Up and down, up and down, faster now. He loves it – I can tell that from the way his magnificent cock stays large, and from the mounting tension I sense. I pretend that, instead of being here on a sterile white hospital bed, we're sprawled voluptuously on gold satin sheets. Suck, suck, suck, furiously now, then ease it a bit, make it last, make it good for him…
What mounds of rippling muscles he has, thick patches of hair where hair should be, everything a girl could ask for. And this cock knows how to appreciate the delicate art of fellatio; it's an experienced cock all right. I wonder how it would feel inside me, and wonder if I'd dare, here in the hospital, me a nurse!
Most of all I wonder what he looks like under those bandages covering his face, and he's probably wondering about me. It's more exciting somehow, not seeing each other, not knowing each other, communicating with taps on the table, two taps for fresh water, please, three taps for suck me off, nurse. And I'm not doing this out of duty or pity. I'm doing it because I adore sucking cock, losing myself, in the ever changing rhythms of my head, the constant swishing of my tongue against the warm hardness. Up and down and around and around I go. I love it!
The door's locked. The "do not disturb" sign hangs on the knob. We have all the time in the world and I'll even give up my break, yes, gladly, if he wants to prolong it.
Suck, release, suck… my vacuum-cleaner mouth takes it in deeper and deeper. Not all seven inches, that I can't quite manage, but lots of it, while my left hand takes care of the rest and my right hand fondles his balls ever so gently. My pauses are less frequent now. He's ready for the steady, continuous final phase. No more teasing, just straight suck. Build up speed ever so gradually. Nothing harsh, no quick changes, just more and more of the same, titillating the shaft more all the time. No swallowing, let the saliva slurp, slurp. His cock is dripping with it and so are my hands. By now it probably feels like pussy juice to him. Ah, I wonder what his fantasies are…
Is he picturing himself, big and bronze on a deserted beach at twilight with a sinuous blond, picturing the sensuous grace of her body as her head bobs up and down and her firm young breasts bounce ever so slightly, her long legs straddling his? Suddenly the beach fantasy becomes my own, I see his naked hairy body not on satin sheets but on sand, the firm texture of his body glowing in the oblique evening light, his chest rising and falling as the waves rush in and out. His face, yes, dark, swarthy, eyebrows that match his pubic hair, full, round lips that want to eat my pussy, and my pussy hurts for it. It hurts so much I want to take one hand away from him and get to the slick, tingly surface where scarcely more than a touch would send me into exploding ecstasies.
But I go on, up and down, back to the satin sheets for diversion, soul music coming from the hi-fi, the faint aroma of rum we'd been drinking. I'm the maid sucking off the lord of the manor, and I'd better do it fast now for his wife will be home and calling for me, but it's me he loves really, this gem of a man loves me… and so I suck, suck, suck.
He's getting closer. Don't ask me how I can tell. Somewhere in his body, something is beginning to give way. The shaft is harder, my mouth strains with fullness. Oh, God, in a moment it will all be over, and I'd wanted it to last and last, with me here, forever a worshiper at the shrine of life, the eternal phallus: a sudden surge from within tells me to accelerate my motion, to suck harder, faster. And now the throbbing has begun and he thrusts his mighty sword into my mouth. The warm liquid spurts out. My communion, my reward. I hold it for a few instants without swallowing, tasting its deliciousness and sucking till I'm sure I have it all, while he squirms relentlessly beneath me, the pulsations diminishing now. My mouth runneth over. And at last I take it into my throat.
My pussy aches for release, yet I am content for the moment in his contentment. I hold his spent masculinity against my face, relishing this brief moment of utter tranquility, but knowing that sooner or later my pussy will demand release, too.
And soon I have to leave, making the rounds of the other patients, exchanging a shy glance with Dr. Chard in, wondering if he'll ever get around to asking me out. He must know what a good nurse I am, from the way I keep my patients serene and happy.
Most of the doctors know what goes on here. After all these patients are young studs, soldiers, some fresh from the Southeast Asian whorehouses and some who haven't had a woman in months, but all of them so horny, you catch them pulling their hands out from under the sheets all the time with that little-boy guilty expression: Mommy, you know I wouldn't do anything bad. Even with some of the pretty sick ones, you're apt to see the sudden rising of a mountain peak in the middle of the sheet when you're just there doing your duty.
