Downtown Dani Read online

  Downtown Dani

  Mara Monoski

  Copyright © 2020 by Mara Monoski

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  ISBN 978-1-7348181-0-9 (paperback)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Book Cover Design by ebooklaunch.com

  First Edition

  For Chris, my grand-prize win in the husband lottery.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  “Dani, let me introduce you to Mr. Gibb and the unfortunate state of his penis,” says Jim, the general surgery resident, ushering me into the patient’s minuscule room in the surgical intensive care unit.

  I step towards the bed and lower the sheet modestly covering Mr. Gibb to reveal that the head of his penis is incredibly swollen and an unnatural shade of crimson red. This is because the foreskin is cinched tightly around the shaft behind the head of the penis, acting like a rubber band stretched to its max.

  I’ve seen my share of penises – more inside the hospital than out, at least of late, but oof, my heart sinks a little bit upon initial inspection. This one isn’t going to be easy to fix.

  “That’s a doozy of a paraphimosis you’ve got on your hands there. What’s this guy’s story and how did this happen?” I ask.

  “Mr. Gibb is a sixty-three-year-old who had a run in with a taxi four days ago resulting in multiple broken bones and internal injuries requiring several trips to the OR. Let’s just say that the taxi won.”

  “That’s a fair assessment,” I respond.

  “Last night his Foley catheter was changed, but the foreskin was left retracted after the catheter was replaced. Since the patient is intubated and sedated, he was unable to let us know that something was amiss down under,” Jim explains. “Now eight hours later, this morning, we have this beauty to deal with. I tried moving the foreskin down myself, but it wouldn’t budge.”

  “Did you squeeze the head of the penis before you tried to reduce the foreskin?” I ask.

  “What? That’s cold, Cutter.”

  “That’s what you have to do,” I say matter-of-factly. “Unless, of course, you want to incise the foreskin to release it.”

  “Oh man, my junk hurts just thinking about that. Can we please try to do this without any cutting of the penis? I know you urology surgeons like to operate, but there’s no need to add insult to injury for this guy. Why don’t you do some magic with those hands of yours? I hear you really know your way around the penis. Professionally speaking of course,” Jim says with a double eyebrow flash.

  “You happen to have heard correctly, but flattery will get you nowhere, Jimbo.”

  Thankfully Mr. Gibb is sedated so he will not be aware of the unavoidable steps I must take to remedy his situation. I first take off my white coat covering my scrubs, since this could get messy, and hang it on the hook right outside Mr. Gibb’s room.

  While putting on a pair of rubber gloves, I turn to Jim and say, “This ain’t gonna be pretty. You’d better brace yourself.” I then use both hands to tightly grip the head of Mr. Gibb’s penis and squeeze with all my might to try and force out some of the blood and fluid trapped in the tissues.

  As I’m holding this position, I glance over at Jim, who is wincing in horror and gently cupping his own genitals as if he is experiencing some phantom pain in witnessing this maneuver.

  After several minutes of this, I move on to the next step. “Let’s get this puppy lubed up,” I say more confidently than I feel, opening two packs of lubricating jelly and squeezing the contents onto the penis. While applying pressure aggressively with my two thumbs to the tip of the penis, I try to push it back behind the point of strangulation from the foreskin. I simultaneously use my other fingers to pull the foreskin down. It’s very slippery and my fingers lose their grip multiple times.

  I can feel the heat start to burn in my cheeks and then rise up to the top of my head as I get worried that I may not be able to do this noninvasively. Fuck. I hate when I can’t fix the problem I’m asked to take care of quickly and with the appearance of ease. I keep at it though, pushing and pulling but unable to find a good purchase on the tissues. Come-on-come-on-come-on, come to mama!

  Finally, I start to feel the foreskin give way. I maintain the hold I have and put a little extra elbow grease into the opposing forces of my fingers on the penis. Suddenly, the head of the penis slips back behind the constriction point with a satisfying “ploop,” allowing me to slide the foreskin down to its proper position. A wave of relief washes over me. Mission accomplished, thankfully.

  After Jim collects himself, he slaps me on the back and jokingly says, “No wonder you’re single if that’s how you handle a man’s package.”

  “Ha, you should see what happens when I’m actually pissed off at a guy.”

  “After witnessing that, I don’t think I’ll ever try to find out.”

  “No offense taken,” I respond playfully. I wouldn’t be interested anyways. Jim’s a good guy, but I don’t have time for colleagues dipping their pens in the company (that is, my) ink.

  “Seriously though, thanks for coming so quickly and helping out,” says Jim. “I’ll clean up here. I know you’re on call and have a lot of other things to take care of this fine summer morning under the fluorescent lights. You did me a huge solid. I really didn’t want to have to explain this one to my attending on rounds in thirty minutes.”

  “Anytime. You know my good Texas manners would never allow me to leave a penis in distress for too long.”

  “Well, God bless Texas,” Jim says, solemnly placing his right hand over his heart.

  “You’ve got that right.” I wash my hands and grab my white coat off the hook outside of Mr. Gibb’s room before taking a seat at the computer bank in the middle of the surgical intensive care unit with the ten individual patient rooms lining the periphery of the unit in a horseshoe pattern.

