previous: Coven of Angels ch1
I awoke in my roommate’s bed with my arms around his naked chest. “Leo?”
“Yeah?” The sexy Hispanic hippie yawned, stretching his back. This drew my attention to a bright red tattoo on his pectoral. The previous night, when he was balls deep in my ass, I had assumed it was a logo of some kind. Now I could see clearly it was a grumpy Care Bear.
‘Cute.’ The true mark of a 90’s kid. “How long are you going to be in town?”
“As long as you need me to be.” Leo smiled and kissed my cheek. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth, I guess.”
“When did you lose your virginity?”
I forced a chuckle. “I was eighteen, living in Vegas, with my mom. So, for my high school graduation, a few of my friends pulled together our cash and shared a call-girl. She was one of those expensive ones, nice clothes, perfect hair, classy, like the hot school teacher stereotype. She even met my mother.”
“She met your mom?” Leo threw his head back in laughter. As a fellow Hispanic he knew my pain. “Let me guess, she was posing as a friend’s older sister or cousin, and your mom needed to meet her to prove that you’ll have a nice Christian fun time?”
“It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. My mom refused to let me go to my friend’s ‘party’ without meeting his ‘mother.’ And yes, our high-class escort was that much older.” I couldn’t recall much, only that she had been a kind woman in her late thirties, who specialized in taking the virginity of shy, inexperienced men. “I have a feeling if we’d picked up a younger one, she wouldn’t have been as tolerant of my circle of virgins.” I sighed, as I kissed Leo’s cheek. “It was one last night of fun before heading off to college in Seattle, discovering a new world of beautiful men. Like father like son, I guess.” The idea filled me with guilt, thoughts of my mother. She never knew I lost my virginity to a prostitute, or that I was even into guys. “Truth or dare?”
Leo thought for a moment. “Dare.”
“Do you think my dad could come to visit?”
“Absolutely,” Leo said with a smirk. “I think he’d be a lot of fun.” Leo stayed in bed while I got dressed for my shift at the clinic.
One long sweaty bike ride later, I arrived to the sight of Tomas waiting outside the front door. The nurse was looking at his watch while flipping through his chart. “Hello, Jeff.”
“Were you waiting for me?”
Tomas nodded as he turned to enter the building. “I have some unfortunate news.”
“Do you live here?” I asked as I attempted to follow. Tom was in significantly better shape and as such was a much faster walker.
“Your father suffers from panic attacks and sleep seizures, it’s vital that he be given access to care 24 hours a day.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
“Correct. I reside in military housing until my next transfer.”
“So, you’re like his personal nurse?” I asked, breaking into a jog as we finally reached my father’s room. The door opened to reveal an empty bed. “Where is he?”
Tomas calmly took a seat, taking a sip from a can of soda that was already open. “Richard took a turn for the worst last night. He lost consciousness on the way to the bathroom and took a bad tumble.”
“Where is my father?” Was he dead?
“Richard Blake has been temporarily moved to the ICU.”
“Which is where?” I asked, getting truly annoyed.
“South building, third floor. last I heard he was in room five, it’s not hard to find.” His tone seemed to imply he would wait for me to return.
“Because there are only seven ICU rooms?”
“Ten actually,” Tomas said as he opened a nearby laptop. “If someone is too sick, they get transferred to the public hospital.”
“Ok.” I knew he added that last hint for a reason. The nurse wanted to see my next move. I headed to the ICU with my identification in hand. I did, in fact, have a plan in mind.
As I suspected, Richard Blake had no next of kin or power of attorney listed (so he would have absolutely been sent to the public hospital to die.) I was able to meet with a social worker and with my identification (cross referenced with my father’s military records,) our blood relation was confirmed. With my father’s current state, I was granted medical power of attorney. “Would you like me to accompany you to his room?” she asked.
“No, I’ll just pop my head in for a quick second,” I replied, using the excuse that I had to get to my volunteer shift. “I’ll be ten minutes tops, then I’m assuming Tomas Adele will be checking in on him throughout the day.”