Some hospitals are squeamish, I know. At the place where I did my training, they took a guy to the psycho ward just for jacking off! Rather, for getting caught jacking off. My God, didn't they know that was a sign of health, not mental illness?
So I was a little surprised at the way things are handled here. Don't get me wrong. It's not that all this is fully endorsed and approved by the staff, it's just that people are hip.
Shortly after I was hired, one of the guys bared a hard cock for me to see and pointed at it smiling. I shook my head politely, fixed his pillow faster than usual and ran down the hall. I demanded to see the doctor on the ward, and, when he finally had time to speak with me, I told him.
"I think the patient wanted me to perform a sex act… fellatio, perhaps," I said.
He nodded gravely. "You're new, aren't you?"
"Yes," I said.
"The needs of these young men are great. The chances of anyone's becoming violent are rather slim. We screen patients carefully, although sometimes mental disturbances do occur in a hospital setting. Don't worry about being hurt."
He hesitated a moment before going on. "We don't ask that our nurses be prostitutes. You're not demanded anything beyond your assigned duties. But some of the girls here feel such great sympathy for their patients that they go beyond the call of duty, if you know what I mean. Usually it's quite discreet: one doesn't speak of it to, say, the head of nursing. One closes one's eyes. Now forget that I have told you any of this. You're old enough to have figured it out for yourself."
I guess that was when I started to respect doctors again. I'd hated them, refused even to go out with interns when I was in training, because they treated us like slaves. I resented it all the more because I'd wanted to be a doctor myself once, and I had had all the qualifications except a rich Anglo father and a prick. A rich Anglo father will pay for medical school, and being male will get you a scholarship.
Well, I lucked out: instead of Doctor Verdugo, I'm Maria Verdugo, R.N., a hospital whore. I don't make as much money as a doctor or a high-class whore, which I'm sure I could be, but I have fun and respectability. Who could ask for more? But now and then my bitterness shows.
I don't suck everybody's cock, of course. Some of the other girls do it, some know about it and don't, and a few don't know about it. The problem is keeping it a secret from the nurses who don't know about it and wouldn't understand. Number Eight, with the bandages on his face, is a guy I dug right from the first time I gave him a bath and saw the glorious architecture of his body. Little did I know that while his face was all bandaged up he'd develop a code to ask for it. Number Fourteen is nice, too, a bright college kid who got zapped by the draft when his grades dropped. We have kind of a good thing going, in spite of his being about four years younger than me.
Most of the guys flirt and really work hard to get something going. Now, Number Fourteen just asked me one day if he could talk dirty.
"Sure," I said. "I won't tell."
"If you weren't a nurse, I'd fuck you," he said.
"What you mean," I returned, "is that if your right leg weren't in traction you'd fuck me. Right?"
"Come to think of it, I'd have a pretty hard time, wouldn't I?" He surveyed the gear that held his leg pointed upward. "But I'd really like to. I wouldn't just fuck you, I'd make love to you. Would you believe I lie here thinking about it, thinking about you and what you'd be like?"
I smiled. "Do you talk to all the nurses that way?"
"You bet your life I don't. Some of them would slap me in the face, me a sick man, returned from serving my country…"
There's sort of an unspoken rule that a guy doesn't get it from more than one nurse, because there aren't nearly enough nurses to go around… and, of course, we have our jealousies, too. Some nurses get romantic and stick to one guy, which is rather selfish of them. But we all pretend that the guy we're with is the only one getting our favors – in fact, the only guy in the hospital getting such favors – hoping they won't compare notes and create a scandal once they get out.
Well, to make a long story short, while Number Fourteen was telling me I was beautiful and intelligent and everything, I got closer and closer to the bulging monument beneath the sheet.
I looked at him and suddenly his face was agonized with desire. "Would you? Could you? I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have asked…"
"Shut up and get sucked off," I said.
He laughed. "You're something, all right."
