Hey Kitten, what's up?
Meow.
Where you at?
Ugh. A week of nights. I'm off on Friday Morning. Do you wanna come to lunch with me and Andy and Gma on Saturday?
Oh hell yes. That woman loves me. What time?
Uh.... 10am?
You sure about that? Because I'm lifting with Andy at 10.
Lifting? Lifting what?
People's spirits... We're lifting people's spirits.
What? I am so confused.
WEIGHTS. WE'RE LIFTING WEIGHTS.
I can't believe that they let you prescribe controlled substances.
With Andy? My Andy?
Uh. I'm not sure how to answer that. Yes, with Andrew Robertson.
No, I didn't mean it like that. It's totally awesome. I just didn't realize you guys were hanging out, you know, without me.
I'm trying to turn him gay.
It's my assignment for the 'Gay Agenda.' We've already got Michael, but leadership really wants the pair.
Good fucking luck. That man eats pussy like hipsters eat organic grass-fed beef.
Fucking gross. But also v funny.
So you purring pretty regularly now?
Omg. I purr so much it's like I've got a vibrator stuck in my throat.
Hello?
<Crickets>
There are no words. I have no words.
Oh please, you love it.
Are you going to bring that dress by?
Oh fuck! I totally need to do that.
Are you post call on Friday morning?
Yes, but I'll be crabby and stinky and exhausted
So pretty much your typical Friday morning?
More or less.
Bring it by, I've put up with worse.
K. By-eeeeeeee
You're a fucking moron
Love you too hotness
***
My week of nights passed rather uneventfully, all things considered. The mystery surrounding John Anderson had slowly unraveled as the days (and nights) wore on and his kidney function improved. He was an alcoholic, so the main difficulty we had was in getting him through the first 72 hours because he experienced significant withdrawal symptoms. He had required boat-loads of benzos to keep delirium tremens at bay, and eventually he needed to be intubated due to obtundation, so he didn't regain consciousness the whole time I was there.
However, he did have a few visitors throughout the week who were able to shed some light on his story. He had worked, for a time, in computers, but after a series of bad breakups, one of which had lost him custody of his son, he had started drinking pretty heavily and gambling regularly. His luck turned from bad to worse and he lost his job as a developer and then had a period of homelessness where he lived in his car. During this time, he had fallen in with a booky out of Vegas named Vince who occasionally allowed him to pay off his debts in the form of some computer work, mostly setting up a high end security program on the Vince's home computer.
It was during one of these trips down to Vegas to work for Vince, that he had had a miraculously profitable night at his favorite casino playing blackjack, when he had run afoul of a local gangster type who felt that John had somehow disrespected him or his girl or something. A warning had been given to John to stay away from his favorite "off Strip" dive casino, but he had not heeded it. Either to send a message or to simply punish him for his insolence, the gangster's goons had abducted him in Vegas, drove him all the way back to Salt Lake and then had bathed him in mud made from cow and turkey manure, that was decidedly molecularly closer to being shit then it was to being dirt. The cause of his kidney failure was multifactorial but mostly due to dehydration in the setting of alcohol withdrawal and also shock from urosepsis, a severe infection of his bladder.
There were conflicting theories about how the $20 bills had become paper machéed all over his body: some thought in his delirium he had thrown the cash up into the air and it had landed on the still wet and goopy manure body mask, others supposed that the bills had been applied by the gangster's goons as part of the message. Regardless, although not out of the woods yet, he was clearly nearing the edge of the forest and was likely to make a full recovery, in so far as his kidneys and withdrawal symptoms were concerned.
I thought about John and the ordeal he had been a through as I left the hospital after my last night shift on Friday morning, bleary-eyed and vitamin D deficient. I filed this case away with all of the other crazy shit that happens in the hospital and walked to my car, heading over to Zack's house.
***
"Woman! Hold still, I'm almost done." Zack mumbled as he looked up at me with a mouth full of needles. I was standing somewhat precariously on a stool in his living room, as he hemmed the long plaid skirt I was wearing. I pulled on the three quarter length sleeves of my dark blue bodice, admiring the subtle adjustments Zack had made to the top to make it fit my ample bosom more appropriately.
"There! All finished. What do you think?" he said, standing up and moving the floor length mirror we had pulled from his closet closer to me.
