Every story I have ever written is true, at least they are at the moment the hands touch the keys. I know they are, they are written by those who live them. They all live inside me.
Do my hands even touch the keys? Sometimes they don't, yet the words flow out of whoever I am at the moment. I flood the screen with drivel, tears streaming down my face, fear gripping me, or joy as I revel in success.
The words let me run, fly, love again. I am as strong, desirable, or as cruel as I wish to be.
I often sit with tears washing my face, trying to describe the feelings of pain and inadequacy inside me.
Sometimes the words describe the sensations of need that flashes across my breasts, down to my loins as I try to speak of...what? Sex? A need for a strong man to love me? I am so unsure, I am only female when she makes me be.
Then I am strong, my powerful upper body intimidates any who would glance my way. I abuse myself with weights, lifting, pounding, nothing else to do. In an instant, the words convert me.
All I have are the words.
{I am huge, my arms and shoulders monstrous with power. Women love me, fall at my feet and reach for me with unbridled lust. I usually do not resist, I just allow. I get my choosing.}
My nurse lifts my broken body carefully, she bathes the areas I cannot touch. I try to look down her blouse as she bends to attend to me, the thought of an illicit peek making my breath come in short gasps.
{She knows I am looking, allows it, the upper swell of her fine mammaries exposed to my gaze. She makes no attempt to hide them, obviously she is enjoying my attention. I come erect, my large member rigid in her hands as she bathes me. She smiles, reaches for me, holding me, staring at me in awe.}
I look down as she changes the tubing to my penis, slips the drape back over my genitals. The clear plastic bottle is dumped and washed, hooked back up. I am once again shriveled, limp.
"Coffee today?" she smiles at me. Always that smile. Yet I see the sadness in her eyes when she thinks I am not looking.
{My hands reach out and close around her throat, how dare she look down on me? I can speak, I just don't want to, have no need to! Can't she understand that?}
I nod, staring out the window at the cold rain and wind.
I hate the rain.
Ready for another day, I touch the button on my chair and turn back to the screen.
The words begin to flow again.
{My class sits attentive as I demonstrate the touch that brings comfort to the female body lying on the table before me.
So young, so very beautiful. My talented hands allow the drape to fold over her soft unblemished skin, creating a semblence of modesty, professional respectfulness. My class watches closely as I turn my back to them, lift the sheet to allow her to turn over. I know they are watching me, impressed by the sheer power of my huge chest and shoulders, amazed that a man so strong can be so gentle.
Aware they all can see her outline, I hold up the drape longer than necessary. The drape is thin. They lean forward to look, I allow the material to settle back. I begin anew, my hands working the front of my model's legs, higher and higher. I hear the sharp intake of breath as in a moment of carelessness I lift the drape, exposing her most private parts to their gaze. She grins and looks at me from slitted eyes, not minding, I knew she would not.}
"It seems to be improving nicely." the nurse says, as she dabs ointment on my elbow where it rubs against the chair.
I know it isn't.
{It was just a day at the beach. We stopped for ice cream. Sally jumped up and headed for the store as I sat and fiddled with the air conditioning, the engine idling. I heard her scream, looked up as the pickup truck jumped the curb, slammed into my driver's door.
"We can't save this arm." A voice said.
"She is a Doctor, we have to try."}
The scene fades away, my nurse carefully rebandages the open sore on my good left arm.
{He tells me he has to go to work. He wants to take the Mustang.}
"Not the Mustang!" My mind screams at him, he ignores me.
{He starts the Mustang, delighting in the roar of the powerful engine. Before he could place the car in gear, the coughing racked his chest again. Dismissing it as just a cold, unaware of the beast that grew in his lung, he drove out to the highway.}
Bastard! I told you not to take the Mustang!
I have the keyboard, I have control.
I smile inwardly, yes! I am the one who is in control here.
It is raining. I hate the rain. I touch the button, turn to the screen.
{I feel the power of the machine beneath me as I feed the throttle to the floor. The tires lose grip, the car shifts sideways towards the wall, the sounds of screaming engines all around me.
I do not lift, building speed quickly, impossibly quickly towards the next turn. I am grinning broadly at the sheer joy of the sensation. The front tires bite in spite of the slick pavement, a testiment to my skill as I rotate the wheel, feeling for traction. I manage to get the nose of my racer underneath the driver just ahead as he brakes to negotiate the turn, then drops down towards me...
We make contact.}
The nurse is leaning down, she has my socks off, feeling my pulse. I look down her open blouse at the swell of her breasts again, I see the upper edge of her bra, trimmed in thin lace. She likes it when I look, I can tell.
{I can see the undercarriage as the van rolls onto it's side. I am hard on the brakes of my new Mustang as I turn the wheel away, left fender already smashed, twisted crazily towards my windscreen. Too late I realize the huge truck is there. A flash of light and color, all goes black.}
The nurse stands up, smiles at me. "All done, you are doing fine." I lean forward, sipping the dark liquid through my straw, it tastes bitter.
{Tears streaming down my face, I reach for the needle I had obtained from the hospital where I work as a Doctor. I touch the plunger lightly, to remove the air, turn the needle towards my arm. I hesitate, feeling the comfort of my nakedness as I sit in the hot soapy water of the bathtub. But I cannot live, knowing my man is gone.}
Screaming in my head stops me. Always in my head, no peace, no rest. They are always there.
She is gone. I am alone.
I see out the window it is raining again.
I hate the rain.
I will walk again one day. I know I will.
So many years have passed, but they tell me great progress is being made in medicine. So many I have been before have died. One day I will kill them all, but new ones keep arriving.
They think I will give up, I won't. I have all the time in the world, I will be free.
I touch the button, swing the chair to my window. The snow is falling, the world is white and beautiful. So cold, I look up to see the shimmer of light through the ice hanging from the edge of the roof. A bird, late on it's migration, flies down and lands on the windowsill, hugging the glass tightly for warmth against the frozen day.
I try to be the bird, so free to just fly away. I touch the button, my chair rotates back to the computer.