“You fucking cardiologists… You all think you’re gods or something,” Efram said bitterly, albeit it with a smile, as he stared at me from behind the cup of shitty coffee they served in the hospital cafeteria. Dr. Efram Schoenberg was the top anesthesiologist in the city. That’s why I brought him in for all my complex operations. Patients who died on the operating table rarely paid their bills. It was Efram’s job to keep them breathing while I cut open their chests to repair or replace their hearts. Efram was also one of my best friends and the biggest buster of my balls.

“We don’t think we’re gods,” I said with a smile. I picked up my cup of coffee and held it up in a toast. “Some of us are gods, Efram. And some of us might even be the God. So, watch what you say. I’d hate to waste a good lightning bolt on your ass.”

“Jesus, how do you carry the weight of that ego?’ he asked, rolling his eyes. “It must be a terrible burden.”

“It’s a burden I willingly bear for the good of mankind,” I said with a smile. I tapped my cup to his and settled back in the hard chair to stretch out my legs and let my eyes wander around the room. It was after four in the afternoon, but the Mercy General cafeteria was still bustling with staff and visitors eating the lousy hospital food left over from lunch because it was convenient and relatively cheap. The food was decent if you didn’t mind the abundance of grease and salt the kitchen used to give the food a semblance of flavor. I ate there only if I was desperately hungry. Otherwise, I choked down the coffee after long operations with Efram and that was it. I was Dr. Cole Walker, after all. I ate for free at five-star restaurants, not shitty hospital cafeterias.

Efram and I had just come out of a nine-hour heart surgery and admittedly, I was beat. The patient, a fifty-year-old construction worker with total blockage in all three major arteries, was lucky to be alive. Or perhaps I should say that he was lucky that I was in the hospital when the paramedics brought him into the ER after suffering a massive heart attack. No one expected him to live. No one but me, that is. I cracked his chest and manually massaged his heart as he was wheeled into the OR. I stinted his arteries and Efram kept him breathing until I was done. Now he was resting comfortably in ICU. I expected that he’d make a full recovery. How long he would live after that was totally up to him.

Like I said, in this hospital, I was God.

Nobody died on my watch.

Nobody.

If you asked most surgeons what the most difficult part of their job was they wouldn’t say that it was replacing a patient’s heart or resecting a bowel or reattaching a limb. That stuff a good surgeon could do in his sleep. The most difficult part was standing over a patient for hours at a time as the muscles in your legs and back tied into knots. Most of my peers had back problems after years of hovering over an operating table. I was only thirty-six and in peak physical condition, but today my back was killing me. I needed a nice deep tissue massage, preferably administered by a blonde with big tits and the willingness to finish it off with a happy ending. As if on cue, Monica Craft, one of the scrub nurses I serviced on a regular basis, i.e. fucked whenever the mood struck me, strolled into the cafeteria and headed my way. I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the pink scrub shirt she wore. And if history was any indication, she wasn’t wearing panties either.

“The patient is resting comfortably in recovery,” she said, sliding into the chair to my right. She picked up my coffee cup and took a drink, then made a sour face that wrinkled her cute nose. She smacked her lips and grinned me.

“Really?” Efram said, bouncing a frown between us. “Do I need to leave?”

“Nah, you’re good,” I said, winking at Monica. Efram shook his head and looked away. He knew I fucked Monica on a regular basis and that didn’t bother him. He fucked as many nurses as I did. Most doctors did. What bothered him was her air of familiarity. I might have had a God Complex, but Efram had a Class Complex. In his mind, doctors walked among the clouds while nurses, and everyone else, occupied the ground far below. Nurses were beneath doctors, no pun intended. Doctors should not sit or eat or socialize in public with nurses or hospital staff. It was okay for doctors to fuck as many nurses as they pleased, but it was not okay for a nurse to sit down with a doctor in public and sip from his cup. It didn’t matter that in a few minutes I’d be fucking Monica’s brains out in an empty hospital room or a broom closet.

“It’s okay to fuck them,” Efram would say. “But don’t date them or marry them. And certainly, don’t socialize with them in public. It will only cause trouble.”

