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Posts Tagged ‘true life’

 

Can i ask you a question? Where AM i?”

“Hospital, Dave. You’re in the hospital.”

“HOSPITAL? I’m in HOSPITAL? And where’s me dad? ”

“Dave, your Dad has passed away. But I think you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“He’s passed away? Hes in heaven. And can i ask you a question: Where am i? ”

“Hospital, Dave. You’re in the hospital.”

“HOSPITAL?”

“Yes.”

“And when can i go home? I don’t have a home? And wheres me dad? Dead? And where am i…?”

Dave has me complacent now. This loop, can manage itself. I leave the bay  to help with other patients- there’s Seamus, who has dementia and is always punching people, shitting on the floor, trying to strangle us with our lanyards (quick release, fortunately). Or that man who thinks his bed is on fire. Or Mister Wang, always laughing, wandering, laughing some more…or old Ted, the boxer:
“What the bloody hell is going on? I need to get to WORK!  Can you catch the bus, from here? I’ve never seen anything like it…”
Then comes shouting from the bay and i rush in to find Dave, now towering over Terry in bed fifteen, who is quaking in terror. Ancient, compus mentus but suffering from acute anxiety. He has cancer, after all….hes previously regarded Dave as a bit of a clown, having arrived on the ward after Dave’s angry period. But now the anger is back.
Dave is screaming now, every muscle in his face taught, spit flying, eyes  out on stalks:
”Where the FUCK is that TWENTY QUID YOU OWE ME?”
Of course there is no money, this is another of Dave/s funny little fixations- last week it was girls, today its money. He’s in deadly earnest though-fists raised, ready to lick  Terry one in the head. I get between them.
“David! Get away from this man! He doesn’t owe you ANY money! Get BACK NOW!”
“NO!” screams Dave. “He DOES! HE OWES ME TWENTY QUID AND I FUCKING WANT IT NOW!”
“Get out!” I say. “Get out of the bay and into the day room.”
“NO!”
“YES.”
“RIGHT, THAT’S IT!”
He pulls down his trousers and stands manically thrusting his floppy dick at the terrified man in the bed front of him, as though buidling up to flog him to death with his cock.
I give him the iron finger.“GET OUT!”
“RIGHT, THAT’S IT!”
Snarling, Dave sruts out of the bay and into the corridor, his bum wiggling. The new computers are ranged around on their trolleys like a little gathering of robots. Suddenly Dave is throwing them left and right, smashing the screens with his fists, stomping the machinery with his bare feet. His eye roll red in his head, spit foams at his teeth.
“Get your trousers on and get in that day room!”
The command has a strange effect. For a moment Dave is frozen like a hypnotized chicken, his eyes searching space for some invisible information. Then-
“Oh, ok”
He says, suddenly mild.
Ten minutes later we’re sat watching TV, and hes meek as a lamb. “I’m so sorry. Its just, i get very confused. Me ‘eads in BITS.” Passion starts to rise again, he bounds to his feet. Out into the corridor, pushing past the other patients, shuffling round the nurses station. He searches every face, desperate. His hands clutch frantically.
“I NEED TO GET A LIFE. I NEED TO DIE. I NEED TO GET A GUN SO I CAN KILL MESELF!!I NEED TO BE KILLED YOU BASTARDS! WHY WONT YOU LET ME DIEEEE!!!????”
His eyelids flicker, his limbs stiffen. Like a fool i lunge forward to catch him- the fit is upon him, he falls, spasming, pinning me to the floor, frothing and flopping like a fish on the deck of a boat.
Korsakov’s syndrome is a hell of a thing.
……………………………………………..
I get home exhausted but  determined. Another twelve hour stinker tomorrow morning and I’m picking up Pearl after that. But right now, sleep is for the dead.
Tonight i’ve decided to find a gangbang. I’m now so desperate i do’nt care how ugly or fat the people are, i just want to shag someone, anyone. Some fat slut with ugly men crowding round, who cares? I’ll cum fast and hard and go home exhausted and sleep better for it.
