Date: Sat, 5 Oct 2013 21:33:27 +0100
From: Lamort DeLioncourt <lamortdelioncourt1954@hotmail.com>
Subject: Bobby and I Chapter 7

Bobby and I
Chapter 7

My Dad was not a big man, but he was a strong man. He lifted weights and
worked out in a boxing gym several times a week. Dad grabbed Bobby by the
hair and physically threw him out of the bedroom so hard; he hit the wall
across the hall, knocking the breath out of him. He turned and looked at
him and told him to get out of his house and never come back. Bobby jumped
up, and ran for the stairs.

Then, Dad turned to me. I was sitting on the bed, with no idea what to
do. Dad reached over, grabbed me by the hair, and planted a powerful punch
in the middle of my face. I felt my nose break and the blood rush
out. After my head recoiled, he did it again. He smashed my face at least
three times that I remember. I was nearly unconscious from the pain, but I
felt him grab me by the back of my head and lift me off the bed to a
standing position next to the bed. While he held me, he punched me
repeatedly in the chest and stomach. I could hear and feel bones breaking,
and I realise now that he was breaking my ribs. He dropped me to the floor,
and planted a vicious kick to my groin. The pain was so severe that I
passed out. When I came to, he had me by my left wrist, twisting it up
behind my back and pushing me toward the stairs. When we reached the edge
of the top step, he twisted my wrist even more and I heard the snap and
felt it break. I was sure he was going to throw me down the
stairs. Instead, he dropped me to the floor and told me I had 5 minutes to
get out of his house and never come back. As far as he was concerned, I was
dead to him and the family. He stomped off to his bedroom, never looking
back.

When I was able to think, I realised that with 5 minutes, the only thing I
could do, would be to try to get out the front door. I was able to get to a
standing position, and using my right hand on the banister started down the
stairs. Each step was pure agony, and I doubted I could make the front
door, but I had to try. I had gone down three steps when I saw Bobby coming
in the front door. His Dad was with him. His Dad came up the stairs,
scooped me up in his arms, and headed for the door.

He took me back to his house and put me in his car. He told me he was
taking me to the hospital. With great difficulty, I was able to explain to
him that they knew me, and they would call my Dad. If he knew where I was,
he might come after me. Bobby's Dad told me the hospital would call the
police and they would protect me. I explained to him that because of how
important he was, and his job with the government, calling the police would
do nothing for me.

I asked instead if he could drive me to my Grandmother's house. He thought
I needed a hospital more, but agreed in the end. While we drove, Bobby held
my head up on his lap, to try to ease my breathing. I was making gurgling
sounds with every breath.

When he got me to Grandmother's house, he went to the door and talked to
her. She ran out to the car and looked at me. She was a strong woman, but
seeing the damage Dad had inflicted on me, reduced her to tears.

She turned back to the house, and shouted that she needed her car brought
around front right away. The next thing I remember is lying on the back
seat of her car.  She and Bobby were both holding me up so I could
breathe. Mr. Evans, her driver, got us to her doctor's house in record
time. The doctor was waiting out front for us. He looked in at me and
climbed in the front seat with Mr. Evans. He told him to go to Southampton
Hospital and not to stop for anything.

I next remember Mr. Evans, carrying me into the hospital. Inside the
emergency room, the lights were so bright and the sounds were so loud. I
heard a nurse say she couldn't get a blood pressure on me. The doctor was
ordering all kinds of things, and someone was sticking me with needles. I
was overwhelmed, and slipped into unconsciousness.

When I came to, I was in a nice room, and I remember thinking how warm and
comfortable it was. Grandma was sitting next to me on one side, and Bobby
was sitting on the other. The name on the tag at the foot of the bed said
Roy Smith. I lay there wondering who Roy Smith was.  I then wondered why I
was in his bed. It never dawned on me that they gave me a phony name so Dad
wouldn't find me.

When Grandma saw I was awake, she jumped up to give me a kiss, and then ran
out to get a nurse. When the nurse came in, she asked how I was feeling,
and when I tried to answer her, I found I couldn't speak. She smiled and
told me not to worry, that because of the damage to my face, a tracheotomy
had been, putting a tube in my throat, so I could breathe.