"Wait and see what you think when I'm finished," I told him.
I whipped back the sheet and carefully maneuvered the hospital gown out of the way. And there before me was his cock, reaching upward like a church spire, set in the finest nest of reddish blond hair. I took it in my hands and gently moved the loose flesh up and down.
"God, you don't know how long it's been…" he muttered.
"Tell me about Oriental women. Is it true…?"
"Honey, they'll do it sideways, assways, anyways, or that's what the fellows tell me. Now I wouldn't know."
"You're putting me on."
"I'm not. I'd sworn to be true forever to a pretty girl in Wyoming and she shafted me for a rich rancher."
He sounded serious, but I wasn't sure. Anyway, I said, "Don't cry tears, baby, cry sperm. That'll do us both more good."
"Let me kiss you first," he begged.
That made me feel all soft and tender. Some guys are still romantic in the old-fashioned way, and I rather like it, even if I'm not exactly romantic.
Our lips met, mine on top of his, and almost instantly our mouths opened and we exchanged tongues, mingling our saliva, passionately twisting our faces together. His hand reached to one of my breasts, which was about as far as he could reach, and beneath me I could feel the furious pounding of his heart. At last we separated, exchanged a glance of warmth and tenderness.
I liked this guy, but, of course, I wasn't going to get hung up. And for me, sucking a cock isn't romantic in the usual way, it's a kind of erotic religion or something. In giving myself this way I purge myself of my disappointments and bitterness. So I not only give, I take. I feel on these sick guys, not only eating their high-protein sperm but letting them give me something that nourishes my depraved… oops, I meant to say deprived soul.
I looked again at that glorious tool, upright as ever. Then I waved my hand over it and watched as it moved toward my fingers. An involuntary reaction, of course, but I like to dispense with scientific explanations and pretend it's magic. His cock is drawn to my hand by mysterious powers, beyond his or my control. And the same is true with my mouth. I approach the lower edge of the bed, then lean over with my tongue hanging out. And it reaches for my tongue; it wants it.
I can hardly wait to get it in my mouth, but I don't forget the usual precautions, like locking the door and putting out the sign so nobody will come in. It's amazing that some of the old girls on this floor don't know what that sign means. They think it's for enemas or something… well, there are guys who get their kicks that way, but they're just not of the same calibre as the guys who want to get sucked off.
I savor the sight of that tough, purple member for as long as I can stand it. It's going to be awkward, since I don't dare sit on the bed, but I can lean over. And so I do. Anxious as I am I do it in sensuous slow motion, my mouth greedily opened and ready for its ritual meal.
"Oh, baby," he groans.
I don't answer. I just lower my gaping mouth to the head of it. Instead of clamping down hard, I let my tongue travel in tiny circles, teasingly, oh so gradually, centering in on his most sensitive spot. And when I get to that tender ridge he howls like a dog who's just heard a siren. So I dart away, lapping at the sides, the edge of the crown, everywhere but where he really wants it most. Too much too fast and I'd have a mouth full of love-juice in seconds, and a rather embarrassed guy on my hands.
This must be sustained. That's the secret, giving a guy just enough to keep him excited, making him wait in exquisite suspense while his mind carries him to his favorite fetishes and fantasies. The bigger the buildup the bigger the explosion.
I make my tongue almost as pointed as a pencil and explore its varied landscape of bumps and ridges with the curiosity of someone just landed on an unknown planet. Every cock has its own special character, unique and indescribable. It's not a question of some being superior to others; my own peculiar perversion is that I love them all. Each time, the one I happen to be sucking is the greatest and most beautiful cock in the world.
"Do you know what you're doing to me?" he groans now, with the slurred speech of a man losing his rational powers.
I smile back at him with my eyes, just the slightest squint. Nothing could make me take my mouth away from what I am doing.