I stepped down from the stool and looked carefully at the costume. I was no Caitriona Balfe, but shit, I'd fuck me.
"Oh Zack, it's perfect!" I exclaimed. "I love what you did with the bodice."
"It seems a waste to let all of my skills just wither away to nothing, someone might as well benefit from them."
Zack had spent several years as a model in Europe, but while there, he had actually learned how to sew because he had dated a guy named Fabian who was one of the "petits mains" who worked in one of the Dolce & Gabbana haute couture ateliers. In between epic sessions of fucking and partying, Fabian had taught Zack how to sew and tailor. He hadn't used it on much besides costumes for himself - and now me - but he always used these skills to great effect and made quite an entrance at any Halloween party we attended.
"Zack, can I ask you a question, but you have to promise not to get mad."
"You can ask me anything and I make absolutely no promises," he said, putting his sewing supplies back in his box.
"Has Andy said anything to you about me?"
He thought for a minute, then looked up at me, "why, Kitten, whatever do you mean?"
"You know, like, does he talk about me when you guys hang out?"
"Well, there was this one time, in third period, where he gave a note to Janine, to give to Allison to give to Julie to give to me and it said, 'should I ask Jen to prom?' and there was a box for 'yes' and another for 'no,' and of course I marked 'Yes!' And gave it back to Julie, to give it back to Allison who gave it back to Janine to give to him."
I rolled my eyes and then started laughing at the absurdity of it. "So how'd you guys become lifting buddies, then?"
"He asked me, actually. And I told him about my sweet spot at SLC Strength & Conditioning, and he asked if he could get in on that action, and seriously, how could I resist?"
"Oh believe me, I know that you couldn't. Speaking of Robertson boys though, how're things going with Michael?"
Zack's mouth did this tiny little smile, but then he checked himself, busying his hands with putting away the last few sewing notions. "He's good, actually. Really good. I'm going to see him on November 2 and stay out there for maybe two weeks."
"Zack, that's awesome. So you found people to cover your dance classes?"
"I had to call in a few favors, but yeah, it should be all set. I've got to come by clinic before I leave though and get my next set of labs so I can pick up my next prescription of PrEP."
"Who are you seeing these days?" I asked, grateful that he had long ago entrusted his healthcare to one of my colleagues, so that I wouldn't be in the precarious position of being both his best friend and his doctor.
"It was Dr. Nelson at first, but she is crazy hard to get into, so now it's just whichever resident - who isn't you - is available."
"Well, if you come by around 12 on Monday, I should be done with clinic and we can go to lunch."
"Jen, if you have clinic in the morning, I should probably come at 1:30 or 2:00."
"Fuck you! I'm not that inefficient. But also, point taken, maybe more like 12:30-1:00."
"Sounds like a plan. Do you want some help getting out of that thing?" He asked, as he stepped forward to help unlace the bodice and unzip the heavy plaid skirt.
I stepped cleanly out of the dress, wearing only my underwear and bra, but was completely unselfconscious because a) it was Zack, who was my best friend b) he was as gay as a handbag and c) he was the closest thing to a professional tailor that I would ever get in my life.
"Oh girl, you better check yourself," he said, pointing to the two weeks of hair growth I was sporting on my legs. "No man wants to fuck a porcupine."
I looked down at my legs which were pale, with the odd bruise here and there and which sported the occasional stubbly hair. I then lifted up my arms and was surprised to see a smattering of short hairs in my pits.
"Time flies when you're intubating alcoholics covered in shit and money," I muttered, half under my breath, and made a mental note that it was time to make an appointment with my waxologist. "Why don't you and Andy call me when you're done with lifting people's spirits tomorrow and see where I'm at. I promised Grandma I'd take her out to brunch, and obviously she loves you and I think you know it goes without saying that she loves Andy."
"Will do, Kitten," he said, looking me over one last time, "now put some clothes on before the neighbors get the wrong idea."
***
After getting my costume altered at Zack's, I was in sort of a post-call fog. Too exhausted to actually do anything, but too alert to attempt sleep, I drove back to my place using muscle memory alone. Max greeted me eagerly at the back door, and when I walked in, there was a note on the kitchen table that said "Jen, I hope your last night shift went well. I'll be back at five. Sleep now, we've got plans this evening. Andy."
