Life on the Edge of Orgasm

Chapter 1

My life began as a tingling sensation in my groin, growing stronger by the minute. It was as if someone were stroking my cock, slowly, the full length of it. I realized I was on the edge of orgasm, and had been for as long as I could remember. I knew that if I came, it would be mind-blowing, but it just felt so damn good.

It felt like a well-lubed hand wrapped around my cock, starting slow at the base and slowing down as it rose; on every stroke, I felt an orgasm coming on but the hand stopped and loosened its grip just as it reached the crown, causing the impending orgasm to back off, keeping me on the edge. After the shortest of pauses, it continued its slow progress over the head with a very loose grip, just barely touching. