Ouch! A prominent, though inebriated, local business owner came to the ER with a cut near an elbow. She was in her mid-30s and strikingly attractive. Successful, intelligent, beautiful—and a woman—well, she seemed out of place in an emergency room. Nonetheless, she made herself right at home. Since her cut was on the back of her arm, I had her lie in the prone position, with her injured arm extended along her side. Halfway through the suturing, she began rubbing my upper thigh. This was not exactly on my list of the “Ten most likely things to happen during my shift,” and I was literally frozen, unable to speak or move. A few seconds later, she glommed onto a nearby portion of my anatomy. Then she squeezed. Hard. Reflexively, I jumped backward, still mute. Her head, which had been resting on a pillow, turned toward me. She smiled sensuously, and purred that her exploration was unintentional. Sure.

Incidentally, she was injured when she fell through a glass table at the home of the town's richest man, who was a longtime benefactor of the hospital. The patient was married, too, but her husband wasn't with her. I didn't think that it was relevant to inquire why, and I did not want to risk any more bad blood.

Within a few seconds of her hitting the door (ER lingo for entering the emergency department), she was in what could be best described as a catfight with one of the nurses. I knew that I would be the one to take care of her injury, and I didn't want an angry patient to work on, so I intervened. No great mollification, just a matter-of-fact “What's your injury? OK, let's repair it” response. Little did I know that less than an hour later she would be fondling my genitals. This seemed even stranger because I discovered, thanks to more chitchat, that she was the daughter of a doctor that I knew from my years working in another hospital a few hundred miles downstate.

I wasn't surprised when I saw that her BAL was almost three times legally drunk. I also wasn't terribly surprised the next time I saw her, which was two years later when I bumped into her at a local restaurant. She looked happy to see me, as if we were old friends, and asked if I wanted to have a drink with her and her husband, who was with her, thankfully. I said that I couldn't because I was on a date (true), and so I resumed my trip to the restroom. I guessed that her BAL was about the same as it was in the ER, but she seemed joyous, ebullient, and gregarious, not overly plastered.

This must be an old restaurant, I thought, when I saw just one urinal in it that looked like a trough. From its length and absence of dividers, it was obviously intended to be used by multiple men simultaneously. Thankfully, no one else was in the room. This event occurred before I discovered how to trigger what amounts to a “second puberty” of penile growth—which I describe in The Science of Sex and Advanced Enlargement. So, at that time, I was especially fond of privacy.

However, no sooner had my zipper come down than the husband of my former patient walked into the room, standing beside me at the urinal, unnecessarily close considering its length. I wondered if his appearance and proximity were a coincidence, or just an attempt to intimidate me into revealing something. I speculated about what might be on his mind. I considered a half-dozen possibilities when he finished his business, washed his hands, and returned to his wife. I took another route back to my table.

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