I smiled at the note, tossed my clogs onto the pile of shoes by the door and made my way to the living room, barely managing to muster the energy to turn on the TV before exhaustion overwhelmed me. I turned on my favorite episode of Chef's Table and put my feet up on the ottoman, but my eyes had closed before they had even finished setting the table.
I slept fitfully, not really dreaming, and not terribly comfortable on the couch. At 2 pm I awoke with a start when Max started barking at the mailman. I got up and made my way into the bedroom, shedding my scrubs and walked into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.
Ablutions completed, I wandered back into my bedroom and slipped under the sheet, chilled a little by the coolness of the air of late October. So I got up, and went to the linen cupboard to grab an extra blanket. As I pulled the blanket out, a small, black, square box fell out of the cupboard.
For a moment, I could not place the box, and as I picked it up, I panicked a little, thinking that maybe Andy had hidden an engagement ring in my linen cabinet. But then it came to me, and I recalled that the box had actually been a gift from my grandmother for my last birthday. It was a pair of pearl earrings that she had had made for my mom, myself and my sister out of a long string of pearls that had been her grandmother's.
I opened the box and admired the earrings and was struck for a moment at the pang of loss that I felt and I couldn't quite figure it out. Was it the stress from working nights? Was it the emotional lability from my period (which had arrived earlier that morning, fuck you very much Mother Nature). Was I touched at the thoughtfulness of the gift?
I decided that it was none of these things or all of these things, but also that it was the twinge of disappointment that I felt upon looking down at the box and thinking about the life that could have been had it actually been an engagement ring from Andy. The force of this realization caught me utterly by surprise. I had never really seen myself as the marrying type, and I'd certainly never romanticized a wedding day with a white dress and a handsome groom. So why did I suddenly feel this pang of - was it regret? loss? wishful thinking?
I moved the box with the earrings over to the dresser where I kept my other jewelry and makeup and then climbed back into bed, pulling first the sheet, then the thicker blanket on top of me, and slowly drifted off to sleep, a little ashamed at how suddenly, and profoundly, I was falling for Andy.
I was walking down a recently paved highway in the middle of the woods, that created a column of brown and green on either side of me and leaving only a thick rectangular blue patch above me, almost like a Popsicle of clear blue sky. My shoes were beginning to bother me so I moved over to the side of the road to take them off, and absentmindedly stumbled into a small, dark cave.
There was a flickering light ahead, so I moved deeper into the subterranean darkness, only to discover that the light was actually coming from a narrow crack in the roof of the cave, but flickered back and forth because leaves from an overhanging tree periodically blocked the opening.
There was a small fire in one corner of the room, and Andy was sitting in front of it, stoking the flames with a long, black rod. He didn't move upon my entrance, but as he heard my footfall approach, he turned to me and beckoned me with one hand to come toward him.
I glided to a stop in front of him and placed my hands upon his shoulders, delighted in the warmth and comfort that this body represented. He pulled me to him, and I could feel the warm, prickly stubble of his three days of unshaven beard. He reached around and unsnapped my bra, and pulled off my shirt and bra all in one fluid motion.
He pulled me to sit on his lap and began to kiss me: first on my mouth, and then down my neck and onto my shoulders. I moaned contentedly, arching my head back, and letting his prickly kisses trail all the way down to my belly button and then back up to my waiting mouth. He whispered something into my ear, but I couldn't hear him, so I turned my head toward him and he kissed me again. He slid his hand down my front, underneath the shorts I was wearing and found my warm, wet slit, parting me gently. I moaned again, which only encouraged him, and he rubbed the tender mound of flesh with his thumb, while penetrating me with his other fingers below.
I awoke with the suddenness of someone who realizes that they've left the stove on or that they've locked their keys in the car. Andy was above me, his dark brown curls were hanging down, cherub like, around his beautiful face and he was sucking on my left nipple while his hand continued the ministrations down below. I put my hands on his head, which startled him.
"Are you awake, or still dreaming?" he asked, looking up from his perch above my breast.
"A bit of both I think," I crooned, delighting in the deftness with which he attended to me. And then it struck me, like someone who has both left the stove on AND locked the keys in the car that I was on my period! I had a tampon in and a huge pad on. Reflexively, and without thinking about it, I shut my legs, trapping his hand in the bear trap of my pelvis.
