Page 1 of Trust in Me
1
Avery
Ifyouhadtoask, you couldn’t afford it. I clicked through the website on my phone again. No membership fee listed. I definitely had to ask. The meager salary I made as a pediatrics resident almost certainly wouldn’t cover the cost of a membership at the exclusive BDSM club. And I probably wouldn’t like the answer if I checked to make sure.
The pager clipped to the waistband of my scrubs emitted a series of high-pitched beeps. How was it that with all the advancement in medicine these days, doctors were still tied to this outdated piece of technology? I pulled the little plastic box out of its holder and checked the message.
OR 2, 28 weeks.
I stood and jogged down the hall toward the operating room. I tried to focus on the impending preterm delivery, but thoughts of the club still swirled in the back of my brain.
Everyone thought doctors made big money, but the salary I made as a second-year resident doctor, training to be a pediatrician, barely covered the insane payments on my med school loans. Once that was gone each month, I had to pinch pennies to be able to pay for gas, food, and the rent on my apartment in downtown Denver. I’d definitely acquired a taste for ramen noodles.
The money wasn’t even the biggest issue. If I somehow managed to afford a membership to Club Blackstone, I’d barely be able to get there. My schedule as a resident changed monthly, and was never the normal 9-to-5 that my college friends described. 24 hours in the intensive care unit. Weeks of night shifts, then days, then back to nights until I didn’t know whether the sun was up or down, although my new-found ability to sleep any time, anywhere made that less of an issue. Emergency room shifts that started at 4am. Or noon. Or 10pm.
My e-reader was filled with books, and almost all of them had the same theme. A hot, alpha male Dominant. A young, innocent female submissive. A BDSM club. The promise that the Dominant would take control, take away the burden of decision making from his submissive. Whenever I had a free minute— reading before bed or in the call room, listening to audio books on the way to work— I escaped into the fantasy of letting someone else take control. Just for a while. I’d fantasized about seeing if reality matched the world I’d built up in my mind, but so far, I hadn’t worked up the courage.
I took my place at the head of the tiny bed, ready to lead the team of nurses and respiratory therapists that took their positions on either side like a well-practiced ballet. When the baby that was placed in front of us, he looked small for his age. Two pounds? Maybe less?
“Breathe, baby,” I whispered. I squeezed the oxygen bag, inflating the little baby’s lungs. When the infant didn’t respond, I removed the oxygen mask and inserted the laryngoscope, visualizing the minuscule vocal cords and passing a breathing tube through on the first try. The baby’s heart rate increased, and his oxygen saturation crept toward normal.
I let out a breath. I rattled off orders from memory— medications, IV fluids, ventilator settings— to the rest of the team as we wheeled the baby out of the delivery room and toward the Newborn ICU.
“Nice work, Avery.” Dr. Barry smiled at me. “Very smooth resuscitation.”
I smiled as I removed my gloves, tossing them in the nearby trash. The supervising physician wasn’t exactly stingy with his praise, but he didn’t dole it out to just anyone. “Thanks, Dr. Barry. Definitely a team effort.”
The white-haired man nodded. “You do a nice job leading the team, though. Take credit for that.”
I checked that the baby was stabilized before I excused myself to put in orders. I closed myself back in the call room, clicking through order sets on the ancient desktop computer. The adrenaline rush of the delivery was fading and exhaustion was taking over. I always managed to keep my hands steady during a resuscitation, but the minute it was over, they shook like I’d had too much caffeine. I double checked the orders and signed them.
The small twin bed took up more than half of the tiny, sparse room. The bedsprings creaked when I flopped down on the sagging mattress. My mind flashed back to Club Blackstone. I pulled my phone out, opening the webpage for the club again.
I’d found the website for Blackstone a month ago, and had kept coming back to the page. The club was in Aurora, east of the hospital where there wasn’t much built up and buildings were spaced far apart. There wasn’t much information listed on the web page. A phone number, some information with the club rules. I scrolled down a bit. There was a new link, one that hadn’t been there last time I stalked the page. I squinted at the phone to read it better.
Singles mixer? I clicked over to the new page out of curiosity, my eyes skimming through the text. Singles night, next Friday. $40 entrance fee, no membership required. I calculated in my head. I could afford to do that, right? Just once? I could skip my daily coffee run for a few weeks if I had to.
With my luck, it would be scheduled for a night I was on call, though. I pulled up my schedule on the phone’s calendar, crossing my fingers, and swiped to next Friday. My usual Friday afternoon clinic till 4, then I had the night off? I double checked the dates. I had to work Saturday afternoon, but Friday night was wide open and I’d be able to sleep in on Saturday. I clicked on the sign-up link before I could lose my courage.
A long page of questions appeared on my screen and I started to fill them out.
Name: Avery Cooke.
Gender: Female.
Age: 27.
Orientation: Heterosexual, submissive.
Interests:
Hmm. My e-reader was full of books that gave me lots of ideas, but my practical knowledge was, shall we say, limited. Theoretical. I considered for a moment, then began to check off “like to try” by different items. One should always willing to try new things, right?
Interests: Impact play. Bondage. Spanking.
I moved to the next question, my lower lip between my teeth, then scrolled back up to the list of interests.
What the hell. It was only one night, right? No one was going to judge me. At least, I hoped not.