I walked down the hallway, to the small patient ward. Rooms 1-4 housed comatose patients, attached to several machines. Room five was at the far end. From outside the door, I could hear moaning; it sounded like a cross between masturbation and my father shifting his sleeping position out of boredom. Leaning towards the former (based on our previous interaction,) I made sure to quickly pull the door shut. Turns out I was only partially correct.
The window was open letting in the bright sunlight of the South Dakota morning. Richard Blake had just finished ejaculating all over his stomach. He was now sleeping naked like a cat bathing in the warm sun, giving me a good look at the unique variety of scars and tattoos covering his exposed skin.
On his stomach was a massive scar, something that looked to be from a large knife. The injury had mutilated a black and gray script tattoo. To the naked eye it appeared to be just random marks. I walked to the sink and moistened a handful of paper towels with the intention of gently cleaning off my father’s body before other staff members could stumble upon his compromised state.
As I stroked the warm moisture over his slender stomach, I knew he was only pretending to be asleep. “Is that a Las Vegas tattoo?”
Richard chuckled, his voice scratchy and deep, “A relic from another life.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nothing much to say; boy meets girl; a strong beautiful first-generation daughter of immigrants. She’s the only one who could ever match his level of crazy. We ran off to Las Vegas like the dumbass kids we were. She wanted to be a dancer. Not like a stripper but those dancers who look like they do ballet in outer space. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Cirque du Soleil?”
“Yeah, that’s it. I could never remember how to say that crap.”
“What did you want to do in Vegas?”
“In truth, I wanted to be a chef.”
“A chef?” I was a little surprised. I would have guessed professional card player or maybe even tattoo artist.
“I wanted to be the next Gordon Ramsey, and I guess I just figured that Vegas was an easy place to get my foot in the door, with all the hotels, casinos, and tourism shit.”
“So, what happened?” I asked as I went to the sink for a fresh towel.
“We moved to Vegas, got a cheap place off the strip. Things were good until they weren’t.”
“When you got your girlfriend knocked up?”
“I was a stupid kid with a head full of dreams and easy access to cocaine. My girl and I, we really thought we could make it work, but you know how the story goes; we were best friends then little by little I became the lazy good for nothing screw up who couldn’t do anything right.” He placed his hand to his ribs as if scratching an itch.
I was tempted to inquire further about the history of his relationship with my mother, but there was a far more interesting tattoo.
Adorning his left side was an elaborate composition of what looked to be a series of trees. As I took a step closer. My father lifted his arm over his head, stretching his back with a deep sensual moan.
“What’s on your ribs?” My fingers seemed to move on their own, desperate for a closer look. I saw a series of handprints. The first was small like that of a newborn. This was followed by a slightly larger one, then three more for a total of five. The last one had text written throughout, ‘May he walk forever by my side.’
“A long-term project for my boy,” he said, adjusting his position to allow me a better look. “That first one is my precious little son’s hand with his name and birthdate incorporated into the design.”
“Cute.” Sure enough, that was my name and my birthdate written as script across the palm of the hand.
“The second was from a picture he gave me when he was five. The last three are predictions.”
“Predictions?” I placed my fingers on the third handprint. it was clearly drawn from memory, as most people cannot make a handprint in the shape of a peace sign naturally.
“They represent my prayers for my son; him making good choices as a teen, maybe even going to college to achieve his dreams. The fourth one is based on my hand; I was hoping maybe he’d look like me.”
The fifth handprint was distorted, slightly crumpled. “Does the last one represent death?”
My words caused him to blink back tears. “I imagine that will be the next time I’ll find him. I got the tattoo so that hopefully when he has to claim my body from the morgue, my boy will know I never stopped thinking about him.” Rubbing his eyes, my father sat up, reaching for his robe. “I enlisted because I wanted to be a father; to make a decent amount of money to care for my family.
“Do you remember Summer Hernanda?
“Summer…” my father chuckled; his words as clear as the day prior. “She named herself Summer. Her real name was something…Samantha Suzetta.”
“Yeah, that was it,” he said with a laugh. “She was a real ball-busting cunt.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what I was expecting him to say. I took a step closer, placing a comforting hand to his shoulder.