He looked up from my breast, where he had resumed his suckling, and only raised his eyebrows.
"Oh my god, Andy, I'm so sorry, I got my period this morning! It's literally a bloody mess down there."
He chuckled a little, but his mouth did not lose contact with my nipple, and in fact, despite the vice-like grip that I had on his hand with my thighs, he attempted to resume the steady manipulation of my lady parts.
"Andy, did you hear me? It's like Gettysburg down there. Seriously, Andy!"
He let go of my nipple with an audible pop, and looked up at me, his blue-grey missile-eyes locked on me like I was a renegade bogey.
"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, stroking my clit back and forth in an evident display of what not stopping would feel like.
I moaned audibly again, I couldn't help it. God, the man could flick a bean!
"Don't you want to stop? You'll be covered in blood."
"Jen, I've been thinking about this for awhile. I think it's time that you show me your actual degree from medical school. I mean, I know you stuck a giant needle in my dick, and sewed up my balls, but, I don't know, maybe you're just good with sharp things. Your squeamishness about sex is incredibly ironic given what you do for a living."
Although I knew he was joking, I could tell that he had a decent point - what was I so worried about?
"Number 1, Fuck you, I don't need to show you shit," I said confidently. "And number 2, let me go take out my tampon so you can fuck me."
I sat up, pulled his hand out of my shorts and popped into the bathroom. I shed all my clothes, pulled out the tampon and wrapped it in the pad from my underwear and walked back into the bedroom, buck-ass naked. Not wanting to be outdone, Andy had also disrobed and was sitting on the edge of the bed.
Belatedly, I recognized that the endeavor we were about to undertake could get a bit messy, so I went back to the hallway and grabbed an old, black towel and threw it on the bed behind Andy.
He came up behind me, placing his hands on my hips, and turned me around slowly. He kissed me very gently, and softly, parting my lips with just the tip of his tongue. He laid me back on the bed, and then laid down next to me. I thought we were going to start, so I leaned over to kiss him, but he got up again and wandered (fully naked, *holy shit* what an amazing fucking ass that man had!). I could hear him rustling around the kitchen, but I couldn't ascertain what he was doing.
He came back a few minutes later with a tray, laden with a variety of bowls and cups and things.
"Are we doing another taste test?" I asked, not trying to hide the concern in my voice, "because I'm pretty sure Burgundy doesn't pair well with Aunt Flow."
He chuckled and looked over at me, and a small brown curl fell in front of his eyes. "Uh, no. But we are going to do some sensory stimulation."
I looked quizzically at the tray, then back at him, then laid back down again.
First, he grabbed a piece of cloth that was on the tray, which turned out to be an eye mask. He must've brought this with him, because it certainly wasn't mine. He carefully placed it over my eyes, and wrapped the elastic around my head.
It took a minute or two, but as my mind quieted with the loss of visual input, other senses began to come online. I became acutely aware of my nakedness, and in any other environment with any other person I would have felt vulnerable. But the nearness of his body, the warmth of him, the knowledge that he too was naked and vulnerable (if not similarly blinded) was comforting and quieted my anxiety.
He positioned his long, muscular body along my right side and the "stimulation tray" on my left. The bowls and glasses made little tinkling sounds as the tray was moved, and the sound seemed amplified in my darkness. I could tell that he was reaching across me, as the nearness of his arm caused the hairs on my stomach to stand up.
He had removed something from one of the bowls, and then I felt a searingly cold sensation on my left nipple. He had an ice cube and he was rotating it around my areola, rendering my nipple as hard as glass. He switched to the other side, and the nipple formed up instantly. He then took the breast closest to his body and put my hard nipple in his mouth, flicking and licking and sucking at the firm, tender nib. He put the ice cube back in the bowl and picked up something else.
Although I couldn't see it, I could discern the singular smell of lime. He had squeezed it somewhere near me, since I could feel a few drops that fell on my chest. He picked up my hand and put it on his right forearm, and encouraged me to feel the contour of his body: the soft hairs that covered his forearm, the smooth curve of his biceps, the gentle turn of his deltoid as it attached to his humerus and the firmness of his clavicle. When I had reached his sternum, I could feel a patch of wetness at the base of his neck, and pulled his body toward me so that I could confirm the location by the smell of the lime. I kissed him along the top of his pec and along his clavicle, until I felt the sudden sourness of the lime. I hovered over the area, lapping my tongue gently on the smooth, hard surface of his skin.
