Nurses Without Borders Ch. 01

I'm not particularly adept socially, so it's remarkable that the most memorable parties of my life were ones I hosted myself. This is the story of an unexpectedly erotic get-together three years back, before COVID-19 made unthinkable the intimate contact my friends and I enjoyed that evening. The account that follows is "fiction," but closely based on real events. I wrote the first draft using people's real names, then changed Jan into Janice, Kathy into Kate, and so on. For myself I've used my middle name, Jordan. A few small details are likely mis-remembered, but I will never forget the main events.

So, I had just received my Master's degree in nursing from a well respected program in a western state. Let's call it Colorado. I invited six of my best friends from the program to a celebratory party--one other male nurse and five women, all recent graduates. Though I lived in a studio apartment close to a suburban hospital, I hosted the party at my parents' house near downtown Laramie, I mean Denver. I was housesitting as they squandered their retirement savings and my inheritance on a luxury cruise to Alaska.

This was the same house I'd grown up in, a modest brick building in a middle-class neighborhood. I hadn't lived there since heading off to college, but little had changed; the one substantial remodel had created a lovely guest suite out of the two tiny bedrooms my sister and I had once occupied. With my parents away, I had moved into this suite for two weeks. At first that was a bit disorienting: the room was completely different, but its view toward the small garden, the detached one-car garage, and the sickly crab apple tree hadn't changed at all.

My fellow students and I were all in our late twenties or early thirties, so our get-together was not a teenage rager--no party crashers, no neighbors calling the cops. In fact things were pretty routine for a few hours: I gave everyone a perfunctory tour of the house, we barbecued burgers and fresh corn, and we drank and smoked weed with only slight over-indulgence. We were, after all, newly minted health care professionals.

Things got suddenly interesting around 9, when I thought folks might start heading home. At a lull in the after-dinner conversation, Janice, the smartest but quirkiest among us, suggested an erotic game.

"I have an idea for working off all those calories," she said. "Don't judge me, but ever since I saw the rec room in the basement I've been thinking it would be the perfect setting for a game I've played just once before--right after my college graduation, actually, so maybe it's some kind of tradition for me."

"The idea is simple," she continued. "A free-for-all wrestling match in which we try to remove each other's clothes. It's not a fight, so no punching, kicking, biting, scratching, no tearing clothes, ripping off buttons, etc. And of course no penetration of any of those orifices we've been studying in such exhausting detail. It's just a fun way to get naked together. There is only one winner--whoever still has at least one article of clothing when everyone else is naked. Oh, and the winner gets to take one group photo--not for distribution!--of all the naked losers."

My first response was to make doubly and triply sure that I was indeed wearing men's briefs and not any of my panties. I could feel the cotton material on my genitals and the high, thick waistband. I could clearly remember choosing briefs before my guests arrived, not because of an erotic game, but because I was hyper-cautious about revealing my predilection for crossdressing. I also reminded myself that only a few minutes before I had peed standing up without needing to pull my panties down. So I absolutely, positively was not wearing panties or a bra--whew!

I was also a little worried about something getting broken in the melee, but Janice was correct that the rec room was an ideal setting. It was large and sparsely furnished; by moving a folding card table and chairs we could create a large open space between two old, indestructible couches. There was even a rolled-up rug stashed in a corner that would provide padding over more than half of the linoleum floor.

"I'm game," volunteered the usually shy Denise, one millisecond after Janice stopped talking. A couple of us did a double-take at her enthusiasm, and she blushed slightly when she realized how boldly she had spoken. Maybe she'd had a little more wine than I thought.

As a big fan of women's bodies as well as women's clothing, I loved the idea of seeing my friends half-dressed, or barely dressed, their boobs bouncing as they struggled to pull off one another's panties. I am generally more sexually attracted to women than men (though I must admit that my classmate Raoul, another male nurse, has a remarkable body), so like Denise I was eager to play.

"Me too," I said, "and the room will work fine if we move a few things and maybe leave our glasses and bottles upstairs here. How about you, Raoul?"

"Why not?" he said. "Beats strip poker."