“Damn bitch kept moving the goal post; I needed a ring, I needed to make more money, buy a better house, create a college fund, all while she lived as a stay-at-home mother. I went to sniper school, put in some time with special forces. I ranked up as fast as I could, coming home from deployment with a chest full of medals but nothing was ever enough. She cut off all contact, claiming I beat her, that I was an unstable psychopath. The truth would have been worse, I guess.”
I knew what he meant; she blackmailed him with the threat of exposing his sexuality.
Richard turned his head, blinking his good eye. His lips parted as he took a breath. “I want…” he swallowed hard as he struggled for air. “I-I want to go.”
“I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Someplace warm, I guess. I got real bad nerve damage, my muscles, my body it all just hurts so much.” he laughed softly. “You ever watch that show, ‘Family Guy’? In an older episode there was a joke about the first blind man to climb Mount Everest. I don’t know what the lead up was, but they showed a guide telling a blind guy that they made it to the top of Everest, and to gaze upon its beauty even though they were standing in the parking lot of a 7-11.”
“I think I saw that one.”
“Can that be you? Can you guide me to someplace beautiful even if it’s just the front parking lot of a 7-11?”
“By that logic I could just take you to the roof and say we made it to Mount Rushmore.”
“True,” he replied with a chuckle.
“I think I have an idea. Just give me a few hours.” I knew that since his mind was considered compromised, my father would need round the clock care. (Which was why I didn’t sneak him out the fire exit.) I returned to the social worker and explained my plan.
“Absolutely not,” she said with a laugh.
“With all due respect I’m his only living family.”
“He doesn’t know you. Do you honestly believe it’s in Richard’s best interest for you to exercise your medical power of attorney to have him removed from this facility?”
After the third time answering this question, I was becoming upset. Not only was I nearly an hour late for my shift but I did not appear to be gaining any ground in the conversation. “I’ll reduce my volunteer hours and I have a roommate who can assist me with day-to-day tasks.” I had no idea if that was even true but something about Leo made me want to trust him.
“And Tomas Adele?”
“What about him?”
“Your father suffers from blindness, and partial dementia. I can’t, in good conscience, allow you to takeover Richard Blake’s care without Tomas Adele’s direction.”
“I have to house my father’s… nurse?” I bit my tongue to avoid revealing the more appropriate title.
“Tomas Adele is a specialist brought to the facility via a research grant.”
“A research grant?” He was studying my father?
“Yes, without going into too much detail Tomas Adele’s focus is on psychology. I imagine you can discuss the specifics when he…”
“If,” I spoke up, “You mean if. I still have to run this by my roommate.” I had only asked Leo about Richard, but I assumed he would be fine with Tomas as well.
“Tomas will be issued a cost-of-living allowance equal to his salary, for a maximum of six months. After such time, you will be responsible for his cost of living, if he does not choose to leave for his next assignment.”
That was fair. Tomas would not be a financial burden, in fact Leo could possibly gain an extra source of income in the form of rent. Tomas was told about our plan and I was given the rest of the day to aid in transferring my father to the Airbnb.
Leo was more than accommodating. He had several fully furnished bedrooms, and after a phone call he was able to have the largest one readily prepared. This was the only room with its own private toilet and bath.
Richard Blake was brought over via ambulance, with Tomas checking the suitability of the surroundings. Over the next few hours my father became very sick. he would never complain of pain, rather he would lay in bed, trapped in his own mind. he would suffer mild seizures, when his body would freeze but his hands would tremble as if reaching for something just out of grasp.
Tomas stayed by his side. stroking his lover’s sweaty face. “He’s just getting over a blood infection.”
“Not the fact that his brain is dying?”
“Dying is a state of mind.”
I was about to leave when Leo knocked on the door. “Is everything to your liking?” he asked, addressing the question towards Tomas. He carried an artisan wooden tray containing a teapot, two cups and a decorative metal box.
“That all depends on what’s on that tray.” Tomas chuckled, as if he already knew full well what was on the menu.
Leo poured two cups of tea. He offered one to Tomas, to taste test while taking a seat on the bed with the other. He blew softly, letting the scent fill the room. The liquid smelled of ginger and sweet herbs. I had to admit it was quite soothing, like a cross between incense and something comforting that my mother would make. “Here,” Leo said as he sat on the bed at my father’s side. “This will help with the pain.”
