Nurse Maureen

It is very frustrating that I can't remember any details of the accident that took my family. They say it's because when you're knocked unconscious the preceding dozen seconds or so are short-term memory ("scratch pad", they call it) and don't get consolidated into long-term memory before your brain shuts down. Like how you can never remember actually falling asleep. They also say sometimes you can't remember something because you really don't want to. Whatever the truth in my case, it is very frustrating to me. I can only go by what people tell me, and they weren't there.

I can remember the month or two in the hospital and all the surgery, though. Thank God that phase is over. Now I'm just an invalid, confined to my bed or a wheelchair while I complete my recovery. Other than that, my circumstances are pretty tolerable. As a successful architect working with a large firm, I'm entitled to a generous sick leave salary and good health benefits. I chose to stay in my apartment. I can do some work remotely to keep engaged. The insurance company even provides a part-time live-in nurse.

That's Maureen. She stays here during the day and five nights a week. She comes in for a few hours on weekend mornings and is on call when she's not here. I really lucked out with her. She's not only very professional and competent, but she's young and very pretty. That last part helps a lot with my recovery because I thoroughly enjoy watching her as she moves. It helps keep me engaged with life. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure I'd just sink down into a morass of self-pity and depression. Watching her long legs, her slim waist and her lovely trim ass as she bustles about, or covertly ogling her beautifully formed breasts as she leans over me keeps me well grounded in reality.

She's been with me a couple of weeks, now. She's great company, too. Much of the time I'm kind of groggy from the meds and she's on her own, but never seems to be bored. When I'm more awake we talk a lot. It turns out we have a lot of similar interests. One thing, though: she doesn't talk about her life outside of her profession. I've never been able to discern anything about her home life. I think she's married, but that's just a guess. Looking at her taut young body, I don't think she has any kids.

Her duties with me include making me eat, which I probably would neglect to do on my own. We mostly get Uber Eats to deliver stuff; I can't ask her to cook, too. She tends to my meds, and occasionally wheels me out to the balcony while she changes the bed. Of course, one of my favorites is her helping me bathe. The only trouble with that is that now that I'm getting better and taking fewer painkillers, I have a hell of a time keeping my mind off her body as she bathes me. I have to work hard to avoid getting a very embarrassing hard-on. I save the hard-ons for later, after she's gone, and pleasure myself while thinking of her. Then I feel guilty because my wife is dead and I'm here alive enjoying the pleasures of the flesh.

Lately, though, I've begun to notice something different about Maureen. Subtle signs. She's taken to wearing brighter lipstick than before. She's put on more eye makeup. Her hair is looser, too, not done up in a tight professional bun.

"Maureen," I said, "I really like what you've done with your hair. It looks very feminine."

She blushed rather prettily and smiled (did I mention that Maureen has dimples? In case I didn't, she has the most delightful dimples when she smiles.)

"Thank you," she said. "Um, oh, I guess it's just more comfortable down, and it's less work in the morning. I'm happy that you like it, though."

She lingers longer in my room after she's tended to my needs. And the other day I realized that her uniform skirt was an inch or two shorter and had a small slit up one side. I noticed too that she had changed from wearing white stockings and clunky nurse shoes to nylons and pretty shoes, sometimes even with low heels. She seems to take longer bathing me, too.

Last week her prolonged gentle stroking my chest while bathing me got to me and I couldn't control the erection that popped up. She couldn't help but see it. It was tenting my shorts and showing a wet spot. I sensed her hesitation.

"Oh God, I'm so embarrassed," I said. "This is inexcusable and I'm so terribly sorry. Please don't take it the wrong way."

She looked directly at my tumescence for a long second or two as if she hadn't noticed it before. I couldn't see her expression. She was smiling, though, when she turned to my red face.

"That's all right, please don't feel bad. You're having a perfectly natural reaction. Nurses are pretty used to things like that happening to male patients. Think of it as a good sign of your continuing recovery. I do." Then she added, with an undeniable twinkle in her eye, "And, if I may say it as shouldn't, it's rather flattering."