“I’ll check on the patient before I leave,” I said with a sigh that signaled that I was ready to get the show on the road. I felt my cock twitch in my scrubs as I watched Monica licking the coffee from her lips. She gazed at me with her big blue eyes and let one eyebrow twitch, which was her signal that it was time to play. She was a cute redhead with big tits and thick nipples, and a bush of red curls that proved that the carpet did indeed match the drapes. She was petite and flexible, like a contortionist, and she loved to create new positions. I could literally pick her up and bend her this way and that, or she would climb up me like a kid on a monkey bar and impale her tight pink pussy on my big cock.

Her favorite position was clamping her fingers around my neck while I held on to her ass and swung her into me like a kid on a swing. She was small, but she somehow managed to take most of my ten inches inside her. Monica was a sexual marvel, but Efram was right. I would fuck her till her eyes bugged out behind closed doors, but that was where our relationship ended. Once we left the hospital, there was nothing between us. Monica understood that and said she was fine just having a good time. Besides, she was engaged to a guy who worked in accounting, Bob something or other. She didn’t want to marry me, she often said. She just liked fucking doctors.

I was glad Monica knew how the game was played. Again, I was Dr. Cole Walker, the world-renowned cardiologist who literally held life in my hands. I was not only successful and rich, I was also six-foot-two and two hundred pounds of lean muscle, thanks to my daily workouts and five-mile runs.

Call me arrogant, but I pride myself on my looks because they remind me of how far I’ve come. I was a tall, skinny, awkward kid with big glasses and bad skin. You wouldn’t recognize me in my high school yearbook. I blossomed at college, I guess you could say that. It was amazing what getting contacts and clearing up your skin can do for your confidence. I started running and working out and went from being invisible at parties to being the life of them. I went from being invisible to most girls to having my pick of them. Some nights I picked more than one. I fucked sorority girls, teaching assistants, cheerleaders, the little sisters of my frat brothers, and a couple of cougar professors, who taught me how to really please a woman. Ah… good times. I fucking loved college.

Now, I was married to my work, but that didn’t stop me from having a very active and very public social life. I had been voted one of New York City’s Most Eligible Bachelors five years in a row by New York Magazine. I dated high-profile models, actresses, heiresses and socialites, though none seriously. I was in it for the sex and the show, meaning I loved a tight pussy and I loved to show off.

If I was photographed leaving Nobu with a Victoria’s Secret model or some hot young actress on my arm, it didn’t do anything for my medical career, but it shot my Q-Rating through the roof.

Oh, I should explain what I mean. The Q-Rating is how television networks like World News Network judge how well the audience likes their on-air news talent. The higher the Q-Rating, the more popular the talent. And as I said, my Q-Ratings were through the roof.

What the hell I’m I talking about?

Okay, let me back up.

World News Network was a twenty-four-hour cable news channel headquartered in New York City and beamed around the globe. When the mayor had his heart attack two years ago, I was his cardiologist and the one who spoke at subsequent press conferences, giving the status of his health. Ed Quigley, the head of the news division at World News Network saw me and liked my looks and demeanor. As it happened, WNN was looking for a doctor to come on the air every Friday evening and answer medical questions submitted by viewers in a quick segment called “To Your Health”. Ed asked me to lunch, pitched me the concept, offered me a fat contract, and voila! The next week, and every Friday since, yours truly has been on TV in front of millions of viewers dispensing sound medical advice with a beaming smile. And building the Q-Rating, which could lead to a lucrative network syndication deal like Dr. Oz or Dr. Phil. Would I leave cardiology to host a TV show? No fucking way. I was a doctor first, a TV star second. However, would I be interested in doing both? Fucking A right, I would.

“So, Dr. Walker,” Monica said, giving me a quick sideways glance. She was rubbing her foot up and down the inside of my calf under the table. My cock was already chubbing up. She put her hand on my arm and cooed at me. “Shall we check on that patient?”

“We shall,” I said with a smile. The patient’s file was on the table. I was glad I’d brought it along. I’d need it to cover the bulge in my scrubs. I picked up the file and stuck out my right hand to Efram. “Great job keeping the patient asleep, Dr. Schoenberg.”

He rolled his eyes at my hand and said, “Whatever.”

“Nurse, shall we go?” I pulled out Monica’s chair and she somehow managed to brush the back of her hand against my plump cock as she moved past. I looked at Efram and smiled, then let Monica lead the way to whatever spot she had picked out for us to have a little afternoon delight.