My father sat up, and with trembling hands he took hold of the cup, taking a moment to savor the scent. “You remind me of someone,” he said with a smirk.
Did he mean my mother? I knew my father’s vision was compromised but there was something maternal about Leo; from his longhair, dark skin, to his kind, welcoming, demeanor.
He moved the cup to his lips. When he slowly took a sip, his eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy. “Oh, fuck this is good.”
Leo motioned for Tomas to pass him the box. “You smoke?” he asked, turning his head to offer a blunt to both Tomas and myself.
I shook my head, but Tomas reached out for a hand-rolled cigarette. Leo nodded and lit up two; one for himself and one to hand off. The smoke was light and fragrant, something akin to green tea and rice wine.
Not that I had much experience with drugs, as far as I knew it could have been tealeaves mixed with cilantro.
Richard finished his tea, placing the empty cup on the bed at his side. “If it’s as good as this tea. I’ll take a hit.”
Leo took a long drag before handing the blunt to my father. “Oh, trust me it is.”
With each puff, Richard seemed to be gaining strength, confidence and inner peace. He leaned back, resting his head on Leo’s lap. “Reminds me of my time in Kandahar.”
“Really?” Leo stroked Richard’s cheek, tracing along his jawline. “What do big strong military men do for fun in the middle of nowhere?”
“I’ll show you.” Richard turned his head, lifted Leo’s tank top and blew on his stomach like a baby.
Leo laughed. Petting my father’s head down his neck like a cat. “Nice one.” Leaning back, I could see my roommate’s sizable cock, tenting his light blue draw string sweatpants.
My father rolled his palm over Leo’s bulge. “Ever since I lost my sight, my sense of touch has picked up the slack.
“Really,” Leo said with a sensual moan.
“I can feel a man’s soul.”
“Via the power of his cock?” Leo chuckled.
“Only one way to find out.”
From the doorway I watched as my father turned his head, taking Leo’s erection in his mouth. At first, he kissed the tip, coaxing out more pre-cum. He then fully deep throated Leo’s shaft.
“Oh, fuck yeah.” My roommate looked down with the expression of a surprised pornstar.
Tomas stroked Richard’s leg coaxing his sweatpants down to his knees. Holding the blunt in his teeth he reached around my father’s hips, gripping between his legs. The nurse took a moment to lovingly massage Richard’s ball sack working his way down to his soaking wet tip. “Someone’s excited.” Tomas moaned as he reached for his own cock. He lubed himself with Richard’s pre-cum.
I sat on an armchair with my legs spread. I was still wearing hospital scrubs. I slipped my hand under my waistband, rubbing my thumb over my tip. I don’t know why I felt self-conscious, when everyone else had their cocks out. I locked eyes with Tomas, who was carefully placing the cigarette on the metal box to finish at a later time.
Tomas playfully spanked my father’s ass causing him to tense his muscles. “Someone here is a nasty fuck-boy slut.” His words weren’t intended for Richard Blake, they were meant for me. He wanted me to join them on the bed, but I didn’t have the courage.
Leo gripped my father’s scalp, running his fingers through his thin blonde hair. “I’m close, Master sergeant Blake,” the sexy flowerchild said in a deep moan. “Do I have permission to cum, Sir?”
My father seductively paused for breath, “Permission granted, soldier.”
“Do you want it in your mouth?” Leo asked. It was more of a warning than a question. He was fucking my father’s throat and there was no stopping his momentum.
At the same time, Tomas was penetrating his ass. He’d skipped past the use of fingers, instead going straight for a raw bareback fuck. His technique was so eye catching, mesmerizing, I almost didn’t notice the nurse jerking my father’s cock. All three men were going to climax at the same time. Leo’s cum dripped down Richard’s lips to his chin, all while my father’s body tensed with orgasm. Tomas grunted and moaned as he climaxed over and over, letting his seed trickle down Richard’s quivering thighs. Finally, my father blew his load all over the bed like a naughty child with no regard for discretion or shame. Being a vessel of love had breathed life back into his soul.