But all the clubs are closed or, in the case of amours have actually closed their guest list (since when where they ever full?) I’ve ruled out the events that look transparently as though the women are brasses, anything that guarantees sex to any man without knowing what you look like…somehow i just cant quite go for one of those..and anyway, I’ve missed them all for this week.
Trawling through fabswingers.com while Andrea eats his tea across the room. I happen on a party, ask if i can come, and am immediately sent an address. I’m there! Shower, sit ups, into a cab and off to oldham. The host looks nice enough, jolly and blowsy with multi-coloured hair. Its a bisexual party, of all things-bonus.
The door is answered by a pretty little tranny that i recognise from another part of the ‘fab’ site.  She shows me into the small terraced house, two up two down, coat hooks and nibbles in the kitchen.
To my astonishment the first thing i see is a living room full of naked people, many of whom are entangled in interesting shapes on a brightly coloured ‘Twister’ mat.
“Hello!” says a fat lady with huge tits and blue eyeshadow, pleasantly, her face wedged in the armpit of a wiry, skin-headed man. “Hello” i say. “sorry I’m late!”
I leave my coat and have a wee, and move through the kitchen (picking up a glass of wine on route) and sidle nervously into the lounge…
Is this the heaven to counterpoint the hell of the hospital? This is the kind of party i’ve wondered about since i was  nine years old. There’s about twenty people. Some gay looking skinheads in thongs, a really bad transvestite to add to the cute one, and a skinny woman in a santa suit. One short but very wide, handsome, muscly black guy with a gentle face, A couple of non-descript white blokes and a couple of standard issue tubby blonde ladies.  Quickly i scope out the two hottest women: the big breasted woman who is in fact not naked but wearing  a rather fetching jade basque, big round catlike face, blue eyeshadow, and i like the friendly way she looks at me. The other woman looks  hotter to my eyes:  hard features, hair drawn tightly back in a pony, flabby belly but elsewhere slim; mighty tits  squeezed into a sort of black netting halter-neck thing. The kind of tough, dirty woman i never get my hands on.
The respective husbands are an affable, big bellied man with pierced cock and ballsack, and a sleezier, nastier looking ginger guy, with a big cock, shaved balls, and look of straight-from-central-casting rough-arsed-ness.
The room start chanting that I’m over dressed, and I’m invited into the next round of twister. I have no knickers on so i have to go straight from fully dressed to naked-others still have underwear on…but what the hell? The clothes come off and here I am, naked before a roomful of drunken strangers, already feeling the hospital lift off of my shoulders..
I’ve never actually played twister before, but i like to think im supple, and in no time  and cat woman and black guy, are knotted up in a giggling mess of limbs on the dotty mat.  A guy i who will  later realise is her husband, is spinning the dial, and he keeps fixing it to ensure that each move brings our crotches nearer to each others faces.
Pretty soon   the game has gone out the window. My face is now  buried in cat lady’s big old arse, my  tongue in her pussy as she grinds it into my mouth. Everyone starts making horny noises… the room shifts and the music surges, and after that i start to   ilose track…i find myself sat in the middle of the floor, randy people getting it on all around me. Lots of men are sat with their hard cocks out in front of them, and its a bi party so i guess for once they’re not out of bounds. I can feel my pupils dilating, and now that fit woman in the black nets is beside me. She  sees me looking at her guys cock, says ‘go on’ …and suddenly taking the great big thing in my mouth…i can hear the pretty tranny giving me tips, telling me to hold my breath for five seconds or something….someone says “is that nice? The guys says “its alright” and laughs…
