Nurses Without Borders Ch. 02

"I'm bisexual." That's how Elena began her explanation of why we shouldn't simply pretend she didn't know about my crossdressing. "You're just the fifth person in the world to know that about me," she added. "There's Kate, of course--though, just to be clear, we are not lovers--plus two friends back in Europe and one romantic partner here in the U.S. So I know what it's like to harbor a secret about one's gender identity. I'm not at all ashamed of being bi--it's just part of who I am--but I've kept it private out of fear. I'm an immigrant, a recent citizen who speaks with an accent, and a socialist and feminist in a deeply conservative state--I felt 'Other' enough without publicizing my sexual orientation."

"But tonight I've decided to move from fear to trust, and after we pose for Denise's photo I'm going to tell the others I'm bi. If I can reveal my body, why not be more open about my full self? Simply talking to you right now is liberating. Anyway, I just want to suggest that you consider sharing your secret too. I think you would find us all open-minded and supportive."

Her recommendation--to trust, to disclose--was the polar opposite of my well established habit of concealment. "I hear you," I replied, "and I admire your courage. No promises, but I will think about it. Let's get back in there--they'll think we're out here snogging."

Denise arranged us in a simple pose--lined up in front of the larger couch, holding hands. She put Raoul and me in the middle, no doubt to make us self-conscious about holding hands. She placed tiny Amy between the statuesque Raoul and Elena. That left Kate next to me with Janice beside her. No one was upside down.

There were a few little games of keep-away as we all began to dress again--various items of clothing being tossed around to anyone but their rightful owner, but things went on much faster than they'd come off. When everyone was fully dressed Elena delivered her coming-out speech.

"I want to share something with you all," she announced. "I'm bi. I've been thinking for months about telling you, and our little wrestling game pushed me past the tipping point. It's interesting that it was easier to have you all see me naked and touch me pretty much everywhere than to share a basic truth about my sexual orientation. Tonight I'm choosing trust over fear. I'm the same person you've always known. You know a bit more about me now, but that won't define our friendships. Janice, I can't tell you how glad I am you suggested this game! And everyone, just to be clear, Kate and I are flatmates and best friends, not lovers."

Kate was the first to hug her, but we all took turns to express our support and our appreciation of her trust in us. When I held her briefly in my arms I again told her how much I admired her bravery.

After that moment of group bonding, I made my own announcement: "Before you go, I also have something to say--I demand a rematch! Or at least I propose that we play again one week from tonight. My parents will still be away (and no, dear reader, they don't show up early and find us cavorting downstairs), and I have a couple of ideas that might make the game more fun--mostly prohibitions about everyone ganging up on one hapless victim and wiping her or him out." Yes, I was a little sore about that.

Possibly our bodies were still flushed with endorphins, or maybe we just craved one more get-together before we headed out to new jobs across the country; in any case everyone agreed, with just a couple of wrinkles. Raoul was headed to the west coast to check out half a dozen of the top hospitals, but our friend Duncan, the third male nurse in our class, would be back from a similar trip to Boston, Philly, and Chicago. I was tasked with inviting Duncan (a.k.a. Donut, who readily agreed to join in the fun). Chief strategy officer Janice was tasked with bringing along our classmate Trudi (Gertrude on the dotted line, Gertie to her parents). A nasty head cold had kept her away from our first gathering, but renewed health and Janice's sales pitch persuaded her to join us for the second.

So I hosted a wrestling match and pot-luck dinner the following week for seven guests: Trudi, Duncan, Kate, Elena, Amy, Janice, and Denise. We had agreed to begin the evening with a few snacks and drinks, then "wrestle," then share dinner after working up an appetite.

Our cocktail conversations were quite interesting, but let's fast-forward to the stripping game itself. To make the playing field equitable, we were each allowed nine items of clothing. The key tweaks to the rules were: a) that two players at most could engage with a third--but with tag-teaming allowed; b) that a player must be freed after losing two items of clothing in a single skirmish; c) that the fully naked losers could no longer play but would sit on the small Losers' Couch, from which they could observe, root, tease, and advise.

