Surfing Through the Morning

The Head of Oncology sat at his desk signing off on charts when his phone rang. He picked it up not looking to see if it was an internal or external call. "James Wilson."

"Wilson, who's coming by at lunchtime?"

"Why, do you have a craving?"

"I have a broken leg; I'm not pregnant."

"You sure you're new girlfriend's not with child? Hopefully she's on the pill, or you're using condoms, or both."

"Okay, so I have a new friend. That doesn't mean I'm screwing her yet."

"Is that your definition of what makes a girlfriend?"

"I'm detecting a hint of jealousy."

"Look, whatever you and her are doing, that's your business. I'd just appreciate a heads up if you won't need me to stop by before work."

"You haven't stopped by before work," House threw back.

"Did so. Obviously you didn't notice the laptop on your writing desk."

Greg looked over to see what he was talking about. A replacement computer was waiting for him. "When did you drop it off?"

"This morning. You must have been oblivious in your post coital haze."

"Ha ha. There's nothing sexual going on…yet. Gotta go…And Wilson?"

"Yeah, House?"

"You're the best."

Greg hadn't moved around the house without supervision before, but he needed that laptop. He wanted to be ready to talk some options over with Cindy when she came back later. He found it amazing that the simple task of crutching for a purpose other than toileting was much easier when a goal was involved. He got to the desk in record time. He wasn't even winded.

Within minutes he was surfing the net for information on his new medical puzzle. The initial evidence he came across ranged from the informal to the obscene. The sites mostly dealt with bondage, dominance, and sadomasochism, or BDSM. While a tad freaky for his tastes, he had a little better understanding of what Cindy meant about trust. The general medical equipment used was often psychiatric restraints, surgical mouth gags, specula, enemas and urethral sounds. None of that was turning him on.

A more specialized search turned up a community of recreation casters. Sounded like a fishing club more than a medical community. That was until he clicked into a website. "Throw in the term orthopedic and that makes it medical," he mumbled.

Greg was a little unnerved by the people who fantasized about breaking a bone just so they could get a cast. Hell, that was just wrong. Wanting pain was abnormal. Or was it? Well, for some of these people it was.

Then there were the stories. People wrote about the heightened sexual arousal during casting, while having sex casted and, the more casts, the better. The one thing they all had in common was the feeling of restriction in movement from a more total form of bondage that was on the softer side.

He understood that. All he had to do was look at his leg. The only thing that moved were his toes. Just wriggling them feeling the casts edges at the ball of his foot sent a tingle all the way up. 'Little Greg' was pleased too. Next he tried to move his ankle, even a fraction. It didn't budge, but he became aware of the softness within the cast's confines. He knee was the same way.

"Damn," he said softly, his hand stroking his crotch. He had been bitten by the cast fetish bug. He hurriedly clicked back to photos of women in leg casts; some in crazy contortions that he was sure would never be used in a medical setting. 'Shit, this is better than porn,' he thought.

He started imagining himself at the hands of a merciless orthopedic technician who knew what she was doing. The positions she could force him into…the things she could do to him. He had never given over that kind of sexual power to anyone. Was he willing? Was he mentally ready?

At noon, Greg's door was opened gently. He watched with anticipation, wondering what Cindy would have changed into. He had only seen her in two types of clothing: scrubs and pajamas. After their last discussion and his little dream, he was hoping for a leather bustier and some fishnet stockings.

Instead he got Chase in cashmere.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Wilson asked me to check in on you. So how are you?"

"Not expecting you," he said while trying to hide the fact that he had excited himself with the idea of Cindy scantily clad.

"Well you got me. How long have you been out of bed."

"Too long. I took an extended nap on the couch and my leg is starting to throb."

"Well let's get you back in bed then." Chase wasn't sure where to start.

"I can manage," Greg stood using the crutches as best he could to pull himself up. The pounding in his leg got worse. "Damn." He steadied himself and waited for the worst of it to pass.

"What can I do?"

"Just get out of my way," he growled.

Chase complied and waited for his boss to do things at his own pace. "Foreman says the hook up is pretty easy. I stopped by Ortho to get some lessons; just so I didn't do anything wrong."

"It's so easy a monkey could do it." He glared at Chase like he was an idiot. Yet he was thankful that his underling was concerned enough to get it right and take a lesson or two before coming over.

"So where was Wilson this morning that he didn't come over?" Greg panted like each step he took was another rock up the mountain.

"Wait a minute. If Wilson didn't get you out of bed, who did?" Chase was confused. Was he being duped by House into thinking he was incapable of getting around.

"The ortho tech dropped by to save me," House said as if it were the most natural conclusion.

"Why'd she do that?" Chase felt as if he was intentionally be toyed with.

"Because she likes me, and she knows just the kind of friend Wilson can be."

Greg lay in bed watching the ceiling while waiting for the minutes to tick away on the clock. Chase had left him feeling old and used up. The young man just didn't get that goods looks and a taut body rarely lasted forever.

It was nearly half past two when his stomach growled. Chase hadn't offered to feed him, and he, himself, hadn't thought to eat. Now it was too late. Cindy hadn't stopped by since leaving earlier in the morning. He was alone. And lord only knew how long he'd have to wait for someone to rescue him.

He hated this helplessness. And at the same time, he needed the rest. Just the short trips to and from the bathroom and living room exhausted him. Was it really just the injuries, or had he run himself so ragged that his ability to heal was deterred? What other ramifications would he discover during the recovery process? How soon would he be able to get back into his normal routine. Hah, a normal routine. What he had was a pattern of work, drink, toss and turn, work, drink and toss and turn. Maybe this was the universe's way of telling him to change that. That is, IF he wanted to be an old man.

God, and old man! That's what he was. Jeesh, when did that happen? He never acknowledged it coming, even as it crept up on him at Mayfield. Mayfield...it felt like centuries ago, and yet, just like yesterday.

Greg ran his hands over his face and groaned in frustration. If this was what growing old was like, he did not want it at all. Fantasies were always better.