By Jan Kozlowski writing as Alea Pierce
The Missing Dick call had happened at midnight between a Saturday and Sunday, prime drunk driving time. A bad car crash on the highway exit ramp. Two ejects that were dead on the scene. One passenger trapped but stable and one driver trapped and critical.
She and Nick were the first ambulance on the scene. It had been the first call she had ever run as a paramedic and she was scared to death. She had done a quick triage, called for back up and taken charge of the driver, letting Nick handle the passenger until the fire department and other paramedics got there.
The driver’s name was Jack and unfortunately, he was still conscious. The other car had turned in front of him and he had hit head-on at high speed. The engine had driven the steering column back into the passenger compartment, pinning him to the seat and crushing him from the waist down.
The fire department had eventually gotten him out with the Jaws of Life, but he was in pieces. Blood and skin and bone and major organs slid out onto their backboard. They just gathered up what they could and humped for the hospital. She didn’t even remember picking up Jack’s dismembered penis or sticking it in the pocket of her turnout coat.
Things like that happened all the time. Civilians don’t like to think about it, but it’s true. Bone fragments, pieces of skin, teeth, fingers, whatever you find on-scene you try and take with you, but you only have two hands Sometimes they end up in pockets or equipment bags or stuffed in the corner of the bench seat.
Unfortunately, Kim hadn’t found Jack’s pride and joy until later in the shift. She reached in the pocket of the coat for a piece of gum and had come up with a piece of Jack instead. She pulled out a latex glove and fished the penis out of the deep, plasticized pocket. The part had been separated from it’s whole for over four hours now. She was surprised to find it stiff. Figures, she thought, I finally get a nice hard one in my hand and it’s due to rigor rather than sexual abandon.
The penis itself seemed pretty undamaged for the trauma the body had suffered. A super-heated metal edge, probably a part of the engine, had sheered it cleanly from the body, cauterizing as it cut. Other than the slight smell of burnt pork, it was amazingly intact. Because of the way it had landed in her pocket, the blood had settled into the glans area, giving it the swollen, purplish look of a over aching for intercourse.
The solitary organ was warm and substantial in her hand. She knew it wouldn’t last long. Rigor set in at about four hours post mortem and lasted for roughly 24 hours more.
“Well Jack,” she whispered, “the good news is this will be the longest hard on you’ve ever managed. The bad news is you aren’t here to enjoy it.”
She was getting excited. It was sick and twisted and taboo, but she was getting unbearably horny. It had been so long since Patrick left…
