Mindy Poppago: Blue: Part 1: The Spectacularious Night

by A. J. Hallenger

  We got up and started walking toward the bike. He glanced over at me and said, “Don’t you think you oughta button some more buttons? You might end up topless before we get there.”

  “Maybe one or two, but I need to cool off a little. It feels good. What’s wrong with going topless, anyway?”

  “Fine, go topless if you want to. It’ll just make me look studly-er.”

  “Don’t tempt me—I might.”

  As we pulled away and started to build up speed down the hill, I noticed I’d forgotten to put on my bra. It must still be on the picnic table, I thought to myself. Oh well, it’s too hot to wear one anyway. We rounded a curve when I realized that the cop had probably seen my tossed bra on the table. Then, in an eye-blink or two later, a humongous wild pig ran onto the road in front of us. Jake swerved hard to avoid hitting it. The last thing I remember from that ride was the sound of squeals and desperately trying to fly.

  Episode 3 - Dr. Fantasy & The Nurse Of Hearts

  My eyes were closed. I remembered that I was being lifted up and placed in a vehicle, and there were sirens. I couldn’t move. Men were talking. I couldn’t open my eyes. The vehicle stopped, and then I heard a man’s voice again. “Looks like she’s coming to. I don’t see any injuries, but with all those tattoos, it’s hard to tell—except something turned her hair blue.”

  “Ha! I see that!” a woman said. “We’ve got her partner goin’ in number three and a gunshot in one. Put her in two,” she ordered.

  “What the hell? I tried to speak but I was confused, and my head was spinning. "Wha… wha… where…?”

  I heard the woman say, “It’s okay, honey, you’re at the hospital now. We’re going to take good care of you. Try not to move. You were in a motorcycle accident. We have your body and head stabilized in case you have a spinal injury. Do you hurt anywhere? Don’t shake your head. Just tell me yes or no.”

  Holy shit. Motorcycle accident? Spinal injury? Oh, fuck—I knew payback for the mermaid tattoo would be bad. I’m sorry. Honestly, I didn’t want to kill her. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll even find a mate and be faithful and won’t whore around anymore. I promise! I don’t want to d—

  “—Honey, can you hear me? Are you in pain anywhere?”

  My head was tied down, and I couldn't move it. Let’s see… No, I don’t feel any pain. Well, maybe—my ass feels sore. I’m so dizzy…

  “Just a little,” I said. “My butt hurts. It feels like it’s spinning. I mean, my head feels like it’s spinning.”

  “We’re going to take you to imaging to make sure you haven’t broken anything. Do your hands or fingers tingle? Your toes?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay, good. Honey, what’s your name?”

  “Mindy…Poppago.”

  “Poppa- what? Spell that, please, sweetie.”

  “Mind—P-o-p-p-a-g-o.”

  “Do you have any medical insurance, Ms. Poppago?”

  Fuck. I guess they have to decide how good they’re going to take care of me. “Yes, something. I don’t remember what. The card’s in my billfold in my purse.”

  “We didn’t see a purse anywhere, dear. Did you have one before the accident?”

  Oh, Jesus. Really? “It’s in my car.” Then I remembered where my car was. “Oh, but it’s parked at Whistler’s Bar.”

  “Okay, I guess we’ll have to take care of that later. You’ll be okay, honey. Is there someone we can call for you? Husband? Parent? It’s likely you’ll need to spend the rest of the night here.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s about three-thirty in the morning, Ms. Poppago.”

  “Mindy,” I corrected. “Well, I could call my sister, but I don’t want to call anyone right now.”

  “Alright, Mindy, we’ll get your information when you get back from radiology.”

  “Ooo-kay.” I could feel my strength coming back—and my sarcasm. I could feel my hands and toes when I moved them. Whew!

  “Mindy, I’m Dr. Saylor,” I heard another man’s voice say. I tried to open my eyes again, and things weren’t moving around the room nearly as much now. I started focusing on a face with two blue dots looking down at me. I could tell it was a man’s face. It was a handsome man’s face. It was a very handsome man’s face with amazing Caribbean sea-light-blue let-me-take-you-away-with-me-so-we-can-fuck-and-fuck-some-more eyes. His hair was dark and he looked tall and fit and like he should lay himself down on top of me and fuck me now.

