I wasn’t always like this, I mean able to control minds. I’ve never heard or met anyone who was able to do it. But I can’t be the only person who can or who has been able to. The concept is too widely known. If, as linguists and anthropologists speculate, no culture will have words or expressions for what can not be conceived of by them, then I can’t be the only person this has happened to. Similarly, clairvoyance, telepathy, and telekinesis must occur to some extent, or how could we conceive of them? Still, such instances must be very rare, or it would be common knowledge
However, this was not meant to be a philosophical dissertation. I just thought I’d let you know that it happened to me.
I was sixteen-years-and-three-months old, give or take a few days, and my buddy Larry had just turned sixteen himself. His parents, possessing more money than sense had presented a new Chevy to him for his birthday, and he and I and another couple of guys were going out to drive it around. “Death Seat!", I screamed, and ran to the front passenger door.
How was I to know how prophetic this would be! Not five minutes later, Larry decided to try his luck on a yellow light and went through late. I looked out my side window in time to see the semi’s grill fill the view, then...
I awoke feeling very groggy and thirsty, and didn’t seem able to move very well. I blinked weakly and tried to clear my eyes, but my hands didn’t seem to want to move either. I managed to croak something out and went back to sleep.
The next time I woke I felt much better. I was still thirsty, but didn’t seem as dehydrated as before, and my eyes came fully open. I was staring at a white tile ceiling. This time I was able to move somewhat and I managed to move my head around.
Focusing, I could see that I was lying in a bed with rails along the side, like the beds you see in hospital shows on TV. What I could remember came back to me, the truck hitting the side of Larry’s new car and then nothing else. Okay, we had been in an accident and I was in the hospital. I looked down at my body and was tolerably pleased to see that everything was in pretty much the same place as before. My left arm was free and I could move it, albeit slowly and weakly. My right arm was strapped to the bed, with about a million tubes going in, but I was able to wriggle my fingers. A light sheet covered my torso and legs, but bumps indicated that all that stuff was still there, too. Strangely, I could wiggle my left toes and leg, but not my right.
“Hello?” It took me several seconds to clear my dry throat and croak this out, but no one responded. Looking around, I noticed a remote control type button clipped to my bedsheet near my left hand, and hit the button.
About a minute later, a nurse opened the door and came in. “Great, you’re awake!", she said.
“Water.", I croaked.
The nurse, a towering battle-ax straight from Central Casting, came to my bedside and promptly poured a glass. Slipping in a flexible straw, she rather tenderly positioned my head so I could sip from it. I drained the glass and two more like it.
“Sure thing, honey. I’ve got to get the doctor.” She smiled down at me. “Don’t go away!”
Hospital humor is generally lost on me, but I smiled and nodded. A few minutes later the door opened again and a medium tall middle-aged bald guy walked in. He carried a clipboard and wore a white coat and a stethoscope, so I didn’t think he was the janitor. “I’m Doctor Stevings, Paul. How do you feel?", he said.
“Uh, I don’t know.", I replied, looking down at my body. “How do I feel?”
Just then, the door burst open and a small whirlwind came through. “Paul! Paul! Oh my God! Paul! Are you all right? Oh, God!...” Mom collapsed onto the bed and tried to hug me, lift me, kiss me, and cry all at the same time.
I was shocked by her behavior, but even more when the MD pulled my Mom off of me. “Please, Mrs. Jones, you can’t move your son around like that until we’ve checked him over.”
“Please, Mrs. Jones. He’s not going anywhere. Give me five minutes and he’s all yours.", he said with a smile. “Please wait outside.” He gently but firmly pulled my mother upright and directed her towards the door.
She looked over her shoulder and yelled back to me, “I’ll be right outside the door, baby. I’ll be back in a few minutes!", and allowed herself to be led out.
The doctor came over to me. “We really don’t like patients in your condition to be so roughly handled until we know the extent of your injuries. So again, how do you feel?”
I thought for a second. “Okay, I guess. Kind of hungry. What happened to me?”
He ignored the question. Pulling a small steel rod from his pocket, he twisted it and pulled a needle from it. “Tell me if you feel this.”
I half expected him to jab it into me somewhere, but instead he simply traced lines and circles over my hands and feet. I simply kept saying “Yes.” each time he asked.
Presently, he looked up at me with a look of relief. Lifting my free left arm he asked me to move it through several positions. Unstrapping my right, we repeated the exercise. Finally he pulled the sheet off my left leg and we moved that around as well. I felt fine, though weak, I told him. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.", he said, and went towards the door.
