George opened the door to his home, a quaint house set back behind a lawn among the bigger multi-dwelling houses around. The console table with the silver plate for the keys and photo of the couple in an intimate embrace was as untouched as the rest of the house. A gentle breeze came from the open kitchen window. The kitchen was empty. At the center was a big rustic farm house style table, which had its surface scratched up by a million prep knife slice marks. The living room was silent with the big screen TV turned off and a blanket muddled on the empty couch.
"Honey, I'm home." No response.
He rapidly went up the stairs with the plush white carpeting that invited one to snuggle with the floor. The den under the roof had a flatly angled ceiling. It was a hangout spot with a big Western cow hide on the floor, leather cubes to sit on, game boards stowed in a tray, and an old guitar lying on the floor. Also partially lying on the floor was Liz. Her body was on the floor, and her torso was slumped over one of those seating cubes. She was wearing a turquoise oversized shirt and fluffy, wide drawstring pants.
He gently placed his palms on her slender shoulders and moved her body back to see her face. "George, you are here," exclaimed Liz with her eyes glowing and a smile on her pale face. She shivered gently in his hands like a vibrating cell phone. Thick droplets of sweat were on her chest. Completely oblivious to her state, Liz said, with a coquettish voice and smile, "I like you."
"Liz, why are you up here? You haven't gone up the stairs in a long time."
"Oh, I am up in the den. I don't know how I got here. All I know is that you woke me up. I love those full, dark red lips."
"Your body is ice cold. We have to go to the hospital now."
"Kiss me with those lips."
George swiftly kissed her on her lips. The sensation of her small, soft pink lips on his imprinted itself on his mind, while he went to the bed room to get the ready bag with the tooth brush, a set of sweats, the stuffed mini turtle, and a book. He went back upstairs to get Liz.
He lifted her up against his chest. She instinctively hugged him with her arms and snuggled her head against his. She was sitting on his right arm. Since she had lost thirty pounds, it had been a necessity to carry her for fast movement, and it had become easy to do so. Like a little kid riding on her dad's body, her body accompanied his movements.
They got into a cab covered with advertising for Corona beer. The scratched up plastic screen separated them from the driver. "Mount Mary emergency room." The driver took a second look into the rear view mirror to appraise his passengers. The African fresh of the boat asked in his accent, "you no bleeding, hope not." "No, she is not bleeding," answered George sternly. The cabbie waved his left arm out of the window to accelerate into traffic.
"I don't want to go to the hospital," screamed Liz. Her hands reached for the door handle. George quickly threw himself on top of her to reach her hand before the door could swing open into traffic. Liz's body jerked from her sobbing. Her face was instantly wet from tears. "I don't want to go."
George took both her hands in his lap, and faced her with raised eye brows: "Honey, your body is so cold. Something is very wrong. We need a doctor." Liz was lost in her sobbing. George held her in her arms the best that he could, while his gray, somber face looked ahead. His gaze aimed through the open speaking window in the plastic screen, in between the two front seats, and through the windshield with permit stickers.
The car bounced as they entered the emergency room driveway. A couple of discarded wheel chairs stood along the wall. The big red neon signs read "emergency room." George pushed the double doors open. The pale night light welcomed them. The triage nurse with happy rhinos painted on her scrubs sent them to registration.
Registration had two chairs in front of a bullet proof window. The night clerk slipped a clip board through the horizontal slit. The clerk patiently waited for George to fill out the five page questionnaire and hand over the health insurance card and credit card. The clerk sternly reminded George that he was responsible for payment in full and not the insurance.
Liz was a thin woman, lightly dozing off in the chair. Her hair was red, smooth, and long. Many very light brown freckles covered her face. She always had a cute expression on her face. It was a twinkle from her eyes and cheeks that suggested that she either saw something pretty or was up to something exciting. Her slender arms had a porcelain color and gentleness. Her fingers always had a soft wetness and slight clinginess to her touch.
They walked in a slow shuffle, with Liz's feet dragging on the linoleum floor to the triage nurse. The floor was probably clean. However, the age of the hospital always made it seem scummy. The triage nurse was on a pedestal to oversee the waiting room. She had curly black hair.
