The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jim was not gay, but that was not what the women thought. Perhaps it was his slightly effeminate manner and the care he took over his appearance; probably it was something to do with him sharing a room at university with another young man for the whole three years and neither going out with a girl. Not that they had not tried. Indeed, how they had tried in their own way! It had just not worked.

They had been ‘just good friends,’ liked to style themselves the most eligible bachelors around—eligible but unlucky—and because they went around so much together, a reputation grew. Not that they realised that others had made such an assumption until their third year, by which time it was rather too late to protest their heterosexuality.

Post university the reputation followed him, probably because a couple of the girls doing the same degree ended up in the same firm.

Of course, Jim had had offers, ‘go on, you’ll like it’ and similar suggestions from very pleasant young men at university but Jim really was not interested in hard male bodies: it was the softer, more rounded bodies that caused his arousal. He and his very good friend had not even wanked together. Well, that was not strictly true, they had spilt possibly pints of semen together in the same room but, not pleasantly sharing a magazine or reading a ‘dirty book’ together in the light, perhaps in, or completely out of their pyjamas, politely complementing the other on a good deposit onto their own stomachs or into a paper tissue: rather they had tried to be as quiet as anything in their own single beds after dark, positioned either side of their large bedroom, neither mentioning to the other that he knew what the other had been doing but rather hoping the other did not realise what he had also been doing.

It would have been a lot easier to have come out in the open, not to be in any way gay together, just to be frank about masturbation. Indeed, why not come out in the open—cum in the open—keeping the lights on so each could enjoy a magazine and not stifle a groan when the time for ejaculation came. Indeed, make a friendly comment when the moment had cum and gone. It was not as if there were not such magazines around the room. There was a joint stash, they shared them, wanked to them secretly when the other was out, but neither discussed the real reason for buying them. All rather stupid really: but they had been young.

Twenty-three and still a virgin despite an awful lot of girlfriends—girls who were friends. Perhaps it was his assumed gayness, but the girls seemed to happily gravitate to Jim, yet gave no indication they would like to ‘go out’ with him. They seemed to like his company but nothing more. No ‘I was thinking of going to XYZ, would you like to come’ or, if such a suggestion was made, it was always ‘We are thinking of…’ and he would tag along with a couple or bunch of girls. Very pleasant, and rather arousing when they did something girlish like adjust a bra strap or make some rather personal remark which they would not normally do with men present. Enjoyable to think back on such things in his own bed—on his own—and engage in his almost nightly wanking but… but would he not like a romance and that other thing—sex with a woman. What was it like? What did breasts, female breasts, feel like in your hands? What was it like to be sucked? Yes, indeed!

Jim did not live alone. He shared a flat with… two other young men, of course—and one turned out to be gay. At least he no longer shared a room but had his own bedroom which he kept immaculately tidy to the amusement of his flatmates. It was rather different in that respect from his university room. His good friend had been anything but tidy. The room in the flat was a very nice room on the second floor of a Victorian house with a splayed bay looking out across a wide road to more Victorian or Edwardian houses. It was in what had been a good residential neighbourhood but had become rather run down with many of the large houses becoming bedsits or converted to flats and let out. Across from Jim’s house was a particularly large and fine double fronted villa looking sadly in need of attention. The front garden was overgrown and there was even ivy growing over the balustrade at the top of a few steps leading to the front door. Jim had concluded it was deserted, perhaps its elderly owner had died, and no one knew who would inherit it. He was wrong.

Walking back from the shops along the pavement on the other side of the road from his home, just about to cross, newspaper in hand and carefully hidden within it the current month’s ‘Mayfair,’ Jim heard a groan. He paused and pushed open the rusting iron gate. By the path to the front door of the house he had supposed vacant was an old man lying awkwardly.

“You OK?”

But it was obvious he was not.

“Not at all,” the man said through clenched teeth. An old man, well dressed but with his grey hair far too long for his age and grey stubble all over his cheeks and chin. A mixture of the kempt and unkempt.

Jim bent to help the man up and as he did, so the adult magazine slipped from his newspaper and flopped down and open at the centrefold. A very fine-looking young woman, and it was very clear she was a woman because all her womanly bits were very on display. It elicited a smile from the old man, “Very nice. But not really at this precise moment… No, no, I can’t move, think I’ve broken…”

Jim called an ambulance. He dialled the number 999 from the pillar box red public telephone a few yards down the street. This was all decades before the appearance of mobile ’phones. This was the 1970s. A long time ago when things were rather different. He stayed until the ambulance arrived and watched the men carefully lifting the old man into the ambulance and taking him away, newspaper and recovered contents safely under his own arm.

