The Tumor Wank

I have a friend. In the spirit of anonymity, I’ll call her Maxine.

Maxine’s libido eclipses her need for air. I once asked her the most unusual place she ever had sex. She answered, “You’d be better off asking where I haven’t had sex.”

That’s just how Maxine rolls.

At a point, Maxine developed an inexplicable bump on her leg. She went to the emergency room. They kept her overnight for testing.

Once settled in her private room, Maxine fell prey to insomnia. As the hours ticked by, she began to entertain the notion that the bump on her leg was a tumor.

Let’s take a moment to consider. We have a sleepless woman who a) has an extraordinarily high sex drive b) is in acute need of distraction, and c) is confined to a bed.

Maxine’s fingers busied themselves. And were doing a superlative job. In fact, she was just. . .

Knock, knock.

The door cracked open, letting in a narrow beam of light.

Maxine’s fingers fast arranged themselves elsewhere.

“It’s the nurse,” came a woman’s voice. Slowly, she peeked around the corner. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Maxine answered defensively. “Why?”

“The monitor in the nurses’ station showed a rapid increase in your heart rate.”

“Oh,” Maxine muttered. Then, falteringly, “I didn’t think I was hooked up.”

“The monitors are wireless now,” the nurse replied. She paused. “So,” she asked, “everything’s alright?”

Maxine wiped sweat from her brow. “Yes,” she said weakly.

“Well, alright. But take it easy in here, okay?”

Maxine sighed. There was only one answer she could give.

“Yes. I will.”

The nurse withdrew, making a point of leaving the door open.

You know. . .just in case.