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Blue Silk |
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By Nigel McParr
Where the hell am I? Ned Ostrowski stared out the window into the rain-dappled greenery, not really seeing, not thinking, simply wondering what had happened, how this had evolved. From somewhere down the hall a radio blared. At some level deep in his psyche, he knew the racket must be coming from Harry’s room. Harry had grown so damn hard of hearing it was impossible to talk baseball any more. Was that Truman or Eisenhower delivering another political speech? Shit, he could not remember what those two guys sounded like. Kansas and Missouri… they both sounded alike. He tried to ignore the noise; he had never had even a remote interest in politics, especially these days when so many other thoughts and regrets clouded his mind. With every bit of will power he could muster, he fought off the emptiness, the loneliness, the aimless drifting, the loss of control of his body, the reigning confusion. It was like trying to grab a fish in the water. All to no avail. He was a leaf drifting on a pond. His mind came and went, never sure what day it was or what was really happening around him. Through the rain streaming down the windowpane, he watched the garden slowly come back into focus. The verdant sight made him smile. They had done a helluva lot of work to make it so beautiful. The bold sprays of spring color and the dappled shades of green reminded him of his own back yard, which was not far from the sea. He’d spent all of his spare time there, planting, arranging, re-arranging, unaware of the inexorable ebb and flow of time and the tides.
The memory snapped into sharp focus. It was a bright and sunny day. He was 200 feet up changing out a leaky insulator. His boots and leather harness were the only things that precariously held him to the top of the tower. Though he usually paid little heed - he was too engrossed in not making a fatal mistake - the view was fantastic. He ignored the flights of fork-tailed swallows with their bright dark eyes swirling and darting around and beneath him. The air crackled and hummed, energizing him, reminding him why they called these things high-tension lines. One missed communication with the dispatcher, one slip, and death would be rude and quick. The scent of ozone tickled his nostrils. God, he had been so fearless up there, but then he knew what the hell he was doing.
He glided back to the lush wet garden. It made him think of his deceased wife Elda, a good and caring person. God, she loved the flowers he grew. Was she okay now? Was she really in a better place? The priest had assured him she was, but he thought it was all bullshit. Life was about now, not what happened after you died. He’d been a lineman; made good money, and was a good provider. He worked long shifts, spent a lot of time away from home, all hours, stormy nights, rain, sleet, snow. He had seen it all, played God high up and around dangerous high voltage power lines. It had scared the bejesus out of Elda and his daughter, but he loved the challenge - one mistake and bango - he was toast! Climbing a tower, fixing downed power lines, working with super high voltages was a rush and he craved it. He hadn’t made that one fatal mistake. Others had, but not him. Now, ironically, it had ended like this. He was alive, well only sort of. There was one thing he could remember and it kept him going: the lady in the blue silk dress. Sometimes she wore lavender or deep red, but most often, it was that soft silky blue print, the one that shimmered and changed color in bright sunlight. He could not recall the first time he had seen her or her dress. It had been a while ago. She’d come out of nowhere. She was a red head, always attired in a starched white lab coat over her silk dress. She never buttoned the coat. It fanned out behind her like a pair of angel’s wings as she made her way through the halls. She had a heavy low-slung bustline with hips to match and great legs she sheathed in seamed nylons. He always knew when she was coming. Her tall heels clicking like mad on the tiled floors always gave her away. She wore large, round, tortoise-shell glasses that framed and enlarged her emerald green eyes. She would take them off when she spoke to people. She carried a clipboard and kept a pen tucked into her hair. She was an apparition, a vision in blue silk and he was never quite sure who in the hell she was. No matter how many times he saw her it always struck him how different in appearance and temperament she was from frail sparrow-like Elda. Had his co-workers seen this woman with her huge jiggling tits, wide hips, and shapely calves that made him want to see what she had beneath her dress, they would have laughed and called her big girl. When he remembered that, it made him mad as hell. It was difficult now to get out of bed much less feed himself with his shaky hands. At least he could still make it to the bathroom, well most of the time. He was reduced to walking in a shuffle now, but his cock still got hard at the prospect of catching a glimpse of the bat-winged lady in the blue silk dress as she made her way through the hallways of the Home. Though she hadn’t ever really needed one, his wife had always worn a bra. She would not have been caught dead without proper underwear. However, this lady was way way different. Sure, he figured, she probably did wear a bra. But it had to be one of those real flimsy ones that barely supported her bust, let her nipples show, and left her looking like she had nothing on at all beneath her dress. He loved the way she shook and jiggled when she walked. She never seemed to pause for longer than a minute to greet the patients but everyone knew she liked them especially. She had this big confident ass and hips and self-assured air his deceased wife had never had. He wondered if she was a nurse. No one seemed to know who she was or what she did in the Home. He didn’t dare ask his daughter who was built like her mom, slender as a rail. She’d have seen through him in a heartbeat and all hell would have broken loose. No, he didn’t think she was a nurse. He could easily identify them by their starched white uniforms and caps and the way they squeaky-padded into his room in their polished rubber-soled shoes. It was truly puzzling. Maybe she was a doctor. Who knew? Who cared? She was one hot mama!