Being Jim, he was concerned, and when he happened to mention the incident to the girls at work, they all said he must go and find out if the old boy was OK, perhaps even run errands, if the old man had nobody to help. Sophie wondered if he was a recluse. Jim spoke to a neighbour and discovered Sophie was probably not too far off the mark.

He realised the old man had returned from hospital when a succession of nurses started turning up. Quick visits perhaps to change dressings or check on him. Saturday morning Jim thought he really should go and visit the old man and ask how he was getting on. Before his morning shower he had seen from his bay window a young nurse arrive in uniform, had watched her with interest as she had got out of her car, a Mini, had watched her cotton dress riding up her black nylon clad legs as she did so. She looked really nice and his penis thought so too, rising up in front of him and pointing in her general direction. He watched the rise and fall of her buttocks under her dress as she opened that rusty gate, watched as she walked up the tiled path and up the steps. He even wanked a little standing there, sure no-one could see his nakedness from the street. He was naked from the waist downwards. He had never spanked a female bottom—or a male one for that matter—but he was thinking about that as he watched the door close. Jim walked stiffly to the shower. His flatmates were away. It was safe to walk around the flat naked and stiff.

Washed, shaved, dressed, Jim walked out of his front door and was surprised to see the Mini still there. Normally the nurses were gone within minutes. As if on cue, the door of the house opposite opened, so Jim continued across the street on his intended mission—and to see the nurse close to. She was as ‘fine’ as he had thought: neatly tied back long hair, a full bosom, though discretely hidden by her blue work dress, her silver nurses’ belt emphasising the swell of her hips. A pretty face under her dark hair.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Oh,” a pause, “what?” The nurse looked at him a little blankly, paused for another second or two and then looked at the watch hanging from her breast. “I’m way behind. How… oh, good morning.” She looked confused and more than a bit puzzled.

“You’ve got something on your chin.”

“Oh… thanks,” she brushed at it with her fingers.

Probably it was simply spittle, but it did look like, and Jim rather liked the idea, he would store that away for bedtime, it looked like cum. The nurse stood looking at her fingers, rubbed forefinger and thumb together looking the more puzzled. Jim liked her face.

“Is it all right if I go in and see him?”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Crowfoot is…” again that puzzled look, “…fine.” She hurried on to her car not looking back. Jim, on the other hand, stood looking after her, watching her buttocks move under her dress. She was fine! He did like the idea of cum on her face.

The door was not locked, indeed was a little open, Jim pushed, and, like the garden gate, the heavy door creaked on its hinges, and he called out.

“Who is it?” Out of a door at the back of the large hallway came the old man. Gone the wild long hair and unshaven face, instead smartly cut grey hair and a smooth chin. The silk dressing gown rather matched the neatness of the clothes Jim had noticed when first finding him on the ground. The old boy was in a wheelchair, complete with raised platform for his left leg, now in a white plaster cast. A smile of recognition lit up his face as he trundled forward and held out his hand.

“My rescuer. So grateful, sir. Your name?”

“Jim, Jim Costin.”

“Archibald Taciturn Crowfoot, quite a mouthful, eh? Shall we have some tea, tell me about yourself, not so easy for me to make the tea. Could you?”

Jim was led, not into the back room, from whence Mr Crowfoot had appeared, but first into the kitchen to make the tea and then into a front room where he put down the tray with tea and Garibaldi biscuits and continued giving the old man a bit more of his life history.

“This is a very big and rather grand house, Mr Crowfoot, have you lived here long?”

“Born here, always, well, on and off, always come back here. Not what it was, as you will have noticed. These last ten years… been a bit down I suppose. I read a lot. Don’t go out like I used to. Shouldn’t have gone out that day…” He paused, looking thoughtful, “well, yes and no. So, no girlfriend then?”

“I hadn’t mentioned…”

“No, precisely, rather gave the game away, a young man like yourself. Not good. I…”

He looked wistful, clearly remembering back. Jim wondered at his thoughts. What had the old boy been up to in his time?

“Was a time when—parties, young ladies aplenty visiting. But no reason for them to come now. No reason for them to grace my hallway in their pretty, flowing dresses, their gay laughter no longer lighting up my days…” He looked down into his teacup and then looked quickly up at Jim and leaned forward, “until my accident. How pleasing to have young nurses coming in to see me.” He took a sip of tea. His eyes flashed at Jim, he seemed rather animated by the thought of the nurses.

“Yes,” said Jim, “she seemed very… nice.”

The old man looked up again with a smile and a very definite twinkle in his eye. It was an expression Jim had not really understood until that moment. Mr Crowfoot really did have a twinkle in his eye!

“Nice enough to appear in your magazine, eh?”

An embarrassment to have the magazine dropping incident recalled. Even on the ground, and in pain, the old man had not missed that.

