This is the story of a doctor's office nurse who goes to a Super Bowl party. It was written quickly in order to get it out in a timely manner. It's basically a first draft, so please ignore any mistakes that made it through.
—
I had a date for the super bowl. It turned out to be a one night stand. That's kind of a bummer, because I liked the guy and I'm a girl who doesn't date much, but, it is what it is.
I'm a nurse at a doctor's office. It's a busy place in the winter, with lots of respiratory illnesses, like bronchitis and sinusitis, and of course the flu. This year was nasty with the flu. I came down with it myself, and was only back to work a few days when Brian asked me out. It came as a surprise, him asking me. He's not in the office as much as the people who come in for every little thing, but he's been in a few times since I started working there two years ago. He's memorable because he's handsome. Tall and well put together. By that I mean he dresses nice. The other girls at the office comment on him sometimes, when we're gossiping about patients, so I know I'm not the only one who thinks he's a looker. I think that might have contributed to why I decided to go out with him.
You see, we're not supposed to date the patients. From what I've heard it happens now and then, on the sly, but I'd never done it. I tend to follow rules. Ever since I was a kid I've been that way, and I can tell you every instance of when following the rules made life less fun. Why is life like that? "It just is," my dear mother would say, if she was listening to me right now.
Brian was cute when he asked me out. The doctor had already seen him and I was bringing him his paperwork: a script for an antibiotic he probably didn't need. He had a bad head-cold and a bad sore throat, but it didn't look like strep so it would probably go away on its own. Brian was buttoning up his shirt, a nice black denim one that looked really good with his faded bluejeans. He'd looked really good when he had it off, too, with just his jeans and black leather boots on.
So he was buttoning up his shirt, with just the two of us in the small examination room, and he hit me with the question.
"Would you like to go out sometime? Maybe dinner, or a drink or something?"
A nice polite refusal was the office's policy. We'd even had instruction on how to do it nicely. But I don't know; maybe it was the way he was dressed, or the way he was
getting
dressed, or the nice sparkle in his tired looking eyes. Maybe I wanted to make him feel better, because I liked him and he was sick. For whatever reason, I broke the rules and said yes.
Brian gave me his phone number that day. I told him I'd text him later in the week, after he got feeling a little better. I did, and we transitioned to phone calls, and we hit it off nicely. I'm not sure why I had such a reaction to him, but...every time we spoke on the phone I got horny.
I should tell you — I'm a forty-five year old woman. Not exactly a spring chicken, or a fount of horniness. My love life has been frustrating. I had high hopes for it, back in high school, but it just never caught on. I don't know why I'm talking about it like it's something that's not a part of me, but it just feels that way most of the time. My real life and my love life are two separate things. One grows and is healthy, and the other has shriveled brown leaves and soil that's usually as dry as the desert. Calling it a love 'life' is laughable. It's very near death, and this nurse missed the part of med school where they taught us how to fix it.
So yeah, talking to a handsome man on the phone made me horny. I liked it. I felt a little more alive after each phone call. They weren't long, 'young lovers' kinds of phone conversations; they were cordial, with a little chit-chat, but mostly they were about trying to zero in on a time when we could get together for a date. Brian wanted to wait until he was completely over his sickness, even though he was already feeling a lot better. The weekend was coming up, but he was busy Saturday night with family and Sunday he had an annual Super Bowl party to go to, at a friends house, something he'd been doing for the last ten years.
"I can skip it," he nicely offered.
"No, you should go," I said. "It's the Eagles. You're probably excited about that, right? We'll find another time, even if we have to wait another week."
"I know it's not a real date, but, why don't you come to the party with me on Sunday?"
"Won't your friends mind? Isn't it a 'guy' thing?"
"No, they won't mind. There's been a girlfriend or two over the years. Do you like football?"
I told him I did like it, in a casual kind of way, and I told him that I'd be rooting for the Patriots. I was born and raised in Worcester Massachusetts, so the Red Socks and the Bruins and the Patriots are all sort of in my blood, even though I'm not the biggest of fans.
"Oh, no!" he chuckled. "You can't root for the Patriots! You live in Scranton, now! This is Eagles country!"
We both laughed about it. "Sorry," I said "I guess we're gonna have to agree to disagree on this one."
"All right," he said. "But be prepared. The guys aren't gonna let you get away with that without some verbal abuse. Can you take it?"
"I can take it," I smiled.
After I hung up the phone I decided I'd rub it in a little bit. I poked around Amazon and I found a cute Patriots sweatshirt. It's not a big baggy thing, it's cut slim, designed for a woman, nice modern fleece with a wide crew neck.
New England Patriots
