concealed weapons

I guess it was inevitable. Put any man in a thin gown and have him sit in a chair for days at a time and eventually he is going to examine his junk. Given that Dave was 87 years old and hadn’t had a visitor in over a month who could blame him? Both his son and daughter lived a few hours’ drive away and were busy with their own families. It started as an itch but soon his gown was around his waist and his genitals had his full attention. He looked at his shriveled penis the way someone would look at an unfamiliar plant from the Amazon basin. As his gaze fell on what remained of his manhood, the tip the color of the oatmeal that he was forced to eat three times a week, he couldn’t help but remember when that tip was a fiery mix of red and purple… almost majestic, equal parts peacock and salami. The trouble it would lead him into. The girls… in bathrooms and in the back of vans. Mindless yet singular in purpose. Now what sat in his lap would be considered the very definition of flaccid. Grey hairs covered the sack that threatened to ooze between his legs, down the side of the chair and into a fleshy pool beneath him. He took his dick in his hand and idly flipped it back and forth. He knew that even if a nurse walked in she would only laugh and tell him to put his gown back down. She’d laugh. She wouldn’t feel anything, no flicker of lust, no sudden rush of desire… just apathy at another old man playing with his dick. The thought depressed him and he began to play with it in earnest, desperate to feel it stiffen, to watch it grow. He tried to think of naked girls and sexy thoughts, anything to know the feeling of having wood between his legs again. It stretched like some obscene rubber band, up and down as a trickle of sweat formed on his forehead. “Oh how they use to whimper… the way they looked at it… at me” he thought to himself, determined to resurrect the monster one more time and then if the nurse did happen to walk in she’d gasp and he would look at her and say “Behold my cock!”. But, of course, nothing happened. It sat in his hand like a dead thing.

He would soon be dead. He would lay in his bed as lifeless as his dick was now until someone happened to look in on him and find his corpse. His kids will have wished that they spent more time with ‘Pops’ and there will be a few nice words said at his funeral but the truth is that he’s as good as dead right now. Most of the patients in his wing of the nursing home will be dead within a year or two. All of them are scared. The myths and lies of religion dissolve like so many fairy tales when death is so close. Dave knows better. All he is hoping for is someone to hold his hand as he passes into the big, dreamless sleep.

He stares out his window at the mini-mart across the street and it is some time before he remembers that he is still clutching his penis. “You sure did make ’em holler didn’t you old boy?”. He laughs at his calling it ‘old boy’. He remembers being young and laughing at ‘old boys’. He remembers masturbating so many times in one day that his dick was raw and how it hurt to even touch it for days afterward. He grabbed the edges of his sack and stretched it out like some aging Batman logo. His wife had passed on almost three years to the day. He use to love to chase her around and threaten to beat her with his erect manhood as she howled with laughter and pretended to call the police. He liked to think about his wife because when he thought about the girls before her he was never sure if the event actually happened or if he just made it up because he wanted it to. He was certain about that girl in Utah though. He let out a small laugh and grudgingly pulled down his robe.

“I’m too young to be old” he thought to himself.