Hello, Nurse!

He knew he was beginning to make progress when he started to notice the nurses. Most of them were pleasant enough, but one in particular caught his eye. When she took his blood pressure, and his arm inevitably found itself in the vicinity of her breasts, at the same time he was trying to take a peek down her scrubs (not really low-cut enough). At least once she caught him looking, and just grinned at him.

She knew he wasn't going to be chasing her any time soon. He'd broken an arm, a leg, and a few bones in his pelvis in a motorcycle accident. Adding insult to injury, they'd catheterized him within an hour of his arrival in the ER, long before the payload of morphine had whisked him into the haze in which he'd spent the next few days. And now that he was on the other side of that haze, he still remembered how bad that had hurt. Remembered it more vividly than all the broken bones, than laying on the hard X-ray table, than the bouncing he'd endured in the ambulance on the way.

A couple of cliches averted, in his case. He hadn't woken up a week later wondering what had happened. He'd seen the asshole drive right into him, could see what model cell phone he'd been yakking on, and still remembered everything, except for the part after he'd finally been given enough drugs to get to sleep, or at least into some kind of daze. And he hadn't once asked how his bike was. He didn't give a shit about his bike. He was done with motorcycles.

Within days, he'd had the surgeries which pinned him back together. He'd talked to the doctors and they were saying he'd be fine after a few more weeks of healing and physical therapy. And now he was basically waiting. Healing. Watching TV. Dealing with the indignities of adult diapers because he couldn't tolerate a bedpan, and the agony of getting rolled to his side to change him, or his bedclothes. Pushing the button on the morphine drip. Chatting up nurses. And wondering if he'd ever see his penis again. It was still attached, but had been run through with the catheter, suffering from major shrinkage, and completely submerged by his scrotum, which was the size of a softball. They didn't think anything was really damaged, but it had swollen because of all the other injuries and internal bleeding.

Most of the nurses were pleasant enough, but one in particular had caught his eye. She kidded him about the TV shows he was watching, told him about her problem patients, kept him informed about what they were putting in his IVs. While many of the other staff clucked at him about having been a motorcyclist, she told him that she sometimes rode with her boyfriend. She kept his sponge baths from becoming a freezing torture session by using warm water and drying him off thoroughly in sections. Over time, he learned to ask her to do the sponge bath during her shift, not out of any erotic desire to have her handle his body (especially at first, the less his body was handled, the better), but because she kept him warm and comfortable. She laughed with him about the state of his body, since he didn't have any major worries about permanent impairment. Once when she was bathing him she blurted out, "If you can get your penis to match that scrotum, you'll really have something there," and they'd laughed so hard another nurse had run in to check on them.

Okay, her looks didn't hurt. She wore fitted scrubs that were made for women, not the one-size-fits-all tops and bottoms that looked like they were picked out of the supply closet. They were loose around her waist, but you could tell she had a nice figure underneath. What he could see of her body was toned. Her dark brown hair was kept short in a pageboy cut. Her makeup was minimal and neat. She smelled clean, which was borderline miraculous given what all she had to deal with when she was on shift.

It was the last week he was in the hospital before going on to in-patient physical therapy, and she came by on her rounds. She was taking his blood pressure, and his hand lay on her arm as she applied the cuff. After she got the reading: "Looks like they've got you disconnected from about everything. Down to a few pain pills daily, I see."

"Yep. Even yanked the catheter out earlier today."

"Oh, surely we didn't yank it out." She giggled softly and took off the cuff. She stuck the thermometer in his mouth.

"That's what it felt like."

"Shhh." She got the temperature reading and popped the probe cover in the waste container. "Would you rather we did it slowly?" She laughed again. "Who did it?"

"I think it was Michael."

"Oh, okay, maybe we did yank it out. Do you want me to bathe you while I'm here?"

"Please."