Naive Duncan was the only player who had dressed more or less normally, though we discovered later that he had been smart enough to put his boxers on backwards, making it impossible to reach his genitals through his fly. Everyone else, including the other rookie, Trudi, dressed strategically, often with with hard-to-remove layers protecting sexy undergarments underneath--skin-tight jeans and tops over matching bra/panty sets, for example.

Speaking of the newcomers, it would be rude to start stripping them in front of you without an introduction. They were both transplants to Denver or Laramie or wherever we were, but of very different kinds. Duncan hailed from Philadelphia--a true easterner who was taking Horace Greeley's advice a century and a half late. He was my height, dark-haired, a bit broader in the shoulders and a lot broader in the beer belly. He was also a solid amateur pianist with a pleasant tenor voice, and I admit I envied his talent. He liked to sing show tunes from the many musicals he had seen on Broadway.

Trudi's westward-ho journey had been much shorter, a five-hour drive from a wheat farm near McCook, Nebraska. Contrary to stereotypes, her rural upbringing did nothing to limit her cultural sophistication; she is fluent in Spanish and not shabby in French, and as a voracious reader she has an impressive familiarity with many non-medical fields--astronomy, Mexican history, the U.S. Civil War, impressionist painting, and more. Physically she is thin--small boobs and absolutely no beer belly--and wiry strong. She has light brown hair, amber eyes, and a single tattoo, a butterfly on her lower back. She is also among the most empathic people I have ever met. Even among the cadre of newly minted nurses she stood out as an especially compassionate, genuine, supportive, and trustworthy person. Of course that didn't mean that she wouldn't enjoy seeing naked Duncan sitting on naked Jordan's lap on the Losers' Couch.

Having been obliterated with my strategy from the week before--that the best defense was offense--I went mostly on defense to begin this rematch. For example, on my feet I wore black leather boots (awkward and highly inappropriate for summer, but much harder to pry off than flip-flops) and allowed myself a double knot of the laces. Other clothing items formed tight-fitting layers. I had considered wearing a jock strap and cup as my ninth item--useful protection, no doubt, but absolutely unsexy. Instead I went with a perversely wintery choice: a ruby-red muffler that was an easy target but garnered a few laughs. The women had also been thinking in defensive ways. Over the course of the game we discovered that most of them had donned two or three pairs of panties, and that Denise and Kate had employed additional clever strategies: Denise wore no shoes or socks, opting instead for a bra, two tight long-sleeved tops, two pairs of panties, two pairs of pantyhose, and two pairs of full-length tights. Kate wore a bodysuit; I won't mention the brand but it made me want to offer her my ass for a spanking.

My approach to the game was also defensive. With Raoul gone I was among the strongest players (Denise and Duncan my main rivals), so at first I was rarely targeted and could launch quick guerrilla offensives when two other players had already engaged one another. This was particularly fun when Kate and Elena squared off against one another, launching simultaneous offensives on each other's upper layers. By intervening to help Kate, then Elena, then Kate again and so on, I helped them remove two tops apiece, exposing Elena's bra and the top of Kate's body suit. And as they lost their clothes I remained almost unscathed, losing only my muffler.

It soon became apparent that some elementary game theory was helping the group maintain a rough equilibrium--as if there were a nudity thermostat at work. With the possible exception of Amy, whose chances of ultimate victory were slim, we were all trying to win, to earn that picture of the conquered others and then tease them for years and years. This meant that you couldn't afford to let anyone else get too far ahead, and thus whoever had the most clothes remaining was subject to repeated two-on-one attacks. Relatively early in the game, for example, I was the last one to have almost all my clothes, so Denise and Duncan teamed up to remove my boots. The group also seemed to keep Trudi just a little ahead of the rest of us in forfeiting her clothes, not because she was weak or unskilled, but because we hadn't yet seen her naked.

In general the new rules made the game more interesting, with more one-on-one skirmishes and actual wrestling. It also felt like the women had spent the week at wrestling camp: they played with greater physicality and slipperiness, and somehow they had all added a scissors hold to their repertoire--i.e. wrapping their legs around someone, crossing their ankles, and squeezing. The combination of strategic clothing and higher levels of resistance meant that solo offensives rarely succeeded on their own. More often the player who had gained some advantage needed help actually getting a piece of clothing off. For example, I remember having Amy pinned beneath me as Kate removed her pantyhose.