Tomas carried Richard to the bath. He kissed my father on his filthy lips as he turned on the water. “I can trust you to take it from here, right?” The nurse shot me a glance to show he was serious.
“Get him cleaned up and back into bed?”
“Yes,” Tomas replied with a sarcastic grin. “that was what I was referring to.”
Leo and Tomas went outside to finish their smokes, and possibly have some fun with each other. Or not. I didn’t really care. They had proven the power of their healing. I was the useless one.
Alone with my father, I waited for the water to come up past his hips before turning off the faucet. “Did you have fun?”
He leaned back, resting his shoulders on the cold tile. “Just like old times.”
After a twenty-hour shift, me and my crew would hit the showers. A few of them had been fucking each other since before I arrived on base. They were young guys, all early twenties with girlfriends and wives back home.”
“Really,” I muttered, as I grabbed a towel to put behind his head. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but the idea of him offering himself as the main course of an orgy was a little unnerving. I wanted to ask if he ever considered their families or if he assumed their spouses were as cruel as my mother. Instead, I just took a seat by his side moving the soapy water over his hands and wrists.
“You ever been so alone, you feel like you’re already dead?”
“No,” I replied, “can’t say that I have.” I placed soft pressure on his wrist, massaging down his palm to his fingertips. “That’s what it was like, to give up on your dreams?”
I could feel his fingers wrap around my hand. “Yeah, I guess that’s it. I gave up.” His voice trembled with emotion. “I heard stories of guys who fought for their families. They’d make big elaborate battle plans with their superhero lawyers. After a hard fight, they got full custody of their kids and their wives went on to remarry or overdose on meth in a trailer.” My father laughed at his own joke. “That could have been me. I could have gotten my wife deported, I bet her dumb-ass never even completed the paperwork for citizenship.”
He was half right. It had taken my mother until her mid-twenties to apply for a green card. She had assumed the US government would wave a magic wand and grant her citizenship when she married my father. It was only when she attempted to get my father’s name removed from our apartment lease, our landlord did a background check and informed her of two things; she was not yet a citizen and as such she needed to keep my father’s name on the lease. I remember that day very clearly since this also meant she had to remain married to my father (a fact which caused her to throw a massive tantrum, until she realized; the longer they were married, the more she could go after him for potential spousal support. “Why didn’t you?” I asked, choking back tears. “Why didn’t you fight for your family?”
“I don’t have an answer to that.” Richard’s hand went limp, as if giving me permission to leave his side. “At times it felt too difficult, or too cruel. The military has a way of enforcing the idea of supporting family through self-sacrifice.” He shook his head in visible shame. “My chain of command said I was too valuable to abandon my career. And since there was no way that my wife wasn’t going to go through with the divorce, it was better for everyone for me to stay where I was.” Richard paused, pursing his lips. “I remember, the day before going to court, I asked a Chaplin for spiritual guidance. He convinced me, if I stayed the course God would find a way; I would retire at forty, reunite with my son. Even if he didn’t want anything to do with me. I could use my savings to start a food truck, and maybe watch over my family like a culinary guardian angel. But sometimes God says no.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, gripping my father’s hand as he continued to speak.
“I got sick; headaches, seizures, horrible chronic pain. I was so afraid it was epilepsy or some other permanent condition that would get me send to med-hold. Everyone knew it was better to take a bullet, (than get sick) because at least with a bullet there was a chance you’d get disability pay. So, I self-medicated, fed my addictions. I stayed in great shape, never lost my stride. Until I started to lose my sight.” A single tear rolled down his cheek. “I cried so much, but not for my career, or even the fact that I was probably going to die a slow painful death. I wept for the fact that I’d never see my son again.”
I put my arms around him. At first, I tried to do this from the side of the tub but that proved awkward and uncomfortable, leaving me no choice but to climb inside. The water level raised over the tub, splashing onto the floor, as I sat on his lap, facing him. There was so much I wanted to say, but my throat refused to form words. I leaned forward and kissed him, soft and slow; starting at his forehead, down his nose, to his rough chapped lips. Our tears blended together, as our shared pain became our strength.
next: Coven of Angels ch3
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