The Nurse

Not the Hilton by any stretch - but hey, the price was right!

The only functional lock on the door was an old-style barn door hook lock latch - which appeared to have been added in later years to solve the problem of the door jamb shifting over time - the door handle locking mechanism was simply to offset to work. Regardless, you still needed to give the door a push with your shoulders to properly close it. At the time, none of this was not an issue, since I was currently the only tenant, and no one else in the house would actually even bother coming up to the third floor.

As we enter the bathroom, she places herself in front of me, and waves her hands in the air, signaling to help me remove my clothing.

My clothing was not complicated - a sweatshirt with matching training pants, a white T-undershirt along with boxer shorts underwear and low-cut, white socks.

After carefully unwrapping the gauze around my left wrist, she says;

"Please hold your arms up in the air." - motioning her own hands in tandem upwards.

As I lift my arms, she grabs the sweatshirt from the bottom hem on each side and with a quick motion, pulls it upwards. Being a good eight inches shorter than me, she pulls backwards simultaneously as I lean forward - and although with some resistance over the cast on my right lower arm, the sweatshirt eventually gives in, rolls over my head, and flings into her hands.

Quickly, she folds it nicely and puts it on the armchair.

Next, and with as much expediency as with the sweatshirt, she pulls my white crew underwear shirt up and over my head. As I am standing there, half naked with bare upper body, and knowing what's to come next, I am beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. There I was, about to strip naked in front of a woman - ten years my senior that I barely knew. No one had ever dressed or washed me since my mother did it when I was a child.

On top of it all, a combination of the air coming through the drafty window, the events over the previous forty-eight hours, coupled with the increasingly strange situation I was in, every pore in my body contracted and I started to shiver.

Earlier thoughts of sexual intrigue had dissipated as it was no longer a fantasy situation, but rather stark reality.

Next, she hunkers down, grabs the sweatpants by the hems on both sides and gives them a gently tug downward - to about my upper thighs. In the final moment of the first pulldown, my boxers ever so slightly get pulled along downward, revealing my blond-colored pubic area and just the top inch or so of the trunk of my cock.

With some level of discomfort, I instinctually reach down with my sprained hand and pull my boxers back up.

She quickly looks up at me, and with a calm sensical voice, she says;

"Don't worry, they have to come off too!...

...unless you want to shower with them on?" - she says, with an understanding smile on her voice, while raising one of her eyebrows as if proposing a question.

I slightly move my hands aside in a tacit approval, and...

...she again reaches her hands to the side of the boxers, and with a slower gentler pull, she pulls my boxers down - as she utters;

"We don't want anything to get hurt, now do we? - again, smiling as she looks up at me.

As I stood there shivering, the blood vessels in my body were cold and contracted. The few blond hairs I have on my arms were standing on in and my skin was bumpy. Even though I am fair skinned, my penis had severely contracted to the point where the skin was dark brown compared to the light hue of my natural skin. Rather than being soft and flaccid, the shrinkage had made my cock stand five inches outward at almost a thirty-degree angle - like a small erection of sorts. To protect itself from the cold, the glans had retracted slightly inside what skin remained of my circumcision - with the corona contouring visually through the little foreskin that remained, like an oversized acorn. The contraction of the entire skin of my scrotum had shriveled to the shape of a baseball, with my testicles partially retracted into my pelvis...

...not very impressive looking!

Recognizing my discomfort as I continue to shiver slightly, she looks up at me and with a comforting voice says;

"Let's get you into a warm shower, shall we?"

Lastly, she bows forward as she hunkers down and with her hand waving towards her - instructing me to lift up my feet, one by one so that she can remove my socks.

"Oops! I almost forgot!" - she utters as she reaches down in her pocket and pulls out a plastic bag and some rubber bands.

"Please hold out your arm." - she says with a commanding tone in her voice, as she proceeds to thread the plastic bag over my gypsum covered lower arm - and with two quick motions, secures the plastic bag with the rubber band.

"We don't want this to get wet, now do we? - she says rather rhetorically.

