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Angels in the Madhouse

Angels in the Madhouse  
 
     I am curled in a ball on the couch. My mind is afloat in a Sargasso Sea of drugged peace. Richard and Gavin walk by. Richard says, “What should we do with him? Take him out to the levee and beat the shit out of him?”
      Gavin looks at my roly poly boy body. “Yea that sounds like the best thing” he says.
      The mind doctors take me off all my meds. I am alert and sitting for a change. Valerie and Shari walk by me wearing tight jeans with curves to die for. Valerie looks at me.  “John did you know Shari poses nude for artists in the French Quarter?” I hide my secret turn on like a locked locket. But my eyes take a walk all over Shari’s femme form.
    One afternoon Shari sits next to me on the couch. She is whittling on a stick. I speak and she listens. I get worked up. I say “I was raped.”
     Shari looks up at me and says, “Did you enjoy it?”
     Chagrined I reply, “She was my algebra professor who led my eyes astray from Pythagorean Theorem. Perhaps she was a feminist saboteur playing on vulnerable male libidos. She invited me to her apartment to tutor me. She said she could see I was struggling. She brushed my hair with her fingernails.
     ‘I’m not ready  yet’ I beseeched her.
     ‘Nonsense. You’re at your sexual peak’ she declared.
     ‘I have the body of a man. But emotionally I’m still a teen’ I implored.
     ‘John, just tell me if you want me to stop’ she drew the line.
     ‘Please don’t stop’ I pleaded.”  
     Shari smiles. “You lucky boy. Did you go all the way?”
     I gaze into Shari’s eyes. “She gave me an oral presentation” I pun.
     Shari smiles, “Bless your virgin heart.”
      I am at a loss for words. She holds her carved stick up to my face. She asks, “Does this look like
a human face to you?” I nod yes.
     Shari’s girlfriend Valerie walks up. Shari rises like Bathsheba from her bath. A young woman with luxuriant black hair sits in a nearby. I sit quiet as a monk deep in prayer.
     The Pre-Raphaelite beauty sits next to me. The sun of her smile melts my walls. “Can I sit with you? My name’s Heather.”
     She smiles like a mother of pearl. “Mine is John. I’m not a great conversationalist.” I answer.
     “That’s ok. I just need someone to talk to. Just be yourself. I’m not hard to please.”
     I sit facing her. Her eyes gleam like gems from a Persian mosaic.
     “What should I get my husband for Christmas?” Heather ponders. “Oh he’d love a subscription to Playboy. I’ll get him that.”
     Chagrined I reply, “You wouldn’t mind that?”
     She smiles big as Texas. “Oh not at all. He’ll love it.”
     Our conversation meanders into her disclosure which is a startling revelation.
     “They took me to the quiet room last night” she whispers. “The men pinned me against the wall. Then they took down my pants and gave me a shot in my bottom.”
     Heather’s story breaks my heart. I imagine her humiliation and wonder what necessitated such measures. Unashamed, her sunflower smile beams
blue sky love.
     Later that day Heather says, “I’m going to wash your coat for you John.” I wear that coat all day every day, regardless of temperature.
    I reply, “You don’t have too.”
     She beams and says, “It will be my pleasure.” And she washes it for me.
     Heather is such a kind and compassionate soul. Her orchid flower grin shines in the hollow of my heart with rays of golden eternity. We are refugees ensconced in this sea shell world of our village for the divinely touched.    
     Soon my trance comes in the embrace of dope tentacles. My turn comes to be dominated, like Heather was,  but at the hands of a woman. I sink deep into the oceanic bliss of my twilight dream sea. My eyes twinkle open in the shadowy chamber. A statuesque blonde Goddess gazes down upon my supine form. Firm resolve is written in her obsidian eyes. My trembling voice offers acquiescence to her regal dominion.
     Her slender fingers grasp the hypodermic as she orders me on my side.  She decrees that I expose my posterior. My compliance is inadequate. Therefore, she nimbly grasps the hem of my briefs. In one fluid motion, she briskly tugs my pajama bottoms down, leaving my nether regions bare and vulnerable.
