{I haven't been writing much lately, I have an excuse. Recently I made a trip down to northern California, I saw an ad for a Harley Davidson and for some screwball reason I wanted the thing. It wasn't exactly a normal motorcycle, it was converted into the tricycle type.
Harder to fall off of is what I was thinking. The idea of wind in my hair, my sexy wife Debra on behind, pressed up against me, Sun shining was the fantasy.
I am 74 years old, there was a flaw in my reasoning.
Debra was dead set against it, but I sometimes am as stubborn as she is. She finally shrugged and gave in. I probably should have taken her advice.
It was a hell of a trip, complete with another story I will write later. Back home, I got the thing cleaned up, running, took it out for a few spins. Everything seemed fine.
About three weeks later, I was riding, not far from the little coastal town we live in are some curves. Not real bad ones, I rolled into the first one, made that, set up for the next one, a bit fast but I thought it was OK.
Now, as I have learned, trikes don't steer real well, they like to go straight, but no problem if we ease off on the throttle in the turn to let the front wheel grab better.
I gave it a little throttle, just like a person might do in a car. At that moment, the rider shifts weight forward, to gain better front wheel traction. It's best to just let the machine roll around any turns.
I don't think I did that.
The landing in the ditch wasn't even all that fast, just fast enough for me to go ass over teakettle over the handlebars. It would have been way better it there hadn't been some fucking Blackberry bushes right there, those scratched the shit out of me.
My wrists hurt too, I did manage to crawl back up the bank and sit there as other vehicles stopped. That was when it hit me, both of my wrists were clearly broken, and I was bleeding like the proverbial stuck Hog from all sorts of places.
My right leg would not hold my weight, I glanced down, saw the odd angle, then passed out.
I remember looking up and seeing Kathy who works for the local ambulance service, pick up her end of the stretcher. We have known her for years, husky young gal, strong as a horse.
"You will be fine, Danny!" She gave me a reassuring grin. I was noticing how nice she looked, her slacks snug, showing her rather nice round booty. Big set of jugs too, no way for her to hide that even wearing her uniform blouse..
Yeah, I know. Thinking like that while on a stretcher, hell, I could have been dead.
Damn, I was hurting.
I think I passed out again.}
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Debra didn't chastise me about buying the bike, she didn't say I told you so, none of that. But I could tell.
She was pissed off at me.
Both arms in casts, turned out to be more broken than just wrists. My leg was seriously screwed up. How a fucking berry bush can cut a person so deeply it requires stitches is beyond me, I still think I must have landed on something sharp, there sure was one hell of a lot of cuts.
Yeah, I was a mess, and at my age healing quickly just does not happen.
A lady named Leann Conners is my new provider, I was in the process of writing a story about my first appointment with her when this latest crap happened. She stopped by every other day to see if I was still alive. I can't say as I mind, she is about 35 or so and on the cute side.
"Cute" is an understatement. Plus she has had my junk in her hands, and her fingers up my ass.
I guess that means we are friends?
If I sound a little screwy here, it's because I am and some stuff still hurts.
There were pills, too. Lots of them. Doctors think they can fix anything with pills, it seems. I managed to pretend to take some of them, the ones that made me feel ten feet tall I didn't like much.
So what if things hurt? All that means is I know I am still alive.
I expected to maybe stay in the hospital for a day, perhaps two, but not to be. Having a Doctor for a wife that runs the area medical clinic means a person gets pretty good care, I think.
Besides, with a leg in traction, you are not going anywhere. Casts on both wrists, 74 years old, healing is slow.
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"How long am I going to be stuck here?" I asked my wife Debra the 3rd day (I think)when she dropped by to visit. I was already missing my normal life, things like fishing, walking down to the cafe by the docks and swapping lies with whatever fishermen happened to be there.
Perch in the river, it was looking like I was going to miss out.
Hell, I even missed Connie, the 40 something slightly overweight waitress that everyone sexually harasses constantly, which doesn't matter since she gives it right back to the guys. That is not like being some elected official or corporate head, Connie is a waitress, a REAL woman, dealing with REAL men. I like going down there, those are mostly big strong guys, all of them in a dangerous profession. They spend their lives pulling Crab pots, nets, often in weather and waves larger than the boat they are on.
Wind howling, cold, working 16, 18 hours at a stretch, sometimes more. They all know that sometimes, they just might not get to go home. We lost one boat awhile ago, a half dozen good men on board. That was even on TV, that show about Crab fishermen. I knew some of those guys. So, none of them worry much about light hearted banter with a waitress.
Teasing some waitress that is every bit as tough as they are is just a way of letting off steam. Besides, Connie's husband is the Captain of one of the big Crab boats, close to 240 pounds and well known to be on the mean side if crossed. Wise ass banter is all in good fun, touch Connie and you might find yourself Crab bait on the next trip.
For some reason I fit right in, part of that being my wife Debra runs the area medical clinic and she has the respect of all of them. At one time or another, Debra has had their dicks in her hands, or a finger up their ass.
Her job is to try and keep them strong and healthy, way it is.
Yeah, I was missing the hell out of my normal life.
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"It's going to be awhile, with your leg up like that, we don't dare have you up and around. Plus both wrists, I hope you learned your lesson about that damned motorcycle." She slipped that last in there, I could see she was itching to give me the "I told you so!" bit.
"What, a week? Maybe 10 days?" I asked.
"At your age, honey, you body heals rather slow. Probably longer, plus we are going to need a nurse for you when you do come home."
"Hopefully a cute one?" I wisecracked, managing to stifle a chuckle because I had already found out that doing that hurts. Yeah, ribs bruised too.
"I will see what I can do." Debs laughed, she leaned down and kissed me, then headed off to do her rounds. More patients than just me in this hospital, I guess.
Ten days became 5 weeks, then another two weeks of working to get my legs going again. One complication was due to an accident I had decades ago, I was in a wheelchair for nearly two long years. Yep, spinal problem and the same damn leg, that time it took me forever to relearn to walk.
At least this time I could feel that leg. I was also up and walking long before anyone expected. I had already been through this, so I was an expert.
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At around two weeks or so of lying there in that hospital bed, Debs came in, she pulled the drape around us. Let's just say she knows me and some things need to be taken care of.
I got one of her glorious combination blow job and hand jobs, having my physician wife do that would almost be worth getting hurt. Being a Physician, she knows exactly what and how to do that. Nothing underneath her smock, either. There never is.
Sure, we are older, but we are also extremely active, likely more so than most couples half our ages. During my flat on my back stage in the hospital, Debra took care of me several times. I wanted to help her out right back but I had casts on both wrists, no way in hell could I do anything.
