Author: Tarabeth
Pairing: Chris/Verge also cameos by Syd, Claire and TJ
Warnings: Strong Language, Rectal Thermometer and Suppositories
*Chris*
Like most people who live in our little valley, Verge and I have no air conditioning.
The heat this summer had been sweltering. Today was the eighth day in a row with temperatures over 100°, and this was rare in our part of the world.
This heat made most people miserable, but it sent Verge over the edge. He gets cranky when the temperature rises above 70°. He and I had been to the movies for six of the past eight nights, as movie theatres are one of the few places to sit and rest in air conditioning.
I spent the drive home trying to decide what I would do this evening to keep my sweet man cool and happy.
I was surprised to see Verge’s Beetle in the driveway; he was supposed to be on the closing shift at the clinic. I called to him as I entered the front door, but heard no response. I did a quick search, but he was nowhere to be seen, so decided to check our bedroom for my man.
Verge was sprawled out on his stomach. All the blankets and sheets were pushed in a pile at the foot of the bed. He was lying there naked, I took in his full beauty, starting at the arch of his foot, and traveling up his legs, over the curve of his ass, following the lovely slope of his back, his strong broad shoulders, soft tightly shaved/almost bald head, and the beautiful peaceful look of sleep on his face.
Wait, that look isn’t very peaceful. He looked miserable. I walked over to the side of the bed and bent over to gently kiss his forehead. He was burning up. Oh, baby. Not only does my sweet man not do heat very well, he does illness worse, this was not going to be a pretty situation.
Verge opened his eyes and peered up at me. “I don’t feel good,” he said.
“Did you come home on your own or where you sent home from the clinic?” I asked, knowing the answer, Verge rarely admitted to being to sick.
“They sent me home,” he said.
“Did anyone check you out, before you left?” I asked.
He nodded.
“So, what’s the verdict?”
“Claire said to make sure you didn’t pester me, and that I needed to get a lot of rest,” he replied a little sheepishly.
“Ah,” I said. “Did she say anything else?”
Verge closed his eyes and refused to answer.
“Well, I could call her,” I suggested.
“No, no. Don’t bother her, today would have been busy even if the clinic isn’t short a clinician, because they sent me home. I really just need the rest.”
“I don’t know baby, I’m worried about you, and you’re burning up. I think I’ll just go get Syd and have our resident Army Nurse check you out,” I suggested, knowing that this should get me the information I was looking for.
“NO!” Verge whined.
It is a little amusing that this is the game we play every time he is sick. I wish he would just share with me his diagnosis when I first asked. But, I knew I could always get the needed answer by threatening to release Syd and her enema bag on him.
“Claire sent home a prescription and a note for you. They’re on the bathroom sink.”
I leaned down and kissed him one more time before going to the sink to read the note and retrieve the medication. I returned to the bed, with a thermometer and the box of suppositories Claire had sent home with him. Verge glanced over at me before he buried his head under his pillow. Thank goodness no protests this evening. Verge can stage a march on Washington when he is asked to take a couple of Tylenol. He definitely falls into the stereotype of health professionals making the worst patients.
I sat next to him and rubbed my hand over his back for a few minutes to try and relax him. I did one last circle on his back, before asking, “Ready babe?”
Verge gave a little nod and whimper into the mattress. I separated his cheeks, and gently inserted the thermometer into his bottom. I sat there with my hand over the cleft in his ass, with the thermometer resting between my index and middle fingers. I gently stroked his bottom with my thumb. My poor Virgil, he hated this.
**** **** **** **** **** **** ****
The heat this summer had been sweltering. Today was the eighth day in a row with temperatures over 100°, and this was rare in our part of the world.
This heat made most people miserable, but it sent Verge over the edge. He gets cranky when the temperature rises above 70°. He and I had been to the movies for six of the past eight nights, as movie theatres are one of the few places to sit and rest in air conditioning.
I spent the drive home trying to decide what I would do this evening to keep my sweet man cool and happy.