The triage nurse slowly walked in front of them into the bowels of the hospital. She had a bored swagger in her walk and was too tired to talk. "You'll be here for a while. Make yourself comfortable. The doctor will be with you in two or three hours." She left the couple in a small emergency bedroom. Liz crawled onto the bed with the railing and many adjustment levers. George sat down on a chair next to her and held her hand against his forehead, while he rested his head on the bed.
The waiting time was long. There was no conversation. There were no idle thoughts. Their minds were too focused on the anticipation of the doctor. In a kind of stupor, the minutes passed, the quarter hours passed. The mind gently separated from the passage of time. The second hour left almost no memory.
"I am hungry. Can you get me some food?"
Liz was perked up on the bed with new life. George's face was sleepy. He revved himself up internally to stand up and leave the room. Walking down the ghostly night time hospital hallway, he found a closed concession stand. He found a nurse station. He asked about food. All the food had been closed. The nurse offered a box of blueberries that she had bought for herself. George gave her $5 for it.
"Blueberries?! You bring me blueberries? They taste like ass. The chemo has shifted my sense of taste. They taste like ass." Liz paused. George had a look of silent defeat. That mischievous smile crawled across her face and lit up her eyes. George saw it and only shook his head in deeper defeat. "I mean that figuratively, because if they tasted literally of ass, I'd eat 'em. Oh, I love the taste of your ass. Such delicious memories of rimming you!"
George silently thought to himself, anyone in an emergency room has carte blanche for any kind of behavior.
They broke into a conversation of memories, of ocean vacations and rolling in the dunes, of riding bicycles through sunny, worry-free days, and a rented barn with hay for a weekend vacation. They talked of their dreams to build a Jacuzzi in the backyard and of having champagne parties in it.
George got all chipper, talking. The blood rushed back into his face. He had curly hair and was the guy you wanted around a campfire in nature. He was tall and muscular. The business slacks and shirt fit his body well. The contour of his body made the clothing look outstanding. He had big cheeks.
The doctor entered with a flying white coat and interrupted them. He walked around the bed, checked her lymph nodes under the chin, took her temperature, listened to her lungs, peeked into her mouth, and wrote on his clip board with a serious face. "We'll switch her medication. The side effects of her current medication clearly do harm. I will be back with a new prescription." And, then he left -- 300 seconds bedside, tops.
The door was left ajar. George could hear the doctor talking outside with a colleague.
"I am thinking of switching her from Gemazar to a double dose of Afinitor. Her temperature is crashing."
"Sounds reasonable. Last week, we had to drop Mutamycin on a patient." The voice sounded, proud, and excited like a teenager about to attempt a stunt.
"Dude, don't some patients gets blue eyes from Mut?"
"Oh, yeah, she looked like an alien. We took some photos telling her that it was for a medical school."
"Maybe I should inject some gold into my patient." The doctor's voice had dropped in a struggle to claim more authority in the one-upmanship game.
"I don't think the insurance would care. It's a pretty cheap drug."
George roused Liz to get out of bed. He whispered, "I am not okay with this doctor." Liz followed George pulled by her hand like a little girl tired after a long walk. The doctors raised their eyes as they passed, yet kept talking.
The couple entered the elevator with two other doctors and stood in silence. Both doctors were facing the front of the elevator.
"So, what courses are you going to sign up next semester?"
"I really like respiratory. Right at the beginning of the patent visit, I put the breathing test equipment on their face. And then they can't talk anymore. I don't like people. That way, I can just do my medicine and don't have to deal with them."
The elevator door opened on the third floor. George pulled Liz with even more vehemence to the chief's office. The assistant chief had them sit down in his room in front of his desk. The big medical books towered behind the assistant chief to give him more credibility.
"Liz and George, I hear your complaints about the poor bedside manner. We only employ stellar doctors. However, we entered the territory of end of life care. The pancreatic cancer has progressed to a point where none of the drugs really make a difference anymore. Some doctors choose to experiment in a last dash effort to make a difference. However, it is really your choice of what you are going to do."
