Though this is a work of fiction, I do write from my own life experiences. Although I think this story is mild compared to others about BDSM, it does eventually evolve to dehumanization. If that offends, please don't read and find another story that suits your needs better. Comments are appreciated.
By 2021 the #MeToo movement finally held accountable innumerable men, guilty of years of abuse of women (and some men). As a man I was astounded and embarrassed at the extent of a problem I had never known existed. I couldn't believe anyone, much less so many, could act in the ways they had. It was a reckoning long overdue and I am glad for the continued efforts of so many to keep the travesty out in the open.
But the collateral damage of that worthy movement took with it the banter and flirting common to many workplaces. This was the more common and welcomed (by nearly all) habit of flirting, innuendo, and double entendres. Mind you, I am not talking about the crimes ranging from sexual harassment to outright abuse suffered by thousands of victims. I am simply referring to the playful banter that was part of every workplace. Overnight, men and women, afraid of being accused of inappropriate behavior, abandoned any discourse or actions that could remotely get them in trouble.
Thus, while on the whole I support the Me Too movement, a part of me laments the loss of camaraderie that came with the more innocent teasing that was a regular, yet infrequent, part of the operating room. Obviously, I wasn't the only one. Studies have shown work places punctuated with such behavior are more productive with less turn-over.
Now, before you go off on me (and I'd understand if you did), let me be clear: There is a limit, a bright-white line which one does not cross. And long before the Me Too movement, you
had
to know what that was. Of course, too many men failed to heed it and spoiled it for everyone. I had one mindless partner actually follow a certified surgical assistant into the women's locker room! We were all like, "What the fuck were you thinking, dude?"
There are rules to follow for men and women. Number one being
Respect everyone
. Many, maybe most people, were happy to go along with the fun. But not everyone wanted to play. It wasn't hard to tell who from who if you were paying attention. Rule two is a corollary to one (and failing to follow it was what most often got people in trouble):
Just because she/he jokes with someone else doesn't mean they want attention from you.
Know your audience. How to tell? Proceed cautiously, tangentially, until you establish a rapport. Don't dive into the deep end all at once. Be attentive to signals that you've crossed a line. And retreat rapidly, with an apology, if you do.
Keep your comments about yourself
until you're on firm footing.
And make it self-deprecating when you do
. Don't brag about the staying power of your 10-inch cock (no one believes you anyway). Just the opposite. In the OR, I'd trot out one of my favorite lines whenever anyone else said, "That was quick" for any reason. I'd immediately follow with "That's what my wife said last night." It always brought a chuckle.
Never talk about someone else's spouse
. Who wants to be reminded of their fidelity when they're flirting with another?
And never lay a hand on anyone. Ever. Under any circumstances.
The lone exception, I guess, is the side-hug. Only when you've asked first, and only in a room full of witnesses.
That's pretty much it. Do all that and you'll stay out of trouble.
Of course, I didn't listen to my own advice.
Working in an operating room provides ample opportunity for flirting and playful chitchat. We share an experience unlike anything in the outside world, or even other places in medicine. Even without the occasional critically ill patients, production pressures make for a stressful environment. And that breeds a camaraderie unlike anything you'll find at most workplaces. Gallows humor, for example, is not uncommon. Who doesn't like a good joke about death?
I am an anesthesiologist in the southwestern United States, working for a large group contracted to the state's largest healthcare system. They provide the environment for me to make a living; and despite the overall poverty of my state, it is a good living. I am not an employee of the hospital. But I am beholden to the rules of their human resources department. Nearly everyone else, including most of the surgeons, works for the hospital.
Janice is a PACU--or recovery room--nurse at one of the hospital facilities we cover. She is about a decade older than I am. At the time we got to know each other better, she was probably in her late forties. She is tall and thin, with a wiry, almost boyish, figure. She is maybe 5'7" and about 125 pounds. She has short, somewhat curly, hair of a completely non-descript color and sallow skin that looks like she used to smoke. In a world of women of various ages and physical attributes, she wouldn't be your first choice for flirting. But you'd be overlooking a gem.
Janice has much going for her. For starters, she's an exceptionally talented nurse. Maybe that doesn't mean much to you. But in a crisis situation--and they come up occasionally even in an outpatient facility--she'd be my first choice as a nurse. Competence is attractive and we have mutual respect for each other's talents. Janice's personality validates her clinical skills. She is confident and outspoken. Though she is not the head nurse at the facility, she is still consulted on matters clinical and managerial. The younger physicians tread lightly in her presence and the young nurses look up to her. Certain that you'd be shot down with an icy stare (at best) or reprimanded through HR channels (at worst), you might be inclined to steer clear of any flirting with Janice. Again, you'd be making a mistake. But my rule has always been
Know your audience
.