I never lost an item of clothing in a one-on-one encounter, but thanks to double-teaming I was gradually drifting toward nudity along with everyone else. One of my best ploys slowed down Janice and Denise but didn't defeat them. Denise had my midsection in a scissors grip, making it difficult to breath or to reach anything besides her powerful legs. Janice was taking advantage of my predicament to remove my nylons. "Shit," she said as she lifted the bottom of my dress out of the way, "he's got a garter belt!" I did indeed, and it had six garter straps, and it was holding up my delicate vintage nylons, which by rule were not to be torn.

I hope you are a bit surprised by the preceding paragraph. I didn't want to spill the beans right away that I was dressed en femme. Those boots weren't made for hiking! And I hadn't stopped with the clothes: I had shaved everything but my arms and scalp; my fingernails and toenails were bright red; I had applied my makeup with the utmost care; and I was wearing one of my favorite wigs--a short bob style that didn't interfere too much with the grappling.

Although I couldn't escape Denise's grip, I could squirm with considerable force, making it difficult for Janice to unhook the nylons from those devilish fasteners. It took her almost as long to get my right-leg nylon off as it had taken me to get it on properly, with the red seam in back going straight up the middle of my leg. Tiring of this delicate work, Janice eventually left my left leg alone (there was an echo in the room) and went after my dress instead. The long back zipper, which I can scarcely get pulled up on my own, offered shockingly little resistance, and after an all-too-brief brief struggle the women released me minus my dress and one stocking.

I rejoined the fray with three of my garter straps dangling and my black panties now visible, but pretty far from naked: besides my panties, garter belt, and single stocking I still my bra and its D-cup breast forms. And I was still ahead of Janice herself, who had just a bra, panties, and a blouse whose buttons were all undone. Trudi was down to an indeterminate number of panties; her boobs had by now been seen, jiggled, commented on, and subjected to Kate's nipple fetish. No one was on the Losers' Couch yet; it was time for that to change.

Although Amy by this time had been stripped down to a single pair of panties, she was spared the indignity of being the first loser, perhaps out of deference to her small stature. Kate seemed to have at least three or four items of clothing left, including tights. One assumed a pair of panties under her body suit, but might there be two pair, or more? I for one didn't know just how much she had already lost. In any case, she suffered a pair of devastating two-on-one offensives. First Duncan and Elena subdued her and removed her tights and pantyhose. Immediately after they released her, Denise and I teamed up to wrestle off that body suit (not easy!) and the single pair of canary-yellow panties beneath it. "It's almost worth losing to get out of that thing," said Kate, walking slowly to the Losers' Couch and plopping herself down. "But don't let me be lonely over here--send me some company soon!"

"Coming right up," said Janice. "I'm about to relieve Amy of her panties--and without anyone's help! Amy, you wanna lose the easy way or the hard way?"

"Oh, hard way," Amy replied.

Amy and Janice circled one another warily as the rest of us made room for them. I picked up the stocking I'd recently surrendered and set it down next to the red muffler I'd lost early on, making parallel red and black strips on the faded gray carpet. Did that simple act of rearranging my lost clothes inspire Amy? Perhaps, for the next time she got close to Kate's body suit, she scooped it up from the floor and threw it at Janice's head. With Janice distracted and momentarily blinded, Amy executed a perfect form tackle, driving Janice backward and onto her ass. Amy grabbed Janice's panties and yanked them down and off before Janice could take a breath.

The loss of her panties not only gave Duncan his first look at Janice's pussy, but also meant that a single skirmish could now capture her blouse and bra and send her to the couch. Amy managed to stand up before Janice could grab her, and for a few moments was able to dart around the room waving Janice's panties and taunting her. That didn't last long, however, and Janice soon tackled Amy, pinned her to the carpet, and wrestled off her panties, thus fulfilling her pledge to send Amy to join Kate on the couch.

Until this point Duncan had been relying primarily on physical strength and double-teaming, but he now showed some creativity that had been previously lacking in his play. Janice, in her eagerness to exact revenge on Amy, had not taken the time to re-button her blouse, and the moment she stood up brandishing Amy's panties, Duncan pulled her blouse partway off from behind. This trapped Janice's arms behind her, caught up in her own sleeves. Trudi, beginning to get the hang of things, moved in to unhook Janice's bra. Then the blouse came off in back and the bra came off in front and Janice was naked.