And I continue with the delicate preliminaries, knowing that I'm driving him wild but not stimulating him too much. God, I wish he'd tell me what he's thinking. I don't care whether he thinks of me or not. I hope that I evoke the most madly erotic imaginings from the inner reaches of his mind, stirring desires he didn't know existed. Yes, he probably had an aunt or a cousin, a little older, and very sexy in her Western riding boots and all… She broke hearts as easily as teacups, ah, but to her younger sweet young male relative, she was always good. She was kind and gave him candy, never dreaming that he spent hour after hour in the privy, imagining her with her legs spread apart, her boots still on… and, faster and faster, he jerked his arm until the geyser of sperm let him know he was really a man, and he didn't care what the preacher said or; what anybody said, because he knew damn well it wouldn't drive him insane permanently, only for a few moments, and it was well worth it…
How well I know how a man thinks and feels. Is there something wrong in that? My fantasizing their fantasies? Surely not; surely it's because I like giving, I like cocksucking, I like men.
He wants more. I know now that his mind has departed the room for some remote world of pure eroticism and he wants me to take all of him in my mouth at last. At last!
But slowly, very slowly I lower my tensed lips over this marvelous prong, protecting its delicate flesh from my teeth.
"Suck," he screams almost. "Suck! Suck! Suck! Suck me!"
For a fleeting, insignificant moment I hope that no one is passing by the door…
Then I suck, pulling upward oh so tenderly scarcely moving the loose flesh, then down, down, down, as far as I can go, wishing I could get it all in. Up again slowly, and then down, teasingly, with what must be almost excruciating sensuousness for him. Because he's dying with anticipation for more his mind a step ahead of what I'm doing. Is it torture? Who's to say?
In reading the narrative of this young woman, the most striking feature is not the acts she is describing, but the language in which she describes them. Her appearance is quite sweet, almost virginal. The archetypal young Mexican-American girl complete with soft brown eyes and a shy smile. The complete antithesis of the foul-mouthed cynic she shows us.
Considering the situation, though, it is quite possible that her choice of words, the bluntness of her description, her use of the "gutter" Anglo-Saxon terminology, has a deep psychological reason. As C. G. Jung pointed out in his Basic Writings:
Common speech, as we know, is full of erotic metaphors which are applied to matters that have nothing to do with sex; and conversely, sexual symbolism by no means implies that the interests making use of it are by nature erotic. Sex, as one of the most important instincts, is the prime cause of numerous affects that exert an abiding influence on our speech. But affects cannot be identified with sexuality inasmuch as they may easily spring from conflict situations.
Upon close study of the narrative we find that there are several quite unusual factors. To start with, the subject makes very little attempt to justify her acts. She states that she performs oral sex on her patients simply because she enjoys it. The only slight traces of justification shown are her statements that the hospital staff is generally aware that the nurses are performing oral sex on the patients.
Another unusual factor is her constant fantasizing during the performance of the oral sex act. This indicates that, while she repeatedly and emphatically states that she performs the act simply because she enjoys it, she actually has some very deep-seated emotional conflicts which she brings to the surface during the sexual episodes. Inside, she is actually wishing that she were someplace else, doing something different, with someone else. Add to this her statements that she usually receives sexual gratification and release only from masturbation and a new pattern begins to form.
Her initial statements make her appear to be exclusively heterosexual, but consider the remarks of Dr. G. Wilson Shaffer in the Textbook of Abnormal Psychology:
The delay or non-satisfaction of a desire may result in organic changes so that the desire may be manifested in a totally different way or it may abolish the desire.
As she continues her narrative she begins to mention another woman, the mentions becoming more and more frequent, and finally admits to a lesbian experience. It now becomes obvious that she received enjoyment from this lesbian experience, an enjoyment that has led to tremendous guilt feelings and frustrations, eliminating her ability to receive sexual satisfaction from a man.
This is not to say that she is a lesbian. Quite the contrary, there are strong indications that she does not have any tendencies in this direction. She has simply fallen into a trap such as was clearly described by W. A. Glassner in the American Psychiatric Journal:
It is unfortunate that many women enter into a lesbian relationship, thinking that they are lesbians, when actually they were only caught in a homosexual situation at a time when they were emotionally vulnerable. The common situation is one where the woman is having difficulty in sexual relations for either physical or emotional reasons, usually quite temporary. During this period she becomes involved in a lesbian episode, and receives enjoyment from it. Afterwards she is assailed by guilt, and later, to resolve these guilt feelings; she admits to herself, quite erroneously, that she is a lesbian. Quite often the woman will go along for several years, unhappily saddled with a heterosexual relationship which she cannot enjoy because she believes herself to be a lesbian.
