Chapter 2

Penance

I had managed to rent out both of my rooms, which paid for most of my expenses and part of my tuition; my student loans and Jack paid the rest. I wasn't excited about having two males, both single, living with me. I knew that Tom was going to have a fit when he found out. His last words when we talked about it were, "Find some nice Catholic girls." But he was in Long Beach, California, for the next eighteen months and I had to do what I had to do.

Greg House was a strange man and not my first choice to share my house. According to his rental application, he was thirty years old. I found it very odd that a doctor his age was still living in rented rooms. But he explained to me that it was only temporary. He hoped to buy a house in a year. Renting a room helped him save more for the down payment. But, I wasn't convinced. I think there's something about not having responsibility for the upkeep of a house that he likes.

He's damn good looking, tall and thin with just the right amount of hair on his chest. He wasn't as white as me, but close. It was so hot in the house during the last part of August that he and Michael both went shirtless most of the time. I got used to the smell of man-sweat permeating the downstairs. Greg's was woodsy, musky. Michael's had that sour high note that most people have, probably the result of all the beer he drank. I could tell, just by the smell, who had walked into the room behind me.

Despite the nice reddish brown hair, the height and the huge blue eyes, Greg House was an egotistical jerk that needed an attitude adjustment. He was so confident that sometimes I wanted to slap that smug look off his face. Something that did amuse Mike and me, House was a depository of arcane and inane information which he regaled us with constantly. Annoyingly, he also liked to second guess what everyone was feeling or their motivation for their actions. What was even more annoying was that he was usually right.

Between med school and work, I didn't have much interaction with him in the first few months. He and Michael seemed to hit it off which didn't surprise me. Michael is as odd as Greg in his own way. He says everything that's on his mind, even when it doesn't make sense, and that was usually 90 percent of the time.

I came home one Friday night to find a message from my brother on the answering machine, "Mags, we don't need you tonight at the bar. Erin wants some hours and I figured you could use a night off. See ya."

It was odd having a Friday night off and most of my reading up to date. I retrieved my anatomy book from my backpack and put on a video that I hadn't watched yet. I grabbed a diet coke and parked my butt on the well-worn couch, pulling a throw over my legs. It was now fall and the weather wasn't quite cold enough to turn on the heat. I was studying and watching the video at the same time, something I was good at, when Greg House walked in.

He looked at me like I was a figment of his imagination. He had a video in his hand, "What are you doing home?"

"I live here."

He snickered, "You know what I mean. Don't you work Friday nights?"

"I have the night off. Erin needs money for a new car, so she's working my shift."

He took his jacket off, throwing it on the chair, walked into the kitchen and returned with a Bud in his hand. "This beer sucks."

I knew it was Michael's beer, "Then buy your own. Besides, stop Bogarting his beer."

He said nothing, turning to the television. "What crap is this?"

"The Milagro Beanfield War."

He frowned and gave me a look of disgust. I ignored it. After taking a rather large gulp of beer, he put it down, grabbed his video, walked over, ejected mine and put his in. When he turned around, I could feel my mouth form a perfect "O" from the audacity of his actions.

"Did the aliens forget to remove your anal probe? Put that back in! Who the fuck do you think you are?"

He smiled mischievously. Walking to the couch, he pushed my feet back so that my knees bent up. He sat down where my feet had been, grabbed the remote and started to fast forward through the titles. He looked over to see my reaction.

I have to admit that I was so stunned I just stared at him. I finally came to my senses, "Put my video back in."

He pulled his head back and narrowed his eyes in disapproval, "Go upstairs. You have a video player and television up there. This one is for your lodgers."

I wanted to know how he knew about my bedroom, but instead I kicked him, "They both belong to me. Get your own."

He laughed at me, grabbing my feet and putting them in his lap to keep me from kicking. He nodded towards the television, "Watch. It's Batman. Jack Nicholson kicks ass."

"The only ass getting kicked is going to be yours!" I tried to jerk my feet out of his lap, but he held on. I leaned forward and hit him as hard as I could in his upper arm.

He chuckled, reached out with his free hand and grabbed my fists, "Oh ho, a little tigress, huh? Damn it, just watched the movie. I'll put yours in when this one is done, deal?"

"No! This isn't your house!"

"Like hell. I pay for my room…it sure is my house."

