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I awake with a start, in an unfamiliar but not unfriendly room, wondering where I am and how I had gotten there. I hear voices in the hallway outside and am about to call out when I realize there is someone asleep beside me — again, unfamiliar but not unfriendly. I sit up, trying to remember the night before. Slowly the recollections come back — this was Jeffrey’s house (or his parents’ house anyway, but he lived in it alone), and this was one of his bedrooms. Ah, then this must be one of his guests from… from whatever had happened last night. I’m still not too clear on that part. I figure if I retrace it, maybe it would come back, or at least I’d know where the trail went cold.
I remembered a limousine pulling up to my door to pick me up. Though Jeff could be a little bit of a twit for his obvious financial advantages, he really wasn’t a bad fellow. He had promised me a ride, but I thought he meant he’d come get me himself, or send one of his housekeeping staff to do it. Either way, I was expecting a Z4, not a limo the size of Cleveland.
I went to open the door, but to my surprise it opened with my hand in mid-air, reaching for the handle. Ah, I’m not the first pickup. There are five people already in there! It was dark in there, and I could smell the distinct aroma of really good cannabis wafting from the limo. I hoped the driver was keeping the divider up, or he’d be going 10 miles an hour for the rest of the trip!
I climbed inside, and Jeff was in the middle of the forward-facing seat, a girl on each arm. On the rear-facing seat were two other girls, obviously holding a place at the center for me! I smiled, tried not to look too embarrassed, and had a seat. The door closed — by pushbutton no less — and we were on our way.
“I told you I’d give you a ride, and I keep my promises!” He passed me a pipe and a lighter, and I gestured at the girl on his left.
“Isn’t it her turn?” I asked, and both of them laughed. I shrugged and accepted it. I’m not Bill Clinton, and I did inhale.
Okay, so that’s how I got here… hmm, man I have to piss. I wonder if I can get up without waking… who is she? Was she one of the four girls in the limo? And why don’t I have a hangover?
I climb out of the bed and stumble, and realize the reason I don’t have a hangover is because I’m still drunk. Oh boy, I must have had fun last night. With a little assistance from the wall (why won’t it stay straight up and down, dammit?) I make it to the bedroom’s attached bathroom. Sunlight streams through the slightly opened window and I stare through that two inch portal into the blue morning sky as I sit to relieve myself. Out of habit, I reach to tuck my dick down and it hits me like a ton of bricks — oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!
About four months prior, I had found a sore spot on the head of my penis. I took it to be a burn, from some rough sex the day before, but when it didn’t improve over the next couple of days, I started to worry. After a week, it was worse. I had to get it checked out. The doctor cut out the now weeping area, about a quarter inch, stitched me up, wrote out a script for Vicodin, and sent me on my way. I made a point of getting to the pharmacy before the anesthetic completely wore off, and swallowed two of them in the car before driving home. I barely made it into the driveway before the world went all fuzzy.
I now had stitches in my glans, but I had no reason to be overly concerned about it. The doctor cebeci escort hadn’t said much to worry me, but that would change.
Four days later, I get a call at work from the doctor, asking if I can move my follow-up appointment up a little. The follow-up would have been just another three days away, so I asked how much he wanted to advance it. He said, “Can you come in now? We have a problem.”
I worried the whole way, but I finally made it to his office after about 45 minutes of your typical L.A. rush hour traffic. I walked in, signed in as usual, and without so much as a hello, the doctor had grabbed me by the upper arm and pulled me into an examination room. He closed the door.
“I’m afraid there may be a serious issue,” he began. “Our autoclave has been acting up for weeks, but we just found out this morning that our instruments have not been getting sterilized. You may have an infection from equipment used on someone else, and we have to check it. Right now.”
After the few seconds necessary for this to sink in, I numbly dropped trou and let him inspect. It didn’t take very long.
“Not only have you developed an infection, but I believe this is exactly what I was afraid of. MRSA. We’re going to have to get you into a hospital.”
