The procedure I had was an embarrassing one, which I won’t go into detail about. I was supposed to be kept in for a couple of days for observation, but as I laid there doing nothing, an infection took hold. Truth be told, I hardly noticed anything was wrong, but the nurses were all concern, and eventually the same doctor who had earlier assured me I would “soon feel like a new man” (nudge nudge, wink wink), decided that a longer stay was required, and that in a room of my own, lest I unleash pestilence on the other patients and/or the outside world.
But however much of a relief it was to get away from the ward, I was still bored rigid. A thoughtful nurse provided me with some tattered paperbacks I would never dream of reading if I’d had any choice in the matter. Rushed visitors provided newspapers that in turn provided the usual litany of woe. Endless hours were spent solving Sudoko puzzles and crosswords.
The only light relief came when one or other of the nurses arrived to perform some new test or stick a needle somewhere. People can go on all they like about how bad the health care system is, but I won’t have anything said against the nurses, who are quite possibly the most consummate professionals I’ve come across in any sphere of working life. They were of course as dispassionate as you get; some more cheerful than others, some you could joke with, others were exclusively focused on my vitals. I found a number of them attractive, but it seemed inappropriate to flirt – and since my original condition still apparently required daily monitoring of my private parts, any attempt in that direction really would have been in the worst possible taste, and probably quite rightly have been met with a steely refusal to play the game.
In any case, in spite of the doctor’s bullish prediction, I felt sure it would take a while longer before I started feeling like the same man I was before, let alone a new one. My main concern was simply to be released, so that I could read what books I liked, stream what music I liked, and generally start to feel like a human being again. It was with a huge sense of relief that, late one afternoon, my new doctor appeared to tell me that she was completely confident that I would be going home the next day. A nurse accompanied her, flushing my IV-catheter, and hooking me up to what I was told would be a final dose of antibiotics.
I liked Nurse Helen. She was a no-nonsense bobbed blonde, around 30 years-old, I estimated, and clearly ambitious though she had her own way of expressing something of her own personality in a uniform environment.
It seemed evident to me that whoever had designed the uniforms had been anxious to desexualize them. That’s understandable enough, but not everyone was happy with the screamingly drab ugliness; one of the nurses had actually confided to me that she found the uniforms “really horrid”. Helen’s way around this was to wear different coloured nylons every day, which fascinated me. Honestly, when you’re trapped in solitary in a hospital, any small detail becomes fascinating. I couldn’t see anything of Nurse Helen’s legs beyond calves and ankles, but it was enough. Today she was wearing purple. I wanted to ask Nurse Helen if she ever got into trouble over this idiosyncratic colour scheme, but it didn’t seem proper.
By now I was well-enough acquainted with the rota to know that Nurse Helen had just started her shift, and would disappear at some point in the early hours, while I was fast asleep. A while later another nurse, Sophie, showed up; it was mealtime. I imagined that since I was well enough to go home, I was well enough to eat in the canteen, but Nurse Sophie wasn’t having it. They needed to be on the safe side. I liked Nurse Sophie. She’d only been a fully trained nurse for a year or two, and if I’d met her anywhere else, I wouldn’t have had her pegged as a nurse at all. She had a goth-lite thing going on, with white streaks in jet black hair that would have cascaded down to her shoulders were it not tied back. She wore muted, shadowy make-up, and tattoos ran the length of both arms. I only knew this because I’d glimpsed one and quizzed her about it, upon which she gladly rolled up her sleeves and told me about them. One was a copy of the famous head from Munch’s The Scream. “A former patient?” I guessed, which made her laugh.
Evening dragged on. In desperation I reached for the remote control and watched some asinine game show that far from making me better almost made me want to kill myself. Nurse Sophie appeared to collect my tray; Nurse Helen appeared to remove the spent bag of liquid antibiotics. A film came on, so dull it was impossible to keep my eyes open. I awoke from my slumber when the door opened, and I heard the familiar bustle. Both Nurse Helen and Nurse Sophie; that was unusual.
“Two nurses,” I observed. “It must be something serious.”
Nurse Sophie was already preparing to check my blood-pressure, and I held out my arm obligingly. “We just need to check that everything’s in working order before your discharge,” Nurse Helen said in her dispassionate voice, as Nurse Sophie took the reading.