At this point, she had already moved on, and was tinkering with the shower head and water faucet handles.

With her back towards me, she turns her head and utters;

"Let me make sure the water temperature is just right. It's been at least fifteen years since I last used this old tube and shower - back in the days when there were more people living here and Mrs. Brooks had me sleep on the third floor when I was staying here." - she says...

...as she turns the old hot and cold ancient bathtub faucet handles back and forth while trying to gauge the right temperature.

As I stood there, looking at her from the back...

...she was wearing a pair of women's flannel pants - a little tight just inside each of her two rump halves. As she leaned over the tub, the red sweater she was wearing slid upward just ever so slightly, revealing the top of her plain beige underwear - with the tag flipped to the outside. An ever so slight dark hue of a barely visible hairline went from her lower back just above her tailbone up to about her fifth vertebra. She was wearing a pair of heavily worn light brown slippers with white and red polka dot socks - both very old, from her teenage years possibly.

She was not a woman who spent money on clothing - that stuff did not motivate her. Clothing was a necessity in life, nothing more.

"There! I think we got it just right!" - she says as she turns around and waves me forward to step into the tub.

Even though she undoubtedly must have glanced at my genitals, still not fully comfortable with the situation, I try to cover them up with my left hand to the best of my ability, as I step into the tub.

Recognizing this, she utters;

"You can face away from me if it makes you feel more comfortable - standing with your back towards me is just fine. I am ok to wash you this way - no problem."

"Why don't you try to keep your left arm elevated from the water - perhaps rest it lightly on the shower rod - but let's hope we don't wreck it!" - she says laughingly.

She pulls the shower curtain around the short end of the tub and about a third up the side - just enough to have access to wash me while at the same time create somewhat of a shower stall - to keep some of the warm air in the "makeshift" shower.

With my back turned towards her, and with the handheld shower moving over my body, standing up, she begins to shower me off - starting around my neck and letting it flow down my back, over my ass and down the back of my legs.

"How's the temperature - good?

I nod in the affirmative as she continues to shower me down, now angling the showerhead towards the front - first starting with the right and then with the left - the warm water flowing over my chest, down over my mid-section and legs.

"I'll let you warm up a bit before soaping." - she says...

...as she waves the shower head back and forth, up-and-down, and slightly over each of my shoulders - making sure the water covered most of my body.

She got the temperature just right, and the feeling was awesome!

Recognizing my reaction to the warm water, she gives it another minute or so, then says;

"If you could just bend down sideways, and we'll get your hair washed first." - as she instructs me to lean over to the short side of the tub. After wetting my hair fully, she shampooed me quickly followed by rinsing me off just as quickly while running one of her hands through my hair and scalp.

Next, she instructed me to again stand straight up, and says;

"Do you think you are able to hold the showerhead with your left hand while I soap you up?"

"Sure!" - as I reach out and grab it from her.

She proceeds to grab a small washcloth from the wired stand, and utters;

"I see your shower gel - Skandin...Skandenov...?" - as she is trying to read the name of the bottle while chuckling from her poor attempt of pronouncing the name correctly.

I turned the showerhead just slightly downward into the tub so that the water stream would not immediately rinse off the soap she was about to apply to my body.

At this point, I am feeling much more at ease as my body is getting more comfortable with the temperature and the situation deviated from any sexual innuendos or intentions. Her helping me was obviously a gesture of kindness, and not anything calculatedly erotic or planned on her part.

She proceeds to squeeze a big dollop of the shower gel into the washcloth, puts the bottle back on the wired shelf and begins to spread out the shower gel over both my shoulders.

Next, with a downward motion, she runs the washcloth down, over my back and between my left shoulder blade and down the side of my lower back...

...repeating the same thing on my right...

...followed by methodically washing my shoulders, towards the front, over my biceps and triceps, and in and under with two quick rubs of my armpits. Again, she reaches in and under my armpits, up and over my pecs and in one swoop, up and over my nipples. I had no chest hair to speak up, so this area was washed in an instant.

