The only sounds in Room 19 were the steady bleep of the monitors and the slow breathing of the patient in the bed. Until a few days before, he had been in ICU on life support following surgery. Since his transfer into Room 19, the doctors had kept him heavily sedated and under half-hourly observation.
The nurse had transferred to the department the same day the day the patient in Room 19 arrived on the ward and been assigned to care for him with strict instruction to report any changes in his condition to the charge nurse immediately.
For four days she had divided her time evenly among the four patients assigned to her. The other three were conscious and healing well so took less of her time as they focussed on recovering sufficiently well to leave as soon as the doctor signed their discharge papers. All three of them were elderly; the patient in Room 19 was young, well considerably younger than them.
For four days she checked on him every thirty minutes of her twelve-hour shift and noted no changes, no signs of improvement. He just lay there pale and still, the leads on his chest bare for all to see, the oxygen tube hooked into the nostrils of his fine straight nose, the IV linked to a canula in his right arm.
Occasionally, she noticed the smallest of flickers at his eyelids but nothing else. She wondered if he was dreaming. She wondered what colour those eyes were under the lids.
In his isolated dream state existence, nothing was making any sense. There were gaping black holes in his memory. Instinctively he knew something had happened to him and it hadn’t been something good. There was no pain to help identify what that “something” was. He couldn’t muster the energy to open his eyes. His world wasn’t all dark though. There were hints of colours. There were differences between light and dark. Day and night, he deduced. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make his limbs move. They felt unnaturally heavy, almost as if they were glued to the bed he lay in. He could hear the sounds of machines in the room, the noises from outside the room. Visitors…. he had no memory of anyone visiting him. Was he somewhere far away from home? Were visitors not allowed into the room? If only he could remember……
There was one voice he was aware of. He presumed it was his nurse. She was there every once in a while. Once in a day? Once in an hour? He had no idea but when she came into the room, she spoke to him as though he were fully awake and conversant. Hearing her voice warmed his heart. Human contact. Sometimes she spoke about the folk in the other rooms; sometimes she spoke about things that had happened out with the hospital. Once she had come in complaining her car had broken down and that she’d got drenched walking the last mile to work. He could almost smell the rain off her…. summer rain. He could just about make out her shadowy silhouette as she went about her duties. She wore an unusual perfume. It reminded him of summer and suntan cream mixed with the scent of clean pure soapy shower gel. She reminded him of sunshine.
Then she was gone for what felt like a long time.
The patient in Room 19 had been on her mind while she was off duty for three whole days. Part of her felt relieved to hear that he was still there when she returned to the ward; part of her felt sad that there had been no noticeable improvement in his condition.
She visited his room first, breezing in wishing him “good morning” and muttering about the traffic on the journey into work. Methodically, she completed all her checks, updating his notes as she went. Just as she was about to leave, there was a minor disturbance in the steady bleep from the monitor. She stepped closer to check everything was ok. As she was about to turn to leave, satisfied that everything was alright, she felt a movement to her right. His hand reached out to her.
“Hey, it’s ok,” she said softly, taking his hand in hers. “You’re going to be just fine.”
She felt the gentle squeeze of his fingers against her small hand.
“Can you hear me?”
“I’ll be right back.”
At the nurse’s station, she reported into the charge nurse that the man in Room 19 had moved and held her hand. Her report was dismissed as “highly unlikely it was cognitive. More likely a reflex reaction. Have you seen the drugs he’s on?” The nurse nodded and returned to her duties, although in her heart she was convinced the charge nurse was wrong.
In his hazy world, he smiled. He’d communicated with her! She’d understood his hand movement. He’d held her hand. It was warm and smooth, not much bigger than a child’s. A stray thought meandered through as he wondered if she was any good at massage. Despite the black holes in his memory, he felt pretty sure that he enjoyed a good massage and a little “personal” attention. The dark haze closed in on him, swallowing up that delicious thought.
“OK, mister,” he heard her say some time later. “Bath time.”
Ordinarily, she didn’t enjoy bathing patients. All that old, wrinkly, smelly flesh but the patient in Room 19 was different. For a start he was far from old! Carefully, she tied the plastic apron round her waist. She had set the basin of hot water on the trolley beside the bottle of shower gel that she had begged from one of the male nurses. Slowly, she peeled back the sheet and blue waffle blanket that covered the patient. Much to her surprise, she discovered he was naked. With a smile, she lifted the warm wet flannel from the basin, added a squirt of shower gel, lathered it up then began to wash him gently. Taking care not to hurt him, she started with his neck and shoulders, smoothing the washcloth over his lightly tanned skin. As she washed his arms, she traced her finger over the outline a Celtic tattoo on his shoulder. As she rinsed out the cloth and added more shower gel, she wondered why he’d chosen that design.
