Lamb in Santorini
My girlfriend’s leopard skin panties are down around my ankles.
There is no toilet seat and bad things are happening as she lifts my intravenous bag above my head.I beg her not to look as sounds echo through what seems to be the only ugly place in Santorini.
‘Where’s the toilet paper?!’ I yell. She goes to find some, forgetting she has my drip in her hands and the needle pulls on my arm. I let out a yelp, “Jesus!” She hurries back to hold me. ‘Shhhhh’ she whispers. I forget about my bad luck for a while and let her hold my weight.
I’m not a crier but I cry anyway, I need to let it out. Everything. The water falls onto my hairy, tanned, thighs. She pushes my hair back and lets me go. ‘What the hell baby! What’s with these people? Did you see that nurse jab me with the needle?’
‘I know Baby, I know.’ Hearing her agree makes me feel sorry for myself and I cry even more. It feels good to cry. ‘She…She had her phone pinned to her shoulder and ear while she stuck it in me…laughing, chewing on a biscuit. Look! Look! There are still crumbs on my arm!’ I say.
‘I know baby, I know.’
‘And where the fuck is my luggage, these people are savages!’
‘Alright, calm down.’
She slowly unties my hospital gown, now very aware of the drip attached to my arm.
‘Who loves you?’ She asks me as she helps me get to my feet.
‘Who?’ She insists as she cleans me up with the gown.
‘You do,’ I murmur.
She asks me a third time because she wants me to say her name, it’s an endearing thing we do from time to time to pep things up. At this point nothing feels endearing, there is only humiliation and a sense of defeat. I don’t have the enthusiasm to put forward my point of view.
‘Ellana does,’ I say, ‘Ellana love me.’
‘That’s right baby’, she says as she helps me pull my/her panties back up. I start to hobble back to my bed, this time without a gown. She strides proudly next to me, holding my drip to her chest like a bouquet, as my manhood spills out of her mesh-leopard-knickers down the corridor.
By Darius Mendoza