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From: Hawk Richards <heminway@epix.net>
Subject: New Story: Ironic (M/F)
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Standard Disclaimer: Don't read if under 18 years of age. Don't read
if sexually explicit material is not your cup of tea. E-mail or Post
your reaction or critique. Flames will be ignored. Enjoy!
Contact information: Hawk Richards (heminway@epix.net)
******************************************************
Ironic
by Hawk Richards
The tragic gray rain swept the crisp, frozen landscape. The
once
doughy ground was now hardened. The trees were barren and winter had
conquered with shades of gray washing the painter's pallet. Hews of
amber on the tip of a horsehair brush pressed timidly to the canvas.
Then, strong slow strokes of the painter's instrument sounded through
the night below the groaning wind. Bent over the easel was the artist.
His eyes intent on the beauty only he saw and was able to transfer to
the reality of the canvas.
The red glow of my cigarette grew as I took a long drag off it.
I
walked forward slowly into the dim light of the streetlamp, where the
twilight grew into a haze. A deafening sound had pierced the night. It
was a sound only I could hear. A pain in my chest seeped to my brain
stem. I winced as I felt the thought tear my flesh. My legs gave out
underneath me as the world went black. Cold.
I awoke to the sterile smell of a hospital. My eyelids rose as
the
heavy burden of lifting the weight of drugs pressed them down. Groggily
I swept the room with an adrenaline stimulated stare. A room full of
standard hospital green and stainless steel greeted my anxious and heavy
eyes. The other bed was empty; so was my stomach. My lips were aching
for some water to nourish my need. My chest felt like a mass of broken
tissue, torn and rendered wounded by both life and the heart pounding
wonder of why I was here. What could wound me?
I had a clue as to who had done it. I started to sit up when
the pain
shot through me immobilizing me for many minutes, which seemed like
eternity. How close had I come to death this time? I was getting
careless. I still was not safe from myself anymore, even in the
hospital helpless and weak. Helpless and weak are two things that I
never like to be. My own body had betrayed me.
My eyes suddenly opened as a nurse came through the door. She
looked
like an angel. I am not kidding. Her blonde hair seemed to flow in my
dazed sight. Her white uniform was just a wisp of white to me. I could
only see her float over to me with a caring smile.
"Looks like you finally decided to join us Mr. Andrews." she
said.
I could only grunt an appreciative groan. My mouth was so dry I could
not speak; yet, somehow I asked for a drink of water.
"Only just a little bit," she said as she poured me a cup of
water from
the pitcher near the bedside. "How are we this morning?" she asked
knowing all to well that I felt like shit.
"Where am I?" I muttered spilling some water on my hospital
gown.
"You're at St. Johns Hospital. You took a nasty bump to your
noggin."
She said as she checked my bandages. I whimpered a moan of protest as
the pain shot through the haze of painkillers; I am sure they fed to me
intravenously.
"You have a visitor Mr. Andrews." She said.
I looked up to see a dark clad figure enter the room. At once,
I
recognized him. It was hard not to for I had known him all my life. He
was tall with a balding gray pattern of hair upon his round head. There
were deep furroughs of worry etched into his forehead. His cheeks were
hollow and made his pronounced smile even more pathetic. He was more
worried than he usually looked. It was I.
It would be me 20 years from now as a husk of flesh and bone.
The
thought of aging never had bothered me. What did bother me was the
reluctance to go through life as a drone to society and the thought that
dreams could be locked up behind a pathetic smile and wool suits. A
neatly packaged product of conformity. A trite existence in little
houses painted white, picket fences, a dog, a cat, and the whole
stereotypical dribble pounded into my brain by radiation sets and
countless hours behind the blind mask of the American dream.
"Hello." I said.
"You really should take better care of yourself."
"Yes."
"Your mother is outside would you like to see her?"
"My mother? She is not my mother."
"Well, she is outside would you like to see her?"
"Not really."
"I don't understand you."
"And you never will."
"Fine."
That is how it ended. That is how it always ended. I
understood his
existance, yet he didn't understand my reluctance. I loved them, yet I
had contempt for them. I lived a life they didn't understand. My head
ached even harder as I clenched my eyes shut. Even full of sense
depriving drugs I felt my body absorb sensations. I tasted the
acidic-sterility of the room, the stiffness of the sheets and the warm
circulated air.