I was surprised to see Verge’s Beetle in the driveway; he was supposed to be on the closing shift at the clinic. I called to him as I entered the front door, but heard no response. I did a quick search, but he was nowhere to be seen, so decided to check our bedroom for my man.
Verge was sprawled out on his stomach. All the blankets and sheets were pushed in a pile at the foot of the bed. He was lying there naked, I took in his full beauty, starting at the arch of his foot, and traveling up his legs, over the curve of his ass, following the lovely slope of his back, his strong broad shoulders, soft tightly shaved/almost bald head, and the beautiful peaceful look of sleep on his face.
Wait, that look isn’t very peaceful. He looked miserable. I walked over to the side of the bed and bent over to gently kiss his forehead. He was burning up. Oh, baby. Not only does my sweet man not do heat very well, he does illness worse, this was not going to be a pretty situation.
Verge opened his eyes and peered up at me. “I don’t feel good,” he said.
“Did you come home on your own or where you sent home from the clinic?” I asked, knowing the answer, Verge rarely admitted to being to sick.
“They sent me home,” he said.
“Did anyone check you out, before you left?” I asked.
He nodded.
“So, what’s the verdict?”
“Claire said to make sure you didn’t pester me, and that I needed to get a lot of rest,” he replied a little sheepishly.
“Ah,” I said. “Did she say anything else?”
Verge closed his eyes and refused to answer.
“Well, I could call her,” I suggested.
“No, no. Don’t bother her, today would have been busy even if the clinic isn’t short a clinician, because they sent me home. I really just need the rest.”
“I don’t know baby, I’m worried about you, and you’re burning up. I think I’ll just go get Syd and have our resident Army Nurse check you out,” I suggested, knowing that this should get me the information I was looking for.
“NO!” Verge whined.
It is a little amusing that this is the game we play every time he is sick. I wish he would just share with me his diagnosis when I first asked. But, I knew I could always get the needed answer by threatening to release Syd and her enema bag on him.
“Claire sent home a prescription and a note for you. They’re on the bathroom sink.”
I leaned down and kissed him one more time before going to the sink to read the note and retrieve the medication. I returned to the bed, with a thermometer and the box of suppositories Claire had sent home with him. Verge glanced over at me before he buried his head under his pillow. Thank goodness no protests this evening. Verge can stage a march on Washington when he is asked to take a couple of Tylenol. He definitely falls into the stereotype of health professionals making the worst patients.
I sat next to him and rubbed my hand over his back for a few minutes to try and relax him. I did one last circle on his back, before asking, “Ready babe?”
Verge gave a little nod and whimper into the mattress. I separated his cheeks, and gently inserted the thermometer into his bottom. I sat there with my hand over the cleft in his ass, with the thermometer resting between my index and middle fingers. I gently stroked his bottom with my thumb. My poor Virgil, he hated this.
**** **** **** **** **** **** ****
*Verge*
I hate the summer flu. It just seems wrong to be sick in bed when the weather is so beautiful outside. Sure it’s hot, but what are swimming pools, umbrella covered patio furniture and cold frosty beverages for if not to help us enjoy the beauty of warm days.
It’s difficult to enjoy the beauty of a summer day, when all I can see of it are stray flecks of sunshine peeking through the rivets in my bedroom blinds. The light streaming through the window was too much for my eyes; I reached into the bedside table and withdrew my sleeping mask. Ugg, that was too much moving and I was overcome with nausea. I made a quick dash to the bathroom and wretched as nothing but bile came out.
When I emerged from the bathroom I shot a terribly dirty look at the offensive box sitting by the sink. I fucking hate suppositories. Claire had seen to it to push two, not one, but two of the horrible things into my butt before she would let me leave the clinic. I glanced at the clock; that had been about five and half hours ago; it was time for another dose.
I glared at the box again, wishing that I had heat vision that could vaporize the offensive box into oblivion. I intensified my glare hoping that some small ray would emerge. Fuck, it never works. That damn box was going to have to just sit there, because I wasn't touching it.