Having now drained my bladder, I glance through the doorway. The girl in the bed remains asleep, snoring lightly. I consider getting dressed and just taking off, but this would not make the situation any better. I have to talk to her, see what she knows, and more importantly, see who else knows. Should I wake her up? Should I wait? I decide to stall for time and jump in the shower. The hot water helps me regain my composure a bit, and I once again slip into memories…
Once in the hospital, I was treated like a piece of meat. Put on this robe, take that bed (Bed? How long am I going to be here?), doctor will be in shortly. You probably know the drill.
About 30 nerve-wracking minutes later, a short woman of middle east descent came into the room, and introduced herself. Her manner was completely unlike that of the nurses and orderlies I’d been dealing with — she seemed concerned about my condition, asking if I had had any excessive pain, odd discharge, or anything else that would be regarded as unusual. I replied, “well I do have an extra hole in my dick, so I didn’t think a little discharge was terribly surprising.”
Since I was playing this for a laugh, I was not terribly comforted when she did not look amused. She explained that more tests needed to be run to see how far it had progressed, but that I would probably have to go through more surgeries. Antibiotics just weren’t going to touch what I had, and it had to be stopped.
I don’t remember a whole lot of the next three days, but by all accounts, the medical staff did absolutely everything they could to minimize the damage. Still, by the time I came out from under constant sedation, my penis was pretty much gone. I was put on suicide watch, as it was expected that I would be despondent over this turn of events. Doctor Shamsi (I now knew her name) actually cried while apologizing for what they had had to do to me, though it may have been because two of the other patients of my GP had not been so lucky, and had died during the three days I had been knocked out.
Shower done, I step out and realize this bathroom had not been stocked with towels. I dry off as best I can with the çukurambar escort little hand towel, but I either am going to air-dry the rest of the way, or venture out for a towel. Or do I?
I use the bedroom phone to call the cell of the chief housekeeper, whose number I have committed to memory because he’s always the one I call when Jeff gets a little too tanked, or a little too sedated, or a little too whatever. No answer. Damn.
This noise finally awakens my bedmate, and I reflexively cover my crotch with my hands, but it is immediately clear that she can’t see a damn thing. “Where am I? Who are you, and where are my glasses?” she asks in a bit of a panic.
Maybe I should have dressed and snuck out after all, she doesn’t remember anything! But it’s a little late to disappear now, so I answer from what I am guessing to be outside her focusing range. “I’m Bill, you’re at Jeff Hardy’s house, and there was apparently a really wild party last night. I don’t know where your glasses are — in fact I don’t remember you having any. For that matter, I don’t remember who you are either!”
“I’m Adriana, and I’m sorry we are meeting — or re-meeting — under such odd circumstances. I don’t feel so good,” she says, as she bolts for the bathroom, just making it in time to unload her stomach contents. I give another thought to sneaking out when she asks me, “Could you please find me a toothbrush? I can’t see shit.”
I pause just long enough to locate and put on my underwear, then comb through bathroom drawers looking for a toothbrush, but have no luck. I also take the opportunity to look her over, and the bittersweet feelings hit me with a rush. She’s quite lovely even in her current state, and I feel the tingle of an erection beginning to form as I take her with my eyes. I also feel the angst of knowing there’s nothing I can do with the little stub in my shorts.
“I’ve already tried to reach the chief housekeeper to get towels, and he isn’t answering, so I don’t know what to tell you,” I said. “Did you bring an overnight pack?”
Adriana blinks twice with that weird vacant look that comes with severe nearsightedness, then says “I think so. I’m not sure, but if I did it’s probably a black Hello Kitty bag.”
A few minutes later, I manage to find her bag and deliver it to her as she sits on the closed toilet lid, trying to get her head screwed on straight. She’s still more than a bit tipsy herself, but she manages to find her toothbrush by feel alone, and holds up a tube for me to read. “Is this toothpaste? I’d really hate to brush my teeth with K-Y Jelly.”