I needed a drink.
Part 2
I felt the need for company after he left. I pressed a button
summoning the nurse. She arrived in about five minutes, which was an
eternity. My drug-induced haze was fading, causing the tender tissue
surrounding my wound to ache. I thought about asking for more
painkillers, instead I hit on her. I knew she must have had more
important things to do, but I seem to have a way with women. Either
they take pity on me or they are somehow intrigued. I never really
analyzed it.
"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Andrews?" She asked.
"I needed to talk to someone." I croaked.
"I see…"
"Are you feeling pain?"
"Only in my heart." I said trying to smile.
"Chest pains?"
"No emotional."
I could see her start to understand. Her lips curled into a
slight
grin. Her eyes glinted in a mischievous secret. For some reason she
locked the door, let her hair down, and glided to my side with ease. I
took a moment to admire her face.
"Its time for your sponge bath."
"Ok." It was all I could say at the moment. I had always
wanted to
make love to a nurse.
As she swabbed my torso with tepid water and smiled, she must
have
noticed the desperation on my face. I would have called her an angel of
mercy, yet her devilish grin led me to another conclusion. She bent her
face towards mine. Perhaps, it was my own take on the event, but I
thought she was going to kiss me. Instead, she looked into my eyes,
searching. She must have liked what she found there. She didn't move
away when I kissed her. Her lips were too soft like feather pillows. I
held onto her waist. Our tongues intertwined like two serpents.
Soon, she left with an innocent smile. I still wanted to fuck a
nurse. I don't blame her for not allowing me to go further than a
kiss. Patients are in a hospital for a reason. Something is physically
wrong with them.
Part 3
After I escaped from the Hospital, I had to talk to someone, so
I went
to my favorite listener: "I remember, sitting for two hours watching an
ant crawl around my kitchen. I just sat there. He was the perfect
drone. He was the perfect soldier." My cat just sat there, silent. He
understood.
That night I had a dream. I was on the hospital bed making love
to the
nurse. Her auburn hair cascaded down to brush my face. Each hair was
like a whip biting into my soul. She slowly gyrated her hips in rhythm
to my heartbeat. I heard the hospital equipment around me beep in
erratic beats. I could feel my cock penetrating her body with each
movement. She was so tight it hurt.
I heard talking in the background. It was the doctor. He was
either
oblivious to the nurse rutting up and down on my hips or he condoned the
behavior. He held a x-ray of my skull up to the light. He spoke to the
unseen voices asking questions.
"Will he be alright, Doctor?"
"He seems healthy."
I noticed the Doctor examining the nurse quite closely. Her
nursing
uniform had vanished. Her overly large breasts seemed to have a life of
their own as they bobbed up and down. Their cherry colored nipples
pressed into my chest like needles. My hands groped the soft flesh of
her breasts. I held on tight because my life depended upon it.
"He doesn't act healthy."
"There is a special operation for such matters."
"Do whatever you can to make him…normal." My Stepmother said in
disgust.
"Ok, Mrs. Andrews."
I couldn't believe it. My folks were in the room. Didn't they
see me
fucking the nurse? My balls were swelling with the need to orgasm. All
of a sudden, everything went blank. A torrent of hot semen burst from
my loins. I saw the face of my mother. She was crying. I woke up
startled, confused, and bewildered. Never in my life had I had such a
vivid dream.
The memory made me sick. I had an awful headache. As my
stomach
churned, I remembered what the doctor had told me: "You have a tumor in
your brain. You have two options at your disposal. Either you can go
through with the surgery or you can try chemotherapy." I blacked out
once again. I had a vision of a nurse swabbing the excess semen off her
inner thighs. It dribbled down her leg slowly.
The end
Authors Note: This is my second try at posting this story to
alt.sex.stories.moderated, perhaps it my connection ate it. Hope you
enjoyed the story. Look for more new stories...Coming soon.
--
Hawk Richards
Heminway@epix.net
"In the virgin womb of the imagination the word was made
flesh."--James Joyce
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