So what if the damn things work, so what if they are exactly what I would prescribe to a patient presenting with my symptoms; I don’t want those damn things shoved in my butt!!!
I couldn’t throw the box away; it was sent home with a note addressed to Chris. Claire would follow-up with my loving Top to be sure he had received the note and the box. So, should I choose to throw it away, there would be a prescription for another box called into the pharmacy and I would end up over Chris’ lap for a sound spanking before he would part my cheeks and insert the aforementioned slippery icky bullet.
And then to add insult to fuckin’ injury, or sickness, this god damn family has some sort of fetish with the rectal thermometer.
I get that it gives a more accurate reading, but by what a tenth of a point or so, as far as I am concerned that was not a good enough reason to subject a patient (aka me) to the rectal thermometer.
But the problem with Tops, or at least the Tops in my life, is that everything is done to fricken' perfection, especially if it is related to health. There maybe several options for taking a temperature, orally of course, axillary, or tympanic. But this family wants accuracy and that means that thermometers are usually inserted in the rectum.
As if being sick wasn’t enough reason for me to be a cranky puss, that damn box and the knowledge that for the next several days I would have a thermometer protruding from my ass multiple times a day was not helping my mood one bit.
I felt another sudden serge of nausea and again quickly moved to the bathroom, arriving just in time to vomit all over the floor. Damn-it! Tears ran down my face as I cleaned up the mess. I removed my clothes, because I had also managed to puke on them.
Life sucks!!!
I was too exhausted to put any other clothes on, and besides it was roasting outside. When I got within close range of the bed I flopped down across it and was grateful that sleep quickly took me.
I awoke to the gentle feeling of Chris kissing my forehead. I opened my eyes and in my most pitiful voice, I said, “I don’t feel good.”
I hate the summer flu. It just seems wrong to be sick in bed when the weather is so beautiful outside. Sure it’s hot, but what are swimming pools, umbrella covered patio furniture and cold frosty beverages for if not to help us enjoy the beauty of warm days.
It’s difficult to enjoy the beauty of a summer day, when all I can see of it are stray flecks of sunshine peeking through the rivets in my bedroom blinds. The light streaming through the window was too much for my eyes; I reached into the bedside table and withdrew my sleeping mask. Ugg, that was too much moving and I was overcome with nausea. I made a quick dash to the bathroom and wretched as nothing but bile came out.
When I emerged from the bathroom I shot a terribly dirty look at the offensive box sitting by the sink. I fucking hate suppositories. Claire had seen to it to push two, not one, but two of the horrible things into my butt before she would let me leave the clinic. I glanced at the clock; that had been about five and half hours ago; it was time for another dose.
I glared at the box again, wishing that I had heat vision that could vaporize the offensive box into oblivion. I intensified my glare hoping that some small ray would emerge. Fuck, it never works. That damn box was going to have to just sit there, because I wasn't touching it.
So what if the damn things work, so what if they are exactly what I would prescribe to a patient presenting with my symptoms; I don’t want those damn things shoved in my butt!!!
I couldn’t throw the box away; it was sent home with a note addressed to Chris. Claire would follow-up with my loving Top to be sure he had received the note and the box. So, should I choose to throw it away, there would be a prescription for another box called into the pharmacy and I would end up over Chris’ lap for a sound spanking before he would part my cheeks and insert the aforementioned slippery icky bullet.
And then to add insult to fuckin’ injury, or sickness, this god damn family has some sort of fetish with the rectal thermometer.
I get that it gives a more accurate reading, but by what a tenth of a point or so, as far as I am concerned that was not a good enough reason to subject a patient (aka me) to the rectal thermometer.
But the problem with Tops, or at least the Tops in my life, is that everything is done to fricken' perfection, especially if it is related to health. There maybe several options for taking a temperature, orally of course, axillary, or tympanic. But this family wants accuracy and that means that thermometers are usually inserted in the rectum.