“Wait! What about my right leg? We didn’t move that! What’s wrong?", I asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He came back to the bed and lifted the sheet, letting me see the cast which extended from ankle to groin. “Not much point in moving this one around, is there?", he asked jokingly.
“So what happened to me?", I asked.
“Let’s get your mother back in and we can both tell you.” He rearranged the sheet and went to the door. As soon as it opened my mother busted in and ran to my bedside. This time she looked tearfully at the doctor first, who simply nodded, and she burst out in fresh tears as she hugged and kissed me.
Finally she calmed down enough to answer my repeated question, “What’s happened to me?”
“You were in an accident.”
“I know that, Mom. I was there, remember? And where’s Sue? Why isn’t she here?” Sue is my sister, who is almost fifteen. She’s a real pain in the ass most of the time, but we’re fairly close.
Mom gave me a funny look. “Paul, she’s in school.”
“School? Mom, we just got out of school. What, did she have to go to summer school?” This didn’t sound right; I would have known if she was.
Another funny yet horrified look. “Paul, it’s the second week of September.” She looked over at the doctor in confusion. “You didn’t tell him?”
“Tell me what?", I demanded, staring at the doctor.
“Didn’t have the chance.", he said to Mom. Looking at me, he said, “You’ve been in a coma for three months, Paul.”
I felt like I had been hit by a second truck. Both my mother and the doctor started talking at the same time, with Stevings spouting off Latin terms for good measure. Eventually I got it sorted out. Apparently the semi had really slammed into the front passenger door. Despite the seat belt and airbag, I had bounced all over the front seat. My right knee had been crushed to the point where there had been worry that I would lose the leg, but worst was a major-league concussion which had put me in the coma. Topping the picture off, my heart had stopped in the ambulance and they were worried about spinal damage as well. Oh, yeah, and I had busted three ribs and two fingers, but since they had healed while I was out, I never felt the difference.
No wonder I felt weak and hungry; I had been fed by tubes for the entire summer. However, now that I was awake again, the prognosis was much brighter. While much more testing was in order, it appeared that I wasn’t going to be paralyzed, and would sooner or later be kicked out to go home.
When I asked about my right leg, Stevings simply scratched his head and shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m a neurologist, not an orthopedics man. I can tell you a few things. While you were in the coma, we did three operations on your knee. Had to be done then, we couldn’t wait for you to come around. As far as I know, all the pieces are back in place. But, and this is a big but, ‘cause it’s not my specialty, nobody can really know until the cast comes off and you try to use it. I can guarantee you are in for some fairly serious physical therapy. How long and what percentage you get back, I don’t know.”
Now it was my turn to shrug. " I guess I should be thankful I’m still alive. Hey, whatever happened to Larry and Jake and Billy?”
“Who?", he asked.
“The other boys in the car.", said Mom. “They just had a few cuts and bruises. God only knows why, but they walked away from it.”
“Shit!", I exclaimed. “I’m going to get better just to beat the hell out of them, the bastards!", I laughed.
“Watch your mouth, Paul.”
“Yes, Mom.", I said contritely.
Mom and Sue came back later that night during visiting hours. In the meantime, the battle-ax had returned and given me a sponge bath (which I really needed) and changed my catheter, which I didn’t even know I had. Don’t ask about the other side—you don’t want to know! Finally she helped me eat a delicious meal of Jell-O and broth. When I complained that I wanted real food, she told me to pipe down, I’d puke it up in five minutes, and to eat what I was told. I was surprised how full the Oliver Twist gruel made me, and she said that my stomach had shrunk during the coma, and I would have to work back up to solid foods. Then she removed most of the IV tubes in my right arm, the ones which had been feeding me.
I was clean and presentable by the time Mom and Sue came in, and I just couldn’t get over the changes in their appearance. In Mom’s case, it turned out that I had come out of the coma yesterday, and Mom had stayed all day and night at the hospital for me to wake up again. When I saw her earlier, she looked like she had been dragged through a knothole. As for Sue, she was a teenager who had seemingly aged three months overnight. She was now fifteen and maturing rapidly.
One interesting thing though, I now had a beard and mustache. Just before my accident, I had started to shave, at least every four or five days or so. I guess it was simply that time in my adolescence. Now I had a respectable mustache and a considerably less respectable beard. As soon as I got the chance I lost the beard, but I kind of liked the mustache and let that stay. It’s funny, but I’ve never seen my upper lip since.