  Sailor, did he say? As in Popeye? Weren’t we just talking—

  “Mindy? Mindy, can you hear me?” he called out with a precise and resonant voice.

  “Yes, yes, yes, sorry—I’m here. I guess my mind was drifting. Did you ask me something?” I mumbled.

  "I see you can move your hands. Can you feel me touch your toes?" I wished he would lighten up, but he was all business.

  “Oh, yes, thank you. You have nice fingers.” I blurted.

  Nice fingers? Really? Shut up! Shit! I was in a rare form of embarrassing myself.

  “Do you feel any pain other than in your—buttocks, was it?” he queried.

  “That’s all. It’s not bad—the pain in the butt.” I almost laughed. I felt loopy and wondered if they had already drugged me with something.

  “We’re sending you to radiology just as a precaution. It’s looking good, from what I can see. Your vitals are within normal limits and stable. We’re concerned about your concussion, though, and any spinal damage, so we’ll be keeping you here for several hours for observation. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mindy?” He was looking down at me from the side and directly into my face.

  “Yes, you’re going to keep me here and watch me.”My mind quickly found the gutter, and I imagined us alone and naked, watching each other. I could feel my heart pump a little harder.

  “Good. Do you remember what happened? The accident?”

  “Um, I just remember we were riding… and hit a big hog… and I was in the air.”

  “A hog? You were lucky. They say you landed in a patch of tall grass that cushioned your fall. You probably landed on your rump, then slid back and hit your head, but we’re not sure,” he informed me. “We’re still evaluating your friend’s injuries. They’re a little more serious than yours.”

  Oh, yeah, him. “Oh, no. Really?” I hoped I sounded concerned. I had forgotten all about him. What’s his name… Dale? Dean? James? Jake! That’s it.

  “We’ll know more conclusively in an hour or two. We’ll keep you updated. He’ll probably be hospitalized for at least a couple of weeks.”

  “That’s too bad. What about the hog?” I asked.

  “Ha! You are alive, aren’t you?” he replied.

  Actually, I was kind of serious.

  He must have seen the genuine concern in my face, and said, “I bet your motorcycle bounced right off him. I didn’t see any reports about an injured pig. He’s probably telling his story to his friends, and no one’s believing him.”

  “Hey, it’s true!” I swore, fearing betrayal. “It was a big ol’ hog!”

  “I didn’t say I don’t believe you. It happens more often than people think. I was just taking the hog’s perspective.”

  “Yeah, it does sound kind of crazy, doesn’t it? Really, the pig wasn’t there?” Now I was starting to doubt my own memory of the accident.

  “I’ve heard crazier. At least you didn’t encounter any of the space aliens out there. They can be nasty sometimes.”

  “Funny,” I said with a smirk.

  “Okay, I’ll see you again shortly after we look at your images,” he proclaimed as he was leaving.

  “Okay,” I said.

  As I replayed the accident in my head, I thought of Jake.

  Oh, man, poor Jake. Bummer, dude. We were just getting started. Fuck, I hardly knew ye…

  An attendant wheeled and transferred me to a tube, where I got to listen to some country-western shit while the imaging machine ground its gears all over
me for what seemed to be a half-hour. Then I was taken to an examination holding area near the ER, where I was told by a nurse to lie still for just a little while longer until they could make sure I wouldn’t become a quadriplegic if I sneezed.

  I was left alone with my imagination, which can be a dangerous thing. Sure, I’ll relax. I’m just going to wait for the return of my dashing soldier—I mean, sailor. Jeez, listen to me. Now I’m infatuated with a sailor—and a Marine. And there’s Jake. He was just supposed to be for a night, but now, thanks to the accident, we share some kind of a fuckin’ bond or something, I guess. Jeezus!

  I felt tears falling down my cheeks. Something must have been really fucking wrong with me because I usually keep my emotions under tight control. Why was I carrying on like a fucking ditz? I guessed it must have something to do with my banged up head… and being restrained… helpless and at his perilous mercy… and all that. Make me squeal like a school girl, Dr. Saylor….

