Don't Mince Words

Hot doctor is trying get rid of me. After nearly two months of twice weekly dates, he’s got me on a bi-weekly schedule now.

While he tells me I’m still his favorite redhead, I can tell he’s just not that into me. He’s fixed me and he’s got more needy patients now. I figured this out at my two-month appointment when I sported the paper g-string panties and he took 360 degree photos of me.

“Look at the difference. You are a good healer. A couple more appointments and you are finished,” he told me.

Breakup foreshadowing, unless of course, I can find an excuse to go back. Boobs?

My medical crush is over. Hot Dr. T stood me up for some supposed “emergency” in the ER. I went to the trouble of shaving my legs, pushing up the boobs and applying mascara only to get his substitute for my appointment/date. The eastern European accented, crooked-tooth intern didn’t provide me much comfort in Dr. T’s absence. The good news is my stitches have healed. The bad news is, I know I’m not going back. Dr. T, rest in peace.