|
Uni-Leg Wilson's Valentine Stump |
|
By Margo Perry
“Let’s go have a couple of drinks, Dude.”
“I’m working on a story, Russell. Go have a good time! I’ll check you later.”
“Dude, I’m waiting. Nobody should spend Valentine’s night alone.”
But, I knew I would be alone, even as Russell commandeered me away from my computer and my room at Veteran’s Haven. He had the kind of magnetism that made movie idols of ordinary men. People swarmed to him and I was always left on the outside looking in. Tonight wouldn’t be any different.
I’ll never know why Russell risked his popularity to save my nerdy self from a serious bully beat-down in our high school gym, but he had, and we’d been buddies ever since. We’d graduated together, gone to community college, enlisted and gone to war. I’d hoped that, with my Medal of Honour, we’d be on equal footing, and we were for the minute it took for the town to welcome us home, parade, medals and all. But that was four years ago and people no longer cared.
People don’t like to think about the realities of war and the part of my leg that wasn’t there reminded them of the price tag. I got used to being the elephant in the room.
“Any news about your prosthesis?” Russell asked, as I hobbled around collecting myself.
“I go in for a new socket fitting next week.”
“Good stuff,” Russell said, holding out my second crutch. “Until then, let’s roll, Uni!”
I hated the nickname, but had nobody to blame but myself.
“Just call me Uni-Leg Wilson,” I invited Russell, the first time I introduced him to my stump.
We’d both laughed and I became Uni from that day forward. Pre-war Wendell had never been a ladies’ man, but he’d had wit, humour, charm and was a joy to be around. Post-war Uni seemed to have lost his sense of humour.
Inside the car, I massaged my leg over the fold of denim that covered my stump of a leg. With so little effort, it would ache, even if it wasn’t there, and tonight I couldn’t take my pain medication because I’d probably end up drinking alcohol.
“Why did we volunteer? We didn’t have to go.”
“Because we wanted to serve our country and we wanted time away from this small town, some action.”
“Too much action, if you ask me. That was the beginning of the end.”
“Not the end,” Russell said, “we got a lot of living to do.”
Russell didn’t talk about the war. He’d put all the horrors in a mind-vault from which there was no escape.
“Check that out,” he said, nodding at the woman in the car beside them. “She’s all tits. Here,’ he said, passing me one of his cards. “We’re going to The Railroad. Write the address on the back of my card.”
The Railroad, 60 Mervot Street
At the next red light, Russell jumped out of the car, and knocked on the window of the car cruising to a stop beside him. The woman looked at him with large soulful grey eyes, her smile inquiring. The pane slid down and the woman took his card, before quickly closing the window again. He noticed that her full lips were lip-stick free, her thick raven hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her expression unassuming, shy and quizzical. Her humungous breasts, however, were obvious even beneath her voluminous winter coat. He jumped back into his car just before the light turned green.
“Do you think she’ll come?” I asked.
“Not sure. She’s a little plump for my tastes. Don’t matter to me.”
Then why did you bother her?
From what I’d seen, she was a pretty woman with huge breasts, my kind of woman, the kind I’d like to sit and talk to. Touch. The kind that never noticed me anymore and I resented Russell’s casual treatment of her. I was used to this scene. Russell would soon have a whole room of women to choose from and he would saddle me with some disappointed creature whose eyes would follow his every move like a starving woman follows the smell of freshly baked chocolate éclairs. I glanced at Russell’s handsome profile, feeling impotent and insignificant. It seemed I was along for the ride of Russell’s life, riding shotgun, and I longed to find something and someone who was all my own. I eyed the nearby taxi stand as we pulled into a parking spot.
“I’m really not in the mood for this and you’ll soon have company,” I said, climbing out of the car. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. You don’t need me getting in your way.”
“You’re my man, Dude. You never get in my way. Okay then, hop-a-long, let’s go have some fun.”
As usual, I followed Russell into the club, wondering what this night would bring.
