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Don’t Send Help

A novel by Morgan Alexander Kosinski

PLOT SYNOPSIS: I was injured and alone in a quiet hospital, when a nurse walked in, dosed me with whiskey from a syringe, ripped open her crisp white uniform, and gave me a ‘Penthouse’ story for the ages.

Now I’m in the trunk of her car.

…Don’t send help? 

CHAPTER ONE

I was nineteen when I got my first blow job. 

It was the summer of my sophomore year in college and I’d gone back to my small hometown of “nobody ever escapes,” TX. I had taken a job working nights at the AW Bowl-R-Rama, which sounds depressing, but painfully on-brand for a teenage virgin. 

It was a sweltering July, and on this particular night, the AC had failed. The entire building was cloaked in a thick, humid cloud of stale beer, smoke, and musty bowling shoes. Only the aroma of aerosol disinfectant cut through the stench. 105 inside and those balls didn’t clean themselves.  

Mostly everyone had gotten too uncomfortable and left for home or other haunts, so Cliff, the night manager, cut everyone but me and Lisa Francis. She was two years older than me, and if you believed the rumors, was the best lay in all of Stark County.  At least thats what Cliff said he’d “heard.” Of course, Cliff was also a pervy single dude working a night manager job in a stick-town bowling alley, so, I took his ‘intel’ with a grain of salt.

Lisa slid up beside me. “God, it’s like waiting tables inside the devils anus in here,” she said. She put down her tray of dirty glasses and discarded nacho bowls, and wiped her hands on the towel tied behind her apron. She untied the strings to release the faded white cloth, and my eyes followed her hands. She did have an incredible ass.

It’s not pervy when I say it.

She must have noticed me gawking because she quickly tried to trigger my attention back, “How much longer do you think we’ll have to stay?”

I shrugged. I honestly had no idea. 

Folding her apron and placing it on the bar, she lifted her chin and eyed me coyly, “Aren’t you supposed to be, like, assisting the manager, good ole ‘Mr. I’m working on a business degree’?” 

I raised my eyebrows, surprised – I’d never mentioned that to her. In fact, I’d barely even got a chance to say anything to her at all. She worked as a cocktail waitress for the lounge or whenever it got busy enough, out in the bowling lanes. And in spite of her reputation, her family had generations of roots in town, so she knew just about everyone. She was always chatting with someone or running around for customers. He’d worked mainly behind the register, or in ‘Shoes,’ or what Cliff referred to as ‘management’ stuff. 

She began to laugh, “If you wanna keep a secret in this town, don’t tell Cliff.”

Good to know.

She had a great smile, and a round, pouty mouth. God, I’d noticed that mouth. Red, tender lips, straight white teeth. 

“I’m gonna go out back for a cigarette, wanna join me?” She asked as she removed a pack of Marlboro Reds from her discarded apron.

I looked around; Cliff was on his phone, rambling to a maintenance company, in the office outside the kitchen. There was barely any activity in the whole place, and music from the speakers above was saving the brave few left from a hot, awkward silence. 

“Yeah,” I agreed, and we swiftly made our way out back. 

I’ll save you the foreplay. I don’t know if it was the boredom of the evening, or the fact that I was the best smelling thing in 100 yards but, after a few minutes of passing her cigarette between us and laughing about what a dump this place was, we started to kiss.

She told me I was sweet.

I told her she was gorgeous.

She told me I was a good kisser.

I told her she was, too.

She rubbed tightly against me, and told me I was “so hot.”

I wanted to marry her.

She asked me if I was a virgin.

I told her ‘Of course not!’ 

She knew I was lying.

She paused and looked sweetly at me, the kind of look I got a lot from girls, the ‘bless his heart’ look, the look that’s usually followed by her boyfriends arrival and their departure, leaving my soul black and my balls blue.

But not tonight. Not. Lisa. 

My lips were tingling, and she raised her hand to caress my face, “I don’t want to freak you out, but I was supposed to meet up with my boyfriend tonight…”

For fuck’s sake.. 

“And when the AC blew, I figured we’d be cut early, but we’re still here, and I, um,” she paused to take my mouth in a long, sensual kiss, “I took some X, figuring I’d be gone soon, but I’m not and it’s kicking in and, oh, my, God…” She began to moan, and grabbed the back of my head with her other hand. 

My skin felt hot wherever she touched me, her fingertips felt like sparks before a flame. I braced myself as her thumb passed over my eye as she moved to brush the hair away from my forehead.  

Then, she slowly began to lower herself to her knees.

Now, I’d never done any drugs before, but I’d heard about X and obviously seen every movie in the 90s, so I knew a little about it. But I had no idea it made you want to suck someones dick.

Buy all the ecstasy in the world, I noted.

She started unzipping my pants. My face felt hot, but this was different. Not hot from underneath, instead it was almost like a burning.

My pants fell to the ground, and I felt the cool air on my legs and, before I knew it, I was in her mouth. 

Now, I didn’t know much, but I’d heard that the only pain might come from her teeth…but it felt more like her mouth was rinsed in acid. My shaft was tingling and my eyes began to tear up.

Holy God.

“Oh, Lisa?” 

“Oh, yes,” she moaned.

“No- Lisa…Lisa!”

She looked up, startled, “What? Am I hurting you?”

Yes.

“No! Uh, it’s just that…” She looked back down she began to piece it all together. She gasped and raised her hands to her mouth.

“Oh God,” she cried, “the jalapeños. I’ve been chopping them up and snacking on them all night.”

Well, after that everything felt like it was on fire. 

Lisa couldn’t drive me to the emergency room because she was rolling her tits off, and I couldn’t roll up to a doctor with my face and dick drenched in jalapeño juice from a bowling alley, so we decided to do the next best thing.

…And that’s when Cliff, the town gossip, found us in the cooler; dipping my red, splotchy, burning dick in a metal prep bucket filled with milk.

I left town the next day. My parents didn’t understand why suddenly I wanted to go to summer school, but at nineteen, I couldn’t be the guy who almost died from a jalapeño blow job.

That was nearly fifteen years ago, and since then I’ve maintained a very controlled and pretty bland life. Once you’ve been burned, a part of you always stays singed. But I couldn’t help but wonder if I was missing more ‘spice’ in my life.

Would it be so bad to have a little more adventure? A little more excitement? A little more heat?

“Careful what you wish for,” I reminded myself, as I tightened the laces on my cleats at my weekly club soccer league game, and looked up just along enough to see the soccer ball whooshing by, and a foot coming toward my head. 

The last thing I heard was “Call an ambulance!” right before I blacked out. 

Then I woke up here. In this hospital. Alone. Where the only thing more sterile than the tools is my personal life.