| Author: | Emily Dickinson | ISBN: | 9781311886637 |
| Publisher: | Emily Dickinson | Publication: | May 29, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords | Language: | English |
| Author: | Emily Dickinson |
| ISBN: | 9781311886637 |
| Publisher: | Emily Dickinson |
| Publication: | May 29, 2014 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords |
| Language: | English |
Mike looked up to see a nurse he had not yet met walk into the room. It was nine o'clock. Usually, shift change happened at seven. He had been at the inpatient hospice long enough to know how things worked. He knew the rhythms of the place like the back of his hands. Though, his hands were the only part of his body he really felt sure he knew anymore. The cancer that was killing him had betrayed the rest of him. He was thirty years old. He should have a whole wonderful life ahead of him. Instead, the doctors had given him six months max. Six months to live. Six months to finish writing as many novels as he could. He had at least fifty partial manuscripts and over one hundred outlines. More books than anyone could write in a life time. Far too many to complete and perfect in six months.
The nurse approached and he noticed that she was wearing a floral perfume. A perfume that made his cock stir. He might be dying, but, he wasn't dead yet. And, the nurse was hot. Very hot. She had flowing blond hair which stood out against porcelain white skin.
He offered his arm and she attached the blood pressure cuff. He was surprised at how cold her fingers felt against his arm. Some girls just couldn't keep their heat. Before his diagnosis, he had been living with a girl who always had cold toes. It didn't matter if he was sweating his balls off. Her ice cold toes would end up on his back. Between his legs. Anywhere she could put them. Even during sex when their bodies were slick with sweat she would wrap her legs around his ass and he would feel the ice of her feet against his burning skin.
"Is there anything I can get you? Some meds to help you sleep?" she asked. They always asked that. Was he hungry? Thirsty? In pain? Hot? Cold?
Mike looked up to see a nurse he had not yet met walk into the room. It was nine o'clock. Usually, shift change happened at seven. He had been at the inpatient hospice long enough to know how things worked. He knew the rhythms of the place like the back of his hands. Though, his hands were the only part of his body he really felt sure he knew anymore. The cancer that was killing him had betrayed the rest of him. He was thirty years old. He should have a whole wonderful life ahead of him. Instead, the doctors had given him six months max. Six months to live. Six months to finish writing as many novels as he could. He had at least fifty partial manuscripts and over one hundred outlines. More books than anyone could write in a life time. Far too many to complete and perfect in six months.
The nurse approached and he noticed that she was wearing a floral perfume. A perfume that made his cock stir. He might be dying, but, he wasn't dead yet. And, the nurse was hot. Very hot. She had flowing blond hair which stood out against porcelain white skin.
He offered his arm and she attached the blood pressure cuff. He was surprised at how cold her fingers felt against his arm. Some girls just couldn't keep their heat. Before his diagnosis, he had been living with a girl who always had cold toes. It didn't matter if he was sweating his balls off. Her ice cold toes would end up on his back. Between his legs. Anywhere she could put them. Even during sex when their bodies were slick with sweat she would wrap her legs around his ass and he would feel the ice of her feet against his burning skin.
"Is there anything I can get you? Some meds to help you sleep?" she asked. They always asked that. Was he hungry? Thirsty? In pain? Hot? Cold?