As if being sick wasn’t enough reason for me to be a cranky puss, that damn box and the knowledge that for the next several days I would have a thermometer protruding from my ass multiple times a day was not helping my mood one bit.
I felt another sudden serge of nausea and again quickly moved to the bathroom, arriving just in time to vomit all over the floor. Damn-it! Tears ran down my face as I cleaned up the mess. I removed my clothes, because I had also managed to puke on them.
Life sucks!!!
I was too exhausted to put any other clothes on, and besides it was roasting outside. When I got within close range of the bed I flopped down across it and was grateful that sleep quickly took me.
I awoke to the gentle feeling of Chris kissing my forehead. I opened my eyes and in my most pitiful voice, I said, “I don’t feel good.”
I usually hate to admit that I’m not feeling well, because I don’t want to (a) feel sick, (b) be poked and prodded, (c) made to see the doctor, (d) have my activities limited, and (e) live in constant fear that I may get left alone with Syd and her enema bag.
Although I wasn’t very thrilled about it, I told him that Claire had sent me home with a note and a prescription. I moved only slightly to watch him move over to the sink, read the note, retrieve a thermometer, and pick-up the box of doom.
Chris sat on the bed, removed the lube from the bedside table and began to rub my back. As previously stated, I am not thrilled with the rectal thermometer, but I know he isn’t using it to assert his dominance and that he won’t hurt me with it. He takes it this way because he loves me, wants to see me better quickly and genuinely believes it is the best method. So I am usually willing to bear with the intrusion with little or no complaint.
“Ready Babe?” he asked.
I gave him a confirmatory nod, put my brave face on, and decided to be strong and stoic.
I felt him separate my cheeks. He held them open with his hand, causing my anus to stretch slightly, and a shudder ran through my body. If he was doing this to pleasure me that little stretch would make my family jewels all tingly, but in this instance it only caused a whimper, so much for my strong and stoic façade.
He softly ran his thumb back and forth across my cheek. It was a sweet reminder that he was doing this from love and nothing else, and thankfully that slightly distracted me from the intruder that was currently invading me. What seemed like two hours later he removed the thermometer, announcing, “It’s 101, honey. Were you feeling okay when you left for work this morning?”
I was quiet. It answered his question, and he responded to my silence with a nonverbal answer of his own, his hand swatting my butt.
“Owe,” I protested.
“Do I even need to list the reasons you had no business being at the clinic when you are ill?” He asked.
I shook my head. I watched as he went back to the sink and washed the thermometer and returned it to its case. He came back and sat next to me on the bed. I let out a long sigh of exasperation as he removed the foil from the suppository. I pulled a second pillow over my head. I know he wanted to be kind and supportive, but he let out a small chuckle and I heard him say, “Drama Queen.”
“Am not,” I grouched from under my pillows.
Once again I felt Chris spread my cheeks. I felt the tip of the suppository pressing against my opening. I clenched in response to its unwanted presence. But the damn thing just pressed forward. I wiggled and jiggled and it tickled inside me. “Honey, just lie still and let it melt,” he suggested. That was easy for him to say.
Chris washed his hands and returned that ugly box to the sink. He then climbed into bed. I moved my pillow over to rest on his thigh and I moved to rest on my pillow. He started to gently rub my temples.
“Don’t touch,” I said. “It makes the nausea worse. Just sit here with me, please.”
Chris leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Of course.”
As I lay next to him, I could feel his strength, his love run into my body and I began to feel calmer. My body relaxed, the nausea began to subside, and I fell asleep thankful for the love and care he gave.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Although I wasn’t very thrilled about it, I told him that Claire had sent me home with a note and a prescription. I moved only slightly to watch him move over to the sink, read the note, retrieve a thermometer, and pick-up the box of doom.
