Chapter 1: Setting a medical stage

Quite a number of people important to the protagonists have had mental and physical problems related to their sexuality.

I’m Curt.

Fever

With my friends Karen and Tim, I went for a weekend on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. The water was rather unpleasant, with seaweed and jellyfish. They were swinging lifestyle friends, and, later in the evening, Karen took my mind away. When she’s not being incredible in bed, and not being political, she’s warm and soothing and great to be around.

She’s also a somewhat militant feminist, who tended to regard being conventionally attractive as a sellout to women. Even at a swing club meeting area, she wore little or no makeup, pants that showed just a lean slimness rather than a rather fine ass, and a translucent blouse that without a bra showed large breasts but didn’t flatter them. Especially with her scars from teenage acne, it took careful examination to see the fine softness of her face, the brightness of her hazel eyes. Her hair color was mousy, and her haircut might be butch, yet her hair was delightful against my hands.

About two weeks later, I wasn’t feeling well. As my temperature climbed, I was sensible enough not to drive, but to have the doorman get me a cab to Sibley Hospital. In their ER, it hit 104 degrees, even after the cooling effects of being outside, and I was admitted with no clear diagnosis, and hallucinating from the fever.

I was generally out of it for several days, vaguely aware that I had been transferred to a private room and put into moderate isolation. The fever broke, and I started being coherent although weak. With no real diagnosis, so I was in an isolation room.

At first, these were mask, gloves, and gown, but, as I became more aware, I began to appreciate the boldly made up eyes of my primary nurse, Sue. Feeling a little better, I appreciated that the gown was more of an apron and didn’t preclude a good view of her legs in a fairly tight and miniskirted white nurse’s outfit.

Karen stopped by to visit. She and Sue were pleasantly surprised to see one another. Sue stopped her, explained the precaution, and put her in a mask and gown. Once gowned, they exchanged a rather intense hug. My head wasn’t quite clear enough to recognize one another. In retrospect, I should have realized when Sue and Karen exchanged air kisses consistent with isolation, Sue helped Karen into the comfortable chair, and Karen, not usually one for short skirts or skirts at all, sat with her skirt rising high. I appreciated the view and told her I did; although I was too weak to do anything but watch.

After a solid night of sleep, I felt better, strength coming back. Initially, I thought it was simply a coincidence when Sue put me into a chair while she changed the bed, bending over in front of me. Under it, she wore sheer-to-the-waist white pantyhose, and rather brief panties. I made a tentative comment about a nice view, and she seemed to wiggle her butt. The next day, she repeated the positioning, but this time with no panties under the hose. “Oh, yes. That view is healing me, I think.”

“Honey, I happen to think that’s rather healthy. You might have been out of it, but Karen and I know each other from lifestyle parties, and a couple of dinners. She told me that you were also in the scene.

“Sorry, but it’s not yet safe for others to touch you or accept your fluids. I enjoy being watched, though, by someone who appreciates me. If you want to get yourself off with me as inspiration, go for it, as long as you promise me that if you get too tired, you’ll finish later.”

“Damn. It’s great to meet someone that thinks this way, Sue. I’ll take you up on your offer, with great appreciation.”

“When it’s safe to do so, I promise to do more. Unless you have a wife or girlfriend that should have that privilege?”

“Unfortunately not.”

She gave me a tube of lotion and a small towel. “I’m grinning under the mask, if you can’t tell from my eyes. Think of my lips and tongue, all red with lipstick. Think about how they can meet yours and play, and, later, how they can wrap around your cock. Feel that little bottle of lotion -- I warmed it up. Put some on yourself and start stroking.”

I did so. “You realize that this is about the first time I’ve thought about sex in a couple of weeks, and you’re doing it. Oh yes.” She lifted her skirt. Covering her gloved hand, she rubbed herself, moaning a bit. It didn’t take long for my cock to stand and yell, “I’m ready!”

“Don’t hold back, Curt. Cum while you have the energy.” Happily, I did. As she had suggested, I promptly fell asleep. It was a deep, refreshing sleep.

A day or two later, she came in without the mask and gown.

“Did you forget something, Sue?”

“No. The infectious disease consultant is confident that whatever you have isn’t in your lungs. I still have to be careful about touching you or your bodily fluids.”

“In that case, just stand there in the light, and let me appreciate your face.”

She grinned and licked her very red lips. The next day, Karen visited again. Sue gave her a quick kiss, with visible tongue action. “I just used my nurse key to lock the door, and the head nurse is a friend who will keep us from being bothered.” Karen opened her blouse and Sue covered the nipples with kisses and red lipstick.

“Curt honey,” Karen cooed, “take advantage of the sight of us. I’m looking forward to tasting your cum, so use us to encourage you to get well!”

As I became human again, I asked Sue, a day or two later, “I don’t want to presume anything unethical, but, in the nicest possible way, might I ask if you’d like to get together on a personal basis? It’s been fun talking with you, as well as doing increasingly physical things.”

“I’d like to as well, Curt. Did Karen tell you what’s going on with her?”

That was a little puzzling. “No.”

“I hate to be the one to bring it up, but she and her husband, Tim, are having what at least is a trial separation. She and I decided to take some time in Europe, for vacation and short-term study. When we get back, though, she’s going to stay with me until and if she gets her own place. Why don’t I ask her to contact you once we get back? I know that she wants to stay flexible, but there would be nothing wrong with the three of us getting together.” She giggled. “We might have some new European techniques, certainly for sex. Maybe some artistic stuff that neither she nor I have touched in years -- I did ballet until I got too big. She painted.”