Just as quickly, both arms are scrubbed - carefully not to get any water too close to either of my wrists or hands.

She was a professional!

Next, she quickly runs the washcloth around my mid-section.

After about a minute or so, most of my entire upper body was lathered up - followed by a quick rinse-off with the showerhead - which she again hands back to me.

Once completely done with my upper body and mid-section, she skillfully reaches out with her right foot and drags the three-legged stool, grabs it with her right hand, and swiftly sits down, close to the tub edge and just behind my bare-haired ass.

Now sitting down, and what seemed like only a few seconds, she again squeezes a big dollop of shower gel into the washcloth...

...and as professionally as I could only imagine, she reaches around, spreads the washcloth over my pubic area - just over the base of my penis, and like with a magician's slight-of-hand, runs it quickly down my, still very contracted penis, making sure every inch was covered.

Next, with part of the washcloth gently pushing against my penis, she runs it down and under my testicles and while lifting them slightly, with a single swoop, she washes my scrotum, over my perineum and down and over my anus just ever so slightly - again, making sure no area was missed.

Wow, her washing skills were amazing! It went so quickly and was so professionally done that no part of her hand, wrist or arm ever touched my genitals.

Next, she soaps up both my legs, signaling for me to angle each of my legs to their sides - and with another quick maneuver, she runs the washcloth between each of my toes.

Once, making sure every part of my body had had soap on it, she signals me to hand over the handheld showerhead and starts to wash off all excess soap. With an almost identical flow of motion, she repeats the entire washing process, making sure all suds were gone.

Before I could blink, my whole body was rinsed off and we were done!

"Please step out of the tub" - she again, commands as she directs me to a towel she had placed on the floor.

She picks up another towel, and at about a quarter of the time it took her to wash me up, she dried me off in the same methodical fashion.

The whole washing "ordeal" was all over in about ten minutes.

She quickly removed the plastic bag and rubber band.

Once dried off, she reaches for my boxers, asks me to step into them, and proceeds to pull them up in place - followed by my socks, sweatpants, undershirt and finally my pullover.

Proudly she utters;

"There! All done - as good as new!" - as she gives me a slap on my left thigh and a huge smile - almost as if I had done her a favor, rather than the opposite.

"Thank you very much!" - I respond with a smile on my own. Almost relieved that the situation had not ventured into something different - something we both may have regretted later.

However, that evening, as I lay in bed, my emotions flexed between that of appreciation and disappointment.

I was appreciative that she took the time and painlessly helped me wash up and get dressed - I am sure my arms and wrist would be my best friends in the morning.

I was disappointed, as a small part of me had hoped it would lead to something more - thoughts that were quickly squashed as I realized that it was truly an act of helpfulness - not sexual. She clearly was on a path to follow that of Mrs. Brook's way of life - a life of conservative, church going and respected member of her congregation.

The next morning, I had to run up to school in the morning and returned back home around two o'clock.

Just before I left, I poked my head into the kitchen - Jasmine and Mrs. Brooks were again sitting at the kitchen table, and we all quickly greeted each other.

"We were just sitting here discussing if I should have the third bathroom renovated...?" - Mrs. Brooks utters rhetorically.

I discreetly glance over Jasmine's way with a slight look of terror in my face - she immediately shakes her head side to side ever so slightly as to say - no, she does not know!

A wave of relief came over me as I realized that Mrs. Brook's comments were simply just a coincidence - she was completely in the dark as to what had transpired the day before.

After a few more pleasantries, Mrs. Brooks hobbles over to the fridge to get something as she had not paid attention to our little facial communication exchange, and I proceeded to scoot up the stairs to my room.

That same evening, I had just returned from a quick trip up to the University to pick up a few assignments to do over the weekend. As I entered the front door, Jasmine was sitting in the living room, reading what looked like a cookbook of sorts - a glass of red wine sat on a coaster on the coffee table in front of her.

"Hey Erik!"

"Hi Jasmine - what's happening?"

