Everything I was I attributed to my father’s influence. No matter how I tried to escape him, I wasn't successful but for one exception. My father thrived in chaos – first in a battlefield ER and then in a shock trauma ward back home. In contrast, I needed – demanded – complete calm and total control.
That need for control extended to all aspects of my life – my work, my home and sex. The only place I allowed less than perfect control was my choice of music, which was always loose and wild. Psychedelic rock. Jazz. Vintage Punk. Grunge Metal. Everything else in my life had to be precise, planned, laid out in writing and in triplicate, if possible.
Control was my thing. Dominance during sex was my kink.
My bondage closet would fascinate a shrink.
While Under My Thumb by the Stones played over the speakers, I considered Richard Graham, my patient with Parkinson's Disease. My team and I would implant electrodes deep in his brain that sent out pulses of electricity to very specific structures responsible for motor control. The operation would require total concentration on my part and that of my team of surgeons and nurses, but it was that control and focus that I loved.
With Jagger singing in the background, my scrub nurse helped me gown and glove up. Once Stuart finished with his portion of the surgery, I approached the patient, examining the incisions before placing the electrodes.
"How are you, Mr. Graham?" I said, keeping my voice firm but warm to reassure him. He was sedated, semi-reclining, but conscious and responsive so we could make sure we didn't damage any key areas of his brain.
"Great tunes," Mr. Graham said. "You came through with the Stones."
"Music relaxes patients. We do what we can to make this as stress-free as possible, considering that we have to keep you awake during the procedure."
I consulted the CT images and checked to make sure everything was in proper alignment before threading the electrode into precise position, guided by a CT-generated image of the man's brain on a screen beside the operating table. Stuart stood beside me, watching my every move.
When I stimulated the section of the brain where the electrode has been placed, Mr. Graham's hand stopped shaking completely. His head was imprisoned in a metal cage designed to keep him still, so he could barely see his hand, but he could feel it and his response was why I did my job.
"Holy Mary," he said, his voice filled with awe. "Would you look at that..."
I smiled to myself, but didn't allow too much time for celebration. One moment where I lost focus and Mr. Graham could bleed or lose function. The success of the procedure was all down to how much skill I had guiding the electrode into the very specific part of Mr. Graham's brain that was responsible for motor movement. Even given my skill, there were still risks.
Fortunately, my concentration was above average and the electrode was in proper place. The pulses of electricity would stop the errant movement in Mr. Graham's limbs. He'd be able to hold his own cup of coffee again, use his own spoon, fork and knife.
When Mr. Graham’s surgery was finished, I bent down to look him in the eye.
"Everything went really well," I said, squeezing his shoulder. "As we discussed, you'll still have the tremor until your surgical wound has healed, but once it has, you'll come back in and we'll activate the electrodes. You should be completely free of your tremor."
"Thank you, Doctor," Mr. Graham said, tears in his eyes. "Thank you."
I left the OR, removed my mask and gown and went directly to the waiting room to tell his wife and children about his surgery.
His wife cried when I delivered the news that the operation was successful. When she held her arms out, I allowed her to hug me briefly. She was probably afraid she'd have to start feeding him herself, wiping his ass and changing his diaper.
I loved my job. I'd do it for free.
After I finished dictating my report, I left the hospital and drove to my apartment in Chelsea.
Driving in Manhattan taught you two things: patience and ingenuity. When traffic was backed up, as it was that night, you had to either wait it out or find an alternate route. I decided to wait because, sometimes, a shortcut really did turn out to be a long journey, especially when everyone else had the same idea and the streets became one traffic jam after another.
That evening, I was tired after a long day of teaching and surgery, so I was anxious to get to my apartment as soon as I could for a shower and bite to eat. As I waited for a tow truck to remove a car that had been involved in an accident on 57th Street, my cell chimed.
ALERT: Appointment with Allie – MR.
Allie was my current submissive. I went to her apartment three times a week, on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, ten o’clock sharp, for a ninety-minute session of bondage and dominance.