Gary Jenkins - The Hesitating Couple

The accident had happened in a crazy way. Maybe, all accidents happen that way. They don’t need to happen; it just seems like everything is there, then somebody does something stupid. All the parts fall into place. The accident occurs, and the unfortunate, stupid bastard ends up in the hospital.

Bill Wright lay in the hospital bed, a body cast constricting his torso from hips to chest, and tried to fit all the parts together leading up to his accident. He was not quite sure how it all had happened.

In his position as Assistant Production Manager, he had given the order to pull that malfunctioning high-speed router off the line, to be replaced by a newer model slated to arrive the following morning. He hadn’t needed to be down there on the floor just then, but he wanted to see the job done properly. He knew the section foreman, Steve Matulich, could handle the job… so why in hell was he there? Management personnel weren’t supposed to be involved in such activities, but the last time something had gone wrong, Royce had practically held him personally responsible

He told himself it was because he had wanted to do a good job; however, that gnawing fear of being called into Royce’s office, the little man sitting there, behind his oversized desk, a picture of glacial ice, coolly enumerating production-loss figures and assessing the reason for them; all of which seemed to indicate some non-performance on Bill’s part, had drawn him like a magnet to the vast production floor to oversee, personally, the removal of the machine. It was stupid!

He saw himself, now, for the damned fool he was, but it was too late. It was part of Royce’s game, one in which the Production Manager held up numbered hoops for his assistants to jump through, pushing them to the ultimate to find out the limits of their humiliation. Perhaps, he reflected, it was to find out whether they wanted to become a part of his trained seal act, or resign and move on to another plant. He had been determined that Royce would not force his resignation; neither had he wanted to blow horns, by the numbers, while responding to the little man’s cues. The upshot was he had ended up down there on the production floor, jumping through Royce’s unseen, but very real, psychological hoops.

Matulich had been disturbed when Bill had shown up, but he had tried to hide it. In his mind, people with white collars had no damned business messing around, sticking their noses into his job… and he was right.

The mobile crane had backed in and was lifting the router off its foundations; as the crane operator swung the heavy machine around, Bill saw it would go too far. It was going to arc in toward the turret lathe across the aisle. He envisioned it crashing into that machine, shutting it down for two or three days, and he could already hear Royce ticking off the damages, the production-loss figures and a request for his resignation, all in the same breath and tone of voice. Sometimes, Bill thought the man was less than human… a computerized robot that spouted figures.

“Stop the damn thing, Steve!” he yelled, grabbing at a projecting part of the router. “That lathe…”

“What the hell…!” Steve’s concentration was broken from giving the crane operator hand-signaled instructions.

Then, it happened.

The hapless crane man heard Bill’s shout, but couldn’t see him. Steve’s sudden stricken glance at Bill, as he saw the Assistant Production Manager grab hold of the machine, spelled danger to the operator. He reacted. The crane was stopped dead, but the twisting arc of the huge router, dangling from the cable, could not be stopped. As it turned, Bill was thrown off balance, backward, against the half-raised elevator of a parked fork-lift.

That was the stupid part, his grabbing hold of the machine. He had seen potential damage arising where none existed because of being overly cautious, an attitude he would not have had but for Royce.

Bill’s hard-muscled body, still in good physical condition, smashed into the fork-lift. He knew, in the instant he hit it, that his back was injured. The instantly overwhelming pain put him down for the count, and he was only dimly aware of Steve’s concerned face bending over him; then he was in the hospital.

A.J. Royce had come to see him. It was business-as-usual. All he wanted was a report from Bill on how the accident had happened. He had to make out the insurance and compensation forms. It hadn’t taken long. Royce was gone within fifteen minutes, and Bill had cursed him, roundly, when he realized the man had not inquired how he felt; neither had he expressed any sympathy.

“Yeah… he was here…” Bill answered, when Faye asked him about it. “The bastard was here less than fifteen minutes… and didn’t even ask how I was getting along!”

Faye’s deep blue eyes showed her concern for her husband, but she was puzzled at the deep funk into which he had fallen. He was so full of complaints about Royce, the hospital, his doctor and the discomfort he experienced from the cast, not to mention his grousing about the pains in his back and legs.

She didn’t really know how to answer him. “Well… that’s just the way Mr. Royce is Bill. You’ll just have to take him the way he is.”

“I don’t want any more of him!” he said vehemently. “Who needs an iceberg? I’m through! Soon as I’m up and around… I’m looking for another job!”

Hoping this was only a part of his presently foul attitude, she tried to placate him. He had a good job. There was financial security in it, and she knew his ability and training could carry him far. “Mr. Royce’ll be retiring… and there’s the possibility you wouldn’t have to work for him very long…” she suggested.

“Him… retire?” he derided. “He’s bolted down to the floor… like one of the machines! He comes with the place!”

Cheerily, she tried to change the subject, telling him about happenings in their neighborhood. She had been trying, desperately, ever since he had been in the hospital, to present herself to him with a happy face, bringing him cheery cards, bouquets of flowers and messages of sympathy from friends and neighbors. She even contrived to smuggle into the hospital, in a soft drink bottle, some Scotch highballs, in the hope that the alcoholic lift in them would snap him out of his doldrums. Moving her chair in close to his hospital bed, she glanced up to make sure the curtain was drawn separating them from the other person in the two-bed ward, and said, “I love you… Bill…”

Her mouth sought his, giving him her soft lips to kiss, then her tongue probed deep into his mouth, questingly, for him to nibble and suck. Feeling risque and naughty, her hand crept under the sheets to lift his hospital gown and find the softly reclining length of his cock. She fondled it, lovingly, in an attempt to taunt it into turgid, alert erectness, but it lay limp, almost lifeless, in her teasing hand. She didn’t know what made her do it. Bill had been injured almost ten days before… and she hadn’t realized how much she missed their sex-play. How much more he must miss it! This had been her thought: She would use her hand to give him some sexual satisfaction, a release of tension. Perhaps, that’s what he needed to bring him back to his old self. It was the least she could do for him!

He twisted his head away, after a few moments. “I love you.. too, Honey… but you might as well stop trying to get me hard! I just can’t seem to raise it… any more! I haven’t had a hard-on since I’ve been in this damned hospital!”