Cramming for exams is not only ineffective, it’s just wrong. Everyone in the first year of medical school learns that it is different than college. Learning and practicing medicine (or any other field) means showing up – really showing up – every day. Most of it is not fairy dust in the least” I sit at my desk and I work like a farmer, and that’s how it gets done. “Most of my writing life consists of nothing more than unglamorous, disciplined labor. For me, one of the overarching messages of her book was this – When you see what you do as your vocation (from Latin vocātiō, meaning “a call or summons”), and not just your job, it will transform how you view your work – a concept which I believe may be necessary (but not sufficient) to treat or prevent burnout.Īs I read her thoughts on how to live a creative life, I realized that there were other ideas that applied to physicians, physicians in training and others who serve: On the flight home yesterday I finished Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert (She’s probably known to you for her NY Times Best Seller Eat, Pray, Love). I’ll do it in a minute.“Do what you love to do, and do it with both seriousness and lightness.”* Naked, flushed, sated, I try to talk myself into lifting my hand to remove the dripping hair from my face. Having just come from the shower, where he banged me against the tiled wall, I lie face down on the bed. Why do I need to? He’ll just move me himself. He tells me when, where, and how hard, and I roll with it, yearn for it, my need to satisfy him outweighing all else. ![]() But as this is Emeric, and his way is infused with domination, it requires an emotional and mental subtlety that goes far beyond the technical act of sex. Much of the evening slides past my heavy-lidded eyes in a blanket of sweat-slick skin, tender caresses, and passionate kisses. The choreography gets a little foggy after that as my body surrenders to the floaty, perverted world of Emeric Marceaux. He tosses me on my back, collars my throat with his fingers, and fucks me with my thighs pinched together between his. He arranges me on hands and knees and smacks my ass while he thrusts from behind. His rhythms span between gentle and wild, his tempo quickly changing with countless alternating positions. He makes a tsking sound, closes a strong hand around my breast, and bites my nipple. But the press of his teeth against my skin holds me on a heightened edge of arousal.Ī moment later, he pins my arms above my head, hips rocking, cock throbbing inside me. Lowering his head to my shoulder, he seems to be winding down, trying to steady his heaving breaths. His eyes stay with me through every gasping shout, telling me I’m the reason for his pleasure, the heart of it. ![]() He tears his mouth away, his hand dropping to the mattress to support the bow of his back as he roars through his orgasm. His plunging pace jumps and jerks, falling into an abrupt staccato. The sight of him in jeans and t-shirts, ties and waistcoats, and nothing at all. I reach down, put my hands on the hard muscle of his ass for the first time, and hold on. Over and over, he slams his hips with wicked-hard thrusts. Our tongues battle, licking and lashing as his weight crushes my chest and his cock fills me up. He rolls us, hands on my face, his mouth and breaths consuming mine. Then he’s kissing me mercilessly, hammering his hips, and spiraling me through another orgasm. His lips part with me, his pupils dilate, and his hands fly to the back of my head. My mouth opens in a soundless scream, my gaze locked on his eyes. When I find it, all of my nerves, cells, and thoughts rush to my womb, gathering, pressurizing, and exploding through my body in a pounding series of percussions. With my hands on his face, I kiss him fiercely, passionately, while working my pussy up and down his length, searching for the spot. ![]() With his body so rigid and hard, I suspect it’s taking a heavy dose of concentration to not move his hips or let go of the rungs. But he seems incapable of talking all of a sudden. ![]() I ache for his growly orders commanding my every move. I miss his hands on me, though, and the bite of his belt, his painful pleasure. He deepens the kiss, the strong stretch of his jaw as erotic as the sinful way he glides his tongue. I sweep my hands over his biceps and cup his face, the scratch of his stubble scraping my palms. His filthy mouth strengthens the brewing tide inside me. “Your sloppy cunt is dripping all over me.” He snaps his teeth at me, his muscles bunching and twitching. When I reach his lips, his tongue seeks mine, twirling and tasting. I slide up his chest and thrust my hips, delighting in the feeling of the new angle. “Jesus Christ, Ivory.” His biceps flex above his head, his thighs hardening beneath me. How to Easily Clean Grout and Remove Grime Quickly
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