“Remember, we’re going for subtle, Adam. Your contract doesn’t allow for anything too drastic.” And thank God for that.
“I know, I know,” he says with impatience. “I’ve just always hated my nose, and it’s the first thing I see whenever I look in the mirror. When those casting directors told me I didn’t have the right look, they were really just telling me my schnoz was too big. I can’t wait to get all new headshots and update my profile pics. Do you think I should share my journey with my followers?”
Everything’s ajourneywith him now. Good grief.
“Definitely not. That would cause way too much controversy. You’d split your fan base into before and after camps. It would be a virtual civil war, not to mention the optics of an already beautiful man getting elective surgery. It’s the very height of privilege. In fact, you’re lucky I planned ahead and have a bevy of pictures to post during your recovery.”
“You think of everything,” he says with a grateful smile and a wet smack on my cheek.
Inside the examining room, Dr. Flemons inspects Adam’s nose, taking measurements and probing his cartilage and overall nasal architecture. He uses a special camera to take 3D photographs and projects them onto the screen for the purpose of digitally contouring Adam’s ideal nose. Largely thanks to me, the result of this exercise produces a nose that looks almost exactly the same.
“That’s the one,” Adam says, beaming triumphantly.
Dr. Flemons glances from Adam to me, perhaps wondering if he’s being bamboozled, and says, “That version is quite similar in shape and size to the one you currently have.”
I can’t have him ruining the illusion for Adam, so I counter with, “Yes, but this one is far more balanced and proportioned with the rest of his face. Why, the nose is the very foundation for the sense of aesthetic. This one saysroyal. It saysproud. It saysPatrician. What do you think, Adam?”
“I like this one too. It looks like me, only way better.”
“Way,waybetter,” I emphasize.
But the doctor is still unconvinced. “Maybe you should take a week or two to think about it. Make sure this is really what you want?”
“We’re on a very tight timeline, Dr. Flemons,” I remind him brusquely. “Adam starts shooting again in January and we’ll need the swelling to go down by then. I’m happy to pay double for your haste in this regard. Not insurance. Cash.”
Money talks, especially in the field of elective surgery.
“I’m sure we can work you in,” Dr. Flemons says, sounding much more amenable now. He prints the photograph of Adam’s “new” nose and packages it up with a folder of pre- and post-op care. I’m familiar with most of the procedures already, having been my mother’s caretaker many, many times and more recently, Lucia’s as well. Nursing Adam back to perfect health is an opportunity I wouldn’t dare miss.
I suppose Adam’s rhinoplasty will be my Christmas present too.
* * *
Oh,but Adam is a big baby when it comes to facial pain, something I couldn’t have possibly predicted. Of course, it doesn’t help that I switched his opiates with sugar pills and his anti-inflammatory medication with baby aspirin. I know it sounds cruel, but I can’t have Adam getting addicted to plastic surgery, and one way to prevent that is to make sure it hurts like hell.
And Adam’s suffering is my own personal aphrodisiac.
“Please,” he moans, unable to see very well because his eyelids are just two narrow slits due to the swelling. Between that, the splint on his nose, and the bruising, his face is positively grotesque. “Please give me more drugs, Cassius.”
“I’m sorry, dove, but I can only give you what’s been prescribed, one pain pill every eight hours, and I’m afraid you still have six more hours to go.”
“But it hurts so bad,” he says with tears in his eyes, fingertips clutching the sheets in desperation where I’ve set him up in my mother’s bedroom. “Dr. Flemons never said it would be like this,” he whines.
“Everyone experiences pain differently,” I tell him as I pull back the silk robe that once belonged to my mother to give him a reassuring pat on the thigh. I admire his soft cock and the two rotund balls that make up his fleshy manhood while he twitches and squirms in the nest of pillows I’ve arranged for his comfort. He tries every possible position to ease the pain, but it’s simply too much.
“I can’t take it,” he says with another long, drawn-out moan. “My head feels like it’s going to explode.”
“I know it does, darling, and I’m so sorry that you have to suffer like this.” My mother used to have theworsthangovers, used to beg me for more pills, but they had to be rationed because I was always afraid she might overdose. Tough love is sometimes the very best medicine. “Tell me, love, what can I do for you?”
“Make it go away.”
“If only I could,” I lament. Instead, I refresh the ice pack to help with the swelling and adjust his pillow to elevate his head a little more. Then I go sit between his legs, easing apart his tanned thighs to make room for myself. I stroke from his silky quads to his hips, past his limp cock and over the ridges of his abs. Adam whimpers, unable to enjoy it because of his condition. Poor post-op Barbie.
“Why’d you let me do this, Cassius? Why?”
I could argue that I tried to talk him out of it on several occasions, but Adam is delusional most of the time.
“Beauty is pain, my love. And perfection demands sacrifice.” I take his soft dick in hand and try to pump some life back into it. “Why don’t you try focusing on how good the other parts of your body feel right now?”