I tried to pull my hand and feet away, but he was stronger than he looked. I stopped struggling after a few minutes and looked at him. "Wait until you're asleep. A frying pan to your head might just do you some good."

He gave me a sly smile, one that said he found me interesting. I hadn't expected that. I relaxed a little, but kept staring into his eyes. I realized we were acting like two dogs, whoever looked away was going to be the weaker of the two. He leaned into my face, still staring hard into my eyes. My jaw was clenched and I gave it right back.

"I'm going to give you three seconds to start watching or I'm going to have to French kiss you. You're turning me on."

I felt my face and body flush and knew that my pale skin was now a bright, glowing red. I gasped and looked away, much to his delight. He howled with laughter at me.

"Now watch the movie. If you're good, I'll give your feet a massage."

"Keep your perverted paws off of me."

I slapped his hands as hard as I could and pulled them out of his lap, but he grabbed them back without even looking. He started giving my feet and calves a massage, despite my efforts to pull them away, holding onto my feet with a firm grip. After a few minutes I gave up and pretended to go back to my studies. But, I'm a sucker for a foot massage and have to admit, it felt delicious. He knew what he was doing and I didn't want him to stop. I wondered if he knew how to massage other parts of the body?

Despite efforts to stay indifferent, within a few minutes I had put my anatomy book down and was watching the movie. It was hard to watch because the massage was lulling me to sleep. I drifted off at one part, but he shook my leg, waking me up. I bounced out of my sleep and paid attention. Greg eventually stopped the massage and I slipped my feet out of his lap. He didn't seem to notice or maybe he was so engrossed in Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson that it didn't matter. Either way, I had my feet back.

When the movie was over, he got up, took out the video and put mine back in. He walked back to the couch, looked seductively down at me, smiled and handed me the remote. My heart was pounding, worried that he might do something. But, he took a drink and walked off, grabbing his jacket on his way out the door. I was shaking, my feelings ping ponging through me. Part of me had wanted something sensual to happen, the other wanted to scratch his face and kick him in the balls. It was a good thing he left, because usually when I'm confronted with a choice like that, I choose the later. I jumped up and ran up the stairs to bed.

The next day, I heard a woman giggling in his room. A few minutes later they appeared in the kitchen as I was getting a bowl of cereal. She was a beautiful brunette, clad only in his t-shirt. They stopped in the middle of the kitchen as he groped and kissed her in front of me. The t-shirt lifted partially as they tongued each other. She had no panties on and I blushed when I saw her crotch pressed up against his boxers. I ran up to my room, closing the door. I found Greg House disgusting, perverted, ill-mannered and crude. I also found my hand slipping under the elastic of my panties for a much needed release, that kiss had been hot.

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"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It's been a month since my last confession."

"Tell me what sins you have committed."

I shifted my weight on my knees and grimaced. I hated this part of the confessional. The whole thing is supposed to be private, but I knew Father Byrne well and he knew me, especially my voice. I didn't get the veil of secrecy others in the parish enjoyed, "I've used the Lord's name in vain, several times. I lied to my brother. I told him that I had an exam so that I didn't have to work a shift. I've had unpure thoughts about a man who is not my fiancé. I've pleasured myself."

I think I heard a chuckle, but I wasn't sure.

"Are you sorry for your sins?"

"Yes, Father."

"Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat; et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo ab omni vinculo excommunicationis et interdicti in quantum possum et tu indiges. Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." Father Byrne paused, "Your penance will be to say an act of Contrition, do an act of charitable work and fast for twelve hours."

Crap! I had plans to go out to dinner with some of the students that night for dinner and a beer. I guess I deserved it. Jack never received more than an act of contrition for his penance. I had a feeling that Father Byrne held me at a higher standard, hence I usually spent a good portion of my day paying penance for the slightest infractions. I left the booth and took a seat in a pew, pulling the knee bar down to kneel. I felt in my pocket and took out my rosary, beginning the act of contrition as I did:

O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen.

I stayed and prayed the Rosary for my brother before getting up to leave. I genuflected and took in a deep breath. I loved the smell of Church, the smell of incense, the view of the altar, the sight of Jesus on the Cross and then Mary, our Mother, looking sweetly down on us, comforting us. Even as a child, the Church made me feel safe when the rest of my world was in chaos.