"As much as I can advise you on the drug options, there also needs to be a conversation about end of life decisions. What can we do to make this life complete? For some people, it is very important to precisely arrange the funeral. For some people, it is very important to apologize and express their love to special people. Other people want to experience certain things in their life that they cherish one more time."
"I can give you a cocktail of uppers that will give you pep to be clear-minded and strong for your final hours. Once you come down, the endocrine system will have been critically overexerted. I know this can be very shocking and traumatic. For the people who are left behind, it can take years to accept."
After the conversation, the couple walked out of the hospital with a white paper bag that contained a new prescription. The streets were empty. Every once in a while, a car would drive down the street. The faint sound of the car would grow into the vivid details of the engine and tires, turn deeper as it passed them, and fade into the quiet of the night. Cars were parked at the side of the road with their owners sleeping nearby. The street lights patiently lit a cone of orange light. The sky was pitch-black without stars. They arrived at a night stand for cabs. A Ukrainian man leaning against the hood of the car folded his news paper and opened the door.
Once they were at home, they fell asleep in their clothes. The arrival of daylight vaguely registered. Late morning, George notified his boss by e-mail that he would take a personal day. Around noon, Liz slipped out of the sheets to change into pajamas. In the afternoon, George wolfed down a sandwich and fed a few strawberries to sleeping Liz. Liz kept her eyes closed. George offered the fruit to her lips, which eventually opened. Once her tongue felt it, Liz chewed and swallowed.
The last light of the day had a rousing effect. It was like a reminder to do something. They both had rested the whole day. They were sitting up in bed and looking out of the window to study the tree, its leaves, and its branching twigs. A mellow peaceful mood was in the room from the low-angle light that reflected on the wall.
"Have sex with me."
"Have sex with me. I am lucid. I'll prove it: Ask me in five minutes again. I am really coherent. I love your body. I want to experience it one last time."
"Honey, I don't want to hurt you. Your body is so frail with all the weight that you lost."
"I want to feel your hard cock raging inside of me."
George's face looked apologetic and worried, "What if your body can't handle it anymore? You can barely walk."
Liz's hand glided under the sheets to reach for his penis. She felt the contour of the flaccid penis through the soft pajama pants. Every way that she squeezed it, the penis gave in like Jell-o. She ran squeezes up and down the shaft.
"Liz," George pleaded.
With a bold smirk playing in her dimples and her lips rolling outward equally pouty and seductive, Liz raunched, "I told you, this is my dick, not yours. And, what's going to happen from me holding it?"
George crossed his hands behind his neck and stared at the ceiling. Happiness and eagerness flashed over Liz's face, while she kneaded his soft penis to tease the blood into it. By the time it was hard, the feeling of pleasure had filled George's heart. George slipped the neck opening of her pajama down beneath her boob. He started kissing her boob and circling the tip of his tongue around her nipples.
Liz softly moaned and reached her hand inside of his pants to hold the ribbed, hard penis. George sharply inhaled air at the intense sensation of her skin surrounding his penis, as if zapped by an electric, erotic spark. The erotic charge built in him to drive him to suck hard on her nipple. The strong pull excited her with a rush, and the spark jump into her body. The spark rushed down her body, as if hardwired with a thick cable, and tingled in her clitoris. The spark jumped from her to him and back racing faster and more intense with each feedback loop. They drove each other wild.
Liz raised his head to kiss him deeply. The wet sensations of the fluid tongues flooded their senses, so that they saw bright orange lights with their closed eyes. George's hands instinctively reached around both her butt cheeks and squeezed them softly. They were small from the body weight loss. Yet he still recognized her unique shape and the way no other woman's skin felt. It was the strength of holding them that turned Liz on the most - her little ass in his hands.
All the while, Liz was still fondling his penis, moving it in between her fingers, squeezing, and pulling the foreskin up and down. She thirsted for the taste of his cock. She moved down his body, pulled down his draw string pajamas just enough to unleash the cock and balls. She plunged her mouth without restraint over his penis to take a full taste. Aw, it tasted so yummy. She loved a well-sized cock in her mouth. It satisfied her oral habit of having something fill her mouth.
