---The doctor released the button and the current running through Daisy's body stopped. She slumped forward as far as she could but the leather straps that held her to the metal T didn't have much slack.Daisy felt the spit run down her chin and neck, then between her titties, mixing with the sweat that covered her chest, belly, and legs. The doctor tilted her head back and shone the flashlight into her eyes, checking her pupils for response."Amazing," he muttered, jotting something down on his clipboard. He walked back to the control table and sat down, watching Daisy's chest rise and fall in quick, shallow breaths.The man in the chair next to him grunted. "Ya got yer measurements, doc?" He was a huge, fat blob of a man in his early forties, his orange prison suit stretched tight across his big belly and huge legs. They called him Fat Ron -- but never to his face. "I still got more'n an hour left with her." As he talked, he started to drool again. He wiped his mouth with the back of. Thing was, it all fit. Nick was a jerk, a selfish SOB of the purest sort, but he didn’t lie. If anything, he had always been a little too honest with Mel, laughing him in the face and pointing out his greatest errors in life. That was Nick, telling him he didn’t get it. Didn’t get what? Obviously didn’t get Tracy, or his imagined life with Tracy. So Mel threw away his request for vacation, filled out a sick leave form and gave it to his manager, who stared long and hard at his bruised face, and took off for home. That’s when he heard the song, the old soft rock piece from the 70s singing about the woman who shattered some man’s illusions of love. Yeah, that made sense. Just what Nick always nagged him about, living in a dream, an illusion, rather than the cynical stark reality Nick resided in.At home Mel was careful not to open a bottle of anything stronger than a Miller, sipping slow, pacing back and forth and going through a thousand thoughts about Tracy, and Nick, and of course.
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