Business-like once again she pulled the blanket up over my waist and continued sponging and drying my upper body, ignoring the bump in the sheet. As she leaned over me, I saw that the upper buttons of her starched blouse were open, and I could look deep down into the cleavage between her gently swelling breasts. I thought sure I was going to cum then and there but managed to fight it down by forcing myself to think about my project at work. I had quite a wet dream that night, with Maureen in a starring role.

Things were okay after that. We both ignored the incident, though I swear she looked at me rather more affectionately when she came into the room. Then, on one of the nights she was staying over, we watched a movie together. She had propped me up on the bed and she sat beside me in a chair. It was a poor choice of movies, because it was a tear-jerker about a man whose wife and daughter are murdered in a mass-shooting. Pretty soon both of us had wet cheeks. At the shooting scene she unconsciously reached over and took hold of my hand. When the scene ended, though, neither of us moved to disengage. But the movie's culminating scene brought back too many very painful memories, and I just lost it. I started sobbing like a baby, uncontrollably. The next thing I knew Maureen was hovering over me, unbuttoning her blouse and lifting up her bra. "Oh, you poor, poor man," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry. Please let me help you." She lifted her breast with her hand and brought the nipple to my mouth. Like a drowning man thrown a life preserver I grasped it and held on with my lips. I sobbed and sucked, wetting her warm breast with my tears while she stroked my hair and crooned, "Poor, poor man," over and over.

My body took over, then. I was as hard as I could remember ever having been. Painfully hard. I missed my wife, but in that moment I needed Maureen's soft body more than anything else in the world. I couldn't think straight. Nothing mattered more to me than her wonderful body so near to me, so accessible. I reached up and encircled her with my arms and pulled her down onto the bed. I rolled her over onto her back and yanked her white blouse open, buttons flying and bouncing noisily on the hardwood floor. I pushed her bra up the rest of the way and hungrily devoured her softly rounded breasts. I expected her to fight me off then, but through the red haze of my passion I was dimly aware that she was herself slipping her skirt off. My hand slid down under her panties to cup her between her legs, feeling wetness. She lifted her pelvis off the bed and pulled her panties down, giving me free access to her soft pussy. She was moaning as I inserted my fingers into her and rubbed her hard little clit.

She raised herself up and bent down over me, kissing my abdomen and wetly moving her lips downward. She slid my shorts off my rigid cock and took the tip in her mouth, kissing it and teasing it with her tongue. I had to have her! Nothing else mattered! Nothing! I tore off my shorts. I rolled her over onto her back and mounted up over her. I slid so very easily into her. It was all I had imagined in my longing dreams, and more. She moaned and clutched at my ass, pulling me deep into her. I kissed her, probing her with my tongue. She responded with hers. Within seconds I came, spurting into her, pouring into her sweet body all the pent-up emotions of the last few months. More than semen, what I shot into her welcoming vagina came from deep inside me, from depths I hadn't known were there. I sobbed even as I came in her, again and again. She wrapped her arms and her long legs around me and held on tight while I filled her to overflowing with my seed.

As last I was spent, physically and emotionally. I felt a great peace descend over me. I lay on top of her, my slowly softening cock still inside her, my face buried in her soft breasts and sobbed quietly while she stroked my hair and quietly crooned in my ear that it was all right now, everything was fine now.

"I love you, Maureen," I said.

"I know," she said, very quietly. I felt the tears wetting her cheek. Not all of them were mine.

The gradually slowing rise and fall of her chest with my head cradled on its softness was very soothing as was the metronome of her heart in my ear. Eventually we fell asleep in each other's arms.

The next morning, she was gone. By the following week I had a new nurse. The agency said Maureen had been reassigned and couldn't discuss the reasons or her new assignment with me. And, of course, they couldn't give out her home address.