‘Uh … no,’ I admitted. ‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Where did you get it?’ ‘Deus ex Machina Grievous Angel,’ I muttered. I hung my head and said sulkily: ‘It’s all my ex-husband left when he died.’ ‘Oh fuck,’ the HOG said, looking stricken. ‘I’m so sorry.’ ‘Oh no,’ I said quickly, lifting my head up so he could see I wasn’t crying or anything. ‘Best day of my fucking life when I found out he’d taken a header off a cliff and broken his neck. He always took good care of the bike, there was barely a scratch on that luckily.’ The HOG looked like his face was trying to process six different emotions at once. I realised I hadn’t explained things as well as I had hoped. In embarrassment I turned round and put a coffee on. He didn’t really need to order. I knew the HOG wasn’t a cappuccino drinker, he’d want his coffee stronger. The HOG sat carefully down at a table and put a briefcase on it in front of him. A fucking briefcase! Jesus H. Christ. How bad was this going to be? Was he going to. This happened several times over the next few days. Neither of us spoke to the other except through our eyes. Then one evening I was sitting at an office-type desk in an alcove off of the hallway using a telephone that was there for the use of patients. It was one of those big desks that had what I guess you call a knee hole that ran under the desk from front to back. While I was using the phone, Edna sat down on a chair on the opposite side of the desk from me. I thought she was just waiting to use the phone when I finished my call. I thought that for only a few seconds until she slipped as far forward on the edge of her chair as she could, stretched out one leg, and began to stroke my cock through my hospital pajamas with her foot while she licked her lips and lustily smiled at me. I slipped forward a bit to give her easier access to my rapidly growing and hardening dick, hastily ended my call, hung up the phone, and just sat there and enjoyed having her play with my pecker. .
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