Chapter 5
"Where's the bra, man? I ain' turnin' over no cigarettes without that bra," said-Josh, dealing himself a hand of solitaire.
"Hey, man ... I got so hung up finger-fuckin' her I plum forgot about snatchin' that brassiere." Butch weighed his words carefully, plotting his course meticulously. No damned woman was going to get away with spitting him in the eye; women had caused him enough trouble. One man's prick fucking into Nurse Hanson's hot cunt wasn't enough. That's what friends were for, right?
Josh had a way with women, but he was a hot head. Ben was the hesitant one, always counter pointing. Still, it was worth a try ...
Butch whipped off a story about his episode in the men's room stall that would have made a pimp blush. He spared no details.
"You really got your fingers in her pussy?" Ben was incredulous. "Nurse Hanson? Whew ... that's somethin'!" His deep blue eyes sparkled and his eyes fastened on the image of Bonnie, the delectable truck stop waitress on the Detroit to Chicago run. "She got nice buns, man?" He smiled at Butch's answer.
Butch nudged Ben with his elbow. "You want a little piece, huh, Ben?" He talked with his hands, sparing no insinuations. " ... some nice firm buns ... two nice hand fulls ... you can squeeze 'em between your fists, bite into 'em if you want ... stick yer finger in her ass and make the bitch squeal. Wouldn't that be nice, huh, Ben?" Ben's mouth started to twitch and his cheeks went red. "Like that little waitress out at the truck stop ... only better ... " Inch by intimidating inch, Butch leaned closer to Ben until finally their noses touched. Ben shrank away confused, curiosity piqued.
"Naw ... " He scrunched up his lips and shook his head. "I don' want no more trouble. I seen what happened to dudes when they slap ya in the sheets ... I don't want no more electricity in my brain."
Josh slapped his cards around, silently listening, weighing Butch's words. Finally he cocked an eyebrow. "Shit ...!" He threw his pack of cigarettes against the wall. "Christ, I'd love to fuck that bitch ... but I ain' risking no sheet for sloppy seconds ... "
"Me neither." Ben looked to Josh for reassurance.
Butch's mouth started to water with the sweetness of vengeance; a sly smug grin wrinkled his face. "Ain' nothin' sloppy about Nurse Hanson ... that chick's clean and smooth." He shrugged, about to drop the subject. "Go ahead and pass it up ... I had her beggin' for it last night ... shit, that cunt was screaming and moaning, lettin' me finger fuck her pussy." He stuck his middle finger in his mouth and sucked. "Yeah, sure 'nough ... still tastes of pussy." Casually, he picked up a cigarette saying no more.
Josh and Ben looked at each other, then back at Butch. Ben leaned over the table, grabbing Butch's arm, shaking it. "Tell us more ... "
One thing pleased Satchmo more than a full pint and that was pretty lady. Back in New Orleans when things were jumping in the French Quarter with the shrill of Dixie land jazz cutting the hot night air and pretty whores in skinny dresses and plunging necklines draping themselves around lamp posts with cigarettes dangling out of their rouged mouths ... those were the days Satchmo wanted to relive. Times when a man could get himself a fine piece of ass, just for being a nice guy. Nowadays, ah, women had turned inward, fighting for their rights and competing in a men's world, and the rest were all turned around on dope ... money, money, money, ripping off their Johns. Ahhh ... times had changed-sorely so.
The night guard sat in the lounge watching an old Columbo rerun from the set perched atop a ledge where nobody could reach the channels or turn up the volume. It avoided fights. The semi-circle of chairs was only half filled tonight. With no woman to keep him at home, Satchmo often came to work early and watched television with the men before going on duty. Tonight was one such night.
"Satchmo ... hey, man!" He turned his woolly head to see Butch jerking his head invitationally. The old jazzer raised out of the chair, his arthritic knees stiff from the cold November weather, and hobbled over to where Butch sat at the corner table.
"How ya been, Satchmo?" Butch thumped the old man solicitously on the back, watching his black eyes light up like smoldering coals. The man had spirit; Butch liked that.
"Jes' fine and yerself?" His voice was shaky from alcohol.
"Can't complain ... Hey, I got a little favor to ask of ya, Satchmo." He hovered close, brushing shoulders with the black man, the smell of whiskey flaring in his nostrils. "It's risky talkin' about it, but ya know Miss Hanson ...?" He nodded toward the nurses' station where the three o'clock to nine nurse sat munching on a bag of Fritos. "Well, Amy and me we've been havin' this thing goin'." He talked with his hands, cocking his eyebrows.
A suspicious smirk wrinkled Satchmo's full lips. "Naw ... ain' possible, not Miss Amy." He flapped his hand as if shooing flies and shook his head.
"You don' know nurses, man ... " Another solicitous slap on the back. "Anyway, she and me wanna get together tonight and have some time alone ... you know, a little kissy kissy ...?" He nudged Satchmo with his elbow and winked.
"Ah ... a little nooky, huh kid?" He banged his black hand on the table and laughed.
"You got the picture ... and I got a nice pint of Jack Daniels stashed under my mattress."
"Ah, you're a clever one, man."
"We understand each other, right?"
"Yer on, brother. You speak whiskey, you speak my language!"
Hours later Amy stole coltishly down the smooth stretch from Ward B's entrance past the stuffy area where essence of man hung heavily in the air, to the employee's lounge, pausing at the nurses' station. Not a glance to either side of her, eyes targeted ahead. Inside now, she closed the door solidly, turned the lights on bright and poured herself a cup of muddy looking coffee, staring sourly at the apology for Milly's third absent shift. Swiftly, she peeled off her cashmere coat, hung it up and bolted the door, then slid shut the reception window. The devil himself couldn't slither into her glass cage! Her lush body shivered from the memory of last night's near rape. It was her fault, pure and simple.
Dottie was right ... these men were beasts, criminals who deserved no kindness. And this was no job for a woman, either. A female couldn't be compassionate towards a man who abused women for his own sadistic pleasure. Butch ... the disgusting brute! Perhaps she ought to file a report on the incident, taking it up with the resident psychiatrist who would mete out the punitive measures. But that was opening an ugly can of worms, indeed ... Satchmo would be fired, doubtlessly, and that alone would make her the target of hospital gossip, not to mention what nasty little trick Butch might conjure up in his perfidiously warped mind. She must keep a low profile, run a tight ship, and wait until Milly came back to work ... nothing could happen with two nurses on duty.
Even as she thought about last night the tingling started to percolate down there between her luscious slim thighs, bubbling its way up into the center of her womanhood where it frothed heatedly. She gnashed her teeth against the lascivious flashes of Butch grinding his hotly throbbing penis against her belly, then bending his head to suck on her nipple ... taking all of it into his mouth, making its puffiness pucker and throb.
A trickle of coffee sloshed over the rim to puddle on the desk. What is wrong with me? I'm shaking all over ... Oh, this is no good, no good at all! She tried to dispell those beautifully sexual thoughts, but nothing could jar her consciousness from the delicious thought of a masterful male body hovering over her nakedly shivering one, plundering his bloated penis into her wetly seeping vagina ... Oh, God, she buried her face in her hands, listening to the ticking heartbeat of the clock on the wall behind her. Three thirteen it read in big black hands. Certainly it would be safe to visit the ladies' room located directly behind the nurses' station.