Marriage Is Not An Option. Yet.

If you ever watched Grey’s Anatomy, you might have been familiar with Patrick Dempsey’s role as the hot neurosurgeon Dr. Derek Shepherd or Mcdreamy, as he was nicknamed by the surgical interns, who had an on-and-off relationship with the show’s protagonist, Meredith Grey, played by Ellen Pompeo.

I too had my Mcdreamy and his name was Mcplayer.

Mcplayer was one of the most brilliant non-married surgeons in the hospital where I once worked. We first met while I was still a clerk and he was my senior resident. We had a professional student-teacher relationship and because he was known to be brilliant in his field, I was at first glad to be under his team.

It was not love at first sight.

Mcplayer was not really as good-looking as Mcdreamy. He was short, but smart and very charming, a true testament of the phrase “Small but Terrible.” Like all famous brilliant minds, he was moody and was known for his temper. I, who was better known for my analyzing skills and not for my technical, was not an easy student to teach. Many times he would slap my hand hard if I was holding the forceps the wrong way during my suturing. My co-clerk and I were petrified of him so since there were two residents in our team, she and I would fight over who gets to assist the junior resident since nobody wants to assist Mcplayer and receive the brunt of his short temper first thing in the morning during our bedside rounds.

When I finished my rotation in Surgery and moved to another department of the hospital, we would occasionally bump with each other at the hallways, at the Clerk’s Quarters, where he frequently hung-out for a smoke, or during inter-departmental referrals. It was then that he started openly flirting with me. I was surprised by this overture and didn’t really take him seriously at first. He did, after all, have a reputation as a player and I was still intimidated by him. But I liked the attention so I started flirting back, subtly of course, and only when none of my classmates were around.

It came to a point that he had started sending me text messages to say he missed me, wherein I was letting him hold my hand affectionately and occasionally, cornering me in the toilet, for a quick kiss. I was single and bored at that time. I figured, okay, no harm in killing time with his guy until someone better comes along, so I played along with his flirtations until my rotation at the hospital ended.

The night after my last day of clerkship, he called me up on my cellphone.

“I want to see you.”

I laughed. “What? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Come on, let’s go out on a date. Are you free?”

I checked my watch. It was past 9 in the evening. “I’m already at home. You know I can’t go out anymore once I arrive at the house already.”

“Come on. Just get out for a while. We won’t take too long.”

I contemplated telling him goodnight and turning my phone off.

“Come on. Where do you live?”

I sighed in exasperation and I gave him instructions to the way to our house. “You can’t come over. My parents are here.”

“Just sneak out for a while. I’m driving and on my way there now.”

Annoyed but feeling somewhat excited, I told my parents I just had to load my cellphone at a nearby store and then I snuck out. I met him at the corner going into our subdivision and I hurriedly snuck into the front seat. We then drove towards my house and parked his car a couple blocks away from ours.

And then, he kissed me – lips, mouth, tongues all going into the crevices of my mouth – as if he had been dating me for a long time.

Now, as a Filipina, I had been brought up conservatively, but not strictly, by goal-oriented parents. Prior to Mcplayer, I’ve never just “hooked up” with anybody that quickly. I never kiss on first dates, did not have one-night stands (and still don’t, mind you!), only sleep with boyfriends I’m actually inlove with and never ever let strangers into my mouth without dinner and a movie first. Even when I started dating someone exclusively, it takes a few days before I start kissing a guy the French way.

But it must have been the dry spell – I haven’t exactly made out with anybody for almost a year prior to that – or the excitement of an older and so much more intelligent man – after all, how many clerks can brag that they have made out with the most wanted bachelor surgeon in the hospital? – that I found myself letting him kiss me and kissing him back as well.

So, like teenagers parked in some Lover’s Lane, we made out and interspersed conversations in between with major smooching sessions. Until we must have been making serious Titanic fogging on the windows, that the next thing he blurted out from the corner of his mouth while doing serious liplock with me was:

“Blow me, [mistress].”

Enter sound of album screeching to a halt.

I pulled away from him. Did I just hear him right? “Excuse me?”

“I said, blow me, [mistress].

I laughed. “Are you horny?”

“Yes, it’s your fault.”

Are guys really that easily stimulated? A simple tonguelock and they get a hard-on? I haven’t even made use of my moves yet. Hell, my hands haven’t even traveled anywhere below his clavicle.

“You’re serious?”

He smiled, looking a little pained – from the serious case of blue balls that he was developing probably. “Yes.”

I am sooo not giving a complete stranger a blowjob, a few meters away from my house, even if he is the hottest bachelor in town. It just totally goes against all my principles.

“Uhmmm… I can’t.”

“Come on… please?”

“No.”

“Come on… I’m so horny.”

I rolled my eyes. “How about we compromise?”

So we did. When I left his car a few minutes later, I was still shaking my head in disbelief how through some strange perverted way that even I until now cannot fathom, I had made out this well-known figure from the hospital, whose name will probably grace the pages of journals of the Philippine Surgery Association in the near future.

So now, he got himself a major case of the blue balls.

I, on the other hand, got myself a boyfriend.

- i only wish we could have looked this cute when we made out in his car -