Drop Dead Sexy(2)

After staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at it, I finally blurted, “Do you have a latex allergy?”

“No…I mean, I don’t fwink so.” He threw up a hand in frustration. “I dunno.”

“You need help. Like serious medical help.” My hand began fumbling on the nightstand for the phone. Once I had it, my trembling fingers began furiously dialing. Before I could bring the phone to my ear, Jesse knocked it out of my hand. “What are you doing?” I demanded.

He shook his head so wildly back and forth he looked like a cartoon character. “I can’t let anyone see me like this!” he protested through his tears. Although it kind of sounded like, “I can’t wet anyone see me wike dis.”

“You need a doctor. That’s just not going to go away with an ice pack,” I argued while picking the phone up.

“911, what’s your emergency?” a female’s monotone voice questioned in my ear.

“Uh, yeah, my boyfriend is having an allergic reaction.”

“Is this an insect or food allergy?”

“No. It’s latex.”

“I see. What areas of the body are affected?”

“His lips, and his…um, his…”

Jesse suddenly appeared to have changed his mind about getting help because he lunged over to scream into the phone. “My fwking dick is about to plode! Oh God, pwse, send someone! It’s gonna take the Jaws of Wife to get wis condom off!”

There was a pause on the line. “Is this a joke?”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, we get at least two to three prank calls a day.”

I huffed in outrage that she wasn’t taking us seriously. “No. It’s not a joke. My boyfriend and I were about to have sex, and right after he put on the condom, he started swelling. Well, I mean, it was swollen before, but then it got all out of control swollen.”

“You’re serious?”

If I could have reached through the phone to throttle the woman, I would have. “Yes, I’m very serious! Now would you please send someone to 251 Sullivan Street?”

“Okay, we’re dispatching help. But if this is a prank—”

“What do I need to do to get you to believe me? Describe in detail how his penis looks like a purple eggplant hogtied in rubber?”

“Jesus,” came the reply.

“Yeah, you ought to see it in real life. You’d be freakin’ out just like I am!” When I met Jesse’s pitiful gaze, I said, “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

At that moment, I heard an ambulance’s wail in the distance. Without another word to the dispatcher, I hung up and threw the phone down. I then scrambled off the bed, so I could throw on some clothes. I didn’t need any further embarrassment by the paramedics seeing me naked.

As Jesse writhed and moaned on the bed, I raced out of my bedroom and pounded down the stairs. I threw open the front door just as the ambulance and a police car screeched into the driveway.

“Never thought I’d be responding to a call here,” a young paramedic said when he hopped out.

His older partner chuckled. “Yeah, you’ll learn that the funeral home is a hotspot for calls. Something about dead people brings on the heart attacks and fainting spells where people hit their heads hard enough to cause concussions. And then there’s always patching people up after fights.”

“Fights? Damn,” the young paramedic muttered.

After unloading the stretcher, they hurried up the front walk. I stepped out onto the porch to meet them. “He’s upstairs,” I said.

The older paramedic nodded. “Lead the way.”

I hurried back into the house and started taking the stairs two at a time. When I reached the landing, I realized how eerily silent it was. Jesse’s agonized moans were no longer filling the air. Forgetting the paramedics, I sprinted down the hall. I skidded to a stop inside the doorway. Jesse sat frozen on bed with the sheet lifted, staring down at his crotch.

“Jesse?” I tentatively asked.

He slowly lifted his gaze to meet mine. “T-he c-condom b-broke.”

The paramedics came rattling into the room with the stretcher. When they looked at Jesse, he repeated, “The condom broke.”

After exchanging a glance, the paramedics started over to the bed. “We’re here to help, son,” the older one said. His badge read Bridgestone. I vaguely remembered that I went to school with a Lyle Bridgestone. I wondered if he was his son. Inwardly I groaned because if it was, the story was going to spread like wildfire because Lyle always ran his mouth.

When Jesse’s body language mimicked a feral animal about to attack, Bridgestone held up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

The moment Bridgestone pulled down the sheet his eyes bulged. “Holy f*cking shit!” His wild gaze flicked over to his partner. “The condom might’ve broke, but it’s stuck around the head of the penis. Like rubber band stuck.” He shook his head as if he were trying to shake himself out of his disbelief. “I’m going to need the scissors.”

Jesse lunged at Brownstone. Grabbing the front of his uniform, he cried, “Don’t cut my dick off!”

Brownstone patted Jesse’s back. “I’m going to do everything I can to save it. You have my word.”