The orthopedic surgeon came in while Mom and Sue were there and explained that the cast was coming off in six days. Then we could all find out just how bad things were. He also went into some detail on the physical therapy I would need. He was a younger doctor, maybe mid-thirties, without a wedding band, and I noticed he kept an eye on Mom the entire time. This didn’t surprise me at all; Mom is pretty noticeable.
I should explain one thing first. Sue and I don’t have a father. Mom married right out of high school in a burst of love and stupidity. He stuck around after I was born, just long enough to knock Mom up a second time, then took off for parts unknown when he discovered that lightning can strike twice. I don’t remember him at all, and Sue was born after he left. Mom took back her maiden name (Sue’s and my last name is Harron), moved back to her home town and raised us by herself, with the help of her parents. Still, she never complained—Mom is a firm believer in making lemonade if someone gives you lemons.
Looking back on it now, I have no idea how she managed to raise two kids without a pot to piss in and do as well as she did. Oh, Granny and Gramps helped, certainly, but Mom managed to go to the local community college and learn enough to become a secretary. Then, while working full time and raising us, she managed to go back to school and get a four year degree. Now she was office manager for the regional headquarters of the local department store. Even though her parents weren’t much better off, she saved enough so that when they died and left her a small insurance settlement, she was able to buy a small house in an older development. I was, and I still am, pretty proud of her. She raised Sue and me with that same no tears, no failure attitude. I made Eagle Scout on my sixteenth birthday, and Sue has never had less than an A- in school. Mom would kill us if we were to screw up.
But that doesn’t explain why the surgeon kept ogling her all night. To put it simply, my Mom is a stone fox!
First of all, she’s only thirty-five. Most of my friends’ parents are ten years older, but you do the arithmetic. She was nineteen when I came along and I’m sixteen. Secondly, she’s tiny. She’s only five-foot-one, and can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. And lastly, she has a killer figure—36D-22-33—topped by a wavy mop of curly auburn hair.
I’ve always thought my Mom was pretty, but I suppose most sons think their mother is the most beautiful woman in the world. But once I hit puberty, I started to notice that most of my buddies and their fathers also liked to watch her. And Mom likes to be noticed!
Mom’s standard mode of dress is not the suburban jogging suit. Far from it! Mom likes to wear short skirts and tight blouses, and I don’t think she even owns a pair of shoes without at least three inch heels. Mind you, she doesn’t dress like a slut or anything like that. She just always dresses real pretty. She knows she looks good and dresses to accentuate, not hide it.
Once I became old enough to really notice and understand such things, about when I was thirteen or fourteen, I realized that Mom liked guys to notice her, because she liked guys. A lot! She likes to date and has for as long as I can remember, even before I understood it as dating. Then, one Friday night I discovered that she had had sex more than the two times it took to conceive my sister and me. When she went out, to “dinner” as I recall, I noticed that her left stocking had a run up the back. She was out the door before I could tell her, but later that night, when she came home, the run was on the back of the right leg! It didn’t take me long to figure out that she must have taken her stockings off and then put them back on, which implied she had taken her clothes off, which implied she had been undressed with a man, which implied, well you get my drift.
The next weekend, when she went out to “dinner”, I snooped around in her room after Sue went to bed. Boy did I get an eyeful! First, I discovered she didn’t wear pantyhose, only stockings. In her nightstand I discovered a small oval case with little pills. When I checked the name in the school libraries’ medical books I discovered they were birth control pills! I also found a pair of dildos, one of which vibrated, although I had no clue what they were, even though one was shaped just like a big dick. There were also a couple of dirty magazines, some “bodice-ripper” type books, and a few Frederick’s type catalogs, which explained to me the purposes of some of her lingerie. I figured out her measurements by snooping in her closet and reading labels. It was really obvious that Mom had some real sexy clothes, and the birth control pills certainly seemed to say that Mom had a reason to be taking them!
Like I said, my Mom is a sexpot. She knows it and she doesn’t mind men knowing it.
Don’t get the wrong impression. My mother is not a slut. She didn’t bring men home and fuck them in the house. She didn’t have a different guy every night, in fact she seemed to prefer relatively long term relationships. She wasn’t sleeping around every night and coming in at the crack of dawn. She came home at quite reasonable hours, didn’t reek of cheap booze from bars, and most nights was home with Sue and me, checking homework religiously. When she went to work, she dressed pretty but professional, not sleazy. But most weekends she went out at least one night and got well laid.