I went home and saw Greg sitting on the couch in his boxer shorts, eating a sandwich. It was almost one in the afternoon.

"You have the night shift?" I asked.

He nodded, took a swig and then a bite. His mouth full of bread, he mumbled, "Why? You need servicing? I've got time."

My upper lip curled into a snarl, "You're the reason God created the middle finger!" I flipped him off. Frankly, I found him quite crude. I sat down and took my shoes off, rubbing my feet, remembering how good his massage had felt. Staring at his sandwich, I quickly remembered that I was fasting for the next twelve hours.

He looked down at me and then his sandwich, "You want a bite?"

I shook my head, "Fasting."

His eyes narrowed and he wrinkled his nose, "Fasting?"

"Twelve hours…penance for my sins."

He started laughing at me. "Don't tell me you just went to confession? I'd like to know what you confessed." He wiggled his eyebrows, "Your erotic thoughts about me?" He leaned back, took a swig of coke and cocked his head, "I've always wondered, 1do communion wafers taste better in Corpus Christi, Texas, or in Sacramento, California?"

I didn't dignify him with an answer. I started up the stairs to go study in my bedroom, but felt like something was following me. I turned and saw Greg, stretching his body, barely hanging onto the couch, with his head cocked so he could watch me walk up the stairs. Rather than look away after I caught him, he gave me a mischievous smile. I flipped him off and yelled over my shoulder, "Practice safe sex, go screw yourself."

I decided not to go out. I knew that if I did, I'd cheat and break my fast and I'd have to go back and confess and Father Byrne would burn my ass. I concentrated on my clinic cases and wrote up my reports and diagnosis. We didn't really go to clinic yet, we were given hypotheticals and asked to diagnose them. Most of them were rather easy, but every once in awhile Dr. Tollhouse would throw in a doozey. It was one o'clock in the morning when I heard the door close downstairs. I knew Mike had gone to Trenton for the weekend so I was surprised and curious as to why he had come home early. I grabbed my dirty tea cup and started down to rinse it and check up on Mike. I was surprised to see Greg draped across the couch, fully dress, his arm across his eyes.

"Greg?" I approached him cautiously.

He removed his arm and squinted, obviously sensitive to the light. I looked in his eyes and they were bright.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

He jumped up and ran for the powder room. I heard him retching over and over. My question had been answered. I took my cup into the kitchen, rinsed it and then checked the cabinet for some Pepto Bismol. I grabbed a spoon and headed back to the living room where he was, once again, laying on the couch, still in his jacket and covering his eyes.

I walked back over to him, "Come on." I pulled on his arm, uncovering his eyes, but he refused to open them. Helping him sit up, I unzipped his jacket, took it off and threw it on the chair. The thermometer was broken so I had to rely on putting my hand to his forehead; he was burning up.

"We're taking you up to bed. Let's go." I pulled him off the sofa and he reluctantly climbed the stairs with me. When we got to his room I was surprised to see that he had stripped his bed before he went to work, but hadn't made it yet. "What happened to your sheets?"

"I threw up."

"And you still went to work?"

"You'll understand when you become a Resident. Unless you're sent home by your supervisor, you drag your sorry ass in any way you can."

I nodded, having heard that from several doctors and professors.

"Alright, where are your sheets?"

"Down in the wash."

"Don't you have an extra set?"

I have queen sheets in storage, but not twin. Just didn't have time to buy another set."

"Crap. What idiot only buys one set of sheets? Well, sit here. I'm going to go downstairs and see if I can do a quick hand wash of your sheets."

He nodded at me.

I went downstairs and as I passed the powder room took a whiff and gagged. I looked inside and saw that he had missed the toilet at some point, splattering against the wall and the little trash can. I went in and did a little cleaning, reserving the major work for later. I looked at his sheets and they were going to need more than I could do with just a quick spot clean. In fact, I could see that vomiting wasn't the only thing he was struggling with. I turned on the washer to hot and presoaked the sheets.

I went up to his room, but it was empty. I suspected that he had gone up to Mike's since Mike wasn't coming back until tomorrow. It was the perfect answer. He could sleep in there while I washed his sheets and then I could wash Mike's tomorrow before he got home, something I'm sure Mike would appreciate since he rarely did it himself.