The brain, threatened and strengthened

Betty Vandervoort looked tearfully at her husband, Alfred, as he lay in his hospital bed at home. They loved one another very deeply. Both of them, however, had learned they needed more than one sexual partner, and made that part of their relationship. Both were fascinated with other cultures, which had been the core of Alfred’s Army career. Betty had gone with him to his foreign assignments, also immersing herself in the local society. They had formed deep friendships all over the world, but especially in South Asia.

Once one of the fastest-rising colonels in the United States Army, over the last year, he had been struck down by neurological disease, losing the ability to walk and eventually to talk. There was no diagnosis, but much fear of a permanent vegetative state.

Even more frightening than PVS, to Betty, was locked-in syndrome (LIS). In that condition, there is full consciousness, vision, and hearing. The only externally visible sign of intelligence, however, is eye movement. Alfred and Betty, long before, had discussed extreme care. Neither wanted to live in a PVS. Something liked LIS was worse, with the mind entrapped. If that was a confirmed diagnosis, and medically assisted euthanasia was not available, she felt it her duty, lovingly, to end his life. Given both the personal loss, and the consequences of the act, she’d probably lie next to him and join him in death. She wondered if they would meet their beloved four-legged friends at the Rainbow Bridge.

Wondering if he was inside his shell, she bent and kissed his lips, then, in memory of old times, darted her tongue into his mouth. The government had been unwilling to try rehabilitation therapy if she moved him out of their hospital, but the lack of care there frightened her. They had considerable family money, but medical care could eat that up. Nevertheless, she had taken him home.

To her amazement, his tongue moved to meet hers. She repeated the kiss, and again felt voluntary movement. She felt guilty for not having studied more about neurology and rehabilitation. Vaguely, she remembered that the tongue was controlled by a cranial nerve, rather than one in the spine.

Was it an accident? Could Betty communicate with Alfred? She again kissed him. “If you can hear me, move your tongue twice.” He did.

Calling his neurologist at the military hospital, she was surprised to get through. When she told him that Alfred seemed to hear, and could respond with his tongue, he brushed her away. “We have no standard tests for that. It doesn’t tell me anything.” Betty cried for a while, and then opened a private browser and looked up means of euthanasia and suicide.

Father, daughter, and sibling revelry

At McCarran Airport in Las Vegas, Joni took pride in the heads she turned, even in that showgirl mecca. She liked to dress thoughtfully for travel, not in clubwear or something she’d wear on stage, but unquestionably sexy. It also needed to be comfortable.

She had had an engagement at the invitation-only erotic theater of a casino, where she was featured to those in the know. To a limited extent, she mingled with customers, but had a right of refusal. The casino also might ask her, very selectively, to escort. Her principle was that she first looked for pleasant people, with whom the sex act would be likely to be mutually pleasurable.

At the end of an appearance, she didn’t consider First Class travel an indulgence, but a near-necessity unless she could find a friendly private plane. She was tall for a woman, but the problem wasn’t legroom in coach. Joni liked to be admired, but there was a point where she was too tired for being hit upon.

For travel, then, she tended to go with a high fashion look that also was erotic. When she dressed for the airport, she dried off from the shower, slipped into a thong, and drew golden tan opera-length hose up her long legs. She covered them, partially, with a white flaring miniskirt with high-heeled black boots. A silver belt, with turquoise insets matching those of her necklace, emphasized her small waist.

Next, she put on a lightweight demi-bra. It gave just enough support that she didn’t jiggle. Over it, she slipped on a soft black pullover, with a laced neckline that she adjusted to show just a bit of cleavage. Her necklace emphasized the valley between her dramatic breasts, revealed by the laced opening of her soft, clinging black blouse. Her natural blonde hair was in the Farah Fawcett style.

At 34, her body as tight a woman ten years or more younger. On the natural stripper circuit, she was known, among club owners, as a dancer who was unsurpassed in the sexiness of her act, right up to the maximum that local law enforcement permitted. She also mingled, certainly for the income but also often enjoying the no-strings sex. After all, with her nomadic life, and her responsibilities at home, it was unlikely she could form relationships.

Joni’s cab stopped in front of her house. She was tired from the Las Vegas to DC flight.

Joni and her father had always been close. Under the stage name Joni Walker, had done a bit of stripping to put herself through school, a double major in history and archeology, but with Jim’s expenses, she went onto the national featured dancer circuit. Legally, she was still proud to be Jim Kennedy’s daughter. Jim was a dramatics teacher and coach, who had worked in local theater, until Parkinson’s Disease had disabled him.

When she opened the front door to the Alexandria, Virginia house, where she lived with her father, the housekeeper and aide to her father, Naomi, came to the entrance, a little out of breath. She wore a long silken robe. Naomi and Joni had been friends since T.C. Williams High School.

“Did I get you out of the shower? I’m sorry if so. It did seem early for bedtime.”

“No, not really. I’ve been taking care of Jim.” Joni didn’t immediately understand what that had to do with Naomi’s clothing. Naomi continued, “Remember the last time we talked to his doctor, about side effects of L-DOPA, which has helped his Parkinson’s Disease? He said that it might trigger impulsive behavior, but if those could be handled, the drug would help?”

“I remember. He mentioned gambling or hypersexuality.”

“Given what you do, and that he knows what you do, Joni honey, I didn’t think you’d mind if he got sexual with me. You never objected when he was healthy enough to date.”

Naomi opened the robe to show she was wearing a red teddy, garters, and hose. The teddy was sufficiently transparent to reveal her breasts, not enlarged to showgirl size but quite adequate in which to bury one’s face. Her deep brown hair fell a little below her shoulders. On her olive-skinned face, she had a sweet, friendly, expression, on which she had applied party makeup, rather than Joni’s theatrical version. She was shorter than Joni, with full hips and ass.