dontravis.com blog post #502
Got
a few comments on last week’s “Profane Eidolon.” By the way, I had to go to Word
Hippo to come up with that title.
This
week, I’d like to offer another two-parter. And I have to tell you the idea was
given me by a friend who knew someone who had a similar experience. Anyway, the
idea was too good to waste. The friend—who’s also a writer—gave me leave to
steal her idea. So here goes.
****
I
GOTTA HANG UP NOW….
I noticed Tim wasn’t quite right on a
Monday morning after he got hit in the head on Saturday by a baseball during a local
game, but it took until Wednesday before he agreed to let me drive him to the
doctor. We were both nuts about participating in neighborhood affairs, and as
we were both twenty-three-year-old athletic guys, sports seemed the way to do
that.
The ball laid him out on the pitcher’s
mound, but other than being dizzy, he insisted he was okay. Everyone on both
teams pressed him to go be checked out, but aside from his handsome face and
ripped body, Tim’s most outstanding feature was his belief he was
indestructible. I have no idea where that tenet originated.
We’d been together for two years now, and
I knew him as well as anyone… better than most because most people weren’t
intimate with him and the beneficiary of pillow talk.
“Pete,” he would often say to me after a
bout in bed, “I don’t know how we got together, but this thing is going to last
forever!”
And I, usually exhausted from his antics,
would dutifully remind him he’d come on to me when I hauled him back to the
dorm dead—or so I thought—drunk. Instead, he looped an arm around my neck and
gave me what I imagined would forever be denied me, a big, sloppy kiss on the
lips. Ah, what a memorable night.
But now he was lying in a hospital bed,
still addled from the baseball, and being examined by doctors of all stripes.
The most prominent was a neurologist who, at the moment, was giving us a
reading on Tim’s recent brain scan.
“There’s still some swelling from the blow
to the head, and that’s normal. There is one condition I want to keep an eye
on.”
“What is that?” I asked.
The medic, not yet fully appraised of our
relationship, I suspect, gave me the fisheye and addressed his reply directly
to Tim. “Difficult to say until the swelling goes down, but I do have a concern
over dementia.”
“Dementia?” I exclaimed. “At his age?
Doctor, he’s only twenty-three.
“There are types of early onset dementia.
And a severe blow to the head may help it progress faster.”
During the entire discussion, Tim said not
a word. He sat in bed looking handsome and vulnerable, the open backed gown he
was wearing, drooping off one shoulder like the beginning of an enchanting
strip tease.
“I want to observe you a few more days,
Mr. Mason, the doctor finished. “So I won’t release you, at least not prior to
this coming Friday.”
“That’ll be fine, Doctor. He’ll stay put”
I said.
That was more than the doctor could stand.
“And who are you?”
“Peter Flann.”
“And you are…?”
“His partner.”
“His business partner?”
“No, sir. His domestic partner.”
“Oh, I see.”
“And I’m listed in his living will as his
administrator, or whatever you call it.”
His face cleared, and he asked for contact
information. After he left I took the chair beside the bed.
“You get all that?” I asked.
He gave me the smile that always stirred
my nether regions. “Enough. I’m going bananas before my time.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way. The doctor
hasn’t diagnosed it yet, but we’ll fight it, whatever it is, together.” I
mustered an uncertain grin. “Mason and Flann. Together they can fight off the
world, right?”
He leaned back against his pillow.
“Right.”
I left the hospital that evening
conflicted. Tim wasn’t physically impaired, other than a bonk on the head. But
my mother died of Alzheimer’s, and that scared the hell out of me. Of course,
she’d been over seventy, and Tim was only twenty-three. So what did “early
onset” mean. He started the symptoms earlier and stayed more or less okay until
later in life? Or it started earlier and progressed faster?
****
My cell phone rang while I was at work the
next morning. I relaxed when Tim’s baritone flowed from the receiver.
“Where are you, Pete? I’m lonesome.”
“At work, lover. Missing you like crazy. That
was a lonely bed last night.”
“I’ll bet.” His tone changed. “It better
have been. Or did you sample what Bryan’s always offering?”
“Don’t go nuts on me. You know it’s only
you and me. Nobody else.”
“Then why does Bryan flirt with you every
time we see him at the bar?”
“Hell, Tim, he flirts with everyone. With
you too, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“So he wasn’t there.”
“Nope. Just lonely me, holding myself in
my hand and thinking of you. And frankly fighting to keep from pumping the
pipe.”
“Here I am lying in a hospital bed, and
you’re home jerking off.”
“Not what I said. I said thinking of you
and trying to keep from—”
“Oh, God!” he muttered and hung up.
I hadn’t planned on going to the hospital
until after I finished my workday, but his reaction prompted me to alter my
plans. I finished the task I was doing when he phoned, and took off across town
to the hospital.
Tim brightened when I came through the door.
He was in a semi-private room, but no one occupied the second bed at the
moment.
“Just the man I need,” he said, fingering
the large lump that distorted his blanket. He threw off the covers. “Hop in.”
I covered him up. “Jeez, can it, Tim.
Somebody might come in.”
“But I need it,” he whined. The Tim I knew
didn’t whine. “At least touch me.”
I placed my body between him and the door
and pressed a hand against his groin.
“Ah, that feels good.” He pushed back the
covers and pulled up his gown. Wasn’t anything to do but grab onto his excited
pole. “Oh… better! Pump it.”
So against my better judgment, I
masturbated that attractive tool attached to that super-handsome stud I loved,
until he sprayed his essence all over both of us. I had barely finished
cleaning him up with damp paper towels when I heard the door open behind me. I
turned to find a young nurse entering. A pretty young nurse.
“Hello, Angel,” Tim said. “Have you met my
partner? Pete, this is Angel.” He dropped his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but
Petey just took care of my need and was cleaning up.”
I felt my cheeks go hot. Tim’s Angel acted
like she’d heard it all before.
****
Offhand,
I’d say Tim wasn’t acting very rationally, although you never know. Getting his
pipes drained… now I understand that. But blurting out the fact to a pretty
young nurse of the female persuasion? That I don’t know about.
So
let’s see what happens next week.
Now
my mantra: Keep on reading and keep on writing. You have something to say…
so say it!
A link to The Cutie-Pie Murders:
https://www.dropbox.com/s/ambxgy7e5ndmimk/CutiePieMurders%5BThe%5D.zip?dl=0
My personal links:
Email:
don.travis@aol.com.
Facebook:
www.facebook.com/donald.travis.982
Twitter:
@dontravis3
See
you next Thursday.
Don
New
Posts every Thursday morning at 6:00 a.m. US Mountain time.
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