The Era of Good Feelings
After his car wreck, Rich wakes up in a hospital and discovers he’s missed most of his first semester of college. That’s not the only surprising discovery he makes.
Disclaimer: This is fantasy and not reality. (And probably a bit of therapy for the author as well, although that might not be obvious right away.)
Chapter 1: Not-So-Rude Awakenings
The last thing I remembered was the headlights. Hard not to forget them, really, especially when you’re hell-bent on trying to avoid them.
But obviously I hadn’t; otherwise, I wouldn’t have awakened in a hospital room. But not hurting, which was strange. When your car gets taken out by a semi, you’d think you’d hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but I wasn’t hurting at all. I wasn’t comfortable, but you don’t expect hospital beds to be comfortable, right?
No one else was in the room at the moment, and I wanted to know what was going on, so I hit the call button. Figured the nurse would show up in a couple of minutes or so. No problem. Wasn’t like I was in a hurry or anything.
Well, that was my second sign that something was strange. I’ve never heard a nurse run to a patient’s room, let alone three nurses, but I could hear them running from the nurse’s station down the hall. And I’m not talking a brisk jog; I’m talking a dead run. (OK, “dead” probably isn’t the right word to use in a hospital, especially since I wasn’t, but you know what I mean.) All three nurses gathered around my door for a couple of seconds in shock, then one blurted out, “You’re awake!”
“Um, yeah....” Hey, you try to think of something more intelligent to say under the circumstances. “What happened?”
“You’re awake!” So now I wished they’d try to think of something more intelligent to say under the circumstances. Another nurse ran off muttering, “I’ll call Dr. Toms,” as the first nurse added, “How do you feel?”
“Actually....pretty good!” I looked around my bed. “I mean, I know seat belts and air bags and all that crumple-zone safety stuff’s supposed to protect you in a car wreck, but I didn’t know they were that good, ‘cause I’m not feeling any pain at all! Or is that just the painkillers talking?”
“No, you’ve been....” Nurse You’re Awake stopped and glanced at the other nurse. “Um. Dr. Toms isn’t here now—she’ll be seeing patients at her office ‘til noon—but she’ll fill you in when she gets here.” Both nurses darted out before I could ask another question. I glanced at the clock—9:35 AM—and figured I probably wouldn’t see the doctor until late afternoon or early evening. And the way these things usually work, I figured I’d probably be asleep just long enough to miss her visit. But again, it wasn’t like I was going anywhere. When you’re in the hospital, it’s best just to go with the flow.
The third sign of strangeness arrived at 9:48 AM. “Richard? I’m Dr. Toms, and I’m very glad to see you. How are you feeling?”
“Um, just fine, thanks. But I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon. I thought the nurses said you had appointments all morning?”
“I told the staff to give me a shout if you woke up, so I came running.”
“How come?” What I really wanted to ask was, “What do you mean, ’if I woke up’?", but something told me I didn’t really want to know the answer.
“Well...what do you remember about the accident?”
I sighed. “Headlights, mostly. The semi came out of nowhere, and it was all over the road, going the wrong way. I tried to dodge it, but...” I waved around the room in a “here I am” gesture. “How many hours was I out?”
Dr. Toms sighed back. “That’s why I asked the nurses to call me.” She stepped closer to my bed as she gently added, “Truth be told, Mr. Doans, you’ve been here for nearly three months.”
“WHAT? Three months? Are you telling me I’ve been out since...since...”
Fortunately, Dr. Toms did the math for me. “Since August, yes. Thanksgiving was yesterday.”
“Thanksgiving? But my classes! I’m supposed to start college now! Or then, or whatever this is now! If I’m not in classes, my financial aid...”
“Don’t worry. The university knows what happened, and they’ve saved your spot until you’re ready. I think financial aid’s OK as well, but you can double-check that with your parents as soon as they get here.”
“Oh. OK.” I wasn’t sure where to start...duh, yes, I do. Parents. “Where are they now?”
“Your mom’s probably home, and your dad’s probably at work. They usually check on you at lunch time, plus they spend evenings and weekends here until we chase them out.” I was surprised and even a bit disappointed for a moment—I had visions of Mom and Dad spending every waking moment by my bedside—but if it had really been three months, I would have chased them out every now and then too. For one thing, hospital vigils are a helluva crappy way to spend one’s life; for another thing, that much “togetherness” would have driven me up the wall, coma or no coma, for reasons I’ll explain later. While I was pondering this, Dr. Toms added, “The staff called them after they called me, so I suspect they’ll be here as soon as they can make it. Which means I’d better check your vitals before they get here, because I’m sure they’ll want answers.”
Dr. Toms started doing a bunch of checking-up things—heart rate, blood pressure, shining the penlight into my eyes, so forth—as my mind started wandering. Well, not exactly “wandering” because my mind was following my eyes, and my eyes were following her. Which wasn’t fair to her, because she had been nothing but the picture of professionalism since she arrived, and I figured that she’d probably experienced more than her fair share of crappy creepy behavior. However, we’ve had the same family doctor as long as I could remember, and I think my folks had been his patients even before I was born...and it was impossible to ignore the fact that Dr. Toms was definitely younger and better looking than our family doctor. Medical scrubs aren’t the most revealing clothes in the world, but when someone is that close to you, it’s hard not to notice. Especially when she leans over you.