As her narrative continues, one fact which emerges quite strongly, although it is never stated outright and there is strong indication that the subject is not even fully aware of it, is that she is really quite unhappy, without having the slightest idea why. Her fantasies are used as a mental trick to hide this fact from her own conscious mind, and her language and apparent honesty are used to conceal this fact from others. As Ray B. Radney states in Behavioral Patterns:
Nowhere outside the field of sexual behavior is the tendency to conceal unpleasant facts, both from self and from others, so prevalent. The ability of the mind to refuse to consciously accept facts, while at the same time consciously hiding those same facts from the scrutiny of others, is a never ending source of wonder to me.
Up and down, again and again, speeding up by such fine degrees that he doesn't notice. The minuteness of it all, the utter precision, all this I've learned and practiced to perfection. God, if the hospital administration only knew that cocksucking is as delicate as surgery, with rules all its own that must be obeyed. Surgery? Oh, I know that my sound strange. Before you try to make something out of it, let me remind you that I wanted to be a doctor before I entered the sacred prostitution… sacred profession, I mean, of nursing.
All glory to the phallus, giver of the seed of life, magnificent in shape and proportion, issuing forth to all those who worship at its shrine the holy juices of ultimate redemption. Faster now, along the tall and narrow human shrine where I worship, faster and faster, up and down, take in more and more. I'm lost now in the sheer joy of doing it, aware only of one other thing, the burning between my legs, the desire for complete union with him.
He's trying to move now, and I steady him, for he mustn't move. It's for me to do it all. He's too close so I slow down just a little, enough to swirl my tongue around, knowing that the rough surface will both distract and excite him. His cock is as wet as though he'd already come, even the downy hair surrounding it is moist. Strange, how this generates the flow of saliva; they don't tell you about that in biology class. It's food, all right, but, my God, it's so much more than food…
"Give it to me, honey, give it to me," he pleads.
So now I really suck, the same up-and-down motion as before, the same rhythm, only now with a pull from inside my mouth that creates more pressure against the tenderness of his prick. And I'm loving every blessed second of it now, my head bouncing wildly as I pull and sink down on him with every increasing speed and tension. My head is dizzy from the fast rhythm. I'm in sheer ecstasy for I know that the greatest moment of all is close at hand. My God sometimes I think I'm going to come too. Simultaneous orgasm without a thing touching my pussy. That's how far out I can get.
I use my hands to steady him so there's no chance of injuring himself in the violent climax I'm sure he's about to have. He's on the very verge of it, I'm sure of that, just as I'm sure he's hoping to postpone it as long as he can, languishing in these final moments, so far removed from the everyday world, so beautiful.
I keep my rhythm steady. When it happens, it will happen. I could make it happen, of course, but I want this to be like a bolt of lightning striking from the sky, something that neither of us willed, something that occurred without human intervention.
And oh my God, it is happening. Now, now, now! The juices shoot through the tube as though at the pull of a trigger and the magnificent organ in my mouth convulses incontrollably. I hold the rest of him still while his cock gyrates widly, the semen spurting into my anxious mouth and filling it, dripping out of my lips and down his cock again. He's been saving a lot for me. I drink it in at last, partaking with reverence…
I wanted to hold his beautiful organ in my hands and admire it, but he beckoned me to come to the head of the bed.
"I smell wet pussy," he whispered as I got close to him.
He was right. I could even detect the musky odor of cunt juice from under my starched uniform myself.
"Would you let me?" he asked.
"I… I…" My God, I almost said I've never let that happen, which was true. I'd always given, never received, as far as the patients are concerned.
"I have to get back to work," I said at last.
"Please let me."
I was confused about what to do. The truth is I don't often make it with guys, especially this way for some reason. Maybe I know the reason. What I do is masturbate and fantasize. What if I didn't make it? That would make him feel terrible, I knew.