He wasn't in Mike's room. I looked in the bathrooms and when I found that they were empty I started shaking my head and muttering, "No! No, no, no."

I opened the door to my bedroom and saw that the books had been pushed off to the other side of my bed, a pile of clothes, including boxers lay on the floor and a naked Greg House was in my bed fast asleep. I was so pissed I felt like hitting him. I went over to wake him, but saw the clothes, with the vomit and "tracks" on them, grabbed them up, took them to the washer and threw them in with the sheets.

I leaned against the counter in the kitchen contemplating what to do next. It wouldn't be very charitable to kick a sick man out of my bed because I wanted to be comfortable tonight. I remembered that I was supposed to do an act of charity as penance. I went back up and woke him.

"Come on Greg, we need to get some water in you so that you don't dehydrate and cause your fever to spike."

He turned over and looked at me like I was an alien species that had just informed him we wanted his balls for experiments. "Who lit the fuse on your tampon? For God's sake, can't you just let me sleep?"

"No, you're the one who brought this drama into my life, now, damn it, sit up or I'm going to make you get out of my bed."

"You want me out of your bed? Fine." He sat up and threw the covers off, revealing a nice package with curly brown hair framing it. I gasped and stepped back. As sick as he was, he managed a chuckle. "Most women don't have that reaction."

I clenched my jaw, "Get back under the covers, I just want you to take some Pepto Bismol and drink some water. I didn't need to see your shortcomings."

He thought about it, shrugged his shoulders and let me spoon feed him a couple of tablespoons of the pink liquid before he drank half a glass of water. I heard him gagging so I ran for my trash can. I put it under his chin just in time for most of the water to come up, gushing with a tremendous force into the trash can. His aim was accurate; I didn't notice vomit anywhere else.

"I'm going to get you some boxers and a t-shirt. I'd appreciate it if you would put them on; the thought of your naked body rubbing against my sheets makes my skin crawl."

"But, I like the feel of these sheets, soft and slippery. It's giving me a hard on just turning over."

I threw my hands up, "Oh God! You're so perverted. Everything gives you a hard on. I can't wait to wash my linens when this is over. Enjoy it tonight 'cause I'm moving you back into your room tomorrow. Understand?"

He nodded and then turned over, "Oh…there it goes again, yeah, baby, yeah. It feels soooo good!"

"Men like you are the reason women turn gay." I clucked and then charged out of the room to go get him some underwear. I brought them back in, but he was snoring. I laid them on the other side of the bed, gathered up my books, the pillow and made my way to the couch. I grabbed the afghan off the back and lay back.

My mind went back to what I had just seen. He looked different from my brother and Tom. The head of his dick was shaped differently. I wondered if he had been circumcised. I tried to think of something else, but my mind kept wandering back to the same thing over and over. His legs were so long and thin. I had seen naked men, but only a few that close and personal. I went to sleep dreaming of Greg House in the nude.

I was awaken by the sounds of someone retching into a toilet and realized right away that it must be Greg. I ran up the stairs and saw that the door was open; Greg was on the floor holding the toilet. His torso was wobbly, like he was about ready to faint. His legs fanned out to the side. At some point he had put on his t-shirt and boxers, both which appeared to be soiled.

He shook his head and put up a hand, "Don't come in."

"Don't be silly, you look like you're going to faint."

"No, it's not pretty."

"What? I cleaned up your vomit last night."

He winced, looking sad and childish, "It's not the vomit. I didn't make it in time. Could you bring me another pair of shorts?"

The realization of what he said hit me, "Oh! Sure."

I went in and got a pair of boxers and stopped to get him a wash cloth and towel. I heard a crash in the bathroom and saw him sprawled on the floor, trying to get up again.

"Greg, don't be an idiot, you need help." I walked over, looked in the bowl, winced and flushed the toilet. The fact that he was throwing up green bile meant he had nothing in his stomach to throw up. I started the shower while he sat with his back to the wall watching me. When the water reached a nice temperature, I pulled up on his t-shirt and threw it out the door. Bracing myself against the wall with one arm, I handed him my other arm. "Come on, get up and get in the shower, it's the easiest way for us to clean you up."