She asked if I was having pain and I nodded my head yes. She said she would
get me some pain medicine. She did, and as she put the medicine in my I.V.,
the pain went away. She told me she called the doctor, and he would be in
to see me soon.

When the doctor arrived, he smiled, and stood at the foot of the bed and
talked to us. He explained that the punches to my face had broken my nose,
and the bones surrounding my left eye. He said surgery was considered, but
the doctors believed it would heal on it`s own. They realigned my nose, and
packed it to allow for proper healing.



Next, he explained the tracheotomy, telling us that the damage to my face
was so severe that I was unable to breathe from the swelling. He said that
they had cut a hole in my throat and put a breathing tube in it.  He said
it should be out in a day or two. Next, he explained that both bones in my
left wrist were broken, apparently while forcing my arm up behind me, Dad
and twisted the wrist as hard as he could, and the two bones snapped. The
cast would have to be on for 5-6 weeks, but he expected it would heal
nicely. The next bits of information were a little more distressing. He
told me Dad had broken four of my ribs, and one had punctured my left lung,
causing the lung to collapse, which is why I was making funny gurgling
noises while trying to breathe in the car. He said I had a chest tube in
place to drain the blood from my chest, and to keep the lung inflated. He
said it would be out in a day or two. With my ribs taped, it would take
about six weeks to heal, and in the mean time, every breath I took would
hurt.

Next, he moved on to the damage done by the kick to the groin. His face
took on an extremely serious look. He told us that when dad kicked me, he
had kicked me with enough force to rupture my right testicle. The doctors
in the emergency room had done all they could to save it, but the testicle
was beyond saving, and it was surgically removed. The doctor explained that
later on if I wanted; they would insert a prosthetic silicone testicle into
my scrotum to make it look normal.  Dad had also ruptured the epididymis of
my left testicle, but the doctors were able to save the testicle. However,
they had to remove the epididymis, which made me sterile. He had torn my
foreskin in several places with his shoe, and it was beyond
saving. Circumcision was necessary. He had also bruised all the soft tissue
of my penis and they weren't sure if it would ever look right or get erect
again. They had to put a tube in my penis to drain the urine from my
bladder because of the swelling and surgery.  Other than that, the doctor
told me I was in reasonable shape, considering the beating I had
experienced.  The next few days went by quickly. They removed the
tracheotomy tube and I was able to speak. I just didn't sound like me. They
removed the chest tube. They also took out the tube in my penis.

With the tube out of my penis, I got brave enough to look under the sheets
at my dick and nutsack. I was shocked. My dick looked like chopped
hamburger from the beating and the circumcision, and my nutsack was black
and blue with stitches going down both sides of it. My sack looked funny,
being completely flat on the right side, where they had removed the
testicle.

By the end of the week, I wasn't in much pain except for breathing. Every
breath I took caused pain. The nurses were getting me up every day to walk
short distances in the halls. I quickly regained my strength. Grandma had
finally gone home to get some rest, and Bobby was still with me day and
night.

One morning, I heard people talking out at the nurse's desk, and then the
nurse brought the chief of police into my room. He told me he had some
questions he would like me to answer. Apparently, one of the nurses
recognized me and took it upon herself to report my injuries to the
police. They were here to investigate. I was scared, because I knew they
would tell my Dad where I was.

The chief told me that Dad had reported an accident at the house, and that
a neighbor had brought me to the hospital. He wanted me to tell him what
happened. I was terrified, not knowing what to say. He told me Dad's report
said Tony and I were fooling around in the hallway, and I had accidentally
fallen down the stairs. I told him that was exactly what had happened. He
looked at me, with an icy stare, and said, "Case closed."

By the end of the week, the doctor said I was ready to go home. I must have
looked horrified, because he finished the sentence with, "with your
Grandma."

On Saturday morning, the nurses finished my discharge, and Grandma was back
to see me. She told me she was taking us to her house for the time being so
I could fully recover. The nurse put me into a wheelchair and wheeled me
down to the lobby. Mr. Evans was waiting at the front door with the car,
and he picked me up out of the wheelchair, and put me in the back seat of
the car. Bobby joined me on one side and Grandma sat on the other side.

We drove home in silence, no one being sure what to say. I watched the
landscape roll by, wondering what the future held for me.


This is an original work of homoerotic non-fiction. © 2013 Lamort DeLioncourt
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