mind, but I am `writing into the dark' so would happily receive any comments and/or suggestions