Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Anything Goes Wednesday I: The Prolapsed Rectum Story

QUICK REMINDER TO THE UNOBSERVANT: Check the bylines of the posts. Recently, two of my guest posters, Smallholder and the Air Marshal, have been slapping up some entries on this blog. The Air Marshal just posted two entries below this one; give them a read. Meantime, please don't get us all confused. Look at those bylines if you're not sure why post X doesn't sound like the normal style.

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I wish I'd written the following story, but I'm not a medical professional. I might be able to write such a story after doing a bit of research on why assholes pop out, but my story still wouldn't have the ring of truth, and would probably feature a lot of projectile diarrhea and people humping sheep.

Julie's a cyberfriend from my early years as a dickhead on AOL, back when I was writing humor essays. I've never met her in person, but she's been nice enough to send pics of her family. She's a very talented writer, and by all rights she should be blogging. If she ever did a blog devoted to the woes of medical professionals, it would kick serious ass. And speaking of ass, Julie sent me this story, a comic rendition of an actual experience, just yesterday (it's Wednesday in Korea now, you see). Enjoy.

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[NB: Julie, like Annika, doesn't capitalize the personal pronoun "I." I was tempted to "clean this up," but have decided to let it stand. I think that, for both Annika and Julie, this I-reduction is being done for humility's sake, a bit like how Koreans use the humble pronoun jeo to lower themselves (as opposed to the not-so-humble pronoun na), but I've never totally agreed with the practice: because it's out of the ordinary, it seems to call attention to oneself, not deflect attention. But then I'm a raving egomaniac, so what the fuck do I know, right?]

True story.

One night at the Methodist House of Old Dying People Who Tithed Enough Not to Get Into Heaven, But to Get Into the Methodist Retirement Home, i was working a long-term contract agency gig (like, two years, but that's another story) when Seth and Barry, my Backseat Boys, came to my desk. Seth is my lifelong bodyguard - 24, 6'4, 250, black hair, blue eyes, cute as a bug and affianced to a very tolerant young lady. Barry is 6'1", 26, blonde, scruffy guitarist, eternally red-eyed, and a bit slow on the "whatevers," but adores me. Anyway.

"Julie, we have a thing in Louise and Bob's room."

I have seen many things in my day, but as it was two in the morning, I said "Well, fix it," and went back to my Playgirl Centerfolds: Nursing Home Aides 2002 issue.

"No, Julie, dude, man, I am totally serious, we have, like, a total situation in there," said Barry in his "Mark from Empire Records" voice. Seth just smirked, so i figured Seth knew something Barry didn't. That's why Seth is a Senior Nurse Tech and Barry is just Barry.

"Seth, what do you know that Barry doesn't?" i asked boredly, looking up from Mr. July, a hot hunk with an, er, catheter at least ten inches long in hand.

Seth grinned.

"Louise's ass fell out again."

"Well, put it back in."

"No, dammit. You're the charge nurse, you put it back in. I get paid, like, eight bucks an hour to kiss your pansy ass all night so you can look at Mr. July? No way, babydoll. You get your hot redheaded little butt in there and put Louise's asshole back where it belongs!" Seth was obviously feeling snotty.

"Or what?" I exhaled, boredly.

"Or I'm not going to go to the kitchen and fix your goddamn watercress sandwich and drive to Hillbilly's on my break to get that guy to make you French toast for breakfast, and you'll have to smoke your own damn weed because I won't give you half my stash."

Barry got all wise and chimed in: "Yeah. I won't fill up your car or buy your Perrier, either."

Well, hell. That settled it. Marionville, Missouri, has water that tastes like sulfur. I have to have my Perrier. The Hillbillies guy had to stock it for me, over by the gas tanks that spell "H-O-W-D-Y" as you turn into the cemetery. They work it that way so you go through the cemetery and past the Methodist church to get to the Methodist Manor, where good Methodists go to die. I am a bad Methodist, but they contracted me anyway because i am a kick-ass dominatrix, i mean charge nurse. Anyway.

I huffed and hmphed and flounced, but the boys had me. I couldn't just leave poor Miz Louise, the wife of a kinky-as-fuck retired minister, with her rectum hanging out. I wandered down the hall.

"Gloves," I said. Seth handed me my size sixes, special order itty bitty, double layer.

"Lube," I said. Barry made like he was gonna spit, nearly got slapped, and squirted a fair amount of k-y onto my gloved fingers.

"Covers," I said. The boys together approached Louise's bed.

"Louise, honey, " I said, quietly, "what happened? Are you all right?"

"Goddamn Bob fucked me in the ass again and the whole thing fell out," Louise muttered.

"Does it hurt much?"

"Not with that little peckerwood," Louise spat at Bob's side of the bed, "But it's damn inconvenient when you've got to get up and take a piss to have your asshole in the way."

"Well," I smiled, "I'm here to fix that for you. You sure you're not in any pain?"

"I'm fine, just go on and put it back in," Louise griped, as well she should have.

I pulled the covers back to find about eight inches of rectum and lower colon emerging from her pallid eightyish buttocks, hemorrhoids a grape-bunched crown of glory for the wifely duties she'd endured for sixty years. The inside-out organ was slick with what i could only assume to be Bob's marital fluids, although a small amount of inherent bowel matter was visible.

Seth brought me a small basin and some saline, which I had Barry warm, and I rinsed the inside-out rectum, then lubed it gently with something a bit more sterile (or not.. Bob prolly hadn't had any swimmers for years) before asking her to take a deep breath and literally using my fingers to manipulate the sausage-casing bowel back up into her body, where it belonged.

I doffed my gloves, tossing them into the trash bin Barry was holding, his eyes averted.

"You okay there, Louise?" I grinned, knowing she'd be fine, now, her duty done and her rectum all properly placed.

She snored contentedly in reply, and another night of my work was done.

I went to the sink to scrub, and sent the Backseat Boys on their way. "Finish that bedcheck, and then go get me my damn Perrier and sandwich," I flounced.

They hopped to it. I love those boys.

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Later today, I'll have my "Passion" review up. Stay tuned.


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