That made four in favor right away, and though we weren't exactly taking a vote, the peer pressure was palpable. Kate, Elena, and Amy hesitated. Kate and Elena were flatmates and very close friends. They seemed inseparable, in fact, and I had once wondered if they were a lesbian couple, but no. "Give us a second," said Kate, clearly wanting to reach a joint decision with Elena.

I was praying, praying, praying they would say yes. For one thing they were both very attractive; if I hadn't forbidden myself a romantic relationship with any of the women in the nursing program--it seemed unprofessional--I would have ardently wooed Kate or Elena, or both! They were smart, funny, and confident women, pretty in quite different ways. Kate, from Boston, had the pale skin, red hair, freckles, and blue eyes so common on the Irish side of my own family; unlike my flat-chested relatives, however, she was very well endowed for a woman of average height. Elena, the one foreign student in our group, could have been a model in her native Romania and probably anywhere else. She was tall, almost matching my 5'9", with a perfectly toned body, dark hair, and penetrating eyes.

They whispered back and forth for thirty seconds that felt like thirty minutes. Then Elena announced with her slight, alluring accent, "Yes, we'll play, and when I take my picture of all you naked nurses I'm putting Kate right in the middle!"

That left only Amy, who lodged a quite reasonable complaint. "The game sounds fun, and I'm not a prude," she said, "but I'm at a huge disadvantage--Raoul is like twice my size!" That was nearly accurate. He was 185 pounds of chiseled muscle; Amy was just over 5 feet and maybe under 100 pounds. Even Denise, who wasn't particularly tall, probably had 40 pounds on Amy, much of it in her muscular hips and ass, which were halfway between average and Olympic speed skater caliber.

"You'll be fine," said Janice. "I'll help you out as best I can, and you'll find that cooperation is more important than brute strength." How true, how true.

Amy granted her assent, so we all made our descent down the creaky narrow stairs. We quickly arranged the room to create an open rectangle roughly twenty-five feet long and fifteen feet wide, with a sofa at each end and the unrolled rug covering a good chunk of the floor. Janice had us stand in a a circle, reviewed the rules, and counted down from ten to officially begin.

Those ten seconds were more than enough for me to plan my opening move. Thinking that the best defense was offense, I was ready to move decisively, and my strategy worked spectacularly well for the first minute of the game.

The instant Janice said "Go!" I turned to the player closest to me, Kate, and lifted her onto the red sofa just behind her. One of her shoes fell to the floor as I plopped her down on the couch and climbed onto her lap, facing her with my full weight on her thighs. That lost shoe was an unexpected freebie; my target was her bra. I'd seen that her blouse would not come off without at least two or three buttons being undone, so I skipped that layer and slid both hands under the blouse from below. She was squirming under my weight, and she grabbed my shoulders, but my hands and arms were free. I reached around her, felt for the clasps of her bra, and undid them lickety-split. Maybe all that practice with my own bras was paying off! As I pulled my hands out to see what else I could accomplish I made sure to pause my paws on her copious breasts--briefly, gently, but enough to feel her hardening nipples.

Things got more challenging, however, as Kate got over her initial shock and fought back more effectively. Even as I was relishing her boobs she made quick work of my belt, deftly unfastening it and pulling it off with one swift motion. A lost shoe versus a lost belt seemed like trading pawns. I had the clear advantage of having at least unhooked her bra, but before I could grab her arms she reached into my jeans and pulled up on the front of my briefs. That only hurt slightly, but it served notice on the vulnerability of my balls.

My plan was to get Kate's blouse unbuttoned by holding her wrists with one hand and unbuttoning with the other. Unfortunately, while I could easily immobilize her arms, I needed both hands to do it. She grew increasingly adept at escaping any one-handed grip, and when I briefly risked a surprise two-handed go at her buttons, she managed to unsnap and unzip my jeans and again pull up my briefs while I only undid one button. This felt like a stalemate; I loved seeing her flushed, freckled face up so close, but to make any progress stripping her I would need to get her in some different, more advantageous position--but how?

I should really have been telling two stories at once above, because as Kate and I were grappling everyone else was at it as well. Janice, the old pro at this game, had also launched an immediate offensive.