  As I lay there, the doctors and nurses were scurrying around, and every so often I could hear what they were saying in undertones: “It’s not looking good.” “Did you see his x-rays? I don’t think he’ll make it.” “Kind of ironic it happened here rather than over there.” Etc. I figured they must be talking about Jake. I knew I screwed up inking that tattoo, and now other people were getting hurt—or maybe even killed—because of it. I was feeling guilty like shit.

  Occasionally, a nurse walked by to check on me. It felt like hours before they were ready to release me from the backboard bondage, and they apologized, saying something about it being a busier night than usual. Finally, when they took the straps off, it was such a relief to be able to move again. I was stiff and tired, but it seemed like nothing a few hours' sleep couldn't fix. They took some information from me, and I told them again how I wanted to wait before calling my sister to retrieve my purse—and car, for that matter. Eventually, I would have to tell her what happened and hear another one of her schoolteacher lectures. She wouldn’t like her Saturday morning being interrupted so I wouldn’t hit her with an alarming early morning phone call. We’ve already been there, done that a few times. Let her sleep.

  Finally, I saw Dr. Saylor, with his eyes of Pleasure-Island-blue, enter through the leeward curtains. I didn’t know what the fuck leeward meant, but I called them that anyway.

  He smiled as he approached me with my medical chart. “Well, the images look impressively normal, considering the circumstances, and I see you’re recovering well, Ms. Poppago. Or should I call you Firecracker? Is that why they call you Firecracker? Pop!-pago?”

  “Huh, I never thought of that. No, not everyone calls me Firecracker. He called me Firecracker,” I said, referring to Jake.

  “I see. Because…?”

  I began to explain, “He said I looked like one, and I’ve got dazzling fireworks in my—” Wait! No, I can’t tell him more than that.

  Dr. Saylor smiled and chuckled. “He was asking about you when he came to.”

  “Is he going to live?” I asked.

  “Oh, sure, he’s just banged up a bit,” he assured.

  “Oh, good!” I replied, probably with more relief than expected.

  “Good that he’s banged up? he teased.”

  “No, fuck—that he’s not dying!” I exclaimed and embarrassed that I reacted so strongly and even slipped in the f-bomb so naturally. “Sorry, I mean, I heard someone talking about someone here that looks in really bad shape. I thought maybe—“

  “—Oh, I see, you must have heard them talking about someone else. It’s been a busy night. No, your friend’s got some broken bones and bruises, but he’ll recover ok. It’s just going to take a while.” He paused then smiled at me. “Your boyfriend?” he asked.

  Ooh, personal! I was still feeling goofy in my head and yammered, “Oh yeah, but it’s been a turbulent relationship. We met, let’s see, about three or four hours ago, and it’s been really rocky for us lately.” Damn, do I still have his cum all over me? I wondered, self-consciously.

  He smiled again and shook his head. “Well, he’s going to be in the hospital for a few weeks. He’s got a couple of bad leg and arm fractures, and his back isn’t in good shape either. Not to mention the damage to his head. He won’t be dancing for a while.”

  “Man, that sucks.” I hope he didn't damage his sexy ass. Such a nice fuckin' ass… Oh, and cock! Shit, we never finished…

  “I’m just going to check your pupils. Open wide, please,” he said.

  Oh god, those amazing eyes. I wanted to say, I’ll open as wide as you want, anytime. I know, I was carrying this ridiculously too far, but I was struck by this man, and it was making my body warm. That was at least twice a man had done that to me in the last few hours. I rarely felt like this and wondered if it was all just a coincidence, or if I really was under some spell. It was starting to freak me out a little.

  “Okay, looking good!” he abruptly announced, making me jump. “We’re going to move you down the hall to intensive care, where we can keep an eye on you for a few hours. I know you’re tired and sleepy, but we’ll have to wake you up every once in a while to make sure you aren’t suffering from any acute effects of the concussion you had. I would expect for you to be getting out of here later this afternoon.”

  “I feel fine, really,” I said.

  “Well, we’re not taking any chances. When you get over there, you can call your sister.”

  “Can’t the nurse just call her and tell her I’m resting?”