Chris sat on the bed, removed the lube from the bedside table and began to rub my back. As previously stated, I am not thrilled with the rectal thermometer, but I know he isn’t using it to assert his dominance and that he won’t hurt me with it. He takes it this way because he loves me, wants to see me better quickly and genuinely believes it is the best method. So I am usually willing to bear with the intrusion with little or no complaint.
“Ready Babe?” he asked.
I gave him a confirmatory nod, put my brave face on, and decided to be strong and stoic.
I felt him separate my cheeks. He held them open with his hand, causing my anus to stretch slightly, and a shudder ran through my body. If he was doing this to pleasure me that little stretch would make my family jewels all tingly, but in this instance it only caused a whimper, so much for my strong and stoic façade.
He softly ran his thumb back and forth across my cheek. It was a sweet reminder that he was doing this from love and nothing else, and thankfully that slightly distracted me from the intruder that was currently invading me. What seemed like two hours later he removed the thermometer, announcing, “It’s 101, honey. Were you feeling okay when you left for work this morning?”
I was quiet. It answered his question, and he responded to my silence with a nonverbal answer of his own, his hand swatting my butt.
“Owe,” I protested.
“Do I even need to list the reasons you had no business being at the clinic when you are ill?” He asked.
I shook my head. I watched as he went back to the sink and washed the thermometer and returned it to its case. He came back and sat next to me on the bed. I let out a long sigh of exasperation as he removed the foil from the suppository. I pulled a second pillow over my head. I know he wanted to be kind and supportive, but he let out a small chuckle and I heard him say, “Drama Queen.”
“Am not,” I grouched from under my pillows.
Once again I felt Chris spread my cheeks. I felt the tip of the suppository pressing against my opening. I clenched in response to its unwanted presence. But the damn thing just pressed forward. I wiggled and jiggled and it tickled inside me. “Honey, just lie still and let it melt,” he suggested. That was easy for him to say.
Chris washed his hands and returned that ugly box to the sink. He then climbed into bed. I moved my pillow over to rest on his thigh and I moved to rest on my pillow. He started to gently rub my temples.
“Don’t touch,” I said. “It makes the nausea worse. Just sit here with me, please.”
Chris leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Of course.”
As I lay next to him, I could feel his strength, his love run into my body and I began to feel calmer. My body relaxed, the nausea began to subside, and I fell asleep thankful for the love and care he gave.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
**Chris**
I had the fan blowing to keep Verge cool. He remained naked lying on only the fitted sheet while he slept next to me. He had been asleep for a couple of hours when he began shiver, so I pulled one of our summer blankets over him and he calmed for a short while.
Eventually he was just too uncomfortable by his growing fever and awoke. “I’m really cold,” he whispered to me.
“I think your fever is rising babe,” I said as I smoothed my hand over his forehead.
“Will you get me some acetaminophen and water?” he asked.
“Are you sure you’re okay to take it orally?” I questioned.
He scrunched his face in disgust at my question and then nodded in the affirmative.
I got up to get him pajamas and fetch his meds; I moved the fan to the other side of the room and turned it down slightly.
I returned to the bed and helped him to sit up so he could take the Tylenol and then slipped a t-shirt over his head.
Verge reached out for his boxers.
“Not so quick babe, I want to check your temperature,” I told him.
He groaned, but turned on his side to give me the access I needed for a rectal temperature.
“Thank you, honey,” I said as I gently rubbed his hip with one hand while I lubed the thermometer with the other.
His temperature was up a bit, a little over 102, but still not dangerous. I helped him into his boxers and pulled the blanket back over him.
Verge let out a soft sigh and curled into me, “Will you rub my forehead?”
I began to gently stroke my hand over his forehead and continued until I heard his breathing change slightly and was sure he had gone back to sleep.
*** *** *** *** *** ***
Verge woke again in the early evening, leaned over the bed and vomited into the wastebasket.
I brought him a glass of water to rinse his mouth and a cool washcloth.
“Thank you,” he said.
I took the basket and rinsed it out in the shower.
“I need another suppository,” his voice was sad and pitiful, and it broke my heart.