Soon his woman sucking me… then him…she does it just the way you see it in the movies…or your dreams…or when you’re in love….absolutely high on cocksucking, her eyes huge and happy, and in between me and her start kissing, swapping glorious slobbery snogs between  turns on her man’s dick…or  she else she alternates between my mouth and my cock. She takes it all the way down, is grateful to have her face forcibly fucked. Its the wildest nicest fun i can remember ever and i cant quite believe i’m not dreaming. I realise I’m actually fucking her face in time to the pumping music which is something i never thought I’d do..(at one point some Irish fiddle-dee music gets into the mix somehow, which is a bit weird, but nevermind…)
I play  with this woman for a long time, and its truly amazing. I also finger her holes a bit, but somehow shes so great at kissing and sucking that nothing else matters. It really seems she’s loving it every bit as much as me. Her eyes are bright, and though we do bits with other people, we keep coming back to each other. Its really wicked.
At some point she needs a break and goes off to the kitchen for a drink. I ask her her name, but i’ve forgotten it now. Zara?* Grace? I’m not sure… The thing is i’m operating on pure hormones, as im actually utterly exhausted and coming down with a cold.
All around me, people are fucking. The hostess is getting it hard by some bald guy, moaning away , having a great old time…and now my memory fragments…there’s so much i know i did but cant place, like some hysterical sex jigsaw… I  sucked a lot of guys, and fingered a lot of girls…the girl in the Christmas hat is getting it from one of the skinheads. I notice what a severely distended bumhole he has, i don’t think i like that.. there’s some other girl, getting it on with the bad tranny…
The woman in Jade is fucking several men. I’m not sure if shes interested in me, now…but the time comes when she is bent over, and gets fucked by one man, then another, screaming the whole time and her husband looking at her adoringly. I find myself next in line. I’m a little bit in love with the woman in black net, but here is another princess offering herself freely, and this is an orgy, so…i line up behind her. She looks back, checking who it is. I say, is it okay? I’m told, yes.
I’m never sure about fat girls, there’s a lot of flesh that gets in the way when fucking them…and yet i always cum so fast and hard with them. This is no exception. I get it in her, and though i’m dog tired and worried i wont put on a good show, pretty soon i’m ramming her like a crazy man, (do you want it?/yes, yes!) and in no time, it seems, i cum, totally against my will- i wanted to go for hours, but here it is, right up the cunt of this lovely fat stranger, sobbing with relief, and even finding it in me to cling to her, stroke her, touch her hair, just for a few moments… lovely creature…
Soon I’m playing with my other friend again. I’m not match fit, can i get it up again? I tell her i’ve just cum, give me a moment…and she stops wanking me, immediately i#m disappointed. I really want to cum with her…the next thing i know, the little tranny boy is centre of attention. I find myself snogging him, sucking him…the black guy is lined up to do his arse now, i’m helping…my lovely woman is watching, and i’m in two minds…i have a hard on again now, of course, and I’m awful tempted to have a go- he’s saying “feel free, to all line up…” the black dude isn’t that big of cock, and doesn’t do it that hard…(why are the fit ones never the best fuckers?) i know i could show him a thing or two…
But in the end i don’t. I’m terrified of being too knackered for work, god knows why, i should really just fuck it off…but the party is winding down now…or is it? People are in the kitchen, amiably eating pizza…i find myself talking about taxis to the big ugly tranny….i feel a bit rude going so early, but my head is whirling now, I’m full of snot and booze and god knows what dirty hormones, and I gotta get to my bed before my head explodes.
I’m too high from sex to feel sad though, and too exhausted to feel ashamed for leaving…as i step into my taxi, and away into the night, and the two remaining hours of sleep in my own big delicious bed…
I gave everyone at that party, my cold.