Her gambit had been more craftily planned. At the end of her countdown she didn't just say "Go!" Rather, she called out "Go-let's-all-get-Raoul!" and simultaneously dove at his feet and wrapped her arms around his ankles. Kate was mid-air by this time and couldn't answer the call, but Amy, Elena, and Denise were there to help in a flash. I didn't see Raoul hit the floor, but I heard the sound as the women tipped him over. Without speaking they all seemed to realize they might be able to take out the game's most dangerous player before he knew what hit him.

My main focus was on Kate, but in the moments when I had both her hands secure I was able to watch Raoul's predicament over my shoulder. I'm not sure if he was afraid of hurting someone, or if four against one is just too big a handicap to overcome. In either case, despite a lot of thrashing and rolling about, he never managed to get on his feet again, and the women made slow but steady progress... a button undone here, a zipper down there, maybe a loosened shoelace--which meant the shoe itself was about to go.

Looking at Raoul I was reminded of Gulliver bound by the Lilliputians, but for some reason I didn't think the women could really strip him. For one thing he didn't look much different without his shoes and socks--still a big, muscular presence. I turned my full attention to Kate and tried a new tactic, namely to keep my hands on her wrists but move them close enough to undo a button with my ring fingers and pinkies. This prove difficult but not quite impossible--after a few failed attempts I managed to pry open one button. At this rate I would have her undressed in about three days.

My next glance at Raoul made me recalculate everything. In the time I'd take to liberate button #2, the women had somehow gotten off his shirt, revealing his impressive chest and leaving him with just pants and, presumably, underwear. He had managed to get his right hand down to the edge of his pants, perhaps because tiny Amy was the one trying to control his dominant arm. He was holding on for dear life as she pried at his fingers.

Raoul had his hand firmly on the brad at the top of his zipper, but Amy managed to unzip his zipper. "Pull his cock out," cried shy Denise.

"Wait!" said Raoul. "I'll help you strip Jordan if you let me go." What the fuck!?! I guess I'd assumed this would be a kind of boy vs. girl competition, but my wingman Raoul was a gender traitor!

"If you surrender your jeans we'll set you free," said Janice. "Otherwise you'll be naked in about two minutes."

"Deal," Raoul quickly replied, throwing me under the bus.

"Let go of your pants... now lift up your butt," instructed Janice. Raoul complied, and Elena and Denise pulled off his jeans. He was then allowed to stand, wearing just his blue and black boxers.

I was frozen in apprehension for a moment watching this happen. Then I let go of Kate's hands, hopped up, knocked off her remaining shoe, and found myself surrounded by my six friends. I readjusted my briefs, zipped myself up and re-snapped my jeans.

"That's hilarious," Elena pointed out. True enough.

"Well played, everyone," said Janice the strategist. "I hated to let Raoul escape before he was totally naked, but we're trading his boxers for all of Jordan's clothes, so that's hard to turn down. I don't think we need Jordan on the ground; let's get ahold of his arms." They approached me gingerly from all sides, and I can say with complete confidence that it's hard to fend off a dozen grasping hands at once. Soon Raoul had a firm grip on my right arm while Elena and Amy double-teamed my left; I tried to wrench free with no success, so decided to stand passively in hopes they would let their guard down.

"Since Jordan's been picking on me, may I begin?" asked Kate. Nods all around.

"First I'll get my bra re-hooked, and then get my blouse fully buttoned again," she said, performing these tasks as she talked. "And Jordan got both my shoes off, so I need to take away his." She knelt on one knee to unlace my shoes and toss them aside.

"As you saw, I'd also made a little progress with his jeans, so let's get that taken care of." She unsnapped and unzipped me. "And I got in a good tug or two on his undies." She grabbed the front of my Jockeys and tugged them upward, squishing my balls.

"Is that comfortable, Jordan?" she asked.

"Um, no, not at all," I replied.

"Oh, maybe a bit higher then," she said, giving them a harder yank. "Or maybe they're too low in back," she added, reaching behind me to give me a wedgie.

"You didn't see this," she went on, "but he also felt me up under my blouse, so I simply must check out his little man-nipples." She reached up with both hands under my polo shirt, felt for my nipples, and rubbed them between her fingers. "Ooh, they're getting hard-ons. I bet they're very sensitive now." She massaged them gently as if savoring their arousal, then pinched them hard enough that I gasped. "OK, I think Jordan and I are even now, so you all can proceed."