  I hear a text ping on my phone and pull it out of my coat pocket to see that it is from Nia, a good friend of mine from medical school who is now a pediatrician in Chicago.

  Nia: I need your help! Very important sex question for you.

  It’s just my daily text from a friend or family member asking for advice about the nether regions. I should start charging for this.

  Dani: Shoot

  Nia: New boyfriend can’t seem to find my G-spot despite multiple valiant attempts. He swears he has driven ladies before me wild when he wiggled theirs. Is mine broken?

  Dani: G-spot is a myth. Past girlfriends were faking. You are normal. Tell him to just go for the clit.

  Nia: Phew, great news! Thanks for being my modern-day Dr. Ruth. So good to have a sex expert on speed dial!

  As I refocus on entering my consult note into Mr. Gibb’s electronic med
ical chart, I hear the whirring of the automatic doors at the entrance of the surgical intensive care unit announcing a visitor to the unit. I look up, and it is as if a golden light from the heavens above is shining down and illuminating Dr. Javier Cardona in all his masculine glory. Dr. Cardona is a plastic surgery attending who was hired about a year ago when he finished his craniofacial surgery fellowship. From what I’ve heard, he is a superb surgeon, great teacher, and nice guy, so all the general and plastic surgery residents love to operate with him. However, what gets discussed more often than his surgical ability is speculation about his personal life. Word on the street is that he is currently dating a former Miss New York, which is a crying shame for the rest of us non-model-caliber ladies who would love the opportunity to bone him.

  Flamenco guitar music starts playing in my head as Dr. Cardona advances in slow motion in my direction. My heart picks up speed the closer he gets to me. As he passes my work station, my heart is in sustained ventricular tachycardia, with me running the risk of losing consciousness. He gives me a head nod of acknowledgement, causing my airway to squeeze shut and my brain to lose its ability to form full sentences. All I can manage in response is a breathless, “Hi,” and a meager wave of my hand.

  That is such weak sauce, Cutter, I scold myself. I generally have my shit together, but the mere presence of that man triggers my primal brain and makes me want to pounce and hump him like a dog in heat. Luckily, my prefrontal cortex is quite well developed and I can restrain myself from attaching yours truly to Dr. Cardona’s leg whenever we cross paths. On the bright side, at least I know my libido has not permanently left the building. It’s not very fun almost living the life of a celibate nun, but it allows me to keep my eye on the prize and focus on work, which is all consuming anyway.

  I continue to watch Dr. Cardona as he takes one of the portable computers on a rolling stand and pushes it next to the doorway of room six where he logs into the hospital medical record system. His hands gracefully, and ever so gently, caress the buttons on the keyboard just like he must so expertly pleasure the most intimate of places on a woman and…snap-snap.

  Time shifts back into standard speed, the celestial light is extinguished, and the beeping of the heart monitors in the background resume their metronomic song. Liz is sitting next to me, snapping her fingers next to my left ear. “Paging Dr. Dani Cutter. Earth to Dani Dick Doc Cutter,” Liz says in a dramatically deep voice. “Damn, girl. I swear that man induces a Pavlovian drool response in you every time you see him.” Dr. Elizabeth Pierce is never one to hide what she is really thinking, but maybe that’s why she’s been my comrade in arms since we started our surgical residencies here at New York Memorial Hospital four years ago.

  “Are you sure you’re not secretly doing a psychiatry residency along with general surgery?” I ask suspiciously. “You just love to throw out snippets of psychobabble usually accompanied by some sort of personality disorder diagnosis.”

  “What can I say. I can suss out a kook before they can say boo. As for going into psychiatry, that would be a total snooze fest compared to the OR,” Liz retorts.

  As I continue to gaze longingly at Dr. Cardona, I sigh, “Am I that obvious?”

  “Yep,” Liz acknowledges.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a sample of that tasty morsel.”

  “Rrrrawrr!” Liz motions with a full tiger claw scratch in the air. “By the way, I’ve got some juicy intel from a very reliable source that Dr. Spicy Chorizo himself is back on the market.”

  “Get out! Wait a second. Are you fucking with me? You know you are not allowed to fuck with my emotions when it comes to Dr. Cardona,” I warn. Sure, my Cardonafatuation is out of control, but can anyone blame me? What am I supposed to do when I’ve got a proverbial Adonis right here at work enticing me with his superhuman hotness on a daily basis? If I had still been married when Dr. Cardona started working here, I would have been insanely tempted to shun my marital vows, which I took very seriously mind you, and go balls deep on that schwanz. Not unlike what my ex-husband, Brandon, did to me in real life.

  “Girl Scouts honor,” Liz promises, holding up the three middle fingers of her right hand. “One day, Cutter, we’ll get you out of your self-induced dry spell. Remind me again, how long has it been since you’ve gotten laid?”

  “Ugh, don’t remind me. It’s been so long I think I’ve become a born-again virgin. My vagina has probably shriveled up from lack of sex and no longer accommodates even a miniature gherkin-sized penis,” I say facetiously.

  “You might want to invest in a crow bar to pry open the chach for the next time you finally decide to open your bed to some unsuspecting guy, just in case.”

  I playfully punch Liz in the arm and she feigns extreme pain.

  Liz continues, “So, I guess that means that you would be willing to break your strict personal rule of ‘no dating men from the hospital’ for Dr. Cardona?”

  “Absofuckinglutely. But it doesn’t matter. He could have the pick of the litter. There’s no way he would ever go for me.”

  “You’re selling yourself short, Cutter. I’m sure he’d notice you if he ever happened to see you outside of your generic green scrubs, ponytail, and glasses.”

  I give Liz a skeptical look. “I do appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think I know when somebody is out of my league. And Dr. Javier Enrique Cardona is definitely out of my league.”

  However, Liz is not deterred from her argument. “Oh, come on. You’ve got more life experience since you worked as a nurse before you went to med school, so you guys must be about the same age. Plus, you’re a urology penis expert for Christ’s sake, which has to be viewed as an asset on a dating resume.”

  Easy for Liz to say since she won the husband lottery with Jeff. He is such an awesome guy who adores her. Based on the handful of dates that I’ve gone on since I got divorced, the thought of taking the time to go out with more men who will probably turn out to be a bunch of losers sounds exhausting. I don’t have time for that nonsense.

  “You know what, Liz? I am perfectly content to just continue fantasizing about riding Cardona like a buckin’ bronco. Giddy-up!”

  Liz signals with her eyes to look back at Dr. Cardona. “Looks like you may have some competition, Cutter.”

  Mandy, one of the newer young surgical intensive care unit nurses, walks up to Dr. Cardona and says in her sing-song voice, “Hiii, Dr. Cardona. It’s so good to see you today,” with her eyelashes in full flutter mode.

  Now, don’t get me wrong. I have tremendous respect for the vast majority of the intensive care unit nurses, especially since I was once one of them. They really know their stuff. They are team players who work incredibly hard and make sure the new residents rotating through the unit don’t kill any of the patients. However, Mandy is cut from a different cloth. She treats the surgical intensive care unit like her catwalk and is constantly attempting to entice any medical staff member with a penis by flaunting her ample goodies.

  Mandy places both elbows on the computer stand that Dr. Cardona is working at. As she leans forward, the string of her cotton candy colored thong becomes visible just above the level of her waistband. She is quite aggressive in her attempt to get closer to Dr. Cardona, which causes her shirt to ride up more than usual. If I’m not mistaken, I can see a bit of ink visible on the small of her back. Mandy has a tramp stamp? Nice.

  “I’ve got to give the girl an ‘A’ for effort,” I acknowledge honestly. “That really is an impressive full-on minx attack.”

  “Indeed,” Liz concurs. “It takes some serious stones to pull that off at work, thong out and all.”

  God knows Dr. Cardona is one hot tamale, but I feel much more comfortable lusting after the beautiful creature that he is from afar.

  “Hey Cutter, speaking of undergarments, did you ever upgrade yours? Wearing some sexy undies under your scrubs can really boost your self-confidence. It’s like you’ve got your own naughty little secret.”

  “Nope
. Can’t say that has made it to the top of my priority list yet. I’m still working on remembering to buy more toilet paper for my apartment instead of snarfing extra rolls from the bathrooms here. Plus, I just really like my trusty cotton bikini briefs that I bought at Target.”

  “Were they at least purchased since you moved to New York?” Liz asks hopefully.

  “Sorry to disappoint, but it was definitely some time before I started residency.”

  Liz shakes her head in disapproval, “You’re better than that, Cutter.”

  “Okay, fine. Tomorrow, I promise to wear my candy apple red crotchless panties. I might even throw in my assless chaps for good measure. Happy?”

  “Yes, very. Thank you.” After a slight pause, Liz asks inquisitively, “Do you actually have assless chaps?”

  “Of course not! Just because I’m from Texas doesn’t mean I own cowboy paraphernalia. Well, except for my boots of course.”

  “What about assed chaps?” Liz asked intrigued.

  “All chaps are assless, you goof.”

  “Really? Who knew?” Liz responds dumbfounded. “Okay, enough of the chit-chat. I’ve got to get back to the OR. We have an add-on case from the emergency room. Some genius swallowed a toothbrush and my attending wants to try to remove it from his stomach laparoscopically.”

  “Seriously? That’s some cool shit.” It’s pretty slick to remove such a large foreign body through a tiny laparoscopic incision. It’s much easier to just cut it out through a bigger hole, but not so good for the patient’s recovery afterwards.

  The whole minimally invasive approach to surgery fascinates me. That’s why I desperately want to get the fellowship with my chairman, Dr. Weinhurst, when I finish my five-year urology residency. Dr. Weinhurst is a god when it comes to robotic and laparoscopic urological surgery. He is world-renowned in this field and completing his fellowship is a golden ticket to any academic position afterwards. Then I’ll be able to perform some serious minimally invasive magic in the OR too.

  “I know, isn’t it. I’m curious to see how he does it,” Liz agrees.