Inhaler

The sense of urgency. The dramatic burst of infused medicine combined with the deep eye-popping inhale.

Those sounds. They make an impression on us.

Any of us who ever heard these sounds associates them with a specific person or people. The sickly one(s). We have feelings about them … feelings when we hear the sound(s), see the inhaler being brought out with a quivering hand … being shaken up .. the intimate penetrating forceful taking of this medicine using a tool named after such a simple function — INHALEr — most people take so much for granted.

The lips wrapped around the inorganic plastic contraption with such an oddly-shaped weird rectangular mouthpiece, holding a beautiful metal canister like a miniature tank of helium or some other circus gas.

The dream come true of finally having one of my own. The disappointment mere days afterwards of being told I do not actually have asthma (to any diagnosable extent, anyway). The wish to be prescribed more anyway.

The desire to be objectified and sexualized using one. In a park behind some bushes where the pollen count is high. Being fucked with urgency and most of my clothes still on — modest dress pulled up around my waist, panties pulled aside, maybe pissed in a little from fear of not being able to breathe — while I’m shaking, trying to get a good deep breath, SUCKING IN with that plastic in my mouth. Both of us gasping for air. Alert cries of panic and excitement.