**Content note: By request, this story contains a detailed description of male vomiting!**
It was a Sunday morning and I was filing into the village church as was my weekly habit. I took up my usual seat near the front of the church, with a good view of the organist. I always enjoyed watching the organist, Ronald, play. He was a slim and well-groomed man and I could tell that he must have been very handsome in his youth, although he was easily three decades my senior. His slender hands worked the organ keys with a skillful and dexterous touch, and at times during especially dull sermons I wondered what else those fingers would be good at, although I'd never admit it to anyone.
I always liked to make an effort to look nice for church; today I had chosen an embroidered blouse and a modestly knee-length skirt. On some occasions in the past Ronald had glanced over at me from his seat at the organ and flashed me a secretive wink; I liked to think that he appreciated my efforts.
Today, though, Ronald looked a little unwell; his face was pallid and his normally neat hair was slightly disheveled. He hit a couple of wrong notes towards the end of the first hymn and I realized that his hands were shaking. I looked around me to see if anyone else had noticed but they were oblivious, wrapped up in their own thoughts. How could they not notice that our beloved organist was in distress? I resolved to keep an eye on Ronald in case he should take a turn for the worse.
As the minister began to deliver her sermon, Ronald sat and attempted to pay attention in his usual dedicated manner, but he seemed to be growing more and more uncomfortable. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow and upper lip. Then he gave an uneasy cough and held the handkerchief to his mouth for a few seconds. I was about to go over to him to ask if he was okay, when he abruptly lurched to his feet and darted towards the nearest exit. I swiftly got up and exited after him, concerned for his well-being.
I followed at a slight distance as Ronald stumbled out into the peace of the churchyard. I hesitated, unsure if I should approach him closely; one part of me didn't want to disturb his privacy but another part of me wanted to take care of him and provide any comfort that I could. So I hung awkwardly nearby, ready to rush over if he needed me.
Ronald sat down heavily on a memorial bench under an ancient spreading cedar tree and stared rather mournfully at the ground between his feet. His face was ashen and he had a light sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. He was breathing uneasily with his mouth half-open.
"Ron, are you okay?" I called out finally.
He looked up at me and smiled despite his discomfort. "Oh, Sally, it's you... I don't feel well at all... I drank a little gin last night and thought I'd feel better today if I forced down some breakfast... but... ugh..."