“Ah, oh, sorry about that.”

“Just confirms the lack of a steady girlfriend to me.”

“I have lots of friends who are girls…”

“Really?”

“But none seem to want to go out.”

“Hence the magazine. Pretty young things with little on, exotic lingerie and so on; though, if I saw correctly, rather more in the photographs than I would have expected—pubic hair indeed! Things have relaxed since I was a boy. What they call the ‘Permissive Society’ I suppose. Perhaps you might lend… I would be interested.”

Jim had hardly expected to find himself sharing his girlie magazines with the old man just like Mike and he used to do in their shared room. It would have been churlish to decline and he said he would bring the magazine—he had said ‘magazines’ which rather gave away it was not at all a ‘one off’ purchase.

“So, would Nurse Evans have been good enough for the magazine, in your opinion. I have my own view having had the advantage of seeing rather more of her close at hand.”

Jim thought it might have been rather pleasant to have had her fingers attending to him, checking his cast had he had the accident rather than the old man.

“The bed bath was rather nice.” The old man was looking at him with amused interest, clearly wishing to see his reaction.

Jim gulped, the idea most attractive. The idea of Nurse Evans and a sponge, washing him down, applying the soap and then sponging him off. He could imagine being naked but even with her probably no nonsense trained efficiency how would he not erect? But probably nurses were well trained in dealing with unexpected, or perhaps expected, tumescence. Perhaps they kept an ice-cold flannel all ready to drape and cool manly enthusiasm. Perhaps it was part of the training. The severe matron explaining to the teenage nursing recruits how to ‘deal with men.’ Perhaps, though, she had not washed that ‘part.’ He was instantly disabused of that notion:

“I got quite a stand—like old times!”

“Mr Crowfoot!” The old man simply laughed at Jim’s evident embarrassment at the revelation.

“Well, we’re just men talking manly talk eh? I certainly liked that: whether Nurse Evans did or not. She’ll be back the day after tomorrow. Why don’t you be here when she calls—see a bit more of her.” There was a chuckle at that. “Perhaps ask her out, eh? If you get the chance.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Be here and we’ll see what happens. What time did she say?” He picked up a diary, “Eight o’clock in the morning. That’s when she’s due. First on her morning’s round, I think. She’s certainly brightening my days again. I feel, despite the leg, so much better. Tell me more about these young ladies that you know…”

Jim came down the steps from the house a whole hour later. Mr Crowfoot was quite engaging. Clearly a bit of a naughty old boy—or was that dirty old man—and had been rather more so in his younger days. He had implied much but given little detail. He did not seem an obvious recluse. The outside of the house was pretty run down but the interior was merely old fashioned, not in decay at all, more than clean indeed, well dusted in fact. That was the sort of thing Jim noticed.

On the other hand, the now missing long hair and the days of stubble had implied a man not taking quite the care he used to. Was he a man who suffered from depression, a man of highs and lows? Jim smiled, Nurse Evans seemed to have brought out a high. Jim chuckled to himself as he opened the rusty gate. A high indeed! What had Mr Crowfoot said? ‘Quite a stand!’ That would have been amusing to see—to see her reaction—even if Nurse Evans had had a quick and professional way to deal with it. Had she soaped and sponged it, the man’s ‘stand’ like that? Did she perhaps have a way of making it go down?

Jim walked back across the road with the easily risen ‘stand’ of a young man. It did not take that much to cause that. Nurse Evans was very nice.

Two days later found Jim planning to be a little late for work. It was silly really, he knew he had no chance with Nurse Evans, she was probably ‘accounted for,’ married even. On the other hand, he would quite like to see her again and be close to her. Had he not been thinking about her in bed the night before and the night before that, and done something rather pleasant whilst thinking and, well, showed his appreciation of her in a rather private way? A little before eight he crossed the road all ready for work, suit and tie, black polished shoes.

Mr Crowfoot looked approvingly. “I like to see a man well dressed,” he paused, “and a woman undressed!” It was a very male sort of comment. Jim smiled. Mr. Crowfoot really was a ‘dirty old man,’ not that he looked anything dirty now. He seemed to have managed to shave, his hair was neatly combed, and his silk dressing gown looked pretty immaculate. Jim could even smell Cologne. “Just sit over there, Jim, and enjoy the view.

A knock at the door and in came Nurse Evans, “Good morning, Mr Crowfoot, and how are we today?”

The old man described a degree of pain and itching under the cast. The sort of rather private talk between patient and doctor or patient and nurse.

“Let’s have a look.” Jim watched in pleasure as the young woman crouched down, her dress riding a little up her black nylon legs above her knee showing more thigh. Her hand pushed the silk dressing gown out of the way and examined the cast. Jim was a little embarrassed to see the action had opened the dressing gown and, with no pyjamas or pants, Mr Crowfoot’s penis was half exposed. Nurse Evans obviously saw the same and tugged the silk modestly back over his upper thighs.

