I own my own practice as an Orthodontist, if there is one group the MD's look up to in awe or jealousy as having a licence to print money, it would be dentists, and above the dentists stand we Orthodontists. I stand on my four inch heels resting upon paid off student loans for degrees pulled off in standard time because I put myself through school working as a dental hygienist, getting my tits groped by patients as often as by my dentist employer, but learning the bits they don't teach you in school, the bits about turning a practice into a successful business. The long suffering secretary who used to work at that practice now manages one of my offices, I have three, because I worked harder than my male colleges, and paid attention to who else did the bulk of the work to make the business run, and rewarded them proportionally.
Like a lot of doctors, we Orthodontists have a weakness for real estate. I purchased a rather large home even though I only use a minimal amount of space on the top floor, because I plan to one day have a family, and wanted a house that could accommodate whatever plans developed. Well that and the back garden and trees seduced me. A Japanese garden with stream, cherry blossom trees and weeping maples, stone kami shrine concealed the heater for the hot tub and let the heated water spill across the stones into the hot tub, leaving it in a gentle mist morning and evening. The whole back grounds had almost temple like serenity. I did my yoga there every morning, and worked my kata when I had aggression that needed burning (being an attractive woman in the business world or medical community made networking equal parts work and self control test against continually being hit on and patronized by semi qualified hacks too dim to know they weren't in my league).
It was too much house for one person, and the businesswoman in me always justified the expense by planning on renting out the lower floor to students from the nearby college. I had spent a considerable amount of money to bring the downstairs up to spec for rental suites, requiring sprinkler systems and a number of other safety features oddly not required for the home if only I was living there. Having put in the money I determined that I was not going to turn it over to a group of hooligans were going to wreck it, nor did I want a gaggle of girls and ten thousand cats with the attendant drama. When I was in school, almost all my negative memories surrounded two types of "alpha males", the white commerce students who thought their fortune, inherited or planned made them gods gift to women, and shouldn't we bow down and maybe blow them on the spot. The second were the jocks, about two thirds black who thought their performance in some game I never watched earned them the right to every "hot chick" simply in recognition of how awesome they were. Neither group was good at taking no for an answer, and neither group proved to be anything accept selfish lovers who made you feel like you were a box to be ticked on some list, and not even really noticed beyond the "haven't hit that yet" empty tick box. I was in school to work, I was in school to learn, and above all, I was there to become the best. I wasn't, but I would be before I left.
One group lived that the way I did. The Asian students. I always admired their work ethic, but more than that, they managed to be social among themselves while not detracting at all from the drive to excel. I admired them but devoting my time to fending off people hitting on me because tall busty redheads were the ultimate trophy when even blondes aren't rare enough had me working to shut people out, not reaching out to them. The Asian women were graceful and feminine while remaining laser like in their focus. The men were polite and courteous to others, but so incredibly boisterous and friendly when they saw themselves as alone that you understood they had all the passions of the uncontrolled boors that pestered me, only they were masters of it, rather than slaves to it.
I placed an add, and the first room I let went to a Taiwanese student named Yu Ka. He was a quiet very still man, about my own height of 5'7, but built whipcord lean like a swimmer or fencer. Where I had the broad shoulders and hips of generations of Viking and peasant ancestors, 48G-40-46 that I kept to 190lbs only by strict diet and constant exercise, Yu Ka weighed about 145 and moved with grace that my dance instructors and martial arts sensei would have admired, but it was his stillness that compelled me. His eyes were dark, so dark they were almost black, and they had an artists' depth to them. When he went still and looked deeply, you knew he saw everything that was hidden, and more perhaps than the people he looked at would admit to themselves. Where my hair was a long untidy red mane that reached half way down my back when I didn't braid it, his was less than two inches, neat and precise as his motions.
It was my custom to do my yoga out back in the shrine area after my run and before my hot tub. I was wearing my usual yoga outfit, lulu lemon black yoga pants that looked painted on, and a sports bra to contain my annoyingly bouncy frontal armament. I hadn't thought about having Yu Ka in the house when I began my routine, but I noticed him open the sliding door to the room he set up as his studio. He had an easel set up, and a large camera with complex lens was beside him.