My eyes fell on the clock above the wall-mounted TV screen. It was showing a quarter past one. That was odd. Then it occurred to me that there was no noise from outside. Even through the door I could usually hear all the sounds of the hospital, except at night, when there was an eerie hush, as now.
I didn’t want to question this openly. When you’re in hospital you get used to just doing as you’re told, safe in the knowledge that the professionals know best. “That clock must be wrong,” I said.
Nurse Helen gave a strange little smile. There was still some ridiculous programme on the TV. She grabbed the remote control and turned it off. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “We’ll see to it later.”
“Blood-pressure’s perfect,” Nurse Sophie said, over the rip of Velcro.
“Grand,” Nurse Helen said. Then to me, “Now if you’d just pull your trousers down.”
I was still on top of the blanket, so all I had to do was lift my buttocks and pull the regulation garment down. I’d done this so often by now that I was completely inured to the potential embarrassment. Nurse Helen bent over, taking a good look as she held my limp penis between two latex fingers, using the other hand to inspect my scrotum. “How does that feel?” she asked.
It was an odd way to put it. Normally it was a more specific question, pertaining to the soreness or otherwise of my testicles. “It feels fine,” I replied, shrugging as I did so, perhaps frowning a little.
“The thing is,” Nurse Helen said, maintaining her hold on me, “that we’re a little concerned about the lack of a reaction.”
“A reaction?” I said.
“A reaction,” Nurse Helen repeated dispassionately, removing her hands to stand up straight. “Nurse Sophie!”
The brunette moved to the foot of the bed, standing with her back to me. Strangely, I could have sworn she was fiddling with the front of her uniform, but that couldn’t be it. But then the dowdy dress dropped to the floor and I realised that it was. Even stranger, she was wearing the full complement of black stockings and suspenders, silky black knickers and bra. She even wiggled her bum a little. There was a large tattoo of some mythological beast on her back.
I had to be dreaming, I decided, or failing that… “What kind of drugs have you got me on?” I murmured, thinking that they must have hooked me up to some hallucinogen earlier.
“Still no reaction,” Nurse Helen said. “That’s not good.”
“What?” I said, as Nurse Sophie turned.
You’d never have been able to guess at the marvellous shape of her breasts beneath her uniform. Held in place by semi-transparent black cups, they were as full and round and enticing as any I’d ever seen. Nurse Helen moved round to stand behind Nurse Sophie. I watched, still in disbelief as the full, round breasts became exposed, nipples swelling slightly as Sophie gave me the kind of smile nurses only give in pornographic films when they’re not really nurses. Everything was a haze of dreamlike incomprehension. Then I felt myself twitch.
“Finally!” Nurse Helen exclaimed. “A reaction!”
I stared at her, stunned by what was going on, seeing how her eyes were fixed on my equipment. It hadn’t been difficult to avoid embarrassing swelling during the daily inspections, and now it was just as easy, and perversely just as natural for that long understimulated part of me to engorge. Especially since Nurse Helen now reached round and grabbed Nurse Sophie’s breasts with her latex hands, fondling and squeezing.
“That’s good. That’s very good,” Nurse Helen said, as my cock grew to full strength. I wasn’t sure if she was referring to the fact that it grew at all or to its dimensions, since she added. “Nice and big. Just the way it should be.”
She released her grip on Nurse Sophie’s breasts to come round to the side of the bed again. Bending over, she once again gripped my cock, but this time gripping it firmly with her whole hand as the other hand cupped my balls. “How does that feel?” she asked.
There was no way this was an orthodox medical procedure, but I tried to retain some patiently decorum, “It feels quite alright.”
“Just alright?” Nurse Helen questioned. I felt a bit daft now, but Helen was saying, “Nurse Sophie, I think we need to monitor the patient’s pulse.”
Nurse Helen continued stroking my erection as Nurse Sophie attached the familiar clip to my finger, breasts swinging. I had to be dreaming, didn’t I? Or had I died and gone to porn cliché heaven? “Are you sure it doesn’t feel more than alright?” Nurse Helen asked, half stern, half coquettish.
“It feels… um… very agreeable,” I said.
“Oh, we need more than just very agreeable,” Nurse Helen said. She released her hold on my cock, moving sideways towards the head end of the bed. “Give me your hand.”
