True to her word, the pretty young nurse returned with his dinner. Lukewarm chicken, sticky rice with ice-cold patches, soggy carrots and thin, sugary tea. Yum. This time, at least, she'd undone another button on the uniform for him. As she leaned forward with the distasteful tray, he received a healthy view of firm, soft flesh, neatly held in place by an invitingly lacy black bra.
So it turned out that she was that sort, exactly that sort. That wasn't a surprise. He was only sixty-four now and, he thought, still very fit, despite his bizarre infirmities. He acted like he was ninety, but he still had the trim and cut of a healthy, middle-aged man, fifty-nine, or even younger. His body was young, even if the mind within it were trapped and warped. His physique could easily appeal to the right sort of woman.
Yet he knew that he had the cut, but not the core. The bizarre dementia — and the shakes — had taken that away. His fantasies were all that were left to him.
He didn't need help eating, despite the damned tremors. At least he was spared that indignity. He was also spared, for the time being, more rhyming games. The nurse seemed repentant, her conscience now bothered by the sinful delight she'd taken in her earlier, childish whimsy.
He knew that wouldn't last. She'd be back for more, if only an occasional, boredom relieving prompt. In all honesty, he didn't really mind. The days were so empty, sometimes even he looked forward to hearing what uproarious words would come out of his own mouth.
Or his hand. He glanced down at one corner of the papers, mischievously, invitingly sticking out from under the blanket. He covertly pulled the blanket up higher, to cover more of his hands, and so his secret writings.
"Are you cold? It's already so hot in here."
"Am I bold? I stuck it in my daughter's rear."
She didn't laugh this time. She blushed and looked away, embarrassed by what he'd said. Was that too much for her, he thought? Or did she like anal sex? Was she nervous and tense because she wanted to take things a step further with him?
Or did she secretly, privately fantasize about being with her own father?
Or all of the above?
He wished, momentarily, that she'd say something more, so he could try to answer those questions, and so that he could enjoy her discomfort for a change. He was curious about what made this cute, little firecracker tick. Why'd she become a nurse? And in a place like this? What turned her on? What sort of noises did she make, or dirty things did she say, as a man pushed her to the brink of being a woman, and beyond?
She remained conspicuously quiet. She didn't even glance at him again before quite silently leaving the room. He mentally shrugged, then went back to reading the sheaf of papers as he thoughtlessly moved the food around on the tray with his fork.
Interlude 4 : Emma Approaches
Emma Lou forlornly gazed at her pet
Well knowing that course would cause her some regret
She'd not sink that low
Although no one would know
She was not quite that desperate, not quite, not yet
There were rousing loud tunes on a radio station,
Helping Emma ignore her imprudent temptation,
To whiz past a cop,
Who'd catch up and stop,
For a quickie in place of a speeding citation
She thought of old lovers at home, just a few,
There was old Sheriff Jake, and that handyman, Lou,
There were Nate, Zed and Frank
Jack, Bob, Bill, Ed and Hank
And quite a few nights getting lessons from Sue
Once, when she was lost, and then waiting too long,
Emma Lou asked directions when a man came along
He said right, left, left, right
While she hoped that he might
Turn her lefts into rights and her rights into wrong
With thoughts just like that slowing down every step,
And in need of some filling to give her some pep,
She dropped to her knees,
To partake as she pleased,
Then got right back up to continue her schlep
It perhaps should be mentioned that part of her schtick
Was when having great sex she got no final kick
Seems as often as she,
Had a lover or three,
She couldn't reach climax by tongue or by prick
Well "couldn't" may be a bit harsh, to be fair,
She might have an orgasm some way, somewhere
She just had to dream,
Of some kinky extreme,
That would push the right buttons to send her to there
In her whole life she'd only come eleven times,
As if being punished for sexual crimes,
Her loves must endeavor,
To go on forever,
Which required strong, passionate studs in their primes
She tried each perversion her warped mind could muster,
Like fucking in chains, or one loud, crowded cluster
She tried it with twins,
She tried holding it in,
She even tried using a flaming dust buster
She'd tried having sex with four girls going down,
By fucking in view of an entire town,
She tried many vices,
And bondage devices,
And sex with cops, priests, nuns, and even a clown
She was sure that, somewhere, some great lover awaits
Who would open the door to those grand, pearly gates
She'd writhe in wild motion,
Unrivaled explosion,
She just had to trust to good luck, and the fates
On her long journey home to her siblings and folks
She considered explaining it all with lame jokes
Unaware at their place
They had problems from space
Which would quell their own horror at cravings for pokes
At the same time, the most alert reader has thought,
That her family, certainly, would be distraught
If
they
had to tell
Their
confessions as well,
Since they'd slept with each other, who are not who they ought
If Emma knew this, her confession she'd smother,
Her father, and sister, and brother, and mother
Had enjoyed a screw,
In fact more than a few,
With not everyone else, but in fact, with each other
She continued on, though, with some pleasant diversions,
Unaware she was racing her family's conversions
Like a religious cult,
But it was the result
Of unspeakable deep interstellar perversions
Emma Lou thought the movies that best entertain
Involved space invaders that suck out your brain
Replaced with a pod
Sent by Emperor Zod
To engage in a plan less than not nearly sane
As Emma drove home through the black of the night
She could hardly have known she'd live her favorite fright
Her family was taken
Their minds were forsaken
And waiting for Emma to come set things right
Intervention: Uncle Bert
"Happy Farms Nursing Home," so the sign read
The place where you finish the life you had led
The good and the bad
The happy and sad
Here dwindles to naught until one wakes up dead
Uncle Bert came to live here at young middle age
Just fifty years old, he'd advanced to the stage
He could not remember
The day of December
When Christmas came, so he was dropped in this cage
Sweet Emma Lou loved her dear Uncle so much
She hated to visit and see him as such
Confused and so sad
The dementia so bad
That he rarely remembered the lives he had touched
For years Bert took Emma Lou, with rod and reel
To a nearby, wide lake just to fish, and to feel
Things they could not express
Feelings grew to excess
'Til disease took Bert's mind, and his effortless zeal
She clung to her memories of dear Uncle Bert
His hip boots, his smile, his torn flannel shirt
Of sunshine and fishing
And rod and reel swishing
So to see him like this was a painful, deep hurt
She'd brought him a pie made with pudding and plum,
And oh so discreetly well-flavored with rum
His favorite treat
Just something to eat
To help him, perhaps, to remember her some
And while she was here she might ward off her curse
With a cute candy striper, or doctor, or nurse
It had been an hour
Since she'd spread her flower
So by now, if she had to, she'd get laid in a hearse
His room had four walls that were mostly just bare
And a window, with curtains, that looked on nowhere
A nightstand and bed,
With a light at its head,
And for infrequent visitors, one little chair
An assortment of true-life things cluttered his room