He hid his head under his pillow, when I sat down beside him. I smiled, because this small dramatic gesture told me he must feel slightly better than he did a few hours earlier. I took down his boxers, administered his medicine and took his temperature.
When I was finished I pulled his boxers back up and said, “Are you thirsty. Katie made you some Gatorade popsicles,” I informed him.
His head popped out from under the pillow and he gave a little grin, “Popsicles, what kind?”
“Punch and grape,” I answered with a smile. “Katie was up stairs visiting Syd and came to say hello. When she discovered you were sick she made a shopping trip to stock on up on supplies, with the hope of enticing you to take in fluids. She made you the popsicles. She also bought some broth and Jell-O, and made a nice fresh pitcher of ginger sun tea.”
“I think I might have to marry her, ” Verge said with a teasing grin.
I put my hand over my heart and gave him a look of mock heartbreak.
His mood suddenly changed and he again hid under his pillow. “Syd knows I’m sick?” He squeakily questioned.
“Yes, but despite the fact that you would drop me in an instant for a popsicle making lesbian, I will protect you, ” I told him.
“Promise?” He asked.
“Promise,” I responded with a kiss to his forehead. “Can I bring you a popsicle?”
His head again peaked out from under the pillow, “Grape, please. ”
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Between being uncomfortable, too hot or too cold, and the strange nightmarish dreams that accompany illness (mine involved Big Bird speaking about world peace at the United Nations), I struggled with sleep most of the night. I think I finally settled into a fitful sleep as the sun was rising around five in the morning.
When I finally woke the clock read 10:30 and I could smell coffee brewing. It didn’t have its normal wonderful enticing smell, but at least it didn’t make me vomit.
I got out of bed, pulled on my robe, slid on my slippers and hobbled into the kitchen in search of Chris.
I arrived at the kitchen to find Syd fumbling with the coffee maker.
“Oh…good morning,” I said. “I thought you were Chris. Do you know where he is?”
“Good morning, Honey, how are you feeling?” She asked as she continued to fuss with the coffee maker.
“Still icky. Is Chris out having a soak in the hot tub?” I asked. I was growing more and more nervous as I wondered where Chris was and watched Syd make what seemed like a huge amount of coffee.
“No, Honey. He had to present at the Board of Supervisor’s meeting this morning. He should be home in a couple of hours. He asked me to take care of you while he was gone. ”
And with that my heart sank, I was doomed. I slowly started my retreat to the bedroom, and safety behind a locked door.
How could he, he had promised.
*** *** *** *** *** ***
**Chris**
I handed Verge his popsicle, “Do you want to get up, watch some TV?”
Verge nodded.
“I Tivo’d House and Dirty Jobs for you. ”
“House and Dirty Jobs? You are too good to me, forget the lesbian, I’m keeping you, ” Verge said with a smile and a slightly obscene gesture to his popsicle.
I took hold of his hand and we walked into the lounge and settled on the sofa to watch Dirty Jobs. Virgil fell asleep just as Mike Rowe was making his weekly appeal for people to write in with their dirty jobs.
He was sleeping comfortably and I decided a couple hours of TV and him cuddled up next to me would be nice.
I flipped the channel over to MTV to watch Real World/Road Rules Challenge: The Gauntlet III. Beth had Coral pinned down in the sand when Syd came in and sat in the big comfy chair.
“You needed to see me?” She asked.
Ooo, Beth just might pull this off.
“Christopher, pay attention to me when I talk to you,” Syd said in a tone reminiscent of my teen years.
“Yes, ma’am,” I responded as I paused the TV. Thank god for Tivo.
She smiled and shook her head. I know she would have preferred I turned the TV off, but hey, I am an adult now.
“Ummm…ya, I have to present the yearly health status report at the Board of Supervisor’s meeting tomorrow morning, and I was hoping you could come down here and sit with Verge in case he needs anything,” I asked. “Oh, and no enemas,” I added. “He sees no medical purpose to them, and you scare him when you get all holistic with your enema bag.”