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….is the door code for all the wards in the hospital. Easy to remember-my age and my aspiration. Just don’t let me be fifty and still here and trying to remember what age i was when i started this damned job, the door code a constant reminder of how long i’ve been doing this damn job.

So here we go. Another a day of wiping poo off of disfigured fannies. Shit and sores and bed washes galore.

There’s this one patient i have to wash. She’s eighty seven but she looks good. Pale and a little jaundiced, after all she is very ill or she wouldn’t be here. But shes doesn’t look so bad for eighty-seven. I ask if shes okay with me washing her and she says yes. “Not often i get a young man washing me” she says. Rueful smile.

I get all the stuff together, blankets sheets pillow cases counterpane papier mache bowl hot water soap towel patient wipes dissolvable pink plastic laundry bag. As she’s taking off her top, she says sort of sourly: “i bet you’ve seen hundreds of female bodies.”

I’m a bit thrown but i smile and i start soaping her tits. They’re not so bad, droopy but fleshy. I say “i don’t have to wash you  anywhere you’re not comfortable…you can do as much as you like, yourself.” I’m trying to be respectful but to my sadness she says “not your cup of tea?” and looks a shade more desolate. Bless her.  I want to say, honestly, your not so bad, grandma.”

She says “its not a young body.” Again her voice is suffused with ache, immeasurably lonely, immeasurably lonely.

i want to say, really, you seem a nice lady. I feel such a chewing pity for her that i almost think i should to offer to touch her, show her her body is really not so repulsive. In a an insane moment i find myself wondering if she will get aroused, proposition me. Now I  WANT to see what she looks like from the waist down.Her legs, her arse, her cunt.  Haggard but soft. That have seen so much, birthed babies and taken cocks like any other woman. What would i do, if she said “lick me?” So close to death, but still yearning.. I’d have no moral complaint. Id do it for her.

Of course, id lose my job if we were discovered.You cant lock these doors. What if someone walked in?. How would i explain when they  found me  with my face between her legs?  Maybe if i just brought her off with my hand? Clamp the other over her mouth to muffle her cries…

It would be a strange joy. Perhaps to be the author of the last orgasm of an ancient lady! I’d do it. Yes, id do it. Just say the word, grandma. Say the word, and i’ll suck that haggard cunt for all I’m worth. Even if it tastes bitter, it would e such a sweet experience. And get hard and get off myself while I’m doing it. Just for you, sweet ancient lady who’s lived through so much. Child of the war and the world. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get carried away and fuck you. Shove it up between those spaniels ear buttocks, plunge it into that saggy anus. Hld oyou gently, do you deep. Make you drool. Why not? Aren’t you a woman, like others? Say the word, granny I’m yours.

” i don’t think i want to wash any more of me.” she says quietly.

“you sure?”

“yes.”

okay then.”

I hand her the towel i, she dries her body, slips sadly under the nightgown. I pause at the door. “can i do anything else for you?” “no, thank- you.” “okay….” I leave her, staring blandly at the TV, some daytime soap wittering away…

……………………….

Outside the hospital. Getting on my bike. The ward sister said sky news are about, filming smokers outside the hospital, so look out. No sign of the guttersnipes now though.

There’s a white guy with his family, watching three guys in head scarves get into their cars. Those white turban ones with the extra length of cloth hanging down the back. “Look at that ” says the white guy. “They look like three members of the Taliban! Why would you dress like that?”

I’m not having this bullshit. “That is the most offensive thing you could come out with!” I shout. Incredulous. Why do people need the basics explaining to them, over and over?

“Yeah?” he says, a little surprised.

“Yeah! its just three blokes i  their traditional head gear is what it is.Visiting a hospital And you’re calling them terrorists. Do I say you look like a Nazi, cos you’re dressed in black pants and a shirt t and a buzzcut? You cant SAY stuff like that!”

“i can” he counters, logically enough.

“Well you shouldn’t!”.

He’s bullish. “i didn’t say it to their faces.”

“No, behind their backs like a coward! And in a public place, and i have to come out of work and listen to your racist shit!”

“You shouldn’t swear in front of kids” says his wife. Children are playing around her feet. “Yeah!” says her man. The moral high ground is his- i swore!”

I’ll not be derailed. “YOU shouldn’t shoot your mouth off saying stuff like that about people!” storms i. “In front of a HOSPITAL!”

“shouldn’t be listening to our conversation” says she “You’re saying it LOUD outside a HOSPITAL!” I cry, parrying the blow. And now, the coupe de grace: DISGUSTING!”

And off i zoom on my bicycle of righteousness, that razorblade saddle slicing my arse in half with every pedal.

Fuck it. I’m not standing by while this creeping fascism gets normalised. Prick needs to know he’s out of line. Who knows, maybe he’ll think again. Maybe he’ll  respect another crop-haired, gobby bloke calling him out on his shit.