"Ladies, we've got a long way to go before four of us are naked," said Janice, "so let's finish off Jordan and get down to the real competition. How about I pull his pants down and we all have a look at his cock?"

This was my now-or-never moment to defend myself. All I could think of is that if Janice was happy with me standing, maybe I should be on the floor after all. I wrenched both arms free--they had let their guard down!-- sank to the floor, and curled up into a cannonball position.

Of course I could not stay balled up forever. In fact I could not stay balled up very long at all. My friends pried my arms and legs apart and pinned me down on my back, spread-eagled. I'd seen this film before, having watched Raoul's futile efforts, but its lesson hadn't really sunk in. So as my socks were removed it honestly didn't feel like that big a deal. I felt almost fully clothed, just as Raoul had looked clothed until he lost his shirt. It was summer, who needs socks anyway?

I will never, ever forget that it was the beautiful Elena who held my right leg, pulled off my sock, gave me a little tickle, and--observant nurse that she was--commented on the healthy appearance of my toenails.

And then suddenly it was a big deal. I'm not sure whose hands did what as my shirt came off, but the process was as smooth and swift as if I were removing it myself. It was pulled up from the bottom and peeled up and over my head, ending up inside out. In the process my arms were brought closer together for a moment, but they were never released, and I was put back in my full spread-eagle, shirtless, in short order.

This triggered a couple of reactions. First, my awareness shifted from a vague awareness that I was going to lose this game to the more specific and visceral realization that I was about to be naked and helpless with everyone staring at me. The other reaction was physical. I had of course been erotically stimulated by the game, Kate's breasts, and the prospects of wrestling with near-naked women, but now I felt an urgent, swift swelling in my groin. And the more I feared that my friends would see me not just naked but erect, the harder and more excited I grew. All this was happening faster than I can put it into words.

Kate had already unzipped my fly, so my jeans came off as quickly as my shirt had, only not pulled inside out. As with my arms, my legs were pushed together for a moment as the jeans were yanked off, then spread wide--wider than before, in fact--into the spread-eagle pose. So I lay on my back, no longer resisting at all, with one of the most insistent erections of my life straining against the fabric of my light gray briefs, forming a classic, unmistakable tentpole of arousal.

My erection naturally elicited a raft of comments from my friends, including "Oh my god," "What's that I see?" "I think he likes this," "He likes it a lot," and finally, at Kate's instigation, a group recitation of "I see London, I see France, I see Jordan's underpants." The chorus came from all sides: Raoul was holding my right arm, Denise and Elena had my right leg immobilized at knee and ankle respectively, Amy and Kate had my left arm, and Janice was perched on my left leg. After this bit of polyphony Amy took her solo: "Look--his Cowper's glands are pumping out pre-ejaculatory fluid!" And to my dismay a small dark circle of precum was indeed moistening my underpants at the tip of my penis.

"Thanks for the anatomy review, Amy," said Janice, "but how about you skip the nurse-talk and pull his cock out?"

"Um, you do it," Amy replied.

"She can't reach," said Denise, the shrinking violet, "but I can." She promptly reached one hand through my fly and, abracadabra, pulled out my cock. The tent of my briefs collapsed, but the pole remained standing. "Holy shit," Denise said, "it's hard as a rock!"

"His nips are hard too," observed Kate, our local nipple enthusiast. She rolled my left nipple around in her fingertips, then squeezed, pulled, and twisted in a single firm motion. I let out an inadvertent moan. "Was that too rough?" she asked. (Hypothetical question.) "Ooh--they are so excited, so sensitive!" She stroked my right nipple for a few seconds, checked its firmness, and then--no surprise this time--gave it the same squeeze, pull, and twist, again a few clicks short of being sadistic.

Denise then maneuvered my briefs over my bulging cock and shimmied them down toward my knees. Amy, Kate, and Janice took over from there, sliding them all the way down my legs, and off. "Ta-da!" said Janice, holding my briefs triumphantly in the air. "One nurse naked, five to go."

Janice tossed my briefs across the room, and by the time they landed this clever (sneaky?) woman had abandoned her post atop my leg and wrestled Kate to the ground. Amy joined her attack and they quickly made more progress stripping Kate than I had managed in ten minutes. Meanwhile everyone else let me go and began their own skirmishes.