Second Chances

I hate hospitals.

The smell of disinfectant in the air, the cream-coloured gloss paint peeling off the walls, it's all exactly as I remember it.

More memories come flooding back, vivid ones that don't include the décor.

I don't want to be here.

I promised though. Just this once. I'd regret it if I didn't, she told me, her eyes filling with tears. `Like I regretted it before' is the message I read into her words.

It's hard though, to face the fact that I might lose Sam like I lost his Mum.

I've promised her though - just this once.

*******

It doesn't look like Sam - not the way I remember him.

When was the last time he came over to see me? A year ago? Time passes too quickly.

His face, what I can see of it underneath the bruises and wires, looks older, more careworn. I always remember him as younger, the boy who used to sit and watch me playing cards on a Saturday night.

The man sitting on the other side of the bed is still watching Sam closely, his whispered words of encouragement displaying his feelings.

Why the hell didn't Sam tell me about *that*?

**********

I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. Sam's hand is lying cold and lifeless in mine and my calm façade's crumbling as another hour passes and he's still not waking up.

His Dad looks pretty much the way I feel. Drained, his eyes rarely leaving Sam. We've exchanged nothing more than pleasantries and now we're sitting here in silence.

What would I say to him anyway? `Hey, I'm Chris and I've been sleeping with your son.'?

I begged Sam to tell him. We even argued about it once or twice.

Please God, let him wake up.

Untitled

Burnished by the effects of growing arousal, the sculptured lips teased him. Curling up softly at the corners, they blended seamlessly into beguiling dimples, stoking the growing heat in his groin. Unable to resist the temptation, he nipped at them with his teeth, sucking at the soft sensitive skin.

Warm softness seduced him, caressed and enveloped him. The velvety tongue was sending friction across his nerve endings, making his fingertips tingle exquisitely with pleasure. Tastes assailed his senses - cherries with a hint of oak – urging him to take his fill.

Shiraz 1996, he decided mindlessly, was an excellent wine.