I soon found myself parked on a bar stool, a lying smile on my lips, sipping a manly beer when I’d really have preferred a glass of Merlot. What a wasted choice! Women passed to and fro, checking out my stump, cruising the five feet of my Danny Devito frame, but rarely making eye contact, never speaking to me. As hurtful as that was, I found solace in being spared the looks of pity, when I was desperate for their interest and attention. I was lonely. I wanted more than my parked crutches to lean on and talk to.
I watched Russell dancing with a blond, while he flirted over her shoulder with a brunette and I couldn’t help feeling resentful. Not of his two legs or charm, but of his insistence that I leave the short story I was working on, my one well of strength and inspiration, to come here and witness his seamless fit into the social network. But, he hadn’t forgotten me. He waved and the blond waved with him.
Across the sea of thrashing bodies, I spied a dining area of empty booths. It looked quiet and I wished myself there, but I was much too self conscious to navigate my crutches through the gyrating crowd. A prosthetic limb was in my future, but now there was only a ghost. I felt trapped. I couldn’t breathe, but I knew how to free myself. I pulled my notebook and pen from my pocket.
Let’s see. Where was I? I closed my eyes to see . . .
Early morning - Rifleman Marcos Whyte’s private hospital room – Shrapnel has torn his face into pieces beyond recognition and he is now facing multiple reconstructive surgeries.
“Good morning Marcos.” He opens his eyes to find his favourite nurse standing over him. She has been off duty for three days and he’s missed her, missed her warmth and her humongous breasts, round hips and full lips. “A little birdie told me that you’re being transferred.”
“Yeah, from one torture to another. Let more pain begin!”
“I’m not going to tell you that it could be worse, that you could be dead. You have every right to be angry and discouraged. What were you dreaming? You had a lovely smile on your face.”
Marcos is embarrassed, but figures he might as well tell her. He probably won’t see her after today.
“I was dreaming about you. There was no war. I was back in high school and you were my girl. My face was fine. I could look at myself. I wasn’t a monster.”
“You’re still not a monster and I can prove it.”
Nurse Gloria goes to the door, locks it and returns to Marcos’ bedside. She takes off her sweater and slowly begins to undo the buttons of her uniform. Marcos can’t hide the hard-on that tents his sheets. He gazes hypnotized at the wide expanse of breast flesh that rises out of her white lacy bra.
“First things first, let’s take care of Little Marcos.”
She runs her hand over his belly, down over his fully erect cock. It springs back and she slowly pulls the sheet down.
“Still nursing that beer?” Russell asked, popping up next to me.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t mind a burger or something. Let’s head over to a booth.”
“Sure thing,” Russell said. “We’re heading over to a booth,” he told the bartender. “We’ll be running a tab.”
Russell walked in front of me, proudly edging people out of the way. I had to admit, the man took care of me, and soon we’d reached a quiet booth. I was safe, I was happy and Russell was free to dance with every Sally, Sue and Rose if he wanted.
“Holy shit!” Russell said, stacking my crutches against the booth’s wall. “She did come. Holy shit,” he said again. “Come sit over here. I’ll be right back.”
I settled into the booth and looked at Russell who was sprinting across the dance floor toward the woman of my dreams. She was Nurse Gloria with her huge breasts and round hips. She’d let her hair down and it flowed in raven waves past her shoulders. She had changed into a little black number with a wonderfully scooped neckline that showed off her cleavage to the max. She was tall - maybe five-eight or nine in her high heels - and a man was inviting her for a drink, even before Russell reached her.
Russell will win!
Sure enough, she accepted Russell’s hug and I could vicariously feel her breasts pressing into my chest, her pelvis barely touching my raging hard-on. I then realized just how horny I was and would have given anything to look like Russell, feel like Russell, be Russell at that moment. I bet she was wearing perfume.
“What can I get you, Sir?”
The waitress couldn’t see my missing limb and looked straight into my eyes. At any other time, I would have enjoyed the normalcy of our exchange, but now I was hypnotized by Russell’s woman. I ordered a hamburger and coffee quickly. Russell had drawn his mystery woman onto the dance floor and I was revelling in her every move.
