When John woke up, he knew that something was wrong. For starters, he didn't remember going to sleep.
The lights were on, and he vaguely realized that that was very unusual. He always turned out the lights when he went to bed. Right? Right. Then what?
Fuzzy memories of a party bubbled up from the murkier parts of his mind, and he realized that he had a headache to match. Of course, that was it. They'd thrown a party at the office to celebrate the big Marston contract finally coming through. Ken had tried to Xerox his butt and cracked the document glass on the photocopier, and there was something involving Lizzy and a fire extinguisher, but the details were a bit fuzzy...
OK, so he'd gotten smashed. So he'd forgotten to turn off the lights before he crashed into bed. Sure. The janitor back at the office probably had a lot of cleaning up to do, too...
Oh, God, this was the worst hangover he'd ever had. Even his legs hurt... quite badly, in fact.
He slowly opened one eye to see if the world anything like the last time he saw it. That was a mistake. He quickly closed it again, realizing something was seriously wrong. He'd woken up up in odd places before, but this was definitely a first. The hospital room was mostly white, and sterile and anonymous as such rooms usually are. The room contained a single bed with clean, white sheets. The bed contained John.
What the hell - he had been partying, and the next thing he knew was lying in some hospital with pain in his legs, his head, and in most of the rest of his anatomy. What the...
After a few minutes of dizzy contemplation, he realized that there must have been some accident. But how? What sort of accident? And where? At the party? Somewhere else? And what day was it? And which hospital was he in? Through the uncurtained windows he saw that it was dark outside. Whether it was nine in the evening or three in the morning he couldn't guess. There was no clock in the room.
Then the door opened quietly, and a nurse walked in: starched, brisk, crisp and white.
"Good, you're awake", she said.
"Errrr", John replied, in a voice that seemed to belong to his deceased grandfather. "Urgle..."
He looked around, saw a glass of water standing beside his bed. He reached over to pick it up, and pain shot through him as he tried to sit up. He groaned.
"No, no, don't move", the nurse cautioned him. "You're still weak, and your legs haven't recovered at all yet."
She took the glass, lifted his head a bit and let him drink. It made him feel better. Only a little, but better. Slowly his blurred vision improved, and he looked around the room. Since there wasn't very much to see except that it really was a hospital room, he looked at the nurse. That proved much more rewarding. She was tall, had red hair, and curiously deep green eyes. Her figure was partially concealed by the clothing so typical for nurses all over the world, but what he could make out was promising, since the white textile displayed interesting curves in all the right places.
"Maybe you'd better tell me what happened", he said, his voice croaking. "All I remember is a party... It must have been quite a smasher."
"You had a car accident. I believe you were rather intoxicated when you arrived here."
John felt stupid. He'd been driving home?
"I must have been pretty far gone then..." he said softly. "I usually don't drive when I'm drunk... What's the damage?"
"The doctor will see you tomorrow morning", she replied. "In the meantime, I can tell you that both your legs are broken, about four inches below the knees, and your left leg has a second break halfway down your shin bone. But it doesn't look too serious. You can expect a full recovery."
"Broken? Can I take a look?" John asked. He suddenly had disturbing visions of himself hobbling around on crutches for the rest of his life.
The nurse pulled away the sheet that covered him from the chest, and John looked down to survey the battle field. It was a bit of a mess. He was naked. Obviously the ER staff hadn't bothered with the usual hospital gown. Whatever part of his legs was visible was covered with ugly bruises, ranging from a rather nasty deep purple to a sickly shade of yellow, all the way up to his groin. Both his legs were in casts from the knees down. He could not move his legs at all, and it hurt when he tried. Fortunately, all visible damage was below his hips. His thighs looked reasonably intact, and the equipment between them showed no signs of damage.
She followed his gaze. "Don't worry, everything's still in place there." She smiled. "And I must admit that it would have been a real shame..."
John knew that he had nothing to complain about, but he'd never considered himself overly gifted. Her remark took him completely by surprise.
"Aaahmmm... yes... well, ah... That's good." he stammered, a bit embarrassed. She pulled up the sheet again, and changed the subject by checking his blood pressure. She was obviously a seasoned professional, which heartened him a bit.
"So... What happens next?" John asked. Though his legs still hurt, his headache was slowly subsiding, and he decided that he probably would live through all this.
"First you need a bath", she told him. "You're starting to get a bit ripe. You've been out for over 48 hours, and you probably weren't exactly spring fresh to start with. So I'll be back in a couple of minutes to wash you. In the meantime I'll get you a razor and a toothbrush." She turned and walked out of the room. John admired the swaying movements of her hips and her lovely rounded, perfectly proportioned ass under the white hospital fabric.
Shaving and brushing his teeth using a stainless steel basin proved awkward. Nevertheless he managed, and after about 15 minutes the nurse returned, pushing a cart with more basins, towels, soap, and a couple of boxes which, John guessed, contained medical implements. He wasn't really all that curious to find out.
She closed the door, took the basin he'd used for shaving and put it on the cart. Then she pulled back the sheet. "Just relax", she said, and reached for a towel.
John laid back passively as she washed him. "We'll have to skip your back for the moment", she said. "You'd better not sit up just yet, and you certainly can't turn over."
She washed his face, his arms, his chest. Then, when she reached his groin, it happened. John had been a little afraid of that, which probably made things worse. In any case, he felt himself harden under her hands as she rinsed him.
"Sorry", he muttered, his face beet-red with embarrassment.
