On a 10+, Dr. Breedlove is alone and ready.

You wake to a dim hospital room. Blinking in confusion, you wonder what time it is. Hell of a way to come home, falling out of your truck cab while Patty was giving you a welcome-home blowjob, and breaking your leg on the pavement to avoid falling on top of her. But at least they're taking good care of you.

In fact, just right now you can tell there's someone of the female persuasion doing things in your room. You see her pacing back and forth as she reads something from a clipboard. As your eyes focus and adjust, you make out a woman wearing a white coat -- a doctor, looks like -- and a short white skirt nicely rounded out in the back. Her dark blonde hair is cut in a short, straight cap shape. As she turns you see her blouse is also white, and as well-filled as the back of her skirt.

"Oh, you're awake, Mr. Forbes," she says. "I don't know if you remember me. I'm Doctor Breedlove. You were heavily medicated when we brought you in."

Indeed, the doctor's hospital ID card reads DIDYMA BREEDLOVE, M.D. which sounds kind of Greek for her first name. Though her nice hourglass curves could be Greek, her coloring doesn't look that way so much. Maybe her mom and dad were New Testament fans. You think back to the Bible study you'd done with your wife Mary. Wasn't Didyma "twin" or something like that? Well, the doctor did have a nice pair of melons up front and a nice pair of buns in back.

You clear your throat. "Yes, Doctor, I do. I was out of it but I'd hardly forget you," you say. "You remind me of the surgeon in that TV show, what was it..."

The doctor laughs. "I hear that from time to time," she says. "I'm happy I'm not an actress. All those hot lights, and having to do the same scene over and over. It's hard enough to get this job right once." She tilts her head. "I suppose as the head of a surgical team, I'm director and star at the same time."

Doctor Breedlove has quite the voice. Low and sweet, it plucks at your nerves deep inside. Soon you're pitching a more than obvious tent in your bedsheet.

The doctor nods at something on her clipboard, checks the vital sign indicators on big TV monitors over your head, and makes a notation.

"Are you feeling comfortable, Mr. Forbes?"

You laugh. "Well, about as much as I could expect. You're taking good care of me here."

The doctor smiles. "Good to hear," she says. She looks at her clipboard and up at the overhead monitors again.

You add, "Though maybe you can see I have a little something I'd like to take care of."

Dr. Breedlove looks at the tent in the sheets, held up by your very erect, throbbing tent pole, but doesn't say anything.

"I mean, I'd take care of myself, Doctor, but I don't want to make a wet spot. I hate to have to ask, but could you help set me up, Doctor?"

"What exactly do you mean, Mr. Forbes?" she asks.

"There's some lotion and tissues over there on the shelf if you could just reach them over for me," you say.