L’esprit de l’escalier: what i should have said was, those guys probably take better care of their sick relative than you or I could dream of dare.  Face the rigours of tending the dying up to the last like you wouldn’t have the guts for, and maybe neither would i. Because I’ve seen it many times. Where the white english families shed tears and suffer and then need to rush off to the pub to drown the horror of a dying mother,( im sorry, i have work in the morning, i’ll be too tired…I’ll try and visit, me or another family member…)

 

These guys will work a twelve hour day and still turn up to sit by grandmas bedside all night. The  whole extended family gathered round for days. Do personal care when the staff let them down. Mop up shit and wipe away tears and mutter prayers and dress the body at the end. Because that weird, turban wearing culture you find so baffling and laughable, has instilled them with a sense of duty that us spoiled, selfish Anglo-saxons have never known.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not into Islam or any other religious mindwash. Its all fucking fairy stories as far as I’m concerned, and church decreed identical hats are my idea of hell. But I’m not having the paki-bashing.  Because i know this guy. We’ve just met, but i know him. This is the same nobhead would have teased me for my long hair when i was a kid. Called me for being a hippy or a a faggot. Takes the piss out of Indian waiters or effeminate kids at school. Starts fights in pubs with people he knows dont stand a chance. In short, a bully. A nobhead. And that’s what I’m taking a stand against here. Nobheadism.

Because bullies are getting way too fashionable, way too ‘out’. And between silent bitter acceptance of the rebranded xenophobia of post brexit britain and trumpamerikkka, and blazing at strangers like an avenging psycho Victor Meldrew:  I’ll take the later.

***************

Mum is snoring in my bed and i’m breaking my back on the sofa, writing this from a duvet cocoon. Time to log out and shut down. 3.48 in the morning and we’re up with rose at six. school run, then back to that hellhole for the evening shift. Tending the crumbling fannies of the clapped out super-sluts and chaste married ladies of a bygone age. Like watering a garden of failing flowers. Or something.

I wake up at four thirty and go to snuggle up next to Daisy. Ellison the toy elephant coming between us and the glo-stars on the ceiling fading as their phosphorous runs down.  To be finally lulled to sleep by the strange symphony of the rain, nanna’s snoring, and the tweeting of one of those funnily little  birds that stays up and sings at night.

 

 

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I sit in the little waiting room watching ‘homes under the hammer’ until i’m called through.

It’s a nice lady. It’s always a nice lady and they’re always gorgeous, why is that? Maybe they seem more lovely because of the situation. Their manner, the power of their job, their no nonsense attitude and warm, worldly wise understanding of everything they hear.

“I’m going to have to ask you some questions.”

“It’s okay.”

“How many sexual partners in the last six months?”

“Er…”

“Double figures?”

“Yes.”

“Male or female?”

“Yes. I mean, both.”

Oral sex?”

“Yes.”

“Penetrative vaginal sex?”

“Yes”.

“Anal sex?”

“Yes.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“Both” (blushes now. From me,)

“Protected?”

“Usually.”

“Protected with strangers?”

“Always.”

“Protected for anal?”

“Yes”

“And oral?”

“No.”

“Even with males?”

“No protection for oral, no.”

“And the unprotected penetrative sex, is that with a regular partner?”

“No”

“Someone you know?”

“Does ex wife count as someone I know?”

a wry, indulgent smile.

“Yes.”

“Multiple partners simultaneously?”

“Uh, yes”.
(I’m not sure she really asked that one, but it seemed like she did. Like she turned me inside out like a piece of fruit and saw everything there was to see.)

She smiles, folds away the paperwork.

“Well, you definitely meet the criteria. Your are entitled to a free Hepatitis vaccine.”

“thank god. The cost of all these vaccines is something else.”

“are you training as a nurse?’

“I wish. Well, maybe eventually. Right now, care support worker.”

She looks sympathetic. “do occy health not do them?”

“What occupational health?  Its an agency. They tell us its our own responsibility. It’s been a real slog to get them all. T.B, you can only get free if you live in cheetham hill, for some reason. Plus they told me I was too old and it wouldn’t work on me. Which isn’t true at all. I had to get it done at a travel clinic. And I had to threaten my G.P with P.A.L.S to get my MMR. Then again, he didn’t bother giving me the second dose.”

“Well, you’re alright here. You definitely meet the criteria for free hygiene.”

“Thanks.”

“Its OK. We hear all sorts. You’re normal.”

“Thanks. Actually, I’m special.”

“Sorry?”

“That’s the job title. Working one-to-one with a single patient, using skills gained from my experience in mental health. Confused or aggressive patients, in a general hospital setting. I’m a ‘special’.”