She laughed, “Good Lord, I gave the man an enema once, ten years ago, you would think he would realize I’m not going to give him one at this point.”
My wedding ring suddenly became very interesting, “Well…umm…I think since none of the rest of us ever seem to be able to avoid it…” I trailed off.
“Christopher, you have always benefited from a good coffee enema,” she started to lecture.
Verge turned over slightly and I pulled the blanket up over his shoulder. “Umm,” I said, quickly changing the subject, “do you have time to sit with him in the morning? I need to leave around 8:30 and I should be home by noon at the latest.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Claire is coming by and TJ is dropping off her mother for coffee so we can plan the engagement party. If you don’t mind our meeting down here, it should be fine,” she said.
“No that would be great. Anyways, I bet he will sleep the whole time,” I told her.
Syd got up and kissed each Verge and I on the forehead, “I will see you about 8:15. Love you kiddo.”
“Thanks, I love you too. And no enemas,” I called after her.
She smiled, “No enemas, I promise, besides I will be busy party planning. Sleep well.”
I pressed play and watched the end of The Gauntlet. Thank god Ryan won, they shouldn’t count the gay boys out so quickly!
When the show was over, I gently nudged Verge, “Time for bed, handsome.”
“‘Kay,” he responded.
“Verge, Babe, I have that big presentation to the Board in the morning. Syd said she would come sit with you in case you need anything,” I informed him.
“Big brd,” he mumbled.
“I made her promise no enemas, so you don’t need to worry.”
“No enms,” he mumbled as I helped him under the covers.
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
I had just made it into the bedroom and was in the process of locking the door and retreating to safety, when I was overcome with a major wave of nausea. I turned and reached for the wastebasket; I didn’t make it. I fell to my knees and threw up on the bedroom floor.
Syd was quickly at my side. “It’s okay honey, just let it all out,” her voice was soft and she ran a soothing hand slowly over my back.
Tears were flowing, I was retching, and she just stayed there and comforted me until I was done.
The next few minutes seemed a blur.
Syd helped me out of my robe and into bed.
She turned me on my side.
I felt my boxers pulled down, my cheeks separated, and a suppository pushing its way inside me.
It was followed by a finger, which retreated just as quickly and unceremoniously as it had entered.
She held my cheeks together for a short period of time, gently patted my bottom, and returned my boxers to their rightful position.
I felt the sheet and blanket being pulled up over me, and Syd placed a kiss on my forehead.
I curled into myself and cried into my pillow. I was sure it would only be a matter of minutes before coffee was flowing freely through my bowels.
I glanced a look over my shoulder to see what Syd was up to; I didn’t see her, but I noticed that she had cleaned up my sic.
Now was my chance, I grabbed my robe and dashed into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I heard Syd reenter the room. She knocked on the door. “Virgil, honey, are you okay in there?” She asked.
“I’m fine, thanks. I don’t need anything else. You can go back upstairs now,” I told her.
“Come on out honey I still need to take your temperature and I want to get you tucked back into bed,” she said. Her voice was so calm and soothing, did she really think I would fall for her treachery?
“I’ll just stay in here until Chris comes home,” I informed her. There take that you sneaky Tops!
“Virgil, honey, what is wrong?” She asked.
“As if you don’t know! I will not fall for your tricks! I’m not coming out!” My frustration was evident, as I couldn’t seem to control the raised level of my voice.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
**Chris**
The presentation to the board had gone well. The board members had few questions and I was finished a good 45 minutes earlier than I had planned.
I pulled up into the driveway just as Claire, TJ and Mrs. Landis were heading up the walk.
“Good morning ladies,” I said, greeting them each with a kiss.
“Good morning,” Claire replied. “How is Verge doing?”
“Sleeping, hopefully,” I answered, as I opened the door.
With the door open, we were now all able to hear by the yelling coming from the back bedroom, that Virgil was very much awake.