She got the supplies, ran some warm water, palmed a small tube of KY and put it in her pocket, washed her hands again and gloved up. She loosened his gown and started to wash him down from top to bottom, keeping him draped as much as possible. Normally she kept the genitalia draped and gave them a fairly quick wiping down, but this time she said "Do you want me to take a peek here and see how the swelling's going?"

"You've seen it all. Go ahead."

She pulled the gown aside. "It's looking better," she said, washing the legs while she had him undraped, then covering the legs with a blanket. Then she got the warm soapy wash cloth and gently stroked the scrotum, which had indeed gone down in size significantly.

The warm water and gentle touch had a predictable effect. Somewhat to his embarrassment, the penis began to relax, lengthen slightly. "Ah, you do have a penis," she laughed.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," she said gently, now washing the shaft. "It's been cooped up for a while."

Almost by reflex, he reached out with his good arm, the one that wasn't broken, and touched the back of her thigh, rubbing it.

"More?" she whispered.

"Please," he said, finally.

She reached into her pocket for the KY and covered his penis, now beginning to stand up firmly. "I imagine this has gotten a little frustrating," she said as she expertly lapped around the head with her lubed, gloved fingertips. It felt fantastic. The lubed rubber reminded him, not unpleasantly, of the feel of condoms.

"Least of my worries until the past few days. Then I started waking up with these little semi hard-ons with the catheter still in."

"You're starting to feel better. It's only natural."

"I'm starting to feel a lot better," he says, his eyes closed now, starting to try to thrust against her hand.

"Keep still," she said. "Just lie back and let me do the work." She started to jack him up and and down with her hand.

He reached around to her waistband and began to reach up under it to stroke her breasts, or to pull her waistband down. "Sorry, can't do that," she said softly. "Someone could walk in. You can stroke whatever part of me you like if it helps you finish quicker, but do it on top of the scrubs." He reached up and palmed her breast, stroking the left one in rhythm to what she was doing on him. She stopped for a little more lube. It was a little cold at first, but quickly warmed with her touch. "I'm almost afraid," he sighed.

"No one's going to catch us, honey," she whispered in his ear. "If anyone starts to come in, I'll hear the door latch and cover you up."

"I'm almost afraid of coming, is what I meant. Is it going to hurt? Oh, don't stop."

"Your urethra might sting just a little. Does it hurt when you pee?"

"It did the first time."

"You'll be fine. Your come's going to look a little different the first time. Just relax, don't fight it." She rubbed the underside of the glans, softly, in a circle. "You have a beautiful cock."

"Looks like a minefield around it."

"Chicks dig scars; haven't you heard? You'll be back in the saddle in no time." His cock was red, at full attention now, throbbing. A little clear pre-come was dribbling from the head. She took her other hand and gently stroked his scrotum, lazy circles on the stubbly hairs. It was a little sore from contracting.

"Do you mean that?"

"I'd do you. Well, I am doing you. Shhh, we can talk about that when you come back to visit."

"Oh, shit, this feels so good."

"You're going to need this Kleenex very soon," she said, pulling a few out of a box on the bedside tray. "Keep it out of your incisions."

He was up at the edge, but wasn't getting past it. He hadn't had this happen before. She saw the frustration in his face. "Oh,you're making me wet," she said. "You're putting me on, but I love it."

She leaned over and whispered in his ear. His hand roamed between her breasts and ran down to her butt. "After you'll well you can come over to my apartment and we'll see about that. I love being taken from behind, when a man's thrusting into me, or when he's got my feet on top of his shoulders..."

He erupted into the Kleenex on his groin. It kept shooting, pinkish gray, murky, until he stopped contracting and relaxed. She helped him wipe things up and covered him up again. She collected the Kleenex and flushed it down the toilet, then she stripped the gloves off and put them in medical waste.

"Why did it look like that?"

"There was a little blood in it from all the bruising. It'll get out of your system. I'll be back with the sleeping pill and your dinner before I go off shift," she said, patting him on the chest.

"That was incredible," he murmured, already sleepy again. "How can I thank you?"

"Thank me for what?" she asked, giving him a peck on the cheek and turning down the light.