Chapter 6 Hideo
HIDEO
My adorable BertieBear has gone into full hibernation, snoring quietly next to me.
I think I wore the poor dear out. I can get rather needy when my ass gets into the mix, and he did me up and down and forward and backward.
There’s my first resolution for the New Year: date night is definitely going to be a regular event in this household.
My body is telling me it’s time to finish the day for good and get some sleep, but my mind is buzzing around my new patient, Orion.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. His case is tricky—tricky but manageable—but it’s such a pity.
His remarkable tentacles seem like such a natural part of him.
No, I mustn’t use objectifying language like that, and it’s certainly not my place to make his decision for him. But still…
Sleep is obviously not going to happen anytime soon, so I slip out of bed and grab my laptop. Bertie gives a delicious little groan when I get back in bed, and turns over on his side. I stroke his furry arm and hope he’s having a good dream.
I need information, so I’m not flying through this challenge by the seat of my pants. I pull up PubMed and start the search. He’s 34 years old, so he must have been at the research hospital twenty-ish years ago. I’ll start there.
Searches on tentacles give a couple thousand hits, none related to humans, but with remarkably little effort, two papers pop up:
Functional Maxillofacial Tentacula. I: General Anatomy and Motor Function
Functional Maxillofacial Tentacula. II: Contact Chemoreception
As expected for a professional article, Orion’s name is never mentioned, but the first figure includes photos of a much younger Orion, straight on and in profile.
They’re cropped tightly to show only the tentacles, which are not yet covered with hair, but it’s easy to tell it’s him.
The arrangement and shape of his tentacles are the same.
The first paper is a detailed anatomical study.
I start reading with an uncomfortable mix of anticipation and trepidation, hoping the study didn’t include any invasive procedures.
I don’t want to imagine a young Orion subjected to that, even though excision biopsy results would give us a trove of information for his upcoming procedure.
When I get to the end of the paper, I breathe a sigh of relief.
There’s no mention, so they must have limited themselves to the tomograms that fill roughly half of the Results section.
There are some useful findings. His tentacula are structurally similar to the tongue, with a similar muscular and vascular structure and attachments to the mandible and maxilla. That’s going to cause some challenges, but certainly not insurmountable ones.
The second paper is fascinating, delving into the rich sensory characteristics of his tentacles.
All of his tentacula are highly sensitive to touch and heat, but the ones around his lips, upper and lower, are also sensitive to taste.
Remarkably so. His taste buds are sheltered in narrow grooves formed when the tips fold closed, opening when they’re deployed for tasting.
Even more interesting, the paper includes a detailed genomic study, finding a massive expansion of the taste receptor gene clusters.
He must be tasting things the rest of us can’t even imagine.
My mind marvels. These tentacles are a marked improvement on standard human physiology, allowing him to sense his environment in far richer detail.
If he had been born millions of years ago, his tentacles could have been a seriously beneficial adaptation, changing the course of human evolution.
If things had been different, the entire human race could have evolved with similar tentacles, and taste, today.
But since he’s alive now, in a society that values uniformity, his uniqueness is a detriment, something to be fixed or shunned.
It’s tragic, but at least he wasn’t born in the Dark Ages.
Back then, he probably would have been burned as a demon.
What am I going to do? His needs must come first, so I need to treat him as I would with any of my other patients.
I’ll continue my literature research, ensuring that the procedure, if we perform it, will be as safe and successful as possible.
At the same time, I’ll help him make certain he’s made an informed decision.
Date night was a total success, but life rapidly encroaches, and we settle back into our normal daily routines.
Bertie is long gone when I get up each morning, and our evenings are take-out dinners and exhaustion.
Day after day goes by and neither of us have the energy to put up holiday lights, but I live for the brief times our paths converge.
Christmas is rapidly approaching, with the promise of a few days off with him and our friends, and if my wishes come true, a holiday date night.
On Friday, Bertie leaves me a note on the coffee machine:
Drop by the bakery at about 10:00.
The kouign-amann should be ready by then.
XXOO BB
Leave it to my sexy husband! I had almost forgotten about the office party today.
The morning flies by with consultations and follow-ups.
The weeks leading up to the holidays are always busy, with affluent clients wanting to look their best at their holiday gigs, so we’re up to our elbows in botox and collagen.
I enjoy it immensely, despite the frantic schedule.
They leave my office so happy and confident, and it feels good to give them this extra lift for their celebrations.
When I arrive at the bakery, Bertie is chatting up a tall redheaded hunk.
Bertie must be in heaven—he likes them tall and thick—and he’s deploying his flirty smile, the same smile that snagged me those many years ago.
My BertieBear is such a tasty treat. The redhead has his back to me, in a checked flannel shirt, and he looks familiar…
Bertie glances over and gives me a conspiratorial grin, the one he always gets when we’re doing some man-watching together.
This guy must be something special. Maybe it’s that red hair, and he certainly has an imposing physique.
I’m a six-footer, towering over my adorable pocket bear, but this guy even makes me feel small.
The fellow catches Bertie’s glance, and he turns around. I’m completely dumbstruck. It’s Orion…and he’s not wearing his mask! He looks, well, radiant, with a sparkle in his eyes and a gentle smile. But then his eyes go wide in shock, and I see his tentacula wriggling. He’s losing control of them.
“Doctor Genji!” he says, and slaps a hand up, covering his beard.
His eyes dart around the bakery in panic, and he takes off without another word, pushing past me to the door.
“Orion!” Bertie yells, confused, snatching up a big bag. “Wait up!”
He dashes past me and out the door, grabbing Orion’s arm as he’s untying his dog. Orion keeps his face turned away, but Bertie passes off the bag before Orion flees down the street.
“What was that all about?” Bertie mutters as he pushes back into the bakery. “Do you know him, Hidie-ho?”
I suggest, “Let’s sit for a minute.”
He must catch my look, because he says, “Give me a minute. I’ll make some lattes.”
When we’re settled at a table by the window, I say, “Yes, I know Orion. He’s my new patient.”
“The one you’re so worried about? What is the…no. It’s not my business. But is he okay? It’s not life-threatening?”
“Yes. No. No, it’s not life threatening, but yes, he’s working through a lot of stuff right now.”
“I had no idea. He’s been coming in here for years, and he’s always friendly. Quiet, very quiet, but with that adorable little smile. I look forward to it every time. As you saw, he’s gorgeous.”
“I think so too,” I say, maybe realizing it for the first time.
“And he’s so sweet. You know, he’s the taste-tester I’ve mentioned many times. You saw the text I got about my first kouign-amann.”
“So, he’s your GingerGiant,” I say, and I have to laugh. The nickname fits him perfectly.
“That’s him. He has insights like nobody else. He can always pinpoint exactly what my new creations need.”
There’s his enhanced sense of taste in action.
“He wasn’t wearing a mask today,” I say.
“Why should he? He hasn’t worn one since the pandemic. My god, why would he, with that beautiful ginger beard?”
“Hmm,” I say, and let it drop. It seems my boyfriend and my new patient have a special connection, one that’s built on friendship and trust, and a love of tasty baked goods. I hope I haven’t ruined it for both of them.
As if he read my mind, he says, “Let me know if I can help. I don’t want to nose into his business, but if there’s anything I can do, I’m here, or there, or wherever you two need me.”
“Thanks, cutie,” I say, and the first glimmer of an idea kindles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Now that I’ve had the idea, there will be no avoiding it. Professional or not, it’s going to nag at me until I take action. It’s becoming clearer and clearer that I want to dissuade Bertie’s GingerGiant from this procedure, and the perfect way to do it is right in front of me.