I don’t know if I spell it correctly, but one of my father’s made-up hillbilly words was “‘schpital.” Guess what it means. Go ahead…
Hospital. He made up many word-substitutes but this one came to mind yesterday. He would usually precede the word with “goddam” or “fucking”, incanting his sentiments about professional medicine with derogatories then further diminishing the dignity of the institution by shortening it into a sneering, near-obscenity.
I still do not know, and cannot know, exactly what was happening yesterday. While I was taking naked pictures of myself to share with her later, she was resting after having vomited for I don’t know how long. When she woke she was shaking, sweating, inarticulate, and (I might add) looking at my cock. She would later comment on how, even in this state of uncertain health and possible seizure or stroke, “In the middle of all that I was still horny.” I replied “I saw you look at my cock and smile.” She remembered. While trembling like a twig on a dead tree she found the bed and I held her and in the gesture of wrapping myself around her she glanced sidelong at my cock and looked me in the eye with a wry smile. Then she continued her seizure, or whatever the fuck was going on. I don’t know because she doesn’t know. All I could do was hold her tight and ask her to take deep breaths. She has some kind of undiagnosed nervous condition and has possibly suffered several strokes. As her body trembled she mentioned that she ate nothing the day before, and the heat had been getting at her the same as it got to me last week.
Within a few hours she was approaching a state of normalcy again. She doesn’t know what fixes it or makes it go away, nor is she certain what brings it on in the first place. It has happened before but never this bad. If I were not so anti-‘shpital, and if I did not already know how anti-‘shpital she was, I would likely have insisted we go to the nearby hospital’s emergency department. I did, in fact, suggest this a number of times but she said no, this will go away. She should know, I concluded. For whatever we mean to each other at this point I am not her caretaker or decision maker. Still, if her condition was much worse I would have felt obligated to get her some kind of medical attention. I woke to all this with a headache and anticipating a day spent waiting and accomplishing nothing at the nearby hospital.
That didn’t happen. Her condition cleared itself. Why was it so bad this time? We do not know.
The night before was fun. It started as it ritualistically does, with her undressing me button by button, belt hook by belt hook. This gets me so hard so fast it’s incredible. But she was already feeling early signs of what would come later. I fetl no sense of this but I was selfishly thinking about my cock, as often is the case.
I later showed her the pictures of me in her mirrors and she loved them. She was not lying or trying to flatter. Her comments were sincere.