"Just trying to catch up on some old recipes that my mother had left with my aunt - I'd figure I'd make something this Saturday. If you are around, you are more than welcome to join us." - she says, with some level of hopefulness in her voice that I would accept her offer.

"Sounds good - I should be around." - I say with an appreciative tone in my voice.

"Mrs. Brooks went to bed already. Would you like a glass of wine?...

...over there!" - she says, as she points to a box of Cabernet Sauvignon sitting on the edge of a credenza that had been used by Mrs. Brook's husband to store some paperwork over the years.

"I don't really drink much, but what the heck, my aunt won't know if any is missing." - she says, with an exaggerated sneaky tone in her voice.

Alcohol was clearly not a part of her weekly staple, but having access to wine on the sly was a little bit of an adventure for her. Also, I was pretty sure Mrs. Brooks was an alcoholic, as I had noticed a few half-empty bottles of gin and the recycling bin seemed to have more than enough wine and liquor bottles in them every week. Besides, it was only nine-thirty at night, and Mrs. Brooks had already gone to bed - possibly passed out, I was guessing.

"Sure, why not." - I say, as I pause while I glance around the room for where I could get a wine glass.

"Oh, let me set you up!" - she utters, realizing that I am still somewhat incapacitated.

She walks over to a Victorian style liquor cabinet, grabs a Waterford crystal wine glass, and proceeds to pour me a glass - I sit down on the couch opposite of where she was sitting in front of the coffee table.

The living room was ornate with countless items from all over the world. When Mr. Brooks was still around, he traveled extensively to all parts of the world, and the living room had become a shrine of items brought back from his many travels.

One glass eventually turned into a second, and our conversation got more comfortable.

Jasmine was partially French - her mother American and her father was born and raised in Paris. She had little contact with her father as he had divorced her mother when Jasmine was very young. He had returned back to France, and Jasmine spent most of her teenage years taking care of herself as her mother worked two jobs during this time.

There was something special about Jasmine. She was easy to talk to and took a keen interest in whomever she was having a conversation with. She was dynamic, lively, and had a very infectious laughter where she would tilt her head back every time she laughed. A sweet demeanor and very giving as I found out later that she volunteered with many charitable organizations - some of which were affiliated with Mrs. Brooks' church. In fact, she had forgone an entire week's vacation to come and stay with Mrs. Brooks - to help her around the house and with a few charitable events around town and for the church.

Giving, nurturing, and generous - that was the kind of person Jasmine was!

As we continued, and as our small talk got more personal, our conversation eventually migrated to the subject of girlfriend/boyfriends - relationships.

She revealed that there was really no room for a steady boyfriend in her life. She had dated a few boys from the local church - more so from that of her mother's wishes than anything resulting from sheer attraction, and they all eventually fizzled out.

"Working sixty plus hours a week, and with all my other commitments, there is not much time left for a boyfriend." - she says, with a sense of lost hope and exaggerated sadness.

Also, from the conversation, and the admittance regarding lack of boyfriends, coupled with her religious affiliation, it was clear that any kind of sex life was non-existent.

Intriguingly though, I could tell from her body language that, as the conversation geared towards more intimate topics, she listened intently. She was like a sponge, starving in a sense as she listened with great enthusiasm when I talked about some of my prior girlfriends - a subject, pre-marital "adventures" that was clearly taboo in her circles! Even though the conversation never divulged any direct intimate details, I could tell when her eyes widened a little as I explained the more liberal way of life from where I came.

As I sat there, listening to part of her life story, I contemplated the somewhat strange situation. There I was, having a friendly conversation with a woman, who not even twenty-four hours earlier, had seen my entire naked body - washed it completely, including my private parts!

As weird as it felt, it was also a great relief - an icebreaker of sorts when it came to our conversation - as if we had been friends for a long time...

...the wine certainly helped!

"What about you Erik - anyone special back home right now?"

"Not really - not at the moment. But I do have a very close friend - Tina, back home, but we are more just friends than anything else. At one point, we thought we were an item, but we never "consummated" the relationship if you know what I mean" - I say, now comfortably enough after two glasses of wine to share at least that much.