George was eager to pull her vagina into his face. Her body was so light that he easily lifted her around in the bed like a bottle of milk. Her body had become extremely skinny from the disease. However, she still looked stunningly beautiful. She had kept her erotic body shape, even though her belly was narrower than her chest, and her hip bones poked out.
Liz had always had delicate, small vagina lips. George knew them like a familiar country. He plunged his wide lips onto them and began licking feverishly. This was his happy place. All the intensity of feeling her wet mouth around his pleasure organ drove him nuts. And the way to express that surge was to unleash it back onto her pussy with licking, tasting, sucking, fingering, and savoring every last drop of her pussy juice.
"I need to feel your cock inside me," Liz mumbled, his dick in her mouth and the overwhelming pleasure making it hard to talk.
George forgot about his reservations, now that the carnal, primal drive had taken over his mind. "I'll get condoms from the bathroom."
"Honey, we don't need condoms anymore."
While George was stunned and thought over the meaning of the sentence, Liz's face had crawled up his body. She used his penis as a paint brush to stimulate her wet pussy. Her face was distorted from pleasure. She was in abandon, as she found the best places to put his penis on her outer pussy. She loved long strokes of the penis head along her glistening lips and tiny circles around her clit. And, then she plunged it into the depth of her belly.
Both of them spasmed at the intensity of the penis entrance. Three blood vessels on George's forehead bulged. Liz pressed her forehead against his head to brace the sensation. Then, she started riding him. Her delicate, smooth pubic bone rubbed against his solid, curly-haired pubic bone. She pushed her body up with her arms. Her lower body turned and churned. George stared and fondled her hanging breasts.
Liz wheezed. Her throat gently made a struggling sound. Her body stopped moving. "My lungs."
George was as panicked about Liz as he was about explaining to a paramedic why he had had sex with a progressed cancer patient. "Liz, kneel on your stomach. That has always helped." He helped her lie belly down on her knees.
The breathing slowly improved. Whatever constricted in her throat or sinuses started releasing forward. With his dick out, he was gently circling her naked back to help her relax. The minutes went by. He had gotten used to holding her for long times during the last months and had deeply experienced the quality of togetherness.
"You know what would help more than your tickle on the back? Put your fingers on my pussy. The sex helps me feel good."
George was so past the stage of resisting to sex that he let his hand glide down the bumps of her spine with a little tease past the anal sphincter to her pussy lips that were pushed out between her butt cheeks, the way that she was leaning forward. She played with the layers of her vaginal lips. She found her favorite spot between the clitoris and opening. He entered her pussy, felt for the bumpy g-spot, and gently alternately stroked it with his index and middle finger tip. He was keenly receptive to any changes in the texture of her g-spot as the arousal progressed.
Liz's breathing was almost steady, yet she remained in her asthma recovery position to comfort herself.
"C'mon, Liz, you almost suffocated a moment ago."
Liz yelled with the unquestioning voice of a dominatrix, "Get your dick in already!"
George instinctively obeyed Liz like a beta dog obeys the alpha dog without question or thought. He rushed to fuck her from behind. He rested on his straight arms. She yelled at him with a sexually rough voice, "Harder! Fuck the shit out of me!" And George obeyed. He thrust with all his strength. He forgot about his own pleasure to ram her with ferocity. Liz's hand reached back to his butt to push him to drill her even harder. All of Liz's erotic buttons had been pushed to make her body want nothing but intense sensation.
"I'm about to come, baby. Come with me," moaned Liz.
George hurried his arousal. His mind raced to find imagery to set himself over the edge. He focused on the naughtiness of him drilling his wife from behind like a dog. He thought about her cute little feet next to her ass. Her feet always turned him on. He unleashed the inner beast that savagely took any woman without regard for her, but took over her whole body with his energy. His dick hardened.
Her pussy twitched with contractions. Liz was coming hard. He thrust as hard as he could. He moved his penis almost out of her pussy and plunged it in all the way. By the second complete out-and-in thrust, his brain exploded with an orgasm. He bit her in the crook behind the neck and shoulder. The beast had taken him over. He had to restrain himself to avoid doing real damage. She loved it. Her body writhed with pleasure, heavy breathing, and visceral moans.