Mom didn’t really discuss this with us. Oh, she did joke to Sue once or twice that men were like busses, “One comes along every five minutes.", but other than those few times she kept it fairly low key. But the fact of the matter is that Mom likes the guys and the guys like Mom. When she did break up with a fellow, she didn’t stay celibate long. And she seemed to feel that one marriage was more than sufficient.
I don’t think Sue ever noticed. As for me, well I loved her and was smart enough to tell that she was doing a great job of raising us. If she wanted to have some fun, it was not for me to complain. She had had a tough time, which I could remember if Sue couldn’t.
That describes Mom. As for Sue, just imagine a younger version of Mom. Same height, same build, same pretty face, same reddish-brown hair, same hazel eyes. At fifteen she was already a head-turner and a heart-breaker.
I’m told that I take after my father, who I don’t remember. If so, I suppose the bastard was adequately decent enough to look at. I’m six-foot-even and weigh 180, and, at least before the accident, was in decent enough shape, although I came out of the coma barely 150 and as weak as a kitten. It’s almost comical to stand with my Mom and Sue, since I tower over them. As for my looks, it’s hard for me to say, since my tastes don’t run to guys. I’ve never had problems finding girlfriends, and dogs don’t go howling down the streets at my appearance. Let’s just leave it at that.
The next few days were fairly boring. Sue came by after school and Mom came in after dinner. Larry stopped by and we joked for a while. He was incredibly apologetic, but it seemed to me like it was only a few days ago and couldn’t really understand the concept of what had happened to me. I still have a problem with that. A reporter stopped by for a “human interest” story, which was kind of neat. Even neater was the next day, when a TV crew came by from a local station. Larry brought over Jake and Billy and we mugged it up for the camera. Jake’s folks had taken a roll of film of the smashed car and I made the appropriate “Ooohs” and “Aahhs”. I should have been hosed out of that thing. Larry sheepishly admitted that the cops had yanked his license.
“Shit, Larry, what do you care? Your old man grounded you for life, anyway!", laughed Billy.
“Shit, longer if he can get away with it.", he admitted.
I first noticed I had The Power a few days later, the day before they were to remove the cast. By then all the IVs had been pulled, leaving only the catheter still stuck into me, and I had been wheeled into another room, one with another patient waiting for a gall bladder operation. From the moment the door opened and I was wheeled in his mouth was in motion, and it never stopped.
“Hello there, young fellow, I’m Bob Sammiel, what’s your name?”
“Paul Harron, how do you do....”
“Fine, just fine. Whatcha in for, broken leg? Never had one of them. Broke my arm once. Had a cast the size of Mount Rushmore on it. Let me tell you...” He just ran right on, never letting me get a word in edgewise. I didn’t need to—he talked enough for an entire hospital.
Nothing could stop this guy. He had the remote for the TV set and flipped it to some damn soap opera. When he wasn’t talking to me about this idiot show, he was talking back to the TV itself! “What she sees in him, I’ll never understand...” When a news bulletin came on he started commenting on the news, “In my day a fellow like that...” After the news he flipped to a game show and started giving answers!
You couldn’t shut this guy up! When I told him at one point in the afternoon that I was tired and was going to take a nap, he just said “Okay” and kept right on going! I pulled the pillow over my head to drown him out and eventually fell asleep. When I woke up, it was to the sound of Bob talking to himself.
<Jesus! Just shut up, will you, mister!>, I thought to myself—and he did! Just like that. I didn’t think twice about it, but simply counted my blessings. Maybe he had finally run out of steam.
Surprisingly, he didn’t say a word when the orderly brought dinner. Later that night, a nurse came by and took our temperatures and gave him a pill to swallow. When she asked him how he felt he kept quiet.
“Mister Sammiel, I asked how you felt? Mister Sammiel? Are you all right? Sir?”
She was starting to get worried, and I was thinking, <Well, answer her, you fucking idiot!>, and he did. He was off and running again, with a full head of steam and an empty track in front of him. Looking back on it, I suspect that was the longest he had been silent since some dumb bastard had taught him to talk, but at the time, I just figured he had his second wind. He kept it up the rest of the night, and I woke to those nasal tones the next morning.