Too soon, the music changed to a slow tune and I looked away as Russell gathered my dream into his strong arms. They looked wonderful together and for some reason, it hurt. I pulled my note book back out of my pocket and began to read what I’d written. Nurse Gloria now had a new face, the face of the woman dancing with Russell and I could no longer concentrate. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Russell was pulling her closer, she was pulling away, and they were moving toward me. My heart soared. The waitress was also moving toward me and I wished her away with all the strength in me. I don’t know what I expected, but I knew I didn’t want to eat alone, in front of my goddess.
They all arrived together. The woman had the largest breasts I’d ever seen and the kindest eyes stared out of her round face. Everything about her was generous. I slid under the table a little more, hoping she’d see a man and not a cripple, hoping she’d look straight at me.
“I want exactly what he’s having. Right down to the coffee. Yummy!” Her voice was deep, her delivery slow and sensuous and she was staring me straight in the eye.
“And you, sir?”
“The same is fine, except for the coffee. I’ll have a repeat of my beer.”
“Fine,” the waitress said, scurrying away.
Russell waved his hand and stood aside, offering Goddess, which she had now become, a seat. But, she ignored the gesture.
“Scoot over,” she said to me.
I did and she settled in beside me. I could feel her heat in the leg that wasn’t there and it didn’t hurt. It excited.
“That looks good! I’m starving.”
“Enjoy,” I said, placing my meal in front of her.
“You’re wonderful,” she said, grabbing my hamburger and taking a big bite.
“Clarice meet Uni. Uni meet Clarice,” Russell said.
‘Uni? What kind of name is that?”
I watched her full lips curl over the cup as she sipped. They were the lips I wanted to be kissed by. I watched Russell’s lips as he explained the origin of Uni. His lips were thin and a bit tight. He wasn’t used to rejection, even if it concerned seating plans.
“Doesn’t work for me! Names should tell us something about who the person is, not what he isn’t.”
“So what does Clarice tell us?” Russell sounded a bit snarky.
“That my parents loved who my grandmother was: creative, brilliant and kind. Chips anyone?”
She offered her plate, which Russell refused. I, on the other hand, chose three from the huge pile. It separated us from Russell.
“How did you lose your leg?”
“We don’t talk about war,” Russell said.
“Sorry,” she said, looking straight at me. “I just thought it would tell me more about you than small talking the night away.”
My goddess is candid.
Bodacious. The food arrives and in the following quiet, as we all tuck in, I feel a gentle pressure. Thigh against warm thigh. What I’m feeling is too exhilarating for words. I feel human for the first time in a long time.
“I’m a psychiatric nurse,” she said. “War is hell and I’m not sure you can keep it all bottled up.”
“I’m sure going to try,” Russell said.
She reached out and touched Russell’s cheek. He looked more vulnerable that I’d ever seen him, but soon his mask returned.
“Can I buy you that drink now?”
She drained her coffee cup before answering. “A glass of Merlot would be nice.”
“Terrific. I’ll get the waitress.”
“Wait,” she said. “What about you?”
“I’ll have the same.”
Russell grunted before moving toward the bar.
“Can I touch it?”
I nodded my head because her tone was so tender, teasing, and seductive that it robbed me of words. She massaged my stump and I could feel my cock responding. God, it’s been too long, if you ignore love paid for, and my hopes were climbing high enough to be dashed. But I couldn’t help myself. I was being carried on a current of want.
“And what’s this?”
She reached for my notebook, my soul, and I had no desire to stop her. She read in silence, her face moving from one emotion to the next. I searched for revulsion, or mockery or just plain pity. All I could see was interest.
Russell returned with the drinks.
“Let’s toast to new friends,” Clarice raised her glass and we clinked. “I hope you won’t mind if I steal your friend away. He has a story to finish and I think I can help.”
The idea of being taken on an adventure sent me reeling. I looked at her breasts and I imagined being lost in her cleavage. I wondered if her nipples were sensitive. I wanted to please her. I wanted to be pleased. I wanted a life.
The look on Russell’s face moved from perturbed, to amazed, to jubilant. “Don’t mind the drinks. Run along, kids.”
“Just one thing first,” she said, as she slid out of the booth. “What’s your name?”
“Wendell,” Russell said quietly, “and I won’t be calling you Uni ever again.”
He reached over to grab my crutches and gave me a man-hug.
Bravo!” he whispered.
|