THE HEART TEST*
Big breath...relax...tiny breath...no, too much, tiny...
very good...relax... and she nudged him rather sharply
with her gelled dowser (for want of a better word
for a heart's diviner)... This is as close as my old skin
could get to a presence of breasts, er, mammaries,
he sighed under his now tortured breathing regimen.
Move closer to me, please...put your knees up...tiny
breath, hold...and relax. There were jolts on his ribs,
more kneading of his belly, his navel, back to his chest.
And he heard the swishing staccato echoing promptly
to each of her stabs, urgently wheedling his pumping
heart to tell her what might have been lascivious were
this not the one ultra sound that would tell him he
would be around for a little while, but these are about
the closest he would get to the smell of glands and their
jolting touch on his bare back. What if they were bare
breasts, he wondered. Big breath, please...relax...tiny
breath...no, no, that's too much... Heart tests be damned,
he said and closed his eyes, having come so near to
a touch that would remain as cold as the gel on his navel.
---ALBERT B. CASUGA
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