"Please," he said.
I worried vaguely, too, about the chances of getting caught. Now getting caught going down on a guy would be easy enough to cover up by a quick grab of the sheet. But straddling a patient's face is a little hard to make excuses for.
But damn it, my pussy was hot, and in the back of my mind was the hope, as there always is, that maybe this time…
We were kissing again: my sperm-soaked mouth against his lips, then both our mouths opening, the surfaces of our tongues gliding together, then his tongue darting about madly as though to show me what it could do to my pussy. I couldn't resist.
It's what he wants, I kept telling myself, as I rolled down my panty hose, the most antisexual contraption ever invented. God, it's worse than slipping in a diaphragm. He needs this too, Maria. You aren't being selfish. It's all right. I left my uniform and my cap on, partly for safety's safe, in case I'd have to make a quick leap from the bed, and partly because I know the virgin white of a nurse's uniform is one terrific turn-on. Or so I've been told.
So I mounted the pillow, my sopping cunt spread above his face, still harboring slight fears of various kinds. This was now. But damn, if he couldn't do it, I could pitch in and help with my own hands. Guys did that for me, plenty of times, before I really learned how to suck their cocks.
His fingertips gently traversed the moist surface, examining every tiny crevice and bump, as though he didn't know what pussies were like. I was sure hoping he knew, though. He stroked gently, though, like a man who's had plenty of experience. My tender flesh tingled at every touch. Yes, he knew how to make me want more. He could read my mind, as I had read his, and knew that the ultimate arousal lies in the anticipation of going a step further, imagining that step, craving it… a low scream rising within; yes, he knew.
He had not yet touched my clitoris. He circled it, rubbed the lips around it, approached it only to turn back, as though it were something too sacred to be touched casually with fingers and harsh fingernails. And all I could thin of was how his tongue, with its rough and slick surfaces would feel licking and lapping at it…
He made me wait a few moments longer before gesturing for me to lower myself, which I did gladly it in any direction, point it, make a tunnel out of the middle of it. God, what a tongue. Again, though, he avoided my clitoris with what seemed deliberate intention.
What if he doesn't know? Oh my God, what if he thinks it's all in the vagina, that horrible myth that frustrated at least one generation of women after being told all their troubles were sexual anyway! Probably some guys think girls are just cunts, holes, receptacles, with nothing external that really counts. I'd soon know where he stood and I was going to be terribly disappointed if he happened to be one of the unenlightened ones.
But he knew, of course, he knew; how silly of me to have thought otherwise. His tongue was now getting closer and closer – no, not yet touching, but approaching, teasing. And as I waited, utterly distraught by the suspense, I knew my clitoris was bulging outward more and more, the blood rushing to it, making it hard and erect even though he still hadn't touched it at all. What fantastic agony! What expertise he had! So few, so very few men really know how to lift a girl to such giddy heights of sensation.
"More! More!" I yelled at last, unable to contain myself.
Now he brought his teeth against me, against the lips, the edges. His tongue was pointed directly at my clit, I was sure, and I wished I could make this small but magnificently sensitive organ of mine larger, wished I could make it reach out to that tongue, for that was what I wanted now, more than anything else in the whole world. Either the scraping of the top of his tongue or the wet softness underneath would do. Anything! Anything! Please, can't you tell how I'm dying for it, perishing from your exquisite torture? Please give me more, give me what I want, hurt me if you must, but do something, here where I need it so badly…
No, I said none of this out loud, somehow feeling that I should hide the extreme desperation of my desires. I wondered how much he understood of what I really felt, really craved. He seemed so certain of his technique. So are other men… but this one really had a right to be confident. He knew how to drive a girl wild.
His teeth gnawed at me hungrily. He loves this, I know – loves this the way I love to suck cock. For its own sake and nothing else.
His tongue, on my God, how close it gets, then stops just short of the goal. Closer and closer. Now? Almost, yes, but he whips it away again. On, the bastard, the beautiful bastard!
"Ohhhhh," I scream, totally forgetting where I am and who I am, for he has just grazed the tender underside of it, yes, right where I want it… and I want more. More!