  “That probably won’t be a problem; you do need some rest. But, hey, I’m glad you’re feeling better. You already seem perkier. No more pig harassment for a while, okay?”

  “Thanks, sailor—Dr. Saylor.” Fuck me.

  “No problem, Ms. Pop!-pago,” he said with a wry smile, then turned and walked out into the leeward curtains from whence he came.

  A sandy-haired, peachy plump nurse and her able attendant wheeled me to a room, explaining that they would put me in a room instead of the ICU because ICU was full and would check on me regularly. They also explained that hospital regulations were that I needed to be in a hospital gown, and there was one in the bathroom. They asked if I would need any assistance, and I said I felt like I could handle it. The peachy nurse stayed to help me off the gurney anyway, and I immediately took advantage of the restroom facilities, quickly closing the bathroom door. I hadn't peed since I don't know when, and, just as important, I wanted to make sure all the cum was off of me so I wouldn’t have to worry about it. While I was on the toilet, I noticed my shirt was a little crusty in some places and had an odor to it that I wasn't sure I liked. I unbuttoned the three buttons that were buttoned and slipped off the shirt. Oh, yeah, no bra. They must think I’m a real tramp. I was sure Dr. Saylor wasn’t impressed with my classiness.

  I stood up and stepped out of my short red skirt. I took a look at myself in the mirror and washed off some dried jizm above my eye and in my hair. Still naked, I looked at myself and glanced at the bird of paradise that crossed my torso, perched on some branches on my pubis, with its long, colorful, swooshy tail draping down and around my left thigh. The head was turned back toward my breast and looking up at my cleavage. I’d had it inked in New Orleans by an artist gal I’d come across on the web. She’d done a fuckin' awesome job. It had a backdrop of jungle leaves, blossoms, and ferns. Even though it could still be appreciated in a two-piece bathing suit, it was so much more spectacular in the nude. I finally slipped into the typical, ridiculous excuse for a gown that was hanging on the bathroom door, and I looked at myself again in the mirror. No question, my tats made me look good in anything. I was barefoot, but I would worry about my shoes later.

  I stepped out, and the peachy nurse was waiting for me. She guided me into a hospital bed that felt just soft enough and showed me how I could press some buttons to adjust the mattress support and get even more comfortable. She had a curly strand of hair hanging down the side of her face, and her nose was really cute.

  “I
know you’re tired, Miss Poppago,” Peachy said, “but we’ll need to wake you up now and then to make sure you’re not suffering any serious symptoms from your head injury. The doctor says everything looks okay, so hopefully, everything will be fine and you can leave this afternoon. Can I get you anything? You have water on your bedside table. Could I get you some juice?”

  “No, I’m good. I really just want to sleep.” If she crawled in bed next to me to keep me warm, I would be ever so appreciative.

  “Well, try to stay awake, but we’ll check on you in a little while and wake you up if you fall asleep to make sure everything’s okay. We’ll let you sleep longer later. Just press the green button on the side of your bed if you need anything.”

  She left the overhead light on and left. I zonked right out, and it seemed like she woke me up immediately to see if I was still among the living, shining a light in my eyes. This routine repeated countless times, and I was starting to get irritated. I just wanted to sleep.

  At some point in my slumber, I dreamed of Dr. Saylor lying with me. I was looking into his smiling eyes of deep blue, and things started to get hot and heavy. We were in the midst of some steamy fondling, and he’d started to go down on me when I became aware of someone trying to wake me up, asking me for my keys. Goddamn it, we’re naked. Can’t you leave us alone, people?! I might have said that out loud, but I’m not sure.

  I figured out later that my sister must have been there then to get my purse out of my car at the bar. I managed to give them enough direction to find the one key in my skirt’s only pocket. Really? Jeez, there aren't many places for it to be, I thought to myself. Now I was beginning to get cranky. All I wanted to do was to return to my handsome doctor and finish what we had started. Instead, some bitch asked me again to look into a light because they needed to check my pupils. I couldn't see who it was, but I was too out of it to care. I had been up for over twenty hours, and I was really fucking tired.

  The next thing I knew, I was being stirred awake again by a pleasing and confident-sounding woman’s voice.