“All seems well, I…” she caught sight of Jim, “Oh, I didn’t realise you had company, Mr Crowfoot. Shall we go into your lounge?” She frowned, “To be private.” She took a step towards the front room but instead Mr Crowfoot began moving his wheelchair the other way.

“The back room would be better. Could you open the door?”

Nurse Evans followed him in but failed to close the door behind her. What had been a brusque professional voice seemed to faulter, “I see you’ve shaved yourself, so I don’t… I don’t think you… a bath…you don’t need…”

Jim very clearly heard Mr Crowfoot saying, “On the contrary, I very much need one.”

“I’ll, I’ll get some water…”

The young woman came out of the room looking rather different, her face seemed to have lost its business-like focus, the eyes rather blank seeming not even to see him when she walked past Jim in the direction of the kitchen. Returning with a bowl of steaming hot water she seemed more herself again. “Do you really need this, she said as she went back through the door, I am sure you can do this for your… yourself.”

“I would be terribly grateful, Nurse Evans, really I don’t think I can do everything for myself. The towels are over there.”

Sitting in the hall and listening, Jim could only imagine not see, Nurse Evans rolling up her sleeves, helping Mr Evans out of his dressing gown and generally preparing to wash down the old man, a man incapable of having a bath both because he would not be able to get into the bath or out of it, and because the cast should not get wet, let alone soaked. Jim could not help imagining the juxtaposition of naked man and young nurse with her poised above him with wet flannel dripping from the bowl of hot water. In his suit trousers Jim’s erection came. Had perhaps Mr Crowfoot’s?

Through the door he again heard the old boy speak. I wonder if it would be easier, Nurse Evans, so you don’t get you nice uniform wet if you were to take it off. Go on, I won’t mind.”

Jim’s eyes widened. Probably nurses had to get used to lewd suggestions from senile old folk, but he had not though Mr Crowfoot like that, albeit clearly a rather naughty old boy. What made his eyes not so much widen but pop out of their sockets was hearing Nurse Evans agree that it would be a sensible idea. The rustle of material, the thought of Nurse Evans going down to her underwear made Jim’s mouth open. Dare he get up and casually take a peek through the half open door? He didn’t need to dare.

“Jim, you can come in now.”

There was no objection from Nurse Evans, no talk about being ‘private.’ Jim got up, tentatively at first, yet he could not resist the prospect of seeing Nurse Evans out of uniform and then stood in the doorway ‘gobsmacked.’ Mr Crowfoot was naked, his dressing gown removed, and he did indeed have an erection, a very obvious one, but it was not at all that which Jim was looking at: Nurse Evans had not merely removed her uniform dress but everything, belt, tights, brassiere and knickers. It was like seeing a photograph in one of his magazines only this was real and the picture not static. And it was a modern picture, Nurse Evan’s pubic hair, dark curly hair, was very much on display, not in any way ‘airbrushed’ out. The place on her body where, on Jim’s his penis was rising ever so strongly, was completely natural—a mass of dark curls—not the little girl valley of a shaven women as in some photos or, indeed the unblemished triangle of skin without the intriguing little slit of the airbrushed photographs, recalled from when he had first tentatively peeked at girlie magazines on the newsagent’s stand. Things had changed in a few years.

And then, there were her breasts, a couple of handfuls of soft, smooth flesh with lovely big girl nipples unlike his own little things, swinging as she washed the old man. She seemed completely unfazed by the young man gawping at her as if it was the first naked woman he had seen. It was, of course, the first naked woman Jim had ever seen.

Nurse Evans was as calmly as anything, and with a rather blank look to her face, placing the flannel in the hot water, wringing it out and applying it to the old man’s body. He was seated on a towel which had been placed under him on his wheelchair.

“Could you raise yourself, Mr Crowfoot?” Her voice was rather monotone, it seemed to have lost the colour Jim had heard earlier.

“I think it is quite raised, Nurse Evans.”

“I did not mean your penis, Mr Crowfoot, but your bottom.” There was no smile but equally no admonition for making either a sexual allusion or for the fact of the erect penis. The old man, however, winked at Jim, as he pushed down with his hands on the chair’s hand rests, making the muscles on his arms bulge and lifted himself upwards both giving access to the nurse’s hands but also bringing his penis up towards her.

Jim had not moved, continued to stand stock still as he watched the nurse’s hands and the flannel undertaking the intimate task of washing the Mr Crowfoot’s bottom. She was efficient, but she also had wobbling boobs and a fine bottom. She certainly did! Jim was entranced, his cock rock hard in his suit trousers. What must that feel like?