Taking care not to get the leads on his chest wet, she slowly washed his torso. Noting the yellow fading bruises on his ribs, she was extra gentle as she bathed that area. She felt him quiver. Ticklish, she thought with a mischievous giggle.
In his hazy dream-like state, he suddenly felt warm and mellow. He was wholly aware of the nurse washing his upper body with a soapy cloth. The scent of the soap was familiar. His mind began to wander……
As she washed each of his feet in turn, she gently massaged them. Starting with his toes, she massaged each one firmly then, using both hands, manipulated the balls of his feet before working her thumbs in circles over the arches of his feet and round to his Achilles tendon. The feeling was exquisite, leaving him totally relaxed, putty in her hands. With more soap on the cloth, she washed his legs, running her hand wrapped the cloth up the front of his shins over his knees then over the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. With an awkward smile, she noted his physical reaction to her touch.
“Hmm, perhaps not as out of it as the doctor thinks, mister,” she observed with a giggle.
The touch of her hands in his inner thighs sent bolts of electricity sparking through him. Muzzy as his mind was, he was instinctively aware that he was hard. Under any other circumstances he might have felt embarrassed; in the current circumstances he prayed that she wouldn’t stop. As she lavished more attention on him, he wondered, not for the first time, what she looked like. He allowed his imagination to stray as he felt her lay the warm damp flannel over his balls.
As she cleaned his most intimate areas, the nurse noted the small smile forming on the man’s lips.
He could picture her clearly in his mind’s eye. Her white uniform low cut, showing off the curve of her breasts. As she bent forward over him, he could see she was wearing a white satin plunge bra. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to nestle his dick between those beauties. He could easily imagine gliding up and down as those full breasts caressed his cock.
The washcloth appeared to have been discarded. He felt soapy hands fondling his tight full balls. If this is heaven then I’ve died and gone to the right place, he thought to himself. He could feel his blood pulsing through him. As her small hand clasped his erect manhood, he let out a long low moan of ecstasy. It had been a long time….too long….
She stroked his length slowly sensually, the scented bubbles adding to the smoothness of her ministrations…
He was eager to indulge in his release; he wanted this moment of intimacy to last for eternity.
He felt her playfully add some stray soapy bubbles to his sensitive exposed tip then was blissfully aware of a soft gentle cool breath wafting over him as she blew the bubbles away. Release was imminent. If only she would lean over further, lose the tunic and the bra and allow him to feel her breasts brush against his skin.
In his own inner fantasy, the uniform had long since been discarded and his mystery nurse was wearing only her white satin bra and matching skimpy panties. Would it be wrong to ask her to remove those and massage his erection with them? This was his fantasy. He could visualise whatever he desired….
Alone in the private room, she paused. It was obvious what her patient wanted/needed. Should she? His eyelids were flickering, and she was sure he was fantasising about the same thing she was thinking. Should she? It could… no would…cost her her job if she got caught or if he filed a complaint…. The door was closed. The blinds were closed. It was tempting….
He felt her hand adjust its hold on him then felt her slowly work him. Up and down with a gradually increasing rhythm. The scented soapy lubricant was enhancing the moment. He was close…so close. He couldn’t hold back much longer. Inwardly he groaned as her left hand traced a line across his hip bone from his groin to his waist then slid under his butt cheek. Her right hand had increased its tempo. He could almost feel those breasts touching his skin…. almost…
His orgasm came hard and fast, cum spurting over her hand and his own dark pubic hair. Seventh heaven didn’t come close. If only those breasts had been bare and wrapped around him……
Her cheeks flushed, the nurse gently wiped down his stomach then tossed the cloth into the basin.
Carefully, she drew the sheet and blanket across him, worried that he would feel cold despite the heat in the small room.
Again, his hand moved to take hers.
The patient held her hand for a few moments.
“I know what you’re thinking, mister. Not a word,” she said as she removed her hand from his grasp. “Not a word.”
Tossing the discarded plastic apron into the bin, the nurse prayed that the damp stains on the front of her tunic would dry before her charge nurse commented. Picking up the basin, she turned and left the room.
The only sounds in Room 19 were the steady bleep of the monitors and the slow breathing of the patient in the bed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
(image sourced via Google – credits to the owner)