Monday, 20 February 2012

Let's Not Know What Love Is

The hospital is always clean and is spacious.

And every time I recall it the rug changes, along with the reasons why I’m there.

I just sit there, the clock always still, sometimes I walk up to it, as the receptionist stares at me, sometimes he or she don’t even do anything, they just watch me grow to my height and play with the hands so that they’re straight on three a.m.

I went to the hospital at night.

I remember how I was shaken up to be there to go to a nurse.

And the nurse’s face changes every time, depending on which red hair or not, caught my eye.

She has pink hair.

Maybe if she’d wash it a bit more it would fade into red.

Sometimes after a bit of drinking into the morning it’s Karen smiling with a big knife, she liked cooking and big knives.

When I was young it was Meg with two pony tails and she’d feed me sweets after she’d go down on me.

“Hi, Jack.” Maybe this is a plain sexual fantasy where I’m aloud to simply unzip my pants and her mouth will just go on me as I will gently thrust inside her tongue and her tongue underneath, stroking my tip sometimes just to increase the pleasure, sometimes the lady on the reception turns into Karen, who touches herself or sometimes Meg pops in to say hi and kiss Karen a bit too passionately, but then it doesn’t look too pleasant so it’s just back to Karen.

I wonder if I ever end up in a hospital will it still be Alison with her legs crossed, maybe she should be in the reception just sitting, maybe neck tied up with a wound or waiting for a plain check and we would just be sitting, diagonally or back to back and she would stretch her arms so that her hands would fall on my neck, find all the stubble I have.

Maybe she’d laugh or maybe I’d be laying in bed with all the low fat yoghurts my kids would manage to sneak in.

Maybe Karen would be giving birth and I’d be getting a last pack of crisps and I would bump into her. Maybe she’d be holding Kate’s baby.

Maybe I’d just walk in the hospital.

Maybe I’d be a nurse.

“I’m waiting for a baby.” Maybe we’d share her cigarette. Would I have the money to pay for cigarettes, most likely I’ll be stuck a nurse for years and not even getting close to operations and this would be the first time I’d see the birth of a child.

“Are you pregnant?” I’d ask and maybe laugh, maybe it would be a joint and she would start asking me to sing the Yellow Submarine because we’d be in the underground car park and she’d just jump a bit around the park lot and now she has black hair and I’m finishing the joint and I laugh too much when the baby is here and I keep poking the parents to name the kid Alison even if it’s a boy and everything is too funny that I call myself Adam Laurie Lewis.

And maybe we’d meet up at the cafe across the road and we’d never know love and I’d be stuck sometimes playing guitar and maybe we’d have a small band and kiss.


Many years later on stage?

Maybe when I’d be done with my donut and she would smile and we’d smile.

But then today she’s a nurse in a dress and barefooted, no, she has the boots and I see something underneath, but she lets me unzip her pants and she has no underwear, she tells me my cure is to lick her as much as I can to feel good and I feel good with her hand around my cock.

Or maybe I should be the doctor and she should be giving birth to someone who is not me and I congratulate her, maybe the baby has no father or no mother or a mother and a father, maybe the baby will be given away or maybe to an orphanage.

I sit in the hospital.

She’s the nurse again and in reality it wasn’t a nurse, it never looked like Alison and she was a bit too skinny, her nails bright red, a dark chestnut and a bit too big of a smile, somewhere in her forties and I was too young to remember anything and I wouldn’t ejaculate in her mouth just because I’d be too nervous.

But I laid in the bed for a few months, asking not to close the curtains, but they would be anyway and I’d sight and maybe dream a bit about some girl I’d see in school, putting the covers over my face, coughing two times and maybe I’d wonder a bit which name would I choose if I had been the doctor, not high and maybe it would have been Alison’s baby indeed and I’d just smile and never know what love is.


I think the idea came to me as I was falling asleep and lately I've been really sticking places I've seen lately into my stories.

The title and it was through out the story was the song name of a White Stripes song, which is really good like the Stripes in general, really, You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told). After some hesitation, I got the title.

I hope you enjoyed it and I'm going over my shorter fiction period apparently, I hope you enjoyed it.

Feel free to request for tomorrow and thank you

<3 Touching Yourself

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