Janice has those "sparkling eyes" that I love so much in women. They dance when she smiles. Looking through them, you know you're looking at a good soul. And Janice smiles a lot. Overall, I'd definitely say that Janice is not as pretty as many of her nursing colleagues. But she is damn sexy in a way that defies logical explanation.
Unfortunately, I don't get to work with Janice often. I spend 80% of my working hours in the OR--a much more fertile ground for flirting and innuendo. So I rarely spend more than a few minutes in the PACU when I drop off patients and it's always in the presence of the OR nurse. Like I said, production pressures. Always on the move. Plus, PACU nurses work in groups of 3 or 4. So, on any given trip, I only have a one in three or four chance of interacting with any specific nurse.
Additionally, I work at several facilities, covering the outpatient center where Janice works once a week on average. And I'm not entirely sure Janice works full-time. Most nurses are wives and mothers. Many work only as often as they must to make ends meet. Janice is married to Tom, one of the city's most successful lawyers. As far as I know, they are childless. Or maybe they have one adult child. In short, given our respective schedules, I usually run into Janice only once a month or so. So that November afternoon that we got to spend extended time together was unusual. Probably the first time it had ever occurred.
When you're having an operation at an outpatient facility, there's always a physician present until the last patient is out the door. Too much of a liability otherwise. That doesn't mean I am actually doing anything for that last thirty minutes or so. That's what the nurse does. Discharge instructions to an awake patient and their ride home (usually a spouse or friend), helping the patient get dressed if needed, and escorting them in a wheelchair from the facility to a waiting car. Once that car drives off, I'm out the door. Rarely do I get to go home though. I usually relieve the next person scheduled to go home in the main hospital next door or to any other facility we're covering. Likewise, I am occasionally relieved while waiting for the last patient to awaken. Sometimes, the two events occur nearly simultaneously. I may be offered relief as that final patient is dressing. Then I'll decline the offer. No sense making someone walk over for a few minutes.
This was my situation that late fall afternoon. A partner and I arrived in the PACU with our respective patients about the same time. As the on-call anesthesiologist, he was called to the main OR to cover an emergency bowel perforation. I was tasked with babysitting until everyone was on their way home. Janice was the final nurse in the PACU. My patient was soon gone, but as often is the case, my partner's elderly patient was slow to rouse. With the family member tarrying in the waiting room, Janice and I were sitting behind the long, high desk that functioned as the nurses' station. We were alone with a woman who was well out of earshot, even if she had been awake.
We were actually largely ignoring each other. She was reading a local magazine; I was stewing that my partner's laziness had kept his patient from being discharge-ready in a timely manner. No doubt, he was probably hoping to be the one to have to cover the easy assignment of babysitting before his night of call. I was playing a game on my phone when Janice held up the magazine, showing the ad of a jeweler in Santa Fe. In it was an ugly necklace, priced at thousands of dollars, comprised of brightly-colored, clunky blocks.
"This is what you should buy Carly for Christmas. Two thousand dollars!" Janice knew my wife Carly, as they had worked together from time to time. Though it may be a cliché, this doctor had married one of the first nurses he met out of med school. Janice and Tom had even been our dinner guests on one occasion, though the invitation was never reciprocated.
I looked over. "I'll get her two," I said with a bored smile. "It's certainly not as pretty as your choker. I should get her one of those."
It was an off-hand comment, made without any predetermined agenda. But when I mentioned Janice's choice of necklace, she reflexively brought her hand up to touch it and blushed deeply. It was a response totally disharmonious to the tenor of the conversation. Clearly, I had stumbled onto something deeper.
As long as I had known Janice, the one constant had been the presence of her choker. I couldn't remember a time I had ever seen her without it, even at our dinner party. Fitting snuggly at the base of her neck, the necklace was made up of three dark brown strands woven into a braid a little more than a centimeter wide. The material had a sheen as if it were made of silk. But the strands of the braid seemed fixed relative to each other, with spaces between them. Maybe they were plastic?
There is a quote that's been attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson: "People only see what they are prepared to see." But who knows if we can believe anything from the internet? Either way, I was prepared to see more than simply an adornment with costume jewelry. I knew the choker