Unfortunately, one other body part joined this train of thought, and it wasn’t nearly as discreet as my mind or (hopefully) my eyes. Desperate to get my mind to switch gears while Dr. Toms’ examination was still above the belt, I asked the first non-sexual question that popped into my head. “So, uh, is insurance covering my hospital stay, or is that still changing from week to week?” Remember, that was still a valid question back in August; health care arguments raged for months after the 2012 elections.
“Don’t worry; everything’s covered. They took care of health care back in....”
Just then, she glanced down the bed. Crap. Probably spotted Mr. Happy emerging from his own three-month coma or whatever-this-was. Hell, she probably spotted a dangerous change in blood pressure or something, and was trying to identify the cause. I tried to ignore it—hey, she’s a professional, nothing she hasn’t seen before, right?—and hoped she wouldn’t jump to conclusions. Even if those conclusions were accurate.
She didn’t say anything about the increased mass; instead, she said, “Hold on a second. I need to make sure they called your folks. Nothing to worry about—be right back,” and stepped out of the room. I know, I know—normally, you’re supposed to worry when a doctor says, “nothing to worry about,” but I was too embarrassed to be worried. I thought that maybe she didn’t notice, or maybe she was discreetly allowing me to revert to a less-embarrassing condition. OK, time to start thinking about other things. Sports maybe, or politics—no, scratch that, anything but politics. Politics would reduce blood pressure down there, but increase it everywhere else. So I tried sports.
But Dr. Toms got back before sports could completely take care of the problem. “OK, they did get a hold of your folks, but I guessed wrong about their locations. Forgot this is Thanksgiving weekend. They’re both at your grandmother’s house, so they’re probably high-tailing it over here now.” Good. Grandma’s house is a much better place to spend Thanksgiving than a hospital. “Don’t know how long it’ll take them, though....”
“From Grandma’s? Well, they have to take the Beltway, so probably an hour and a half. No, wait, Dad’s probably driving. An hour.”
“An hour. Mmmm,” Dr. Toms mumbled as she looked me up and down.
Crap, still wasn’t soft yet. Pushed myself to think sports again....OK, yesterday was Thanksgiving, I wonder who won yesterday...hell, I’ve been out most of football season, so I wonder who’s been winning, period...
Dr. Toms interrupted that thought by turning toward me. “See, that gives me time to conduct a more thorough exam before your parents arrive. Some sort of stress test would be indicated, I think.”
And then she stressed the hell out of me by touching the bulge in my bedsheets. I nearly levitated out of the bed!
“Initial sensitivity: excellent. Sensitivity over extended periods...” she murmured as she started stroking me through the sheets.
What was going through my mind? Yeah, like my mind was really working at that point.
“...enhanced, probably due to extended inactivity. Probably need to accelerate the test.”
Which I think was pseudo-medical-speak for “It’s been so long since he’s done anything that he’s gonna make a mess all over the bedsheets if I’m not careful,” because she pulled back the sheets and hospital gown. After a couple of direct skin-to-skin strokes, she nodded. “Definitely need to accelerate the test,” and with that, my cock disappeared inside her warm mouth.
I wish I could claim that I simply leaned back and enjoyed the sight and sensations of this beautiful woman “stress testing” me, but I didn’t get to enjoy it for long; she was absolutely right about the “enhanced sensitivity” thing. After she swallowed every drop, she winked and said, “Hospital biohazard protocols require strict bodily fluid controls. Let me check....” She looked me over, then checked herself in the mirror over the sink. “Good. Fluids controlled.” Like I said, every drop.
As she redressed me, she explained, “You do exhibit symptoms of genital hyper-sensitivity, but that’s not unusual in cases like this. I believe sensitivity will revert to normal levels with time and physical therapy, which I will administer personally.” Her nonprofessional smile left no doubt as to the nature of the “physical” therapy. “I believe an...aggressive PT regimen is indicated, and I would prefer to conduct a more intense stress test at this time; however, since you have been out for three months, I need to conduct more traditional tests for underlying conditions before I can safely pursue that course. Besides,” she added with a wink as she wiggled out the door, “your parents’ arrival won’t give us enough time to work up a complete stress test. See you later!”
Once the initial shock wore off, I thought... OK, if you’re reading this story, you’re thinking the same thing I was thinking, because you’ve read the same stories I have:
Guy has accident: check.
Guy wakes up from accident: check.
Beautiful nurse or doctor (or both) visits guy’s hospital room and suddenly gives him a thorough check-up (wink, wink, nudge, nudge): check.
Guy realizes that he was thinking impure thoughts about beautiful nurse and/or doctor just before the check-up became, er, thorough: check.
Guy comes to conclusion that the accident gave him mind-control powers, and the beautiful nurse and/or doctor becomes the first in a growing harem: Um...maybe?