He was pale and his arm was shaking as I pulled him up. The new shower curtain was still closed so I pushed it back and motioned for him to take off his boxers. He frowned, looking deeply embarrassed. I found it slightly amusing and just a little sad that the mighty Gregory House was embarrassed. He pulled them down and off and I picked them up by the waistband,throwing them in the sink.

There he was again, naked in front of me. I could see he was slightly longer than Tom and my brother. I tried not to look, but there was something different about his dick. He must have seen my puzzlement because he rolled his eyes.

"It's uncircumcised. I was born in Italy."

I looked in his eyes and nodded, "Oh."

For some odd reason, he tried to back up and into the tub, but it was too awkward. He had no choice but to turn around to get in. When he did, I understood why. He had crap down his backside and hadn't wanted me to see. I felt so sorry for him. Once under the shower, I grabbed a washcloth, soaped it up and handed it to him. He washed himself, but there was a little residue. I was getting tired of this, so I grabbed the hand shower, pulled it down and aimed it at his crack until he was squeaky clean. He was quiet and humble.

When he got out, I helped him towel off. He leaned on me so that I could help him put on his shorts, one leg at a time. I almost cracked up. Bending over to get his leg in the shorts, his dick was dangling three inches in front of my face for almost a minute as we dressed him. This all felt like a French farce. I pulled the boxers up and when I was done, looked up into his blue eyes. He had obviously seen the humor in it as well because he burst out laughing. I joined in; it was a good release for both of us.

He put the t-shirt on himself and I took his clothes down to the laundry area. I decided to throw the boxers away. They didn't look as if they would come completely clean. I grabbed him some Seven-Up and went back upstairs.

"You need to get something into you."

He chortled, "You could say the same about you. But if you're talking food, not unless you want it all over your silky sheets."

Then it hit me; I wondered if he had gotten some bodily fluids on my sheets. As if he read my mind, he shook his head and sneered, "I didn't crap in your bed, at least not yet. Here, let me try some Seven-Up before I go back to sleep." He drank some of the Seven-Up and then took some more Pepto-Bismol, washing it down with more Seven-Up.

I put the Seven-Up on the night stand, "I better let them know at the hospital that they need to get someone to take your shift tonight."

"No! I'm going in."

I felt his forehead, "No, you're not. You still have a fever over 100 which means you're still contagious. I'm calling in for you."

He started to protest, but I did what I always do in the bar when someone is giving me some flak, I gave him the 'mother stare.' It's that look women have that says, 'don't mess with me unless you want your balls ripped from your body and fed to the dog.' He shut his mouth and shrugged his shoulders. Within minutes I checked back and he was asleep again. I called in and let them know he was still ill.

Mike got back around seven that night while I was at the grocery store. When I came back, he kept looking at me funny. He finally asked, "Maggie? Are you sleeping with Greg now?"

I coughed and sputtered, "No! Oh, no! He's sick and his sheets had vomit on them. I let him sleep in my bed while I made his."

"Well, his bed is made, why is he still in yours?"

"I just made it before I went to the store. When he wakes up, I'll switch him over."

"Why didn't you just put him in my bed?"

I smiled painfully, "Long story.'

"Well, I've got a midterm tomorrow morning, so I'm going to call it an early evening. G'night."

"Night Mike."

I finished up my own homework and was sitting down on the sofa, watching television when I saw two long legs coming down the stairs. He turned and looked around.

I held my hands up to my face in stage horror, "He's alive! Alive I tell you! Where's the torch?"

He snickered, "Ha, ha. I've been wondering who Fishtown's 'Village Idiot' was…didn't realize I was living with her."

He shuffled over, looking back at the television. I was watching The Empire Strikes Back. He sat down on the couch, pulled part of the afghan up over his shoulders and then scooted next to me. I could feel that he still had a fever, but it had broken and wasn't as high. I felt odd, sitting this close to a man who wasn't Tom or Jack. But I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of seeming like a Mary Poppins, so I feigned boredom and continued to watch my movie. After five minutes, his head was leaning on my shoulder and he was snoring.

Mike came down the stairs and looked at us on the couch. I didn't know how I could explain this to him. I whispered loudly, "It's not what you think. He's sick; he just came down and fell asleep."

Mike had a smug look on his face, nodded and continued into the kitchen, reappeared with a glass and went back to bed. I was sure that this was going to come back to bite me, but surprisingly, Mike kept his mouth shut.