With my other hand, I trailed along his arm again, up to his shoulder and on to his well-developed pectoralis, admiring through simple palpation, the muscular tone and curves of his body. I sucked at the small area of lime, and then stroked his own nipple with my free hand, feeling him stiffen considerably against my thigh.
He pulled himself back, and again, leaned over my body to the "stimulation tray" and grabbed something else, causing the glasses to make the tinkling sound once more. Again, I smelled the lime, but this time, he was squeezing it between my breasts, as I could feel the cool liquid pool in the inframammary space and drip down toward my stomach. I then felt a sprinkle of something - I assumed salt - on top of where he had sprayed the lime. He leaned back, away from my body, presumable to annoint himself similarly with lime and salt. He bent forward toward me again, and licked the space between my breasts which held the salt and lime, then pushed his neck into the direction of my mouth, so that I could do the same.
When we had both licked, he lifted my head up just enough so that I could take a shot of tequila, which he had evidently prepared while I was asleep in bed. He did the same, then he kissed me full on the mouth. The taste of tequila was still fresh on him, the lingering alcohol an intoxicating reminder of just how drunk in love I felt when I was with him. I pulled him to me, wrapping one hand around his neck and the other around his firm cock, which was positively aching to be inside me, covered as it was in precum.
I stroked him hard, not wanting to be gentle, not wanting him to be gentle with me, and I bit his lip, letting him know it was time to let his jockey out of the stable and into my green pasture.
"No, baby," he said quietly, "not yet, not yet. Let's have some fun first."
I released his cock, albeit reluctantly, but who was I to turn down a little fun? And then I heard it, before I felt it - the dulcet sound of my good old friend Rabbit, my tried-and-true favorite vibrator. Using the tip like a pen, he wrote in cursive along my thighs, ignoring the hot spot between my legs, but continuing up my body and in between my breasts. Then down he went again, this time s-l-o-w-l-y parting my labia with the tip of the vibrator, then pulling back, then pushing forward again, teasing my lips apart like you would peel a sticky label off of a wedding gift. He turned the vibrator, so that the rabbit ears nestled against my most private of parts and I shuddered. When he had my attention, he resumed his oral attentions to my nipples, sucking deeply and slowly, like he was extracting sexual nourishment from them.
Without warning, and with a suddenness that exposed how turned on he really was, he thrust the tip of the Rabbit deep inside me, all while keeping the ears tickling my clit and his mouth sucking at my breast. My whole body clenched, and I cried out, "Holy Fucking Shit! Oh Jesus!" The rhythm of his thrusts was increasing, and the force of his sucking was also intensifying. I could feel that my release was imminent, that my orgasm was at the cusp of exploding out of me. He could feel it too, because he slowed both activities, bringing me to the edge of release, then frustratingly pulling me back again.
I whimpered, too stymied by his taunting to speak. He chuckled, then pulled the vibrator away and mounted me, pulling my legs up into a V and thrusting himself inside of me with all the force that he had previously kept in check. The position of my legs allowed him to push himself so deeply that it was painful, he must have been clear to the end of my vaginal vault, right at the cervix. He moved with such skill, though, that the pain was pure pleasure, like he was filling me up with his passion for me. I moved my hands to his chest, wanting to feel the contours of his body as he rode me, he did likewise and moved one hand to the acute angle created by the V of my legs, rubbing his thumb against my clitoris, bringing me again to the edge. We stayed like this, rocking back in forth into each for minutes, he would slow things down when we got too close, and speed things back up when he sensed that we could handle it. The degree of lubrication below was astonishing, it allowed for the deepest of penetration, with a quick removal and an even faster return.
I scratched at his chest, carving my need into his chest, letting him know that my end was nearing and that I couldn't hold it back anymore. And then we jumped over together, our orgasms coming in waves together, cresting perfectly in time with each. When it was finally over, he slowed the pace but continued to rock himself inside of me, letting me feel the beating of his cock as his tumescence drifted away, as the combined wave of our passion ebbed back out to sea.
So yeah, period sex, I'm totally down with that shit.