     She presses her fingers into my supple flesh. Her needle is poised for insertion. I feel the prick of pinpoint on my sensitive skin. She injects the elixir of psychic peace into my quivering body.
     Then she gently pulls my briefs upward. She covers my nakedness in silk soft cotton. My dark angel departs, leaving me in afterglow of sweet obeisance.
     The nights and days turn like a merry go round. A new patient named Mary walks into my life. I approach her timidly as a fawn ready to eat out of a human hand. Her first words are Biblical gibberish. Her ideas jumble like pieces of a puzzle mixed like crazy. Yet I long to see her puzzle assembled. She rises from madness into a clear picture of womanly wonder. She says, “When I first got here I thought you were a vegetable whom they had nowhere else to send.”
     The autumn days roll by outside where I long to be. But they have me on suicide precautions and I’m not allowed to run the levee as I have not so long ago. One night I sit with Mary and my anorexic friend Margaret.
     Mary says, “I miss getting laid by my husband. A good fuck is what I need.”
     Margaret replies, “Yea when I get out of here the first thing I’ll do is get a good screw. I miss my boyfriend. What I wouldn’t give for a good orgasm. But there is so little privacy here. I can’t even get myself off. Vibrators are out of the question here. They’d confiscate them.”
     Mary says, “Yep you can’t hide them from the
sex toy police.”
     Margaret replies, “I’d love to see the look on their face if they caught me red handed.”
     Mary laughs, “Yea especially if it was a guy staffer.”
     I intervene, “You all are talking dirty!”    
     Mary says, “What’s wrong with that?”
     Margaret says, “I bet he’s creaming in his pants.”
     I change the subject. I speak of the finale of the book “God Emperor Dune” by Frank Herbert.
     “Oh my God the golden smoke” I recite from this book which Margaret has no knowledge of. Mary does though. “I never thought he would end that way” Mary laments.
     Margaret baffled says, “What is he talking about?”
     Mary replies, “That’s what intellectuals do in the desert. They masturbate.”
     Finally Mary is discharged. She tells me she is going back to her husband.
     I ask, “Why?”
     “Because I love him” she affirms.
     Before she leaves she hugs me and kisses me on the cheek. I feel her absence like an open wound.
     One beautiful fall day Valerie takes me and some other patients for a trip to the Riverwalk, a mall by the river. I tell Valerie, “Some people probably think you and me are married.”
      Valerie says, “There is no telling the misconceptions people are having.”  
     After our walk in this consumer paradise I suggest we take my Cuban lady friend, Daisy, to the
Spanish Plaza Fountain. I show her all the provinces of Spain represented in murals. Daisy
says, “It is like a trip around the world.”
     That night Valerie says, “John, you showing Daisy that fountain was the most giving thing I’ve seen you do here.”
     My own chrysalis has grown wings and is ready to fly. One night Valerie sits me down at a table with her. She says, “You’re probably wondering why me and Shari didn’t counsel you much. It is because you lied and smuggled those books into the hospital. We wanted you to socialize not read. That was the reason for not allowing you to bring books into this place. Me and Shari don’t put up with that kind of shit.”
     Finally my emergence day arrives. Valerie stands in front of me with a huge smile. She hops close enough to me that I can feel her breath. She says, “I’m entering your space John.”
     I reply, “I have no libido.”
    Valerie grins mischievously and says, “Yes you do. You just hide it.”
    I reply, “Maybe you’ll get beamed up with me like the girl in the Star Trek movie in San Francisco.”  
     Valerie smiles, “Yea maybe you’ll beam me up.”
     I request, “Valerie I know I’m not supposed to be reading books. But on this day can I read one?”
      Valerie makes a huge smile. “You know John that’s perfectly OK.” I sit at the table and memorize the ending on my favorite book. I use the author’s words as my closing talk to the people I am saying goodbye too. “Things will get better” I close with. I tote my army back pack out into my next chapter of a book yet unwritten.
Written by goldenmyst
Published | Edited 2nd Nov 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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