I wanted to tell this guy to just SHUT THE FUCK UP but I was taught to be polite to my elders. But when the nurse came in to prep for my grand opening, and this clown was still yammering, I just had to think to myself, <Can’t you people get this idiot out of here?>
She simply glanced over at him in the middle of his latest diatribe on Regis and Kathy Lee and left. A few minutes later she returned with a pair of orderlies. As they started to move his bed, she said, “Mr. Sammiel, we’re going to be moving you down the hall to another room, closer to the OR.”
Thank God! I kept my thoughts to myself (not even knowing what that would come to mean to me) and gave her a big smile. She smiled back and the orthopedic surgeon came in a few minutes later and removed the cast. Mom was there, watching, as he had me try to move my leg. I could move it, just barely, but with hardly any front-to-back motion. The doctor frowned, and reached down to try to help me move it, and I yelped as he bent it back at the knee. He kept frowning. Mom wanted to know what was wrong.
“Well, Mrs. Jones, Paul doesn’t have as much movement to his leg as we would like to see. I’m not quite sure whether the problem is the damage from the accident, nerve problems, muscle problems, or post-surgery trauma. I am going to order up a full string of tests to see what we can determine.”
And so began the wildest string of medical tests it has ever been my misfortune to endure! There were enough X-rays to irradiate lead, and MRI scans from head to toe. Those damn machines are noisy as hell and could give claustrophobia to a submariner! Of course, my favorite was the neurological tests. Stevings had learned his craft at the Marquis de Sade College of Medicine. The basic premise is that they stick needles in you, then plug them into the wall socket and measure how high you jump! If they don’t think you’ve jumped high enough, they up the voltage until you jump higher. Great fun; I can’t wait till Disney finds out and puts it in their ‘Pirates of the Harvard Medical School’ ride!
The only benefit to this that I could see was that the cast was off and I could go to the bathroom again, or so I thought. Now that I was conscious I could lose the giant diaper, but I still had the catheter and now had to use a bedpan. Very embarrassing. That night, when I needed to go, I buzzed the nurse and asked her to pull the catheter. I had thought of doing it myself, but didn’t know how, and I really didn’t want to screw up down there.
“Forget it!", she said. Nurse Cratchett pulled out a bedpan. “You’re not getting up.”
“Ma’am, I have been using that thing for a week now. It doesn’t get better. I don’t have a cast. I can go to the bathroom over there.", I said, pointing to the small stall near the door.
“No. You can’t even walk. You’ll break your fool neck and I am not hauling your butt back into bed. Now, get over it and let’s get down to business.”
This was beyond embarrassing, it was mortifying. I don’t think I could have gone at all now that she was in my face. Feeling lower than I had ever felt in my life, I began to beg. Looking her straight in the eye, I just said, “Please, I’m begging you, I won’t fall down, if I can’t, I’ll get right back here.” <Please!!!>
A strange look came into her face, and she set the pan on the stand next to the bed. “Oh, all right.", she said gruffly. “I must be as big an idiot as you to do this.” She pulled up my sheet and I could feel the catheter slide out. Next she dropped the side rail on the bed. Reaching out, she took my hands and helped me to a sitting position. I nearly passed out.
“This is insane.", she muttered. Between the two of us, I twisted around on the bed so my feet were dangling over the edge, with my right leg sort of sticking out. Positioning herself on my right side, she said, “Well, come on, put your arm over my shoulder. You’re too big for me to carry. Otherwise, I am going to drag you by one leg, the bad one.” It was a damned good thing I had lost the weight, because I was almost too weak to make it on my own, and she half carried me to the door. I was white-faced and sweating by the time I made that last painful drop into position.
“Thanks.", I said.
“Don’t thank me. You fall off that thing and I’m going to let you die in there!”
As it was, once business was through, I couldn’t stand to open the door. However, hospital bathrooms don’t have locks, so she was able to help me up and back to bed.
“You are sweating like a pig, boy! Now get in bed and I’ll give you a sponge bath. You argue and I’ll use a Brillo pad.”
I didn’t argue. I was too tired.
So far, however, while I had used The Power four times, I didn’t even know I was using it! I mean, maybe it was just luck, or being persuasive, or something. But I knew for sure two days later. By then, I had gained enough strength and coordination to use a walker for traveling at least a few feet and could get out of bed myself. I had even managed to talk the nurse into letting me use a special shower for people in walkers! By now I had my own bathrobe and pajamas from home and no longer could feel my ass hanging in the breeze. But that night, two days later, a new nurse came in to check me before I went to sleep (and to probably wake me up to give a sleeping pill, too), and this lady had the biggest tits I have ever seen! She was a tall blonde in her early thirties, and I couldn’t believe she didn’t topple forward. As she was leaving she asked if I needed anything.
