'Wake up, Jeremy! Get up!'
With the combination of exhaustion and sleeping pills, Jeremy never even heard the phone ring. Nor did he respond to Brandon's excitement. Or even when Kenny jumped up and down on the mattress and almost bounced him out of the bed. Not all of him was asleep, though. Morning wood flourished between his legs. His three buddies had to pause for a brief moment to drink in the splendor.
Kyle broke the spell. 'I'll get him up,' and he did. He lifted him out of the bed, carried him to the shower (snatching a few lollipop licks along the way), and drenched him with cold water.
'Ah, ah, ah, ah! Damn, that's cold! Shit! What the fuck did you do that for?' he chattered as he scrambled to get out of the frigid water.
'Let's go, Van Winkle! Brad's awake!'
'Huh? Who? What?'
'Ford, you idiot!' teased Brandon. 'Remember? Brad-Ford!'
'Ford! Ford's awake? Well,why didn't you say something?'
His three buddies laughed as the clumsy cowboy tripped over his horse cock trying to get dressed.
Ford had been found awake that morning by Victor Sanchez, a very cute young nurse, who had gone in to check up on him. He had quickly summoned Dr. Galbraith, the chief neurosurgeon, who had found him to be in reasonably good condition under the circumstances. Once the doctor left, Nurse Sanchez proceeded to give Ford a sponge bath. Ford was, of course, sore from his wounds and the surgery, but he found Sanchez's bright, warm smile very comforting and reassuring. His masculine hands were very warm and gentle as well.
'I have to agree with the doctor,' said Sanchez, softly sponging Ford's stiff morning wood. 'You are in good condition, very good condition.' Ford moaned and slowly squirmed under the nurse's gentle, but manly, touch.
'Ummmmmm. Ohhhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhh. Ahhhhhhhhh.'
'I think I'd better stop,' teased Sanchez. 'Sounds like that's way too painful.'
'Oh, no! God, no! Don't stop now. Oh, shit! Fuck! Fuck!'
Sanchez rinsed off the soap from Ford's masterpiece and laid his wash cloth to one side. Then, he smiled at Ford, kissed him lightly on the lips, and took his throbbing cock in his wet, warm mouth.
'Oh, God damn! FUCK!'
'Try to stay still,' cautioned the nurse.
'Stay still? You let me suck your dick and see if you can stay fuckin' still!'
'Well, if that's an offer, I'd be happy to take you up on it after you get better, but right now you're the patient.' Once again, his beaming smile totally undermined Ford's emotional defenses. Ford would definitely look up this cutie once he got better--even if he had to use all the resources of the New Orleans Police Department to do it.
Sanchez softly rubbed Ford's chest and belly as he continued to suck on his pulsating organ.
'Ummm. Ohhh. Ahhh. Ahhh.' Ford's panting grew stronger. 'Oh, my god. Fuck. I'm gonna cum. Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, AHHHHHHHHH AHHH AHHH Ahhh. Whew! Damn. Fuck. Oh, god. I hope you give me a sponge bath every day.'
'Even on my days off,' assured Nurse Sanchez, winking and casting that sparkling smile at Ford.
Ford caught his breath, smiled back, and pulled the adorable nurse closer for a deep, wet, prolonged kiss.
'Can you tell us what room Bradford Leveque is in?' Kenny asked at the nurses' station.
'Room 423,' replied Nurse Sanchez, who had just returned to the station from giving Ford his deluxe sponge bath. 'But only two visitors at a time.'
When they reached the door, something caught Kenny by surprise--enough that he and Jeremy agreed to let Kyle and Brandon go in first.
'What are you doing here, Champ?' Kenny quizzed his compatriot guarding Ford's hospital room door. At 6'6' and nearly 300 pounds, Marcus Champion was an imposing figure, especially in his blue uniform. He had been All-American at LSU and was drafted in the third round by the San Francisco 49ers, but something happened to change his plans. His younger brother was killed in a gang initiation, and Champ, as he was known to his teammates and now his fellow men in blue, decided that he could do more to serve his brother's memory by cleaning up the streets of New Orleans than by playing football.
'Cap'n ordered 24-hour watch on Brad.'
'Really? How come?'
'It seems that the guy who got away is the brother of the one Brad killed in that store. He called the precinct late last night to say that he would get Brad if it's the last thing he ever does.'
'But...but...how did he know who Brad was or where he'd be?'
'One of those fuckin' reporters from that fuckin' Faux News Channel tried to make a name for herself by telling the world what a great hero Brad was takin' a couple of bullets to save that woman and her little girl, so she broadcast his name and picture and showed file footage of an ambulance pulling into Baptist Hospital.'
'Fuck! I'd like to get my hands on that reporter and wring her fuckin' neck!'
'You and me both, buddy!'
At that moment, another officer arrived to relieve Champ, and Champ went off to find Nurse Sanchez.
'He seems to be in pretty good spirits,' said Kyle, as he and Brandon exited the room. 'Your turn.'
Kenny went in first, and Ford beamed with delight at seeing his partner. As much as Jeremy wanted to get close, he thought it best to hang back for a moment, and Ford apparently didn't even notice him.
'We were really worried about you there, buddy. You took quite a hit.'
'So they tell me, but I really don't even remember.'
Then, Ford noticed Jeremy approaching the bed. 'Well, hi. What are you doing here?'
'What do you mean, 'What am I doing here?' I came to make sure you're OK, you fuckin' idiot.'
With a bit of a forced smile, Ford replied, 'That's really sweet of you, Jack, but I really don't....'
'Wait a minute. Did you just call me Jack?'
'Well, yeah. That's your name, isn't it?'
(To be continued)