My uncle, a doctor, hoped I would be a minister. A strange thought. You see, he spent much of his life in the developing world on a religious mission to eradicate polio. He saved lives and brought happiness to the world. He also prayed for those who suffered.
I’m different. I had given myself fully to the practical and not the spiritual. Ethics, after all, isn’t really all that metaphysical. You reduce pain. You increase happiness. It’s quite that simple. People ask if doctors must ever consider moral costs. Well yes, I recognize that animal testing is required in research. That is a serious amount of suffering. Now I ask you, as a rational person, what amount of utility has been gained by that? If it could be quantified, it would be infinite.
My devout uncle delivered vaccinations to the masses. Soon, I’d make my contributions too. I’d give so much more than I could as a minister.
Oh, I’d almost forgotten, my name is Jeri McSweeny. Yes, like the macabre musical. I’ve heard it all before.
Now there’s one thing about the medical profession: we take our health and our stress level quite seriously. I don’t mean that we need to be on our feet and away from a soul crushing desk. I don’t mean only nutrition. What I mean is our emotional and physical health requires extra care. There is one thing above all that gets that done as efficiently as a flu shot.
I fuck. Specifically, I fuck Elliot Crooker. Elliot Crooker had a dick that exceeded average size and stuffed me better than any of my penetration toys. His other great asset? His shoulders. You see, Elliot got into the medical field after working as a young EMT. He developed the kind of body that once waded into turbulent flood waters, retrieved an exhausted woman clinging to a tree branch, and carried her to safety. Not since that time had he once let his stamina and muscular physique go. Not even through six years of school.
I experienced that stamina for myself after our usual dinner date. Elliot had me bent over his bed, exposing my vagina. The first penetration stung with that stretch. Then, I couldn’t do anything other than relax and accept that euphoric insertion.
“Fuck me harder,” I stammered.
He spanked me. The sensation went right up to my head.
“Yes! Like that!”
Slap. Slap. Elliot’s palm thudded. My pussy was so damn wet at that point and he slipped out from me.
“You’re all warmed up now,” he said while his fingers found my clit. I moaned for it. Ahh, it was so good. An entire day’s worth of tension evaporated with a simple caress there. Interesting historical fact: did you know that doctors provided that as a professional service in the years of Victorian prudes?
“You ready for a ride?”
“Fuck yes,” I said.
Cow girl never gets old. I mounted Elliot, taking his girth up inside my cunny. Oh let me tell you how much I enjoyed looking down on him. His pectorals and shoulders widened out as he relaxed. His face? He had these hot blue eyes underneath dense eyebrows. Something about his stubble always made sex better too. It shaded the contours of his jaw and his cheekbones like an airbrushed model on a billboard. He could’ve been one.
“Take it!” he said shoving himself up into me. I winced and gasped. Then, I thumped my pelvis up and down on him. Taking control, I pleasured myself on his shaft as he watched my body shake. After resting, he tried to roll over, but I held him down and possessed his cock once again. It’s fun when he climaxes.
I curled my body next to Elliot post consummation. The sex was good. It always was.
“Hell of a day for you, huh?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh I can tell, Jeri,” he chuckled. “It’s the way you orgasmed that second time. That, and how we got right to it after dinner.”
I thought about it. Yes, he’d been right. It’s strange when you’re in the middle of doing work of medicine that you forget exactly how it drains you. The nervous systems still knows though. That must be what Elliot noticed.
“Today was more stressful than normal,” I added. I wondered how he felt as I stroked his chest. Was it possible for nerves to sense each other like this? Perhaps someday I could understand his nervous systems too.
“You are, extra happy today?” I guessed based on his smile. It looked prouder and more relaxed than the usual.
“Chicago Adventist Oncology,” he said.
“What?” I half jumped out of the bed. Chicago Adventist was a top ten Oncology institute in the country. Well funded. Well staffed. They had developed a new way to detect liver cancer. That technique was pending peer review, but it was promising. “What about it?”
