his ass across the day room, equivalent of running a goddamn marathon for him, and he’d stand over the john, and he’d feel like he had to go, but nothing would happen, and then he’d drag his sorry ass back across the day room, another fucking marathon, and he’d flop down in his chair, and he’d still feel like he had to piss, except now the back of his shirt would be all sweaty and he’d be panting like a dog in August and one of the gray haired bitches would get up and switch the Cubs game over to fucking Martha Stewart or something and he’d be too tired to get up and flip it back, too winded to even say anything. So DeGatano figured he’d play the odds. Go ahead and stay in his chair, maybe even and relax his wiener muscle, let whatever was knocking at the door leak on out, probably just a dribble into the diapers –they could call the things whatever they wanted, but they were diapers, he had no illusions about that. If he bet wrong and full out wet himself, well fuck it. He’d wave down one of his keepers and they’d have to haul his ass upstairs and change him. So Lou sat back, relaxed his pelvic girdle, nothing. A drop, maybe two. Got a little kick out of playing it right. Hell of a thing when that was the high point of your afternoon, though.
Hey, the red head was working, Sabrina. He could see her down the hall backing somebody’s chair out of the elevator. Lou found he wasn’t real good with ages anymore, at least with anybody much under thirty. They all looked like teenagers to him. So he wasn’t sure how old she was, but he was sure he liked the way she looked in her scrubs. Nice, firm ass with just enough to it to tighten the fabric when she moved, give you a look at her lines, and her lines said she liked those g-strings the kids wore these days because nothing broke up the beautiful clean arc of her haunches. Perky tits that really stood up at attention, too. Sometimes, when she’d have to bend over and do something for him on account of Lou never stood up if he didn’t have to, just standing up doing to him what chasing a perp down an alley did to him thirty years ago, but when she’d bend over, that v-neck scrub shirt she wore would fall away and he’d get a nice, clear shot down her front. She liked funky bras – prints, loud colors. Just another one of those things that had changed, he guessed, ‘cause during that whole part of his life when he when he was getting the occasional look at a some board’s bra, back then, the bra was either white or black. And back then, it meant he had her shirt off, because women didn’t use to jog around in their underwear like they do now.
With Sabrina working the afternoon shift, Lou wished he had wet himself. Because that would mean she’d be the one taking him upstairs, undressing him, wiping him down. Not like anything was gonna happen. He hadn’t had an erection since Bush Jr.’s first term and with his ticker, there weren’t enough boner pills in the entire world to give him one now, not without blowing his heart out like somebody’d shoved an IED into one of his ventricles. Besides, she was a nice kid. Treated him good, and not in that baby-talk way either, but like an actual grown up, would ask him stuff, give him shit about the Cubs on account of she was a Sox fan. But still, he’d be laying there on his bed and this hot red head would be bent over, rubbing down his peter while he took inventory on her titties. Hard to call that a bad day. Thought for a second about telling her he’d had a little accident anyway – I mean maybe it was just a couple drops, but there was urine in his drawers. But DeGatano decided that crossed some kind of creep line he wasn’t willing to step over. Getting the sponge bath from Sabrina instead of, say, Clarence, because that’s how the schedule worked out, that was just luck of the draw, and who could help taking a peek then, right? But faking pissing his own pants just to get her hand on his
Hey, the red head was working, Sabrina. He could see her down the hall backing somebody’s chair out of the elevator. Lou found he wasn’t real good with ages anymore, at least with anybody much under thirty. They all looked like teenagers to him. So he wasn’t sure how old she was, but he was sure he liked the way she looked in her scrubs. Nice, firm ass with just enough to it to tighten the fabric when she moved, give you a look at her lines, and her lines said she liked those g-strings the kids wore these days because nothing broke up the beautiful clean arc of her haunches. Perky tits that really stood up at attention, too. Sometimes, when she’d have to bend over and do something for him on account of Lou never stood up if he didn’t have to, just standing up doing to him what chasing a perp down an alley did to him thirty years ago, but when she’d bend over, that v-neck scrub shirt she wore would fall away and he’d get a nice, clear shot down her front. She liked funky bras – prints, loud colors. Just another one of those things that had changed, he guessed, ‘cause during that whole part of his life when he when he was getting the occasional look at a some board’s bra, back then, the bra was either white or black. And back then, it meant he had her shirt off, because women didn’t use to jog around in their underwear like they do now.
With Sabrina working the afternoon shift, Lou wished he had wet himself. Because that would mean she’d be the one taking him upstairs, undressing him, wiping him down. Not like anything was gonna happen. He hadn’t had an erection since Bush Jr.’s first term and with his ticker, there weren’t enough boner pills in the entire world to give him one now, not without blowing his heart out like somebody’d shoved an IED into one of his ventricles. Besides, she was a nice kid. Treated him good, and not in that baby-talk way either, but like an actual grown up, would ask him stuff, give him shit about the Cubs on account of she was a Sox fan. But still, he’d be laying there on his bed and this hot red head would be bent over, rubbing down his peter while he took inventory on her titties. Hard to call that a bad day. Thought for a second about telling her he’d had a little accident anyway – I mean maybe it was just a couple drops, but there was urine in his drawers. But DeGatano decided that crossed some kind of creep line he wasn’t willing to step over. Getting the sponge bath from Sabrina instead of, say, Clarence, because that’s how the schedule worked out, that was just luck of the draw, and who could help taking a peek then, right? But faking pissing his own pants just to get her hand on his
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