86'd by Dan Fante Read Free Book Online

you see now?”
    “Yeah, I can see.”
    “Excellent. Better already.”
    “Better? So why am I scared shitless?”
    “Can you stand? Let’s try to get you to the loo so I can wash you properly. I had some EMT training in New York. I know what I’m doing.”
    “Apparently my ass is in your hands.”
    On my feet shuffling toward the john I look down to discover that I am naked. For some unknown reason my cock is hard.
    I looked at Portia then back down at my cock. “Sorry,” I say.
    Her face was stone. “Never mind. It happens.”
     
    I sit on the crapper while the pretty face further cleans the cut on my neck and washes my arms and begins cleaning the blood out of my hair.
    “Help me up. I want to look in the mirror.”
    “Not yet. Remain quite still. Please.”
    “Then just tell me—how bad is it?”
    “Apparently it’s not fatal,” the accent hisses, glancing back down at my cock. The damn thing is still thick and throbbing.
    “Help me get up,” I demand.
     
    In the mirror I see it. The cut—the gash—is about four inches long, sloping down the side of my neck. The bleeding is slowed. “That doesn’t look so bad,” I say.
    “You soaked your pillow and the sheets.”
    “Well, shit happens, right?”
    “You’re still drunk. No doubt it’ll hurt tomorrow.”
    “I don’t care.”
    “You missed the artery but you’ll need immediate medical attention. A doctor. I’ll telephone David on his mobile then transfer the phones to the answering service. I’ll drive you to the hospital myself.”
    “No! No fucking way. You fix it. You just said you had training.”
    “That wound will require stitches. You’re going to need a proper hospital.”
    “No hospitals. No goddamn doctors.”
    “That’s absurd. Don’t be a fool. Without treatment that cut could easily become infected.”
    “If Koffman finds out I’ll lose my job. We had a deal. A no-more-drinking-or-you’re-out-on-your-ass deal.”
    “There’s nothing else I can do.”
    “The bleeding’s almost stopped. Just help me back to bed.”
    “No it hasn’t. Don’t be an ass.”
    “Promise me—you won’t tell Koffman. Promise me, god-damnit.”
    “I won’t tell anyone. Why would I?”
    “Okay, I’ll go tomorrow. I’ll do it on my lunch break. But don’t tell David, okay?”
    “Just tell me what happened?”
    “I was drunk. I was in a bar. Then I came back here. I don’t know. I guess I cut myself.”
    “Splendid.”
    “I said I can’t remember.”
    “You drink too much, Bruno.”
    “Have I stopped bleeding?”
    “No. Not yet.”
     
    Portia finished cleaning my cut. She put bacterial ointment on it, then a bandage and some tape to hold the gauze in place.
    Standing up again I faced the mirror to examine her work. The bandage was right at my collar line. She’d done a good job. If I wore my shirts buttoned up, no one would be able to see what I’d done.
    “You must promise you’ll go to the doctor tomorrow? First thing.”
    “You have my one hundred percent guarantee. My personal commitment as a gentleman.”
    “Don’t mock me. I’m deathly serious.”
    “So am I. No shit.”
    “Very well. Then I’ll go back downstairs to my desk. You’ll be okay for the time being.”
    “Wait,” I said.
    “Why? What’s wrong?”
    “Don’t leave. I need you to help me back to bed.”
    “Certainly. Are you dizzy?”
    “Yeah. I’m dizzy.”
    My arm around Portia’s shoulder as we shuffle across the floor toward my bed.
    When we reach my rack Portia throws a towel down over the bloodstains. She helps me sit, then lifts my legs up on to the mattress.
    I glance down at my cock—amazingly the thing is still half hard. The skinny woman with the Madonna hair is standing above me, looking down. “I don’t want to be alone,” I say.
    “Not to worry. I’ll be right downstairs.”
    “Then—how about a nightcap before you go?”
    “That’s preposterous.”
    Nodding down at my cock. “What about…that? You could be a