<Yeah, show me your tits!>, I thought.
And damned if she didn’t! Or almost anyway. She walked over to the side of the bed, with her back to the door, and reached up to the zipper on her tunic and started to pull it down. She had it below the level of her overfilled brassiere when the door opened and another nurse came in.
Ellen Radley, RN (that’s what it said on her name tag) simply zipped back up like nothing had happened and left with her friend. But before she got away, I thought, <Tomorrow night!> She simply looked at me as she walked out the door and smiled.
Well, HOLY SHIT! Wow and double-wow. She was actually going to show me her tits, and all I had done was wish for her to do it! Now remember, at the time, I was sixteen and had never actually seen real live tits. Well, there was that date with Mary Smithy just before the accident, when we went parking and got into the back seat. I actually had my hand inside her blouse and bra and she had given me a hand job, but that was the sum total of my sexual experience at the time. I had never seen real live tits with the lights on, and I knew, I just knew, that I would have been able to touch them. HOLY SHIT!
All the next day I experimented, making doctors and nurses do stuff. Oh, nothing weird, just things like, <Scratch your left arm> or <Turn around.> And they would, too, scratch or turn. One dopey looking orderly I made jump up and down on one foot. Nobody seemed to think what they were doing was at all unusual. It was just so cool! I even made my Mom and sister do things.
But most important, I waited around for Ellen Radley, RN, to show up. I had an iron-hard hard-on all day. Then, shortly after dinner, the door to my room opened, and she came in. She came over to the bed, dressed in a white nurse’s tunic, white pants, and those ugly white nurse shoes, and simply unzipped the tunic to the bottom. Underneath she had on a very large and lacy front-clasp bra (I had seen pictures in one of Mom’s catalogs, so I knew what kind it was). Reaching between her breasts, she undid the clasp and her tits spilled free. I simply stared.
Now that I look back, I suppose that her breasts weren’t all that great, just really big. They sagged pretty bad and I could see veins and stretch marks all over them. Since then I’ve had lots of women with even bigger breasts, young and firm, that stand up on their own, but at the time they seemed miraculous. My dick was making a tent out of the bedsheet as I asked, “Can I touch them?”
“Sure, Paul.", was all she said.
I twisted around in bed and reached out with both hands, grabbing and squeezing both. I was in heaven.
“Ow! Take it easy, Paul. That hurts!", Ellen complained.
I dropped them like hot potatoes and pulled back my hands. “Sorry. Uh, how should I touch them?", I asked.
“Gently, like you’d want me to touch your cock.” I couldn’t believe my ears! She’d said “cock”! Taking my hands in hers, she drew them to her chest and placed them on her breasts. “Now, slowly and gently, rub them all over, especially around the nipples. Like this.” Ellen began to move my hands and fingers around her breasts. I could feel her nipples hardening to my touch, and a red flush was beginning to come over her neck and chest. “Ummm, that’s nice, Paul.", she murmured as her eyes began drooping. I kept up my kneading of her breasts and nipples as she responded to my touch. Several minutes later, I was surprised when, with her eyes closed, she said, “Pinch my nipples, now, please, pinch them.” I did as she asked and she gave a low, guttural moan and shook all over. I didn’t know it then, but she had just had an orgasm!
When it was over, she stepped back slightly and my hands fell away. Ellen opened her eyes and looked down at me. “Thank you, Paul.", she said, and moved to get her clothes back on.
“Wait!", I squeaked out and thought. She stopped dead in her tracks.
“Yes?", she asked.
“Uh...", was all I said, but I was thinking, <Hand job>.
“Okay, Paul, sure.", said Ellen. She reached under the sheets and put her hand on my erect dick, which had worked it’s way out of the front of my PJs. At the first touch of her flesh to mine, I gave a groan and came. I had gotten so worked up getting her off, that I simply exploded all over her hand. My face flushed in embarrassment and I stammered out an apology. I could feel my stick still pulsing, although it was simply dry spurting now, and my pajama bottoms were quite sticky.
“Don’t worry Paul, it’s all right. Here, I’ll bet I can get you off again. Watch.” So saying, Ellen Radley, RN, pulled the sheet down to my knees, so I could watch as she manipulated me to hardness a second time. It was fascinating—I didn’t know whether to watch those tremendous tits swaying from side to side or to watch my soft dick rolling between her fingers. Within five minutes, my cock was stiff again, and she had switched to jacking me off, with my cum lubricating her hand. This was better than any time I had jacked off, for sure, and even better than having Mary Smithy jerk me off in the back of her Daddy’s Buick. After another five minutes or so, I could feel myself getting close, then I gave another groan as I watched my cum spurt into the air and onto Ellen’s left tit. WOW!