And now his tongue darts alternately from my clit to my hole, not lingering at either spot, making me hotter and hotter in both places. And it's good. Each spot is so sensitized now that I hardly know which. I prefer. Fast and furious he works, this marvelous lover.
Back and forth from my hole to my clit, clit to hole, again and again, with swiftness and concentration such as I thought no man was capable of.
Why do I say that: as I thought no man…? Because I've had really so little success with men, sexually, I mean. Only a few do it right, somehow.
And I'll confess – I have to, don't I? – what I thought of as my Number Fourteen, my hospital lover, was giving me these delightful ministrations. Yes, I stopped thinking of him. I remembered Claudine and the time we went to Big Sur and camped on the beach…
Now, I'm not a lesbian. I've never had an experience of that sort before or since, but I've had a hard time forgetting it…
We were friends, nothing more, and I never expected anything out of the ordinary to happen. But we were so alike, both brunette, slender, Latin-featured, slim-legged, firm-breasted. Looking at her was like looking in a mirror somehow.
Yes as his tongue lapped at me furiously I remembered waking up to the sound of the rushing waves to feel Claudine's soft fingertips prying apart my thighs. It was like a dream, and anything can happen in dreams, so I didn't protest. In fact I had no idea that it was real. I lay there as her fingers progressed from my thighs to the tender flesh between, which was wet, terribly wet.
And I remember her whispering, "We both want this," clasping me in her arms as she did so.
And I think I said, "Yes."
"Yes" that's what I was saying now to my hospital love, my Number Fourteen, and somehow it was as though I was saying it again to Claudine.
His tongue, all curled and pointed, penetrated my gaping hole, prodding as deeply as it could, scraping the sides, making me think of cock, how great it would be to have a cock inside me, his cock, anybody's cock…
But as he drew his tongue out, my memories of Claudine returned, for now he was very gently sucking at me, sort of drawing my clit into him. I remembered how I had felt when Claudine did that, so expertly, so much better than any man had ever done…
How beautiful it was as we lay there, our supple bodies entwined, as she did everything I'd always wanted, knowing what to do, for she too was a woman, a creature so like me, my mirror-image. And strangely, as she lay on top of me, grinding her mound against mine in a desperate attempt to get closer, closer than was possible, I wished that she had a penis for somehow it was not quite enough…
Then, the darting and the lapping of her tongue, into me as far as it would go… and I pretended it was a penis. How strange, how incredible it all was! And how feverishly passionate I became, squirming against her and thrusting my clitoris against her, wishing it were larger, wishing there was some way we could really fit, just as I was squirming against this anonymous creature under me now, wanting more and more.
Claudine knew how to make up for, my impossible longings, for the feverish lashing of her tongue drove me to heights of pleasure hitherto unknown. Tinglings of sensation that traveled up my spine and even made the back of my head feel strange. Fire and ice, that's what it was like, the extremes of sensations, the opposites that converge – in the wildest possible of ecstasies…
Oh, Claudine… why must I think of Claudine? Why can't I focus on this nice young male creature beneath me, whose tongue is so very like hers? Why? But I must. Even as he sucks so gently, bites without giving pain, produces every perfect sensation, I remember the rushing of the waves, the dim quarter moon, the uniting of two soft bodies, so much alike.
Faster and faster, ever more deliciously, traversing only the underside of my clit before sinking into my hole. What a tongue! What tingling! My whole body trembling now, I squirm. I thrust, even. I don't care what I do, I'm going to get mine. I close my eyes, and it's Claudine's face I see as my body becomes lost in sheer rapture.
Now, yes, a slight pounding, rising from somewhere deep inside me. The beat of an ancient drum, the beat of a heart, the rhythm of the universe, and somehow it's Claudine's tongue that is evoking this, bringing me to this point of no return. My pussy swells and expands, and for one brief moment it's like hearing a high-pitched sound, a primal cry, yes, accompanied by a flash of light and the blessing of the Gods. For I have passed the gateway to paradise now. I hover on the very brink of the sheer precipice…
And I plunge downward once more, only down, down, down, my pussy breaking into a flurry of shudders, pounding, pulsating, throbbing… like the waves that crash. Claudine!
