The Onion Eaters by J. P. Donleavy Page B

God you’re not going to put the likes of that into me, I’d be kilt. Hadn’t the words got out of my mouth before I could stop myself. The poor gentleman was mortified. God he was handsome. Must have happened to him many times before. That he had to get at you in the dark before you could object. Haven’t I often wondered had he got at me with it first would I have known. I don’t mind them thick or on the long side but when they’re the like of that as would plough you in half I’ll take celibacy instead of death. Well I can tell you when I came with the news to the three of themweren’t they into white coats in a flash, ripping instruments out of the drawers and racing out the laboratory door like they were going to a fire. In no time they had your man housed in the best hotel, giving him the treat of his life while they were at him with the stop watches, weighing and measuring and pouring distillate and copious beers down your man’s throat. You wouldn’t know but that the bunch of them were turning into homosexuals. You’d hear nothing else out of them but the specifications and performance of your man’s tool. All in a special book with a blue ribbon. How long it took to get up, come off, go down, get up again in the various temperatures, times of day and phases of the moon. Till your man broke down in tears and wept, a nervous residue. Now that’s a handy size I don’t mind saying. Built for comfort. Give us a flash. Go on. Sure as I’m feeling it what harm is it to see it.’
    ‘All right.’
    ‘It must be studded with jewels. Grrrrrr. Ah fondly seen by moonlight. Grrrrrr. You have a beautiful prick. Make a grand dessert.’
    Rose is at me. Finishing off her supper with a nibble. And now a mouthful. Of the end of my pole. Take it as a radish, take it as a leek. But by God don’t gobble it off altogether and make me a freak. Plough acres around Charnel Castle to keep you fed. Grow a few tons of onions too. For the others. The land raging forth with cabbages and spuds would bring in some revenue. Might make ends meet. Just as easily die here as in the hospital. Fading away in the night when nurse said I am going to cure you. The shadows rearing as she pushed the green screens up around my bed, pulled back the covers and put her hand gently tickling between my legs murmuring man you’re in a bad bad way but we’re going to cure you starting right now tonight before you do any more of this dying. Do you hear. You come back now walking on that road. You can do it. Her whispers reaching quietly into my ears. From this dark slender girl. A little silver watch on her wrist she watched when she held mine. I felt all those first days she might not like me. Till she said you’re a model patient not a request or a complaint. I gaveher all my tropical fruit. Just to leave with someone something. If only spat out seeds. Little pips. In memory. I had no visitors but one old school friend who thought I had got strange. And after a few sour fading smiles he walked away with my temperature chart caught on his coat. Which clattered to the floor at the swing door of the ward. And then she came. On duty every night at seven. Her uniform sparkling white. Her big long lashed eyes and flashing teeth. Which were pressing a light touching porcelain on my penis. More lightly and lovely than light or love. Till just after half past twelve my pecker came up. A slow fire from a tiny spark kissed into me. She was called April and wore glasses when she read my thermometer. My heart was thumping. Her lips soft wind blowing. A tune played with music tip toeing up my spine. Carrying little tinkling silver chains. Winding them round in bundles. Attached up to a ship. A naval vessel I once saw ready for launching. The great wooden supports knocked away. Taking the thighs off my hips and banging them on my ears I come awake. Bottle of champagne crashing against the bow. People running scattering through the brain. The ship moves.