Harry almost missed the faint moan coming from the room as he roamed the fluorescent sterile halls of the fifth floor. He liked this floor, even at its loudest he could wander without interruption. Of course now that he heard the moaning he'd have to investigate and then... well Harry knew.
He looked at it as more a calling than anything else, his need to help, to aid, to satisfy. Where else better to accomplish that calling than on the fifth floor, the one with the double white door and the sign above it that promised something wonderful: Hospice.
Now he stood outside of Room 526 a, ah... Ms. Donnelly according to the temporary placard outside the door. Her moaning had stopped, but he was certain it came from this room. He stepped into the darkened room and looked around making sure he was alone, alone with the patient. Moving up to the edge of the bed, he looked down at the woman.
Age, it's so difficult to determine age just from looking at them. If he had to guess, he'd say forty-five, perhaps fifty. Of course at this stage most would think she was older, much older. Harry knew better, he'd visited enough patients to know. Of course, in the end it didn't really matter to him, the sensations were all pretty much the same.
He reached down and carefully moved some of the woman's dark hair from her face, setting aside the small clump that came away with his hand. Yes with the sallow cheeks and wrinkles at the eyes the woman did look very old and as he eased the blanket down off her body he could see where a once firm and beautiful body had sadly sagged. He pulled a small tube from his pants pocket, placed it on the bed beside her and then reached for her gown.
The gown was not fastened in the back so he was easily able to remove it from her. As he pulled it away he noticed the woman's eyes flicker open, but then they lulled back closed. Looking over the almost transparent flesh he could see the veins running down from her breasts and out over her stomach. What once must have been an ardent bush of soft inviting pubic hair was so sparse that if her hair wasn't dark he might think she was shaved.
He stared at her body as he unbuttoned his shirt, letting his eyes pause on the bruises running up her arm, across her stomach and up near her breasts. Her areola and nipples were pale, nearly the same color as her skin. Unfastening his pants, he imagined them darker, flush with blood, firm and erect as they might have stood the first time she had sex.