I let her take my hand, my head spinning as she took it before using her other hand to pull the ugly scrub dress upwards and place my hand against her thigh. The feel of nylon was sensational, and when she pulled my hand upwards and my fingertips sensed stocking top, I could hardly believe it.
“Patient’s pulse rate increasing,” Nurse Sophie observed.
“Good,” Nurse Helen said dispassionately. “Now let’s get him wired up.”
Wired up? This was indubitably the most insane thing that had ever happened to me. Nurse Helen pulled away as Nurse Sophie applied round discs to the insides of my thighs. I had no idea what they were, but they were connected to leads, which were in turn hooked up to some other machine that I’d never seen before. I hardly cared any more. I was used to doing whatever the nurses wanted me to, and there was no way I was going to call this off. My cock throbbed as my eyes followed the wobble of Sophie’s tits as she worked.
Nurse Sophie pushed a button on the machine. There was a beep, red lights, figures forming on a display. “Vital signs look OK,” she said.
“Oh we want more than OK, don’t we?” Nurse Helen said. She was smiling now. Nurse Sophie returned the smile and the two women leaned across my body, their lips meeting, tongues visibly engaging as eyes gleamed. It was like the worst and the best cliché ever, and I was caught in the middle of it; and regardless of whether it was real or I was high on medicinal drugs, or if I really had died, I wasn’t going to kick up a fuss, not now; not with Nurse Sophie’s gorgeous tits swinging just above me.
Helen reached out to grab my cock again, as the two nurses continued kissing. The machine said something that only R2-D2 could have understood, and neither woman seemed to think this was worth bothering about. Pre-cum began to dribble out of me as Nurse Helen continued stroking. She used a latex thumb to smear the secretion over the glans. “Good,” she said, pulling away from Nurse Sophie. “Everything seems to be in working order so far.”
Sophie turned to look at the machine, which was still giving intermittent bleeps. “Clear signs of arousal,” she decided.
Nurse Helen looked too. “Not nearly enough to be certain that the patient is in a fit state to be discharged,” she said.
I wanted to ask what would be enough, but held back.
“Keep your eye on the machine,” Nurse Helen said. “Tell me when arousal levels reach 80 stroke 50.”
This wasn’t real, I decided, it couldn’t be, but if it was a dream, all I could do was enjoy.
I gasped out loud as Nurse Helen leaned over and plunged her mouth over my shaft.
“Pulse rate increasing rapidly,” Nurse Sophie said.
What did she expect? Nurse Helen, who I’d sort of fancied in a platonic kind of way was suddenly shifting her lips up and down my cock, tongue wiggling, saliva flowing. The heat and moisture were incredible and I let out a long groan.
“Pulse rate still increasing,” Nurse Sophie said. “Arousal levels passing 60 stroke 36.”
Nurse Helen shoved her lips down my cock, positively slurping on the hard meat. Instinctively I thrust upwards, my cock aiming for the back of her throat. Nurse Helen pulled back a little but kept slurping. In a matter of seconds, I thought, I would lose control.
“80 stroke 48… 49… 50,” Sophie said, prompting Nurse Helen to slide her lips off me and smile. “Excellent,” she said. “No premature ejaculation.” She looked at me. “Now, how did that feel?”
“Wonderful,” I grunted.
Nurse Helen looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. “That goes without saying,” she said. “I meant if you experienced any unusual sensations? Even any pain?”
I shook my head. “Good!” Nurse Helen exclaimed. “Very good!” Then to Sophie, “Hand me that box of implements, would you?”
A red box was handed across the bed. I watched in amazement as Helen sat down in the visitor’s chair facing me and undid the buttons on her uniform, from the bottom to her waist. She slid forward, legs parting, dress pulled aside to reveal those purple stocking-tops, and now a pair of black knickers above those. Nurse Helen slid her hand over the crotch of her panties a few times, then she reached for the box of implements.
Reality capitulated some more as she retrieved a slim, pink dildo from the box. The machine on my right bleeped as Nurse Helen deftly pulled her panties aside and began teasing her clit with the tip of the dildo.
“Arousal levels above average,” Nurse Sophie announced. Then she gave a little laugh. “The patient must really fancy you.”
Whatever this was – dream, reality or death – it was incredible. I watched as Nurse Helen set the implement to vibrate, and began sliding the tip of it up and down in her crevice.