And what must that feel like! The soap was now being applied to the penis and balls. The nurse’s efficient fingers lifting, pulling the foreskin right back and applying the soap. Jim let out a rather inarticulate noise, something of a groan, at the thought of him being the subject of the bed bath. It made the old man smile and wink again as the nurse lifted and washed his scrotum. She then began to pat him dry all over with a towel.

“All done, Mr Crowfoot.”

“You said you were going to check my penis was in working order.”

It certainly looked it. As in as good order as Jim’s felt in his trousers. Jim was still quite amazed he was seeing that, not just flaccid as you might have expected with an old man and a bed bath… perhaps: but erect, strongly erect. He looked from it to the thick forest of dark, almost black curls at Nurse Evan’s hips, a fascinating and mysterious triangle. Jim knew from countless magazines what was between Nurse Evans legs, but it was a theoretical not practical knowledge. He would very much have liked to feel and see if Nurse Evans vagina was in as good working order as the penises were in the room.

“Did I?” A hint of puzzlement to the nurse’s face. “It very much appears to be, Mr Crowfoot.”

“Full working order.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Jim took a step forward, a step forward as he saw Nurse Evans’ hand reach out once more and curl around the shaft of the erection and begin to move the foreskin. He swallowed, he was sure that was not something nurses learned in their training. She would have learnt that as an extracurricular activity or, more likely, well before she became a nurse.

“I’m sure it will help me relax,” the old man looked up and beckoned Jim closer. “I hope you don’t mind watching whilst the nurse does this… procedure.”

Jim was watching the way the masturbation was making the young woman’s breasts wobble—and from a lot closer to than before. Up and down her hand slid.

“It’d be a bit of a shame if all is working for me to get all, not so much dirty as messy, wouldn’t it after all your hard work, perhaps Nurse Evans you might… in your mouth?”

Jim’s eyes bulged again, and his eyes flicked back from the swinging breasts to the penis. He moved to the right and crouched to get a better view, any sort of embarrassment at the intimacy of what he was seeing lost. Miss Evans had very nice lips, not too full, not too thin. He had thought of kissing them but now he saw them open, her pink tongue moisten and then descend absorbing the old man’s swollen knob into her mouth.

“How?” he asked, not looking away from the moving lips, travelling up and down the old man’s penis, half way up and half way down. Presumably acting rather like a vagina. He had no experience, none at all. “How?” he breathed again.

“Later,” said the old man, his naked chest, matted with still not fully dried grey hair rising and falling, his breathing becoming faster, “I’ll explain later, but for now…”

Jim had not seen fellatio performed: not even in pictures. He had not been able to get hold of those sorts of magazines, ‘Continental’ magazines, ‘Scandinavian’ magazines, or visit some seedy cinema in Soho. He had read about it but not at all expected, as he had set out that morning, besuited, to see a bit more of Nurse Evans, quite how much more of her he would see and what he might see her do. It was fascinating, educational and arousing. The thought of Nurse Evans doing that to him… perhaps as he held and fondled those breasts. Mr Crowfoot’s hands were not doing any touching, they were clasped quite tightly to the seat’s handrails. On his face a look of concentration and pleasure. What must it feel like?

He crouched, the better to see, the better to watch Nurse Evans pretty mouth at work, to marvel how he was actually seeing a penis in a girl’s mouth, seeing her lips caressing it, seeing the old man’s organ wet with her saliva as she raised and lowered her head. Then he turned a little, first to watch again her breasts moving and then, at eye level her triangle of hair and at the bottom corner just a little hanging pinkness showing through—her sexual lips. Jim may not have seen photographs of fellatio but had seen photographs of innumerable pudenda. He knew what that was all about.

Could he perhaps touch? What arrangement had the old man come to with the young nurse. How much was he paying her? Had he just come out with an offer of money that, perhaps a hard up, Nurse Evans simply could not refuse? How kind of the old boy to let him see not only a naked young woman in the flesh but to watch a ‘sex act.’ An act seemingly about to reach its climax. It was not just the nurse moving but Mr Crowfoot was trying, despite being seated with his plastered leg up, to thrust his penis at the woman, get it deeper into her mouth.

Inarticulate noises from the old man gave a very good idea of just what was happening. It did indeed appear Mr Crowfoot’s genitalia was in good working order—it was working. Amazing to Jim. How many times had he imagined with various of his friends who were girls, colleagues in the office as well, his penis spurting into their mouths—and other places of course. And here he was seeing the act for real. Mr Crowfoot had even placed a hand on the back of Nurse Evan’s head, stroking her hair but also to discourage her rising and not taking the semen in her mouth.