“Oh I see. Well, good luck with your specialing.”

“Thank-you”

We go through and she gives me my shots. She gives me a leaflet about PREP too- the new pre-exposure prophylaxis. She explains, in euphemistic terms, how you can now dose up on drugs and then go out and get filled with the spunk of the rugby team. No protection needed, 99.9% success rate, and no unpleasant side effects.
“But i’m sure you don’t need that. That’s for if you’re going to parties, with dozens of people, and…anyway, here’s the leaflet.”

“thank-you”.

***********

Woo-hoo! Its off to my new job in the glorious NHS- complete with anti-social hours payments- time and a half for saturdays and night shifts, and double pay on sundays.

I’m allowed through the doors of that fabulous institution, the Manchester royal infirmary!  I work now for the mighty NHS, not some carpet bagging private firm mopping up the ongoing disaster of care in the community. I’m an NHS worker, and I can hold my head up  high!

******************************************

They start me off gentle on an easy ward. I’m sat outside the door of a side-room, where a lad with terrible brain damage sits all day, rocking back and forth. Every now and then he gets up and ambles down the corridor, then out the door to smoke the dimps off the ground at the smoking shelter. He has a huge hole in his head, like someone took a bite out of it, big as your fist. His fingers are yellow with nicotine, he smells like an ashtray, and there’s always a sparkling silver string of drool hanging at his mouth. There’s no conversation, but I talk to him pleasantly, I feel, about the weather and the soaps and the price of fish and so forth. The ritual is repeated throughout the day.

He’s actually waiting for his mum to come and get him. Twitching with nervous expectation. She keeps not answering her phone, she’s getting later and later. We start to worry she’s playing him for a fool. The end of the day comes round and its clear she’s not coming. Who can blame her? He shuffles sadly back to his room, drooling the while. Then at the last moment, when my shift is just about to end, she comes crashing through the doors at the end of the corridor, arms wide. “Hey, son!” The traffic was terrible! C’mere, darlin’!”

He shuffles down the hall towards her at double speed, and my first day ends on a sunny note.

Day two, will be a whole ‘nother ball of wax. Two weeks in, you’re gonna need all that dirty time you told the nurse about in the clinic.  Just to keep your head exploding from all the things you’ve seen. And smelled. And touched.

*****************

I’d heard that you could get your vaccines for free if you told the clinic you were promiscuous. I told everyone at work that i made it all up, and they said i didn’t look the type to say such things. Well. ‘There’s no art to map the minds construction in the face’ said Shakespeare. And he should know.

They don’t ask everything at the clinic. No need to know if you take it up the arse from several big hairy, ugly men in a row, if you like two dicks in your mouth at once,e if you let me hit you and spit at you sa thank-you sir and beg for more. No need to enquire, whether the women you let lick your arse, do it in a room full of strangers, all high as kites on vodka and pills. It’s not relevant to your medical history, if you’ve fucked a twenty stone woman while he husband watches, smiling.

I’m 43 years old, divorced, father to a two year old,trapped in a human body, trapped in manchester, trapped in the year 2015. Trapped in a job a trained gibbon could do, because i’m too proud to get my head down and study for something better. Because I still think i’m a writer. Well, write about this, smart arse: you’ve traded in the mad and the dangerous for the ancient and the demented. Mopping up the shit at the last gasp saloon. Gently stroking the papery hands of  beings who are frightened and confused, because their mind is being stolen away, a little piece at a time.

Its all flesh.Various flavours.  This morning you’re wiping an old lady’s bum, tonight you’ll have a younger arsehole round your cock. At work, Death works right beside you, leaning over your shoulder, breaking off a few more crumbs with his fingertips. Dementia, brain damage and madness, all steal  life in instalments, like a higher purchase sofa. God instilled the divine spark of consciousness in the brain of an over developed ape. Some kind of joke i guess. I understand he moves in mysterious ways.

So dear Venus (40) and Penus (42) please may i come to your party? Its been a hell of a day and I’m looking to let my hair down. I promise you’ll be glad you asked me.

I got a lot of nervous energy, to work off.

***********************

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