top of page

The Polish Eagle

Max and I had met at the hospital, where we were both medical students. After some witty, slightly inappropriate, cyber banter over the course of a few days, we decided to graduate and get a drink together. Before coming over, he informs me he has forgotten a shirt and only has a scrub top. Luckily, my little brother isn’t a nudist so there must be at least one non-beer stained shirt in this house somewhere. He walks onto the front porch and takes the shirt. The exchange was like something out of Magic Mike. He removes his scrub top to reveal an impeccable eight pack. Being the pervert I am, I’m trying to assess if he could bench press me in bed. People in medical school do not have bodies like this, not even orthopods.

We have a few drinks at the bar. Shockingly, he is humorous in real life, and actually retains my attention for more than 20 seconds. He was born in Poland, raised in the US, and was on the Olympic track for gymnastics since the age of five, which explains the washboard under the scrubs. After one too many times breaking his back, he decided that a career in medicine was the way to go. I’m tempted to ask him if he just wants to get married now or wait until next week after my surgery exam. I’ll never understand the concept of going out for drinks to get to know each other. Nine pm hits and the music is so loud we are having our first screaming match, how romantic.

“Let’s just go back to my place, I’m losing my voice.” Smooth. Very subtle girl.

Once back on my place, I crack open two more beers in the kitchen and hop up on the counter. I give him a playful kick in the leg with my bare foot, hooking my toes around his thigh. He takes a step closer and cups my cheek in his hand, pulling my face into his until our lips meet. As we begin making out on the kitchen counter his hand moves to the occiput of my head and he grabs a handful of my hair firmly. I wrap both legs around him and pull his pelvis in tightly against me.

“How about I take you on a tour of the grounds?” This of course is code for “We need an escape route because I am about to violate you on my kitchen table while my parents are watching Downton Abbey in the next room.” Determined to show off my freshly cut lawn, we head out the back door.

Discovery channel could have been filming a special on the mating habits of adult children living with their parents in my backyard that night. As soon as we sat down on the grassy knoll behind my childhood swing set, we were tearing into each other like swine in heat. I’ve never had the desire for a man to sprout additional upper extremities to touch me more with. I climb on top of his lap and straddle his cream colored khakis, and felt what appeared to be a third appendage.

I must have blacked out in a moment of rapture, because I don’t remember how I wound up topless. My shirt and bra probably melted and vaporized as soon as the tips of my phalanges graced over his perfectly cut inguinal ligaments. I follow his love lines to soon find out the destination of those cum gutters is only as what could be described as the thickest kielbasa I’d ever laid my hands on.

As he enters my pierogi, I feel tight and a bit hesitant at the thought of something so substantial penetrating my dainty lady chamber. He grabs my iliac crests from under my skirt and rocks my hips back and forth with effortless ease. His strength is incredible, I begin to wonder what exactly he’s been bench pressing during his study breaks to have such flawless control over my body. I decide to not ruin the fantasy in my head and assume it’s the multiple Anatomy and Pathophysiology text books he’s been carrying to the library.

In my moment of ecstasy I break from reality and eventually realize I’ve been moaning so loudly that the neighbors lights have turned on. I dismount. His Olympic dreams were realized as I granted him consistent 9.7s across the board, and one 8.5, but that was from Russia, and you know how they are.

We hear my neighbors stumble onto their back porch to investigate the situation. We scrabble to gather our clothes in time to not have the police called that a couple of nudists are hanging around their next door neighbor’s back yard. We hold hands and scurry back towards the house, feeling satisfied and adventurous.

As we approach the light of my deck, I suddenly hear a cease in the grass crunching underneath his foot steps.

“D, did I cut you?”

Still in a post orgasm daze I about face to witness something that can only be described as the coldest shower ever experienced. I look at his perplexed face, and trailed down to his still unbuttoned khakis. It appeared as if a massacre had taken place on his freshly pressed/now slightly wrinkled Chinos. Being that his pants were still unzipped but his goods were tucked away, it gave the optical illusion that I sporadically sprouted vagina dentata and had castrated him. Due to the fact that the universe is a cruel, cruel place, my estrogen and progesterone levels had chosen the most inopportune time to take a nose-dive and subsequently my uterus exsanguinated all over his unsuspecting beaver pleaser and surrounding garments.

My period?! At that moment there was no question in my mind that god existed and he was punishing me for enjoying my hobby of premarital relations. Jeez god, let a girl focus on living out her sexual fantasies while working on her career before she settles down. The good thing about dating a fellow medical student is that blood is not something that is going to make them puke/faint/cause them to have a grand mal seizure. More than a few times I’ve left the hospital in my scrubs to run errands. I think nothing of the fashion statement of the hematology lab I’m accessorizing on my regalia until an unsuspecting housewife in the produce isle points it out by fainting in horror.

The next morning we sit next to each other in the cafeteria during the traditional 5am med student coffee clutch before we diffuse to our said assignments. Upon dispersal, he placed a bar of chocolate and some Midol in front of me and gives me a wink. And even better, an offer for a second date. Maybe, just maybe, there is a god. But she is for sure a woman and knows how to support a home girl. Well-played in your mysterious ways.

Tags:

Featured Posts
Recent Posts
Follow
Dr. Chamber
  • Facebook Basic Square
  • Twitter Basic Square
bottom of page