Mr Crowfoot eased back in his chair and let his hand drop. Nurse Evans rose, her mouth closing but not before Jim had savoured, momentarily, the sight of open, so feminine lips, fresh from fellating a man. He could not help it, his eyes flicked to the now released cock, flopped down upon the old man’s stomach, now losing its earlier vigour. Nurse Evans naked body so much more interesting yet, his eyes were drawn to the penis, seeing it wet with her saliva and… and, yes, he could see evidence of the old man’s recent orgasm. Confirmation he had indeed come in her mouth. What a thing to have done!

Jim’s eyes returned to Nurse Evans, just in time to see her swallow. Fuck! What an erotic image. How many times, again, had he thought of girls, often ones he knew, doing just that but with his own semen. If only, if only… but the opportunity had never arisen.

“In working order, Mr Crowfoot, I think that’s…” Again, a pause as if the nurse was having some difficulty in getting the words out. Her tongue briefly wetted her lips.

A tongue that had so recently been—Jim shuddered at the thought, his cock absolutely rigid in his suit trousers everything,

“…I’d better be getting on.”

“I wonder if you might,” the old man was looking towards Jim with a smile and then he gave a wink. “I wonder if you might check my young friend’s penis too whilst you are here. I can see it’s very swollen. Check it is not too swollen, perhaps release the pressure, it can’t be good for him.”

Jim stood stock still. What? How much was the old man paying this young woman—yet there seemed something more to it all than that.

“I should be getting on…” The nurse’s voice rather flat.

“Just a quick check up.”

Absolutely unbelievable, the young naked woman turned to Jim and just knelt in front of him and before he really could think, he felt a tug to his zip and then the nurse’s hand feeling around inside. In almost a state of shock Jim felt a hand other than his own on the flesh of his penis, a tug and it was pulled right out into the open. Mouth open, eyes staring he looked across at the seated old man, his cock still there in the open.

“Yes, very swollen,” said the old man.

“A very normal penis, its erectile function is satisfactory,” a pause, and then just flatly, “strong indeed. A fine erectile capacity.” She was looking at it, moving it, examining it. Jim just stared downwards at her.

“But does it do all it should do?” Another wink from the old man towards Jim.

Nurse Evans’ hand grasped the shaft of his penis and began sliding the skin just as Jim did so often to himself: but this was another person’s hand, the hand of a pretty young woman, a pretty young, naked woman was quite a different thing. The feel, the sight and thought of it all. It was not the gentle caressing of a lover keen to give pleasure and prolong; not a loving caress, but the efficient actions of a knowledgeable nurse anxious to complete a procedure and get on to her next task. Efficient and business-like wanking!

It was very obviously not going to take long: not with an already highly aroused young man unused to the touch of young women. Jim was going to come pretty quickly.

“You know what young men are like, Nurse Evans, they spurt rather than dribble. You would not want to get Jim’s semen all over your hair, would you?”

Obviously, she did not. Jim watched, as if in slow motion down below, level with his hips, the young woman’s mouth opened, and her head came forward; he saw lips touch the flesh of his generative organ and then felt those lips closing around his knob. The moving fingers did not stop. Nurse Evans was wanking him right into her mouth. Perhaps it was the feel of her tongue touching the end of his knob that did it, a very definite sensation and Jim knew exactly what he was feeling. Perhaps it was just that, but he was overwhelmed by what he had seen, was seeing and was now happening to him. He could do nothing to prolong the wonderful experience and, like probably so many young men on their wedding night, came too soon. Jim felt his balls lifting, the feeling building and his eyes lost focus as with a sigh and an ‘oh, yes,’ Jim Costin began spurting into the mouth of the young nurse as her fingers efficiently exercised his organ.

One, two—that must have been a big one, three, four… Jim counted to nine. Nine delicious contractions as he stood there, pumping his semen into the young woman’s mouth.

“All well, Nurse Evans?” the old man looked across with great interest.

The woman swallowed and disengaged. She got up from her knees. So good for Jim to see her dark triangle moving as the muscles of her thighs tensed. If Nurse Evans looked rather blank, then Jim’s face too was not too different. He felt stunned. He looked straight at her, at her mouth that had so recently held his knob and, no doubt, still held some of his semen. Yes, his stuff—in there.

“You’ve got something on your chin.”

It had not been spittle, Jim realised, when he had first met Nurse Evans on the garden path: it had been exactly what it had looked like, only this time it was his own. She wiped but said nothing as she hurriedly dressed, watched by the two men. Knickers, brassiere, tights, the lot.

She looked confused and more than a bit puzzled as she tightened her belt. “Everything is well, Mr Crowfoot, a colleague or me will be around in two days to check on you again.” Her eyes turned to Jim and seemed to be trying to think. “Your young friend’s penis is working well. It is satisfactory.”

