The bill of Mikey's baseball cap is pointing toward the ceiling of his room, his tense shoulders vibrating with minute tremors, his shirt-tail hanging, elbows bent, fingers lightly perching on the clavicle of a woman crouched in front of him—a dancer from The Golden Spur, blond, well-built, obliging, sucking energetically on his semi-rigid dick, his cancer-tortured body crooning, grateful for this ecstasy that Cindy does her level best to tender—free of charge—humming in a quaint attempt to egg him on toward climax, fondling either testicle (he is trying), scrotum cupped, while imitating pressure, moisture, depth of a vagina with the artful machinations of her lipstick-lacquered mouth, encouraging (suppressing his untimely urge to vomit), arousing (irrespective his astringent inner ache), masticating gently to diversify sensations (but the nausea has risen), making slurp sounds (to his gorge), discreet about the time that it is taking (uncontainable; pain revokes the pleasure), sympathetic (spasms start), disturbed, when glancing upward, by the traumatized expression that betrays her subject's anguish. Limp, his pride deserts her lips, and shrivels of itself like a broken promise.

"Mikey, did I hurt you!? Mikey, you okay?"

The touch that graced her collarbone with such polite timidity, bears down now like eagle talons...

"Mikey! Stop! Let go!"

...as pangs engulf his quaking body, jaws clamp shut—teeth gnashing—mangled nerve-ends twitch, cause gasps for breath, deplete his strength; his legs feel weak; a deathly pallor blots his once-flushed features; will, abandoning, power, he collapses...

... and finds himself in Cindy's arms (so small, he seems; she cradles him), ashamed yet snug within her hug (so frail, so light; she lifts; she hoists him like an infant), in disgrace, he feels unmanly (carries him across the room), his eyes apologetic, resigned to her consoling (tucks his body under a comforter), docile as his brow receives her kiss; his face—gaunt, meek—shriveled as the cheeks of an unfledged sparrow.

"It's okay, Mikey. You rest now. Is there anything I can do? You need medicine? Should I call a doctor?"

He manages to shake his head; she stretches out beside him. He sighs; she will not leave until his woes succumb to sleep. He smells her femininity, feels its warmth; she strokes him fondly. He drifts beyond the reach of all that hurts.

 

 

A throat...

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