And suddenly I'm sobbing. Not because it isn't Claudine – I knew that all along – but because I've deceived this young man, this perfect young man. Deceived him because he alone couldn't do what it took, only my fantasy, my recurrent fantasy could get me there.
"Hey, remember I'm a sick man," he was saying.
"Did I hurt you?" I said, catching my breath.
"No, but you surprised me a little. That was strong… With most girls it's never that strong, no matter how hard you try. It was great!"
"Yeah, it was," I said quietly, smiling down at his youthful, handsome face.
"And I loved it. I loved it every bit as much as you did. Don't forget that."
I had to hurry back to the main station and get on with my chores. But that wasn't the only time this kind of thing happened. Yes, I usually made excuses, tried to avoid it, then succumbed to his expert treatment which brought me to pinnacles of passion no less intense than that first time. One of these days he'll be discharged, and I'll be sorry to see him go. Because he got me over the fear that I might really be a lesbian. He really did, by eventually making me respond to him. Of course, I kept sucking his cock, just as fervently as ever…
As for Number Eight, it was a big day for me when I heard his bandages were to be taken off. I could hardly wait to see if his face was everything it should be to go with that marvelously structured body of his. And I'd been sucking him off practically every day, never knowing what he looked like.
I wasn't on hand for the removal of the bandages: though both a surgical nurse and a doctor were. I tried to suppress my interest when they returned from the room to note the progress on his chart.
Of course, I was prepared for the worst. Possibility of plastic surgery, loss of sight… either of these were things that could happen. His speech should be normal, though, for there'd been no severe throat injury, only a broken jaw.
I waited for the earliest possible opportunity to go see him, not wanting to hear the news from someone else. At last I crept to his room.
I wasn't disappointed, for there on the pillow was the swarthy face I'd expected, full-cheeked with excellent bone structure. His eyebrows, which had been shaved, were growing in thick and heavy, dark, of course, like the rest of his hair. And I knew from his eyes that he could see. There was an instant response though, of course, he didn't know that I was the nurse, the one who'd been sucking him off.
I let him know by means of the signal he'd given me, three taps on the table. And he smiled weakly. His face probably still hurt, I realized, but he seemed pleased at seeing me.
I went to the door, put out the sign and pushed in the lock. Then I approached the lower edge of the bed. Without even peaking under the covers I could tell that Old Faithful was rising. Then I lifted the sheet.
There it was, the object of my cock worship, tall, thick and hard. Slowly I approached it with my hungry lips. I looked at his face now to see how he was responding to my uninvited overture.
Much to my surprise, he was shaking his head. I was crushed, really crushed.
"It's not that I don't like you," he said in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper. "It's that I love you."
I was stricken. Flattered, of course, but disturbed. What was I going to do now. I didn't dare let him get hung up, serious.
Yes, he tried to talk me into marrying him, telling me about the property he'd inherited in Alabama and how we could raise peaches and children and all that. Oh, God, he thought I was just another cunt. Just another husband-hungry cunt. He was soon transferred to another ward, and though I promised to come see him, I didn't. I hoped that there he'd meet some nurse who was ready and willing to accept what he had to offer…
Because I was a long way from being ready for marriage of any kind, wasn't I? Of course the Alabama bit would have been all wrong, but so would any kind of permanent romantic commitment just then…
Yes, the day I started sobbing hysterically for no reason at all in the nurses' lounge, one of the other nurses, one of the other cock sucking nurses came up and said to me, "Gets to you after a while, doesn't it?"
That's all she said, but I knew what she meant I wasn't sure what was wrong, but I knew very well something was.
As the subject's narrative ends, it is encouraging to note that she has finally realized that she does have some serious emotional problems, although she as not yet fully accepted them and their consequences. The indications are that she will be able to resolve her problems, though, and along with them the mental turmoil that is affecting so much of her life. She was able to achieve, for the first time in quite awhile, a heterosexual relationship to the point of sexual gratification without having to resort to the subterfuge of fantasy to replace the object which gave her the gratification she sought.