This was a strong offensive move by Trudi, but opened her to a counterattack, and even as she was pulling off Janice's bra Elena knelt behind her and pulled the last two pairs of Trudi's panties down to her ankles. Amy had scarcely had time to settle on the couch before two more naked nurses were joining her. The sofa made for two or three now had four naked nurses squeezed together--Kate, Amy, Janice, and Trudi.

I hadn't had to lift a finger to help as these four women lost the last of their clothes, and I now had more clothes than anyone--my garter belt, one stocking, my panties, and my bra. Persistent skirmishes with Denise had finally bared her powerful legs, and she now wore only one pair of panties and a bra. Duncan had only his ass backwards boxers (assuming no panties underneath!), and Elena had only her beautiful emerald panties. Had we switched to strip poker at this point, my lead would have been hard to overcome, but here it was inevitable that my three remaining opponents would all turn their attention to me. Knowing I was destined to lose two pieces of clothing soon, I calmly reviewed my end game strategies, for I did have at least one trick up my (strictly metaphorical) sleeve.

Duncan had perhaps been a bit reluctant to help undress another man--or maybe he had just been too busy being relentlessly double-teamed and stripped--but if he had qualms he set them aside for a moment as he wrestled me into a bear hug from behind, holding me tight just below my fake boobs. And when Elena tried to unhook a garter fastener, Duncan showed some spatial intelligence, telling her to just take off my garter belt and let the stocking come with it. Well played, Duncan!

Having lost my garter belt and nylon, I was freed, and the playing field, now strewn with nearly seventy items of clothing, was almost even. I considered Denise the favorite to win: she was the reigning champion, had two items of clothing left, and still had those seemingly indomitable legs. The consensus, unfortunately, was to launch another offensive against me. I tried to channel Patrick Mahomes escaping the pass rush, and I did avoid several lunges at my feet and grabs at my hands, but I could not hold out forever. Denise eventually grabbed my left arm with both her hands, giving Duncan a chance to take out my legs and drop me to the floor. Elena didn't touch me but advised Duncan and Denise to place me in front of the Losers' Couch.

Dangling by my arms and legs, I was set down on the carpet parallel to the couch and about six feet in front of it. The four naked nurses now had front-row seats. Duncan had his full weight on my ankles and a firm grasp of my knees. Denise promptly clambered onto my upper body with her knees at my armpits. She held my wrists, and though she could put her weight on my upper chest, her preferred perch was my face.

I could smell her sex through her thin panties, giving a new meaning to the wine connoisseur's phrase "on the nose." The scent was bright and crisp--citrus and perhaps a hint of vanilla. Since that night I've had eight opportunities to complete the tasting experience--earthier tones of mushroom and chestnut on the mid-palate followed by a lush, well-balanced finish of honey and exotic spices. On five of our bdsm "dates" I was tied to Denise's bed, twice I was on my knees in my French Maid's outfit, and then there was the one overnight visit when--but I digress.

From the comfort of her seat atop my face Denise delivered a brief speech about gender equity. I can't quote it--could not even hear it all clearly with her flesh pressed against my ears--but the gist of it was simple: we had all seen more naked female nurses than male ones, and there had been much more touching of breasts than of cocks and balls. Denise would now begin to redress that inequity.

She began by pulling the front of my panties down and hooking the edge below my balls. This display of my genitals made clear that my shaving had been comprehensive; a week before I'd had a healthy copse of dark pubic hair, but the forest had been clear cut, exposing smooth, pale skin.

"I'm glad Jordan is not yet erect," Denise said. "We can now watch his cock swell as he ponders his situation." Given my irrepressible hard-on the week before, her prediction did not require a crystal ball, and sure enough my cock began to grow and stiffen as if on command. Denise gently palpated it every now and then as if checking a balloon for full inflation.

She then toyed with my cock and balls for two or three minutes. She jiggled my testicles, separately and together. She moved my cock around like a joystick and bounced it against my abdomen. She ran a sharp fingernail slowly over my balls and then up my shaft to the glans. She squeezed the tip of my cock gently to make my pee-hole open and close like a tiny mouth. She taunted the losers on the couch who could only look, not touch.