That was it for the night. She went to the bathroom and cleaned up, returning fully dressed with a washcloth. My crotch got a sponge bath and she left, saying she would be back tomorrow night. I slept great!
The next day was my last full day in the hospital, I was to be released the next morning. We had a giant pow-wow with Mom, the neurologist, the orthopedic surgeon, and even Sue sat in, though she had to keep quiet. The final diagnosis was in and it was sort of middling good.
The good news—aside from my right leg, I was basically back to normal. Physical therapy and exercise, and a decent diet, would get me back into good shape shortly, probably within a month or two.
The bad news—my right leg was probably never going to be fully normal again. I only had about 30% range of motion and some severe muscle, cartilage, and ligament damage to my knee. Even after physical therapy and exercise, I was going to be graduating from walker to crutches to cane, and stop there. I probably wouldn’t have any serious pain or discomfort, unless I forced it, but I was almost certainly going to limp the rest of my life.
I was rather shocked, but Mom almost broke down. She started crying and hugging me, and it took us a good fifteen minutes to calm her down. “Listen, Mom,", I told her, “don’t listen to these guys. I’m going to get better and get back to normal.” I was talking into my mother’s ear as she sobbed on my shoulder. I saw Williams, the orthopedics guy start to say something, but I gave him a hard look and thought, <Shut up!, I’ll handle this.> I continued on, “I’m going to work out and go to therapy and eat my Wheaties and get better. You just watch, I’ll race you around the block in no time.” This might actually be possible, even with a cane, since I figured I could hide her one pair of sneakers and she’d never be able to run in three inch heels!
Mom stopped crying and looked up, light returning to her reddened eyes. “Okay, darling, whatever it takes.” She smiled and said, “I’ll hold you to that race.”
The doctors explained what would be involved in the therapy—practice walking, exercising my leg, some weight training, and a lot of swimming, which was supposedly great all-over exercise. It would probably be painful, but I had to continue. I promised I would, since I had no intention of using crutches the rest of my life. I had broken my left ankle a couple of years ago and had found them a monumental pain in the ass.
Things got better, though. That night Ellen came back to my room a few hours after dinner. She immediately unzipped her tunic and undid her bra, but balked when I asked her to get undressed all the way. “Crandall, the night shift supervisor, will wonder where I am and come looking. She’ll catch us for sure, and I’ll be fired.” She seemed fairly nervous as she unzipped her pants.
Before she could pull them down, I stopped her. “Get dressed and go find her, then bring her here. I’ll explain it all to her.” Ellen gave me a real weird look and seemed about to argue, but I simply thought, <Don’t argue. Do it.>, and she did. About fifteen minutes later, the door opened and Ellen nervously brought Nurse Crandall in.
The door had barely closed when I looked at the head nurse and sent thoughts. <Forget you came in here. You are not worried where Ellen is. You won’t come looking for her until she returns. Go back to work.> Crandall immediately turned and left.
Ellen looked at me in amazement, so I thought to her, <You will forget about her until you leave here. Do not worry about anybody coming in.> I knew that if anybody else came in, I could think at them and make them forget as well, so I wasn’t worried at all.
Ellen promptly returned to my bedside, unzipping her tunic as she came. She placed this on a chair, and followed it with the bra. Her sagging tits swayed as she kicked off her shoes and unzipped her pants. She slid them off, along with her plain cotton panties, then sat on the bed next to me as she took off her white socks. Naked, she turned to face my, one leg sliding up onto the bed while the other dangled over the edge. I tilted the bed upright so I could get a good view of her.
It wasn’t until many years later that I realized that other than her tits, which were huge but floppy, Ellen was only an average looking woman. Her muscle tone wasn’t all that great, she had stretch marks on her belly and thighs, a bit of a pot belly, and a big ass. I was so naive that I didn’t even know that pussy hair generally is the same color as the hair on a woman’s head, even if it is often a different shade. Now I know she was a bottle blonde.