They heard the front door close and all was quiet. Jim looked at the old man in his wheelchair, sitting there seemingly completely unfazed by all that had passed, his now flaccid penis gently leaking semen onto his stomach, a totally incongruous picture compared to the comfortable but formal surroundings of the room. Mr Crowfoot looked back and winked.

It was Jim who spoke, “Would you like me to get… I mean you’re not quite looking your most… do you want me to help put your dressing gown on.”

The old man’s eyes significantly lowered to Jim’s trousers and it came to him that he was no less unrespectable. His penis, so recently, in the nurse’s mouth was still hanging out. Two recently ejaculated penises out in the open in the room.

“Sorry,” said Jim almost automatically.

The old man’s hand gesture was dismissive. “I am hoping we shall get rather used to seeing each other’s equipment particularly in the turgid state. You enjoyed? How could you not! Isn’t she, Nurse Evans, delightful? Perhaps next time might you be up for coitus? Up indeed! Would you like to penetrate her, enjoy her to the full? I am not sure I can easily perform with this cast, but I would very much enjoy watching the naked copulation. As Nurse Evans said, you have a fine upstanding penis—when engorged—and I should very much like to see it at work in her. Perhaps if I can’t join you then she might fellate me whilst you give her one. Ha! One each end, she bent over and you bouncing on her bottom—does that interest you?”

Definitely a very dirty old man, a lecher, if ever there was one, even with that twinkle in his eye. Jim, post orgasm, was not as enthusiastic as he might normally have been. ‘Post coitum omne animalium triste est’ and all that. “How,” he said, dropping into a chair, “how did you do that—hypnosis? Will,” he was suddenly worried, “will she remember?”

“Hypnosis? No. You flatter me with abilities I do not have. It is this room, not the house, this room, my father’s old study. Why? I do not know. I know it has no effect on men but women… quite a different matter. As a small boy I can recall women visitors sometimes being invited into my father’s study and staying quite a long time. Once I tried the door, but it was locked, I wanted to ask Papa for a pencil, but Mama said he was not to be disturbed, that he was ‘busy.’ I think she sometimes went in too. I do not know what that was about and, being my own parents, I do not really want to know! Boarding school and going on holidays abroad with my parents meant I was rarely at home as I grew older and, no doubt, thinking back on it now, missed an awful lot of goings on. Indeed, it was only when I was rather older did I realise quite what had been going on in my younger years behind the study door, in my father’s private domain.”

Once started, the old man’s narrative just flowed. “It was the ‘birds and bees’ conversation just before I went up to Cambridge. Papa did not want me to go unprepared. I did not. He told me to go into his study and come out a man. I’m sure, in times past, some fathers provided a prostitute for that purpose. Papa provided me with the most delightful young teacher from my school who I had indeed been lusting after and must have somehow indicated as much to him. I walked into this study and heard the key turn in the lock behind me. I was under instruction and she was both naked and clearly available. Papa had prepared her. How shall I put it, she was ‘spread’ and very ready. I did indeed come out a man—or at least no longer a virgin.”

Mr Crowfoot leant forward, “And I rather fancy playing the same role with you as dear Papa. Mentor and protégé eh? Would you mind, I would so enjoy the role and cannot imagine you will not enjoy the learning? Awful to break a leg yet, yet, at the hospital I suddenly realised with the talk of home visits by a nurse that I could once more receive visits from young women and might entice them into my study.”

His eyes were sparkling, “No, no, they remember nothing or very little. It’s a wonder, a delight. What happens in the study stays in the study. You could take your best friend’s wife in there and she would remember pretty much nothing. Your best friend and she will then be none the wiser about what you have actually done.” There was a pause, “What we have actually done.” He moved the wheelchair closer, his excitement palpable. Jim half expected the old man’s penis to stand up again, so animated was the old boy by the thought of sex. “Of course, it is not just disinterested benefaction on my part, not simply a desire to teach the young, there is my own welfare involved too. You might, I am sure you could, invite, inveigle those young lady friends you mention into coming here, to my house… to my secret room, and together…” his breathing was faster, “we could enjoy young female flesh, soft breasts, wet pudenda, open mouths… The room not only makes them compliant and forgetful, it seems also to arouse. Brings the young fillies into heat. Would you, would you like to join me? I mean, of course, if you would not find it too awful to be copulating with an old man like me, our manly organs…” His hand swept in the direction of both flaccid, but out in the open, genitalia, “working together on and in the same young women. It would be so good. Like old times. I have felt, these last few days, my depression lift after so many years.”

It was such an enticing prospect, joining the old lecher in his misdeeds. And it was not just the prospect of almost an orgy of sex, an enticement indeed, but the realisation, if he did not agree then, when the nurse visits ended and the plaster cast removed, the old man might be plunged back into his gloom and depression. It was almost blackmail, certainly psychological pressure. The old man was clearly not at all stupid, a clever man indeed—he had mentioned going up to Cambridge after all. What had he studied?

Jim stood, “I’ll think about it. I’ve really got to go to work. Thanks for the…” He had not had any coffee, it seemed incongruous to thank the old man for the suck and the wank.

The old man held out his hand and Jim took it. So strange: naked old man and besuited young man shaking hands. He handed Mr Crowfoot his dressing gown.

“Don’t forget to tuck yourself away,” the old man said. “I hope to see that again. Many times—and in good working order—and working indeed.” A chuckle.

Jim walked down the steps of the house towards the gate to begin his journey to work. He was stunned by what had happened—with Nurse Evans. He had completely forgotten, what with everything, to even try inviting her out.

The next morning Jim stood at his window remembering. Nurse Evans would not be coming that day. Should he take up the old man’s offer? He had been wrestling with the idea in his mind. A classic situation of two voices in his head. One saying, ‘go for it,’ the other presenting all sorts of moral scruples. The former pointing out how unfair it was all the girls thought him gay and that he had had no luck with them. The other pointing out what a breach of trust it would be to inveigle, friends and acquaintances into that secret room and…

The morning after found Jim once more at his window but this time late for work and not even dressed, still battling with his conscience, yet the former voice seemed to have had its way certainly as regards his penis, it had encouraged him up into a stand with thoughts which were anything but moral and chaste. It had encouraged him to be late for work and take another look at Nurse Evans in case he did decide he wanted to cross the road.

The thought of Mr Crowfoot’s back room, his study—nominally at least—certainly it had a desk, a big kneehole desk and there were plentiful books on shelves around the room. A library almost. A comfortable but very male room. Dark wooden panelling, a heavy mahogany door into it with brass fittings, a full carpet and a tall tiled Victorian fireplace with black grate and mahogany mantlepiece. An old brown leather sofa, even a green velvet covered chaise longue on one side of the room, possibly unusual for a male room but not if draped with a female figure…

The matter was decided for him, at least that morning, by a car drawing up opposite, a vehicle which was very much not a Mini, and out from it came not the young and delightful Nurse Evans but what could only be described as an old ‘battle-axe’ of a nurse. Perhaps she would interest Mr Crowfoot, though the old man had placed the emphasis on the ‘young’ when referring to women, but the old ‘battle-axe’ marching up the garden path held no interest for Jim. Not one bit. He dressed and headed out feeling both morally good and disappointed at the same time. The nurse was coming down the garden path of the house opposite, she certainly had some shoulders on her—and breasts. The shelf in front of her was substantial and clearly rigidly held in place. She had not stayed long.

“How is your old man, your recluse?” There seemed genuine interest from Sophie. Girls were like that, they tended to be interested in people. The girl and Jim were standing in the kitchen at the office making coffee. He got the milk bottle from the ‘fridge.

Jim described much about his visit a couple of days before, more than happy to chat to Sophie about how interesting the house was and Mr Crowfoot as well; he was careful to mention the errands he had run, or, at least, so far, errand singular to the shops, making sure he appeared in a good light. He rather liked Sophie. Alas, no doubt, so did her husband. Jim’s liking was not going to be reciprocated in the way he would like. Careful to mention the errand, equally careful not to mention the surprising attention Nurse Evans had paid to both Mr Crowfoot and him, or what the old man had told him about the room.

“You are good helping him out. I expect he’ll like having regular visits from you from now on. A kindness. Old people on their own can get very lonely. My Gran, she says….”

He nodded. A kindness to keep visiting Mr Crowfoot. Hmmm! Well…

“I’d really like to see the house, perhaps there is something I can do for your Mr Crowfoot whilst he is convalescing… Jim, are you OK?”

Something had rather struck Jim and clearly it had shown on his face. Perhaps he was staring rather strangely or had gone rather red. He had liked Sophie rather a lot since he had first met her, had been rather free with his thoughts about her when alone in bed, had wondered various things and imagined a lot. Dare he invite her to Mr Crowfoot’s back room, a room with a secret? Should he do such a thing? Undoubtedly the old man would be more than delighted to have… have Sophie. And would he not like that too? Perhaps lose his virginity with Sophie. He watched her bottom in its black skirt as she left the kitchen; Sophie was concentrating on holding her coffee mug so as not to spill any. Should he really suggest she did come and visit the old man? Did he want to see that bottom unobscured by clothing? Perhaps with her bent over attending to Mr Crowfoot? Jim’s penis hardened as he stirred his coffee. Should he, should he take Sophie to the secret room?