I.
We got to the point where we were essentially all suffering there in the ward. The heat was intolerable. I'd insisted on a window view, which just put me closer to the sun, which was so bright and relentless that I felt I'd bequeathed to it an ever shrinking set of brain cells every time it set. Jerome returned from surgery one morning and announced, upon waking, that he'd give the one leg he had left to him for a decline in temperature of even two degrees. That was the day they wheeled Calgary in, some redheaded girl who was always sleepy. They set her next to me and the nurse made introductions. Calgary, this is Manech; Manech, Calgary. Whatever. I just wanted to go home.
II.
Erections were the only thing to look forward to, really, and if I had anything to be thankful for it was that I could still get them, that despite the fractures and splits my body had endured, my cock still stood upright every morning to salute the sun, that merciless goddamn sun, sometimes saluted the nurses in attendance when they passed by – if, that is, they were even good enough to notice. Just as I could get no relief from the heat, neither could I get much from my own rampant tumescence. What was I supposed to do, hitch up my bed-sheets and self-administer while the hard cases were wheeled room-to-room in front of me? I'd have to wait until I was walking again to get some privacy, and God knew when that would be. Meanwhile, the boredom of the bed-sit and my rampant fantasy life collided and it was all I could do to keep myself from indecent behavior, suggestive glances at nurse cleavage, meaningful eyebrow raises, that sort of thing. I felt pathetic. Not that I wasn't proud of my libido or my dick for sticking with me for so long. But their needs were nothing but torture.
I came closest to outright solicitation when a nurse was helping me change one day and, acknowledging the state that I was in, said helpfully, "Well, you're getting healthy, aren't you?"
Not really, I thought. I'm actually losing my fucking mind.
III.
Calgary started talking her second day on the ward, which isn't to say that she couldn't talk before then, but from what I could tell she had been asleep when they brought her in and had stayed that way for twenty-four whole hours until she finally awoke to say something totally un-shocking like, "It's really hot in here." She had on a gown like everybody else, but hers was tantalizingly filled out by a pair of bra-less tits that seemed to heave themselves in my direction like oceanic swells. I wanted to dive down her collar and land on their soft inclines, the freckled shape of her doubtless pink and pale skin.
"What happened to you?" she said to me.
"Huh? Oh, I got hit by one of the Slaughterbugs" (our name for a sort of silent buzz bomb that had been introduced that spring) "I think. Actually, I'm not quite sure what happened. All I know is that I woke up here one day and could barely move my arms."
They must have had her on some strong sedatives because she was out before I could even finish my answer.
IV.
On Thursday, the Nurse whose name I always forget came by to wash Calgary. They wash us like we're dogs here, cold water, rubbery soap, rough hands. It was never an experience I looked forward to. But I'd never seen the Nurse whose name I always forget do it, and I'd certainly never seen a woman get the treatment at all, our wing being predominantly male. The curtain was pulled around, naturally, but craning my neck brought me into view of Calgary's shoulders as they were exposed when the hospital gown was removed. They were slender and white as alabaster. I could feel the hardness of my cock push up against the blankets covering my legs. I wanted to reach down and touch it, caress the end of it and give myself the burst of relief I was dying for, but I was afraid that if I so much as moved I would lose what precious little I could see of Calgary. My patience paid off with a sublime glimpse of breast: freckled as I'd imagined, tiny pale nipples with soft areola.
What I hadn't registered was that the reason I was afforded this vision was because the Nurse had turned her to the side so that she could scrub her back, which meant that Calgary was facing me, meaning she could see me. When our eyes met, her face was inscrutable. The Nurse turned her around and she was out of view again.
V.
I wake up in the heat with pulsating, insistent boners, my dick rising to face me as if it has something to say, the head engorged with blood and ego, the shaft thick and veiny like some strange steroidal muscle, throbbing with desire that is too much, too much. It's midnight and I have pushed away the sheets, the temperature so high that I would peel off my skin if I could. Calgary, feeling the heat as well, has kicked off her linen entirely, so that she sleeps twisted up in her gown alone, her pale legs exposed up to her thigh. Even in the dim evening light I can see her form clearly, can see her skin and her hands perfectly as, sleepily she raises her gown and pulls it over her head so that she is now lying completely naked, her breasts released, her pussy only slightly covered by the side of her wrist.
She opens her eyes and looks at me. "What happened here?" she says.
"You took your gown off," I tell her.
"Ah. Yeah. I guess it's a little hot."
"I guess so," I say. I am at odds over whether to attempt to conceal my hardness or whether the attempt will just draw more attention to the situation. I opt not to move. "Aren't you worried that someone will come by?"