At the time, I thought she was the most beautiful creature put on God’s green Earth, if simply for the fact that she was sitting on my bed, naked. She immediately twisted slightly and pulled the covers down. Tonight my dick was still inside my pajamas, which she unbuttoned and pulled down. My erection bounced up to point at the ceiling, and she promptly grasped it and started to fist me off. I guess I had learned some control the other night, since I didn’t pop my rocks at the mere touch of her, but boy, did it feel good. I stared in fascination as her hand firmly but gently stroked up and down in a twisting motion for about ten minutes, my dick feeling better and better all the time, until I gave a quiet moan and slumped back in the bed, spurting my cum into the air.
What happened next surprised me. Ellen was sitting on my left side, and after I came I stretched my arms a bit. Just loosening up, I guess, when my left hand touched her right thigh. She smiled at me and shifted forwards on the bed. She spread her thighs wider and took my left hand in hers, pulling it down to her upper thigh. Shifting closer to me, she said, “Go ahead, touch my pussy, it’s okay.” Gingerly, I slid my hand up that smooth and creamy thigh until my fingertips barely touched her pubic hair and stopped, looking at her nervously. I had no clue what to do. I had never gotten this far with Mary Smithy, although I knew I was supposed to rub her cunt somehow.
Ellen said, “It’s all right, I want you to. Here, watch.” She reached between her legs with both hands, and I was fascinated to see her pull her pussy open and see the pink inside. Over the next five minutes I received an amazing lecture in anatomy unlike any I had ever had in Health class. If all classes were like this, there’d be a hell of a lot less confusion in the world. “Now, rub my clitoris with your finger.” I extended my index finger and began to gently rub up and down on it, trying not to be as crude as last night with her tits.
Apparently my technique was more than adequate because Ellen responded almost immediately. Tonight she began to moan and squirm as soon as I started rubbing her clit, and her nipples hardened without my even touching. Encouraged, I began to rub it a bit faster and firmer, and she really began to move. Cupping her stupendous knockers, she began to rub and pinch her own nipples, while moaning lowly, “Yes...yes...yes...” It was only a few minutes later that she let go of her right breast and grabbed my left hand, forcing it into her snatch as she cried out, “Oh, God, I’m coming, I’m coming!", shaking and shuddering all over.
I must admit, I was vastly impressed by this display, so much so that I didn’t even notice that my left hand was wet, covered with juices that had leaked from her pussy and smelled faintly pleasant. By now, I was fully erect again and Ellen began to give me another hand job. I stopped her. “Uh, Ellen, could you, uh...”
“What, Paul?", she asked, still gently stroking me.
“Uh, could you give me, uh, you know, uh, a blow job?”
“Sure thing, Paul, I’d love to.", she said. First however, she gave me another lecture, but it really wasn’t necessary. I mean, the sex-ed books were a lot more understandable when you had your own plumbing right at hand, so to speak. “Have you ever had a blow job before, Paul?", she asked.
“Er, no.", I admitted.
“Well, that’s all right. I’m sure you’ll like it. But you’re so big, I’m not sure that I can deep throat you.”
Now I was confused. “What do you mean? I’m too big?” What, was my cock too big to have sex with? The universe’s ultimate joke, the ability to get any woman I wanted and the inability to do anything with her!
She saw my fear and smiled. “No, Paul, you’re just fine. You have a very nice cock. It’s just that the average erection is about six inches long. You look closer to eight, maybe more.”
“Does that mean I won’t be able to, uh, you know, screw?", I blurted out.
She gave my dick a little jig. “No, honey, you’ll do fine. What I mean is about the blow job. You’re so big I probably won’t be able to suck the whole thing into my mouth. Don’t worry, I promise you’ll enjoy this. Now just lay back and watch.” So saying, she bent down and opened her mouth wide. At first she only took the head in, but after a few up and down strokes had about half my dick in her mouth.
If I had thought hand jobs were great, I was now in an entirely new level of bliss. Waves of pleasure literally ran down my cockshaft every time she lowered her head and took me in. On the outstroke she would suction me and I could feel my dickhead throb. Meanwhile, her tongue was swirling around the head, while her hands jacked me off and gently cupped my balls. Oh, my God! I had died and gone to heaven! Despite my previous orgasm, I came in less time than before, and stared between my legs as cum seeped around her lips and down my dick. Ellen didn’t stop sucking my cum until I was completely dry, and then she licked off my cock and her hands.
Now, if I had been really smart, I would have had her climb on top and teach me how to fuck. But that blowjob just blew my mind. I finger fucked her a second time and got another blowjob before sending her back to work. By the time she had cleaned up and dressed in the small bathroom, I was snoozing.