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investigative part of the job.
    It also made it easier for her to work at her own pace, because most surgeons she had known tended to be egomaniacs and would blackball her skills. Especially after she told them their diagnosis was wrong and hers was right. Then there was the “elbowing a few of them in the balls while they were scrubbing up” thing, which had caused some other issues—mainly an upswing in testicular surgery—and Inga had at last decided to go into forensics.
    She was a black haired Scandinavian with a slight accent, and stood all of four feet tall. She was a confirmed lesbian and had permanent ankle cuffs along with a large tattoo on her lower back that read “Enter at your own risk”.
    She had a serious loving crush on Mary and followed her to the hospital after they graduated from medical school. Mary needed an assistant and knew Inga would be perfect because of her special gift for internal medicine and forensic science.
    They had shared a few sexual escapades in college because most of the guys weren’t always what Mary needed. Sure, it was a little selfish to use Inga’s expertise in going down on women. But she was so fucking good at it that Mary let her go down on her those few times when she was in desperate need of a good, deep, toe curling orgasm.
    So after a recommendation to the Medical Board (and three blow-jobs), Inga had been hired even though she’d arrived for her interview on a moped, dressed in a T-shirt that had “ Pussy, the other white meat ” on it, above a pair of mini shorts.
    Mary finished her last autopsy on a man who had a massive heart attack during sex with a prostitute. The handcuff marks were still on his wrists because they couldn’t find the key immediately, and the look on his face—his lips puckered and his eyes crossed—made her snicker.
    “Look Inga? Remind you of anyone?”
    Inga stood on her tiptoes and smiled. “Yeah, looks like Professor Ryan when he caught me going down on his wife on that big wooden desk in his office.”
    Mary’s days tended to run together into a blur. She had never gone for the standard three kids, a house and a wealthy husband kind of life everyone envisioned for her. Instead she knew she was a borderline workaholic with little time for anything normal in the way of a social life.
    As she sat in the cafeteria, sipping on her fresh cup of espresso, she took a long, deep cleansing breath. Inga had left already because she had a date with a pair of nymphomaniac Vietnamese lesbians. The cases were pretty much wrapped up, and Mary figured another hour or two and she could leave. In the quiet, she started to daydream.
    Perhaps she should call Peter back. See if he’d be up for a date. She had left him asleep with a bag of frozen peas on his balls. He had a shiny glaze on his lips from eating her out, and was snoring from exhaustion.
    Maybe he could be a steady fuck buddy. He had great equipment and sure knew how to use it. She wondered what it would be like to be in a somewhat normal relationship.
    She reflected on all the different men and sexual partners she had been with in the past, and went back even further in her memories. She’d never been the most popular girl in school. Most women geniuses tended to be shunned and even though she had the looks and social skills, dealing with the arrogant divas in college fraternities wasn’t her bag. She tended to be drawn to the lab rats and nerdy guys who understood intelligent thoughts instead of football scores. The ones who boasted about the notches on their headboards from all the girls they gave drugs and alcohol to so they could fuck them then brag how good they were.
    A few times Mary had fallen into relationships but mostly she wound up in disasters.
    Brad had been the guy every girl wanted to be with. He played football, was boyishly handsome, popular and—rumor had it—was any young girls dream in the back seat of a car. When she was in her first year of college he was a