“I will not allow your fucking, kinking, enema fetishist, lesbian, dictator hands near me!” I heard Verge shout. I quickly made for the bedroom with the hope of stopping whatever had caused this tantrum from gaining any more momentum.
I was passing through the kitchen when I heard Syd’s voice raise to a dangerous level, “Virgil.”
I arrived in the bedroom as Syd was fishing through her keys for the one that would open the bathroom door.
“You will be shoving nothing further up my ass! My tush has been declared a coffee enema free zone! In fact it is done with having non-sex related things inserted. So unless you have an economy size jar of butt wax and have a cock, plug, rude boy, prostate stimulator, or a lovely string of butt beads, you will just have to go away!” Verge shouted through the door.
I glanced out through the bedroom door, and saw Mrs. Landis’ mouth wide open. TJ was trying to calm her. Claire was standing behind them trying to keep a grin and snicker from escaping.
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I put my hand out to Syd as she found the key to the bathroom door. I inserted the key and opened the door to find my sweet husband holding the plunger in one hand and a toilet brush in the other, he looked exhausted and a bit green, but ready to fight to the bitter end.
I put my arms out, “Come here, babe.”
Verge put his weapons down and stepped into my embrace, “Thank god you’re home.”
“Rough morning,” I said.
Verge nodded into my shoulder.
“What’s going on, honey?” I asked.
Verge stepped out of the hug and pointed an accusatory finger at Syd, “She was going to give me a coffee enema!”
“No, she wasn’t,” I said.
“No, I wasn’t,” she said.
“You were,” Verge said. This time pointing to the kitchen, he said, “Don’t deny it, I saw you making all those gallons of coffee.”
Syd and I looked at each other. She mouthed the word, “gallons,” and I shook my head in exasperation.
I took hold of Verge’s hand and lead him over to the doorway, “Look,” I said.
Virgil gulped. “You have guests?” He asked Syd.
She nodded, “Yes, TJ is dropping her mother off, so that Claire and Mrs. Landis and I can make engagement party arrangements.”
“Oh,” Verge said. “I think I made a big mistake.” Verge turned to Syd, “I am so, so, so sorry.”
Syd pulled Verge into a hug, “I know, honey, you were sick and scared, but next time, talk to me about it, okay?”
“I promise,” Verge replied.
“Christopher, I think you need to get your husband back to bed,” Syd told me.
I started to usher Virgil towards our bed.
“No, Chris, wait,” Verge said pulling me into the lounge. “Mrs. Landis, TJ, Claire, I am so very sorry for my offensive behavior and language.”
Mrs. Landis was the first to speak, “Oh, Virgil, you poor, poor man. Claire has informed us of your illness. I just hope you have a quick recovery and are feeling more yourself soon.”
“Well ladies shall we adjourn upstairs?” Syd asked. Clair took hold of the coffeecake and Syd and TJ took the coffee carafes and off the woman went.
“Come on, honey. I want to get you back into bed,” I lead Verge back into the bedroom. I removed his robe, sat down on the bed and helped him to climb in and rest against me. “You feel warm,” I said. “I want to take your temperature.”
Virgil groaned and began to turn himself over on my lap.
I stopped him, “Honey, I think you made your opinion of having your temperature taken rectally abundantly clear. I’m going to use the oral thermometer.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”
I kissed his forehead, “I know, and I’m going with the belief that this little incident was a bad case of delirium.”
“I’m not in trouble?” He asked.
“If you weren’t delirious, you are in a lot of trouble,” I told him.
“Oh, it was definitely delirium,” he said.
He opened his mouth and I placed the thermometer under his tongue.
“Alright then, but for the record, any similar cases of delirium in the future will be treated with my hand applied in large doses to your bare bottom. Got it?” I told him.
He nodded.
The thermometer beeped and I removed it from his mouth, “Just a little over 100°.”
Virgil curled into me and closed his eyes, “Thank you for taking care of me; I love you.”
I kissed his forehead, “I love you too.”
The End.
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