He was in bed, dozing when her scent startled and woke him. He picked her up the minute she came into his room. Her aura preceded her like a storm surge precedes a hurricane. He could never forget that perfume. How many times had she swept by him in the hallway outside his room with her starched coat airborne, leaving him enveloped in the wash of her scent. Sometimes, she looked down at him in his wheel chair and acknowledged him with a dazzling smile. It was enough for him to savor for hours after. He glanced at the bedside clock. 3 AM. He must be dreaming. His heart was pounding, racing like a fire truck. He tried to sit up, but her hand was suddenly on his chest, easily pushing him back onto the pillow. She ignored his gasps as she bent over him. The glow from the clock digits was enough for him to see that famous smile. It was her! As she drew back the sheet that covered him, her heavy breasts fell forward. He thought she is not wearing a bra. In the soft green light, he could make out the outlines of her nipples thrusting through the glint of her blue silk bodice. Her voice was soft and soothing, a lullaby that calmed him. She whispered something as her hand slipped into his pajamas. She fondled him, teased his cock until he thought he might burst. “Please, Ned, open my dress,” she whispered. His hands were shaking as he undid the row of tiny buttons that ran down the front of her dress. As her ripe, spilling cleavage expanded and fell into view, he couldn’t help himself. He moaned and began to cry. She shushed him, kissed him, while her long fingers teased the swollen head of his cock. “My, you are a big boy. You must have made Elda very happy.” Her free hand slipped beneath his head. Lifting his face into her breasts, she held him, buried his face in the pillowy depths of her cleavage. Her breasts were resilient and warm. He’d never experienced such joy. As she comforted him, she hardened his cock until it ached. Elda had never been able to do that to him. “I’m coming,” he choked as the first spasm hit. “Oh, I know, darling. That’s why I’m here. Just let yourself go. Spend yourself. You’ve earned it.” Shuddering uncontrollably, he pressed his face deeper into her breasts. As she had bid, he let himself go, completely gave himself up to her. “Omigod,” he exclaimed. “Eld-a-a-a!” When he finally opened his eyes and looked up at her in the faint glow of the clock digits, she was closing her dress and studying him with a faint smile on her lips. She left him then, as quietly as she had come. Like an angel in the night, he thought.
The next morning before he awoke, his daughter burst into the room the same way Elda had used to do. She lit up the room like a flash of lightening, shattering his dreams. “Good morning, Daddy. How are you feeling? Did you sleep well? The rain has blown through. It’s a gorgeous day. I’m going to take you out to the garden after breakfast.” God, she sounded like her mother, all bossy and loving. Oh, Elda, I’m sorry. “Why not,” he rasped in a voice as thin as the fall wind rustling the birches. “Where the hell am I, Emma?” He fought to maintain the vision of the lady in blue silk, but it was impossible now. She refused to stay and was gone. He groaned at her memory as his daughter wheeled him down the hall into the startling sunlight. Emma sat beside him, sipping her coffee, engrossed in her latest novel. The sun was clear and warm, gratifying down to his bones. The garden was rich in color and infinite shades of green He could hear the birds again, as sharp and clear as if he had been high atop a tower. His eyes fluttered and closed. Out of nowhere, he heard a burst from Artie Shaw’s clarinet, a beautiful, intricate riff that drowned out the birds, everything. The liquid silver notes lifted and stirred his spirit, set his frozen feet in motion long ago forgotten...
They were dancing, jitterbugging like mad. Except for them, the floor was empty. Elda’s saddle shoes were a blur. She was matching the band beat for beat, swinging her little skirted hips far better than he could. She matched him move for move, one twirling spin after another. The beat was so intense he could almost taste it. She anticipated him; he could not fake her out. She knew where he was headed before he got there. Couples were forming a circle around them, all clapping in rhythm to the foot-stompin’ beat. The dance hall faded. He was back in bed. The lady in blue silk hovered like a wraith over him. She whispered something. Her huge tits and elongated nipples grazed his lips. He was deep in inside her, obsessed, immersed in her, and waiting on her word. He felt like he was going to explode. As if in a dream, he suddenly realized he was screwing her and he didn’t even know her name. Still, he was not about to break the spell by asking. She inclined her head to kiss him. “You are quite the dancer,” she murmured. “We need more good-looking foot-loose guys like you.” He looked up at her, blushing with shame. “How did you know? I mean…well I guess you just know…” She laughed so hard her breasts shook with mirth. “Your daughter didn’t have to tell me, but actually she told me anyway.”
The room was enveloped in darkness. The air was still, heavy with a sense of reluctance, lingering, and anticipation. He felt nothing. He was unaware she had slipped into his room. When her small hand slipped into his and squeezed, he knew, by Christ, he knew. “Elda.” “I’ve missed you so.” Her voice was a modulated sigh, a trill of soaring hope, infinitely azure skies, and long hazy summers. He lifted his head to her. “I’m sorry-“ “Never mind, Ned. It has been a long time and the waiting is finally over. Come, darling, get out of that bed. I am taking you home. You have some gardening to do…”
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