“I’m on the short list for a residency there,” he replied.
“Chicago Adventist. Amazing Elliot.”
I cuddled close with him again. To get short listed for a position there was already an honor. One that I had hoped for myself. Treating cancer is something that I’ve wanted to do since my uncle’s work had eliminated polio in an entire country. You see, the medical community should ever rest on our laurels. There will also be a new disease to eradicate. Cancer remained one of the most persistent.
I am to be a doctor. I will do my part to make things better.
We spent the night, though my sleep was inconsistent. In the morning, Elliot and I showered in an efficient manner and he drove off to the university. Me? I headed to my car and it opened with the familiar chirp.
I turned the ignition. There wasn’t a click or a sputter. It was a nothing. For almost the last decade, I’d studied to make human organs work together. Yet the metal oiliness under the hood of my car remained a mystery. Also, why had the interior dome light popped like that? Was that a cause or an effect? Correlation does not prove causation.
I called a tow and waited forty five minutes. Dammit. I sent several e-mails and text messages, apologizing for appointments I’d missed that day. Including Marley, my drinking buddy and occasional lover.
“What do you mean you’ll have to cancel the lunch?”
“My car,” I muttered from the inside of the tow truck. “I can’t meet you at 12:30 like we planned.”
“Well what about 1:00 or 2:00?”
That surprised me.
“Aren’t you working?”
“I’m working for myself now. New law firm, didn’t I tell you?”
“What happened to Allegiant Business Law?”
“Wasn’t for me,” said Marley. Yeah, that was true. The bags under her eyes and her frequent sighs spoke enough. She never cared for that position, but Marley doesn’t quit either.
“So what are you doing now?”
“Nothing today,” Marley continued a laid back tone. I hardly believed this was the woman who was on her third vodka cranberry when I met her. “Text me where the mechanic is. I’ll pick you up.”
Marley took me to our favorite bar, and we shared overpriced vegetarian tapas. Her anticipated new position was in immigration law. That’s a bold move, and one that would produce much positive utility. Every successfully settled migrant reduced suffering of at least one person. Yet it paid less. Marley had law school debts to pay. The corporate world helped with that. Work that might as well be pro bono could not.
“It’ll be fine. Really,” she said. The new position pays only about ten thousand less than what I’m earning now.”
“Only ten thousand?” I said.
“Plus the loan forgiveness after four years,” she explained.
My eyes opened wide.
“I had help getting it,” Marley added. “Ever heard of Grey Temple Career Wellness?”
“Yes,” I said with skepticism. They advocated company sponsored yoga, proper ergonomics, and encouraging office employees to make sand sculptures. Grey was fitting for their name. They occupied the strange area between evidence based health practices, and new age practices that -to be perfectly precise- had not yet been supported by peer reviewed research.
“They’re more than new age mumbo jumbo, Jeri.” She read my mind. Lawyers. They’re so good at body language. “Here.”
She handed me a card for Grey Temple. It displayed a confident, beautiful, and professional woman with a bold light sparkle to her eyeshadow. Illaria Cortez.
“Have some consultant time,” Marley encouraged.
“Because your car is broken,” she added. “Because your schedule is messed up. You might as well fill the time.”
Hard to argue with that, but I could at least manage to catch up on some studies. I might need to clean up my apartment too. Wait, no. This was the week I had finally broken down and hired cleaning services. I yanked out my phone. My critical tasks had been pushed back another day. Now, without having to travel across town to the hospital, I had a three hour gap in my day. It had been empirically verified.
“Okay, Marley. I’ll see her this afternoon.”
My ride share took me out of downtown and to a neighborhood in rapid transition. New construction surrounded me. That’s a healthy sign even as it meant that people had to relocate. When a depressed area of a city is revitalized with new construction, a city can be better planned. This means more taxes for the common good and ultimately more benefit for everyone, including those who were forced to move as the older buildings were torn down.
Besides, those old buildings probably contained lead.
There was one building that stood out among the others. Grey bricks and arched windows made up the most of it. It had high steeples and arched doorways. Stained glass? It had that too. Though I could see some of the glass was new. A sleek modern sign out front proclaimed “Grey Temple Career Wellness.” They must’ve taken their name from the bricks.
Inside, it had been remodeled. Hallways had been added, cubicles had replaced pews, and bright stained glass windows overlooked a lobby. After waiting, I recognized Illaria as soon as she greeted me. Her outfit is what you would get if a sari made a baby with a CEO and then took his job.
“I’ve been expecting you,” she said. Her voice soothed as it projected around the room.
“How could you?”
“I’m Jeri. Pleased to meet you.”
“Charmed. Come into my office,” she began.
Illaria reclined on a comfortable couch and asked me to sit on a nearby armchair. Her desk was tucked away in the corner. She asked several questions such as how I knew Marley. Before long, we slipped into the taboo subject of workplace romances. I let slip that I’d been sleeping with Elliot, and apologized for bringing my sex life into a work consultant conversation.
“Oh it needn’t be so taboo,” said Illaria. “We needn’t spend everyday of our lives doing constant risk assessment, cost benefit analysis, when it comes to our empowerment.”
She stressed the word empowerment. Illaria had a strong sense of making the world better. Empowerment -specifically the term ‘integrated empowerment’- was the word she used to connect sexual life, career life, relationship life. Everything was drawn together for her.
“Now what is the next step for you?” she asked.
“The next step? I need to finish my residency.”
“And then?” She leaned back dangling her arm comfortably over the edge of the couch.
“Chicago Adventist Oncology,” I said. I went on, explaining what it was and how Elliot had been short listed.
“Grey Temple would like to make that happen,” she said. Illaria’s eyes glinted.
“How could you possibly help me?” I asked.
“I didn’t say help. I said we could make it happen,” she continued. She said still reclining,and looking right at me. “Like we did for Marley. The price is only one evening of service. No more than we asked from her.”
I leaned in towards her, and checked the sensations in my body. I discovered it unexpectedly horny. Okay, so that might be fun.
“We can draw up a contract. It’s pretty standard,” she continued with utter professionality.
There was no way her little wellness group could possibly guarantee such a thing. Why was this Illaria so confident? Yet, I guess there wasn’t much I could lose. Besides, after todays rough and tumble with my car, I needed a healthy orgasm. Elliot would be on shift and Illaria enticed more than a dildo.
“What’s involved in this service?”
“Whips. Chains. A blindfold. Full disclosure Jeri, it will hurt a bit,” she smirked. “Pain comes first. Deeper, more intense orgasms to follow.
“Oh…” I exhaled.
“Shall I draw up that contract?”
I agreed to it. She printed out a contract. It said things like “The SUPPLICANT agrees to be a sexual slave for no less than one hour to a maximum of four hours for the exclusive pleasure of the MASTER” et cetera. Simple. Straight forward. I was already hot, but made sure it explicitly stated what kind of Oncology Ward I would be accepted to. “To be fulfilled in a manner at the discretion of the MASTER” it said.
Before I knew it, I had followed Illaria into the basement. I stripped myself and Illaria affixed cuffs to my wrists and ankles. Chains held my limbs out, and were tethered to two posts to my left and right. Perfectly immobilized, I was stuck in a position like an anatomy text book. I hadn’t known how much I liked it.
“Is the supplicant happy?”
“Yes, master,” corrected Illaria holding my jaw.
“Good. Look upon my toys now, supplicant,” she said.
Illaria presented a collection on top of a table. There was a vibrator with enough ribbing for a rough insertion. Another dildo was smooth and made of glass. There were other types too. Including one shaped like a tentacle and another in a curving spiral. She looked over a scourge and paddle next to several leather clamps. There were three different types of gags.
Illaria took up a pair of floggers and flung them back and forth. Approaching me sent a breeze over my naked skin. My nervous system responded, sending blood to the surface, which caused my skin to warm. Then the beatings began. Breasts are so sensitive and my nipples had been out and erect since upstairs. I’d never been struck except for those frequent hand slappings at my ass. This was that many times over, and I cried out at the unexpected hurt over my body.
“Does the supplicant enjoy the beatings?”
“It hurts, master,” I winced.
“I know it does,” said Illaria. “Can you not answer a simple question?”
Several more slaps struck my body. Illaria took her floggers to my ass next. Oh that was a familiar and wonderful feeling.
“Yes. I love it, master,” I said.
“That’s more like it,” said Illaria. The beating continued. She alternated between floggers and paddle. Each strike was exploratory and curious. She was getting to know my body and learning my reactions. The greatest shock was when she flapped her flogger upwards between my legs, slapping my pussy with feline playfulness. Tears happened. It took me a moment to realize it, but the pain was so wonderful that I cried. Endorphins coursed through my bloodstream.
Illaria gagged me and then held my weeping face towards hers.
“You’re taking the pain well, supplicant,” she said. “Yet you have asked for so much. You’ll be expected to take much more.”
Illaria turned her back and examined the toys in her collection. She pulled out a plug and lubed it up.
“You ever had one of these shoved in you?” she said only to ignore my muffled answer. She pressed into my anus. A spiraling sensation of surprise pleasure ran up my spinal column. My hair was yanked back while Illaria wiggled the toy in.
“Dirty little slut,” she said. “I bet you’ve had more than one cock back there.”
Her fingers rubbed my sopping pussy, searching for the clit. I groaned when she found it.
“I bet you’ve had cocks in both ends at the same time, whore.”
Abruptly, she let off. So close. She had denied me one orgasm and I shook against my bounds for her to return. I needed to come, but Illaria only covered my eyes with a blindfold.
“Can you see?” she mocked. I shook my head. “Quite good then.”
Petting, grabbing, and playful scratching marauded me. I took a sustained pinch at both nipples. Clamps, was all I could guess. Then the beating returned. This time, she struck with something like a fat thick tail. The thuds came heavy over my back and stomach, leaving them tingling each time.
At last, a dildo was stuffed inside me. Cooing for it, I relaxed my muscles and tilted my hips. Illaria rammed me with the smooth glass first, prodding around in a search for the right spot. She found it and I moaned into the gag, but she didn’t let me orgasm. Illaria jabbed me with another. This one could be either the ribbed one or the spiral one. Fuck, it felt so damn good. She continued on and on like that, not saying a word and occasionally swatting the clamps at my nipples. I must have been penetrated with every single dildo she had.
But it was that latex tentacle that got me off. I can’t remember the last time I came that hard. Not with my own toys and not even with Elliot. The pulsations from that orgasm had me pulling so hard I could’ve broken those beams. Once it was all done, I hung my head forward and drooled through my gag, heedless to my own debasement. I can’t believe it, but I wanted Illaria to do that to me again.
She tugged the plug out, and released the clamps at my nipples. The rest of the gear except my wrists came undone as well. That was good. I needed something to hang on to. Once I opened my eyes, I saw redness on my body and looked over at Illaria’s toys. She had wrapped her dildos in a thin towel which my juices had dampened. The dry, latex, tentacle stood proud over them all.
“Your payment has been accepted, Jeri,” said Illaria. She unbound my wrists. “You may be a person again.”
“Thank you,” I said. Did I thank her for the sex or for the contract? It was definitely at least for the orgasm. Could Illaria actually make things work? “Did you do this with Marley? Is this how she paid?”
“I don’t discuss my other clients,” said Illaria. “Though I’m sure she can describe many things for you herself. How do you feel?”
“Loose!” I exclaimed.
“As you should,” said Illaria. She gave me time to redress myself and pick up a ride hail. I hugged her good bye and thanked her. “The pleasure was all ours, Jeri. Good luck in Chicago!” she said as I left.
Less than two weeks ago, my partner and I discussed our return to Los Angeles because It looked like my day job would need me again. Besides that, stores would slowly open, as we continued our collective work to bring down Covid19.
Then, some cop had to kill another handcuffed black man. Now, BLM has entered the thunderdome.
Another murder, in the middle of a pandemic, is enough to set me tears of anger. Furthermore, I have literally lost count since about 2014. How many times has a black teenager, a black man, a black birthday party get into lethal encounter with either vigilantes or cops? Oh, and let’s be honest: considering how many cops love “the Punisher” logo, the line between “Cop” and “Vigilante” blurs.
But wait, it gets worse!
I cannot go through a day without my phone buzzing like a battleship’s klaxon. Curfews are routine, and though I’m out of town, I’m constantly online with friends ensuring they’re safe. Because I care about them, I also endure images of looting, burning, and police antagonism. That has me in a perpetual state of nervous shock. Finally, too many emotions are happening at the same time, because of what is happening to the city I made my home.
I want Los Angeles to be peaceful. I want black lives to matter. Most of all, I want the social contract with our law enforcement to be renegotiated.
But wait, it gets worse!
According to the CDC, Los Angeles has had over 57k cases of Coronavirus. For perspective, we account for about half the cases in the state. However, we were doing well. People had stayed home. Garcetti was allowing businesses to open. Trails and parks were welcoming visitors.
It does not take dual degrees in epidemiology and sociology to see that the protests and the virus are interconnected. When people have jobs to go to and money to earn, they’re not likely to loot. On the other hand, people pent up in their homes, furloughed from employment, and see that the national government does not care, are easy to enrage.
One unnecessary death caused an simmering hive to swarm.
The protests have succeeded in uniting an angry left because we can’t take this shit anymore. Hell, we even saw some confederate monuments destroyed. Yet it is undeniable that this will lead to a surge in Coronavirus infections, just as we were fighting the pandemic to a stalement.
Progressives, leftists, socialists, and even conservative democrats agree on this: this utter breakdown of social order was preventable. Obama left a plan and a play book for dealing with the pandemic. Additionally, progressives have long argued for greater access to healthcare (including mental health). Most importantly left leaning advocates have studied police brutality and have recommended reform. We’ve been doing this for years. BLM is not new.
It’s the political right that gets in the way. We were impeded by a political party that casually flirts with fascism. Even worse, we’re forced to enter polite dialogue with anti-science, anti-reason, fundamentalists and outright nihilists. At every step, we second guess our relationships across the political divide. “Is my fox news uncle a nazi now? Or is that hyperbole on my part?”
People who care about democracy, equality, and progress must start winning. Therefore, I supported Warren in the primaries with pride and now I’ll donate to the Joe Biden campaign. Oh wait? Is Joe Biden gross with women? Is he insufficiently progressive? Did he do bad things in the 90s? Yes, yes, and yes. Also, Joe Biden has made a good faith effort to listen to progressives. He has not “pulled right” as many progressives have feared. He has the support of the old GOP in exile, which means he can get swing voters in critical states. Beyond all that, he has empathy for virus victims. Oh yeah, that should be a given. But look were we’re at. Look at what kind of people run the GOP now.
Yes, I will hold my nose and vote for him because after that I will demand that every progressive drag him further left.
Yet if supporting the Biden Campaign is something you can’t do, then how about this instead? Fuck Mitch McConnell. Fuck Lindsey Graham. Defend Doug Jones. If you agree with any of those statements, support the Get Mitch or Die Trying fund. Imagine: the last four years would have been different, if Democrats controlled the senate.
Whatever you do, do something. Most of us don’t have the constitution to face down riot police. Many of us are rightly afraid to spread a virus to our loved ones. Nonetheless, we can still do things to protect them, and protect a democratic future. Out of all the coronavirus posts here, this one has been the most important. Donate. Vote. Support.
Because the stakes we face are, quite literally, life or death for many.