I confirm that it is, and slip out of the bathroom. Maybe all is not lost if I just get dressed and play it cool — where the fuck are my clothes? Did *I* bring an overnight pack? Apparently not, but a check of the dresser yields loose shorts and a T-shirt that is approximately my size.
A few minutes later, Adriana comes out looking much more composed. I still don’t think she can see, but she’s clearly starting to sober up a bit, as I am myself. She stands nude just outside the bathroom doorway for a moment, then suddenly snaps her fingers and walks back into the bathroom without a word.
Another couple of minutes pass, and she comes back out of the bathroom, walks across the room confidently, and sits down beside me on the bed, smiling.
“Hey, you’re better looking than I thought,” she says, and plants a kiss on me before I even realize what’s ankara escort happening. She rolls me over onto my back and pins me down, looking straight into my eyes.
“You can see!” I exclaim, trying to change the subject.
“You were right, I didn’t even bring glasses last night. But I did bring a second set of contacts. That’s what I went back in the bathroom for. Now shut up and kiss me again!”
So I do. It’s the kind of kiss that curls my toes. She peels my newly acquired shirt off without resistance and we kiss again. Then her hand is down the front of my shorts and I freeze. Much to my amazement, her hand slides right over the stump of my penis and down onto my balls, which she gently caresses. I allow myself to breathe again, and caress her small but beautifully shaped breasts. My little nub is about as hard as it gets as I nibble on her nipples.
Adriana removes my shorts and underwear with a single motion, but does so while watching my face, not her hands. She casts them aside with that enigmatic smile, and starts to massage my stub with thumb and forefinger! I close my eyes and gasp, both from the pleasure, and from the astonishment that she is not put off by my incomplete anatomy.
“So it’s true,” she says gently. “You’re a stubby too. Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing.” She gets up but keeps her eyes locked on mine, as she retrieves her overnight pack from the bathroom and sets it on the bed, against the wall. Then she kneels back down on the bed and does something I never thought I’d experience again as she nibbles and sucks on my tiny stump. Again I close my eyes and gasp, and the next thing I know, her finger is inside me.
It takes maybe 30 seconds to cum, but there are months — no, years! — of anticipation, fear, and worry behind that orgasm, and it all flows out of me in waves. As she uses the T-shirt to mop up, I start to cry.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” she asks worriedly.
“No, certainly not! I just thought I’d never feel like that again. I thought that part of my life was over, that no woman would ever want me again!”
“Well I do have a confession of my own to make,” she says. “I’m a professional. But don’t think I didn’t enjoy that! I wanted to do this, ever since Jeff told me about your condition.”
Once again my world turned upside down. “He… told you? I… I never told him! I never told anybody!”
“You didn’t have to. We all saw it in the news, two dead from an infection spread by surgical instruments, and a third person who was… how did they put it? ‘Disfigured’ is the word they used, I think.”
“But…” I trailed off.
“He’s been watching you ever since you were released, or his staff has. You didn’t seem to have a mark on you, so whatever your ‘disfigurement’ was, it had to be concealed. He knew you would be missing something.”
“But why would he think it would be my penis?” I asked credulously.
“Don’t you know? Have you ever seen him work? Have you ever wondered where he gets his money?”
“Uh… no, I suppose I never thought about it too hard. I just figured his parents were rich and spoiled him. He doesn’t talk about it,” I offered, while wondering why I had never asked these questions myself.
“Jeff is also a stubby. He lost his penis in a circumcision accident when he was just a few days old. All the money he has comes from the settlement, and some judicious investing by his parents. Oh, by the way… he wants you to call his lawyer on Monday. If he’s half as good as he says he is, you won’t work another day at that dingy little office again either.”
With that, Adriana curled up beside me, then poked me in the ribs. “It’s your turn, you slouch. I’ve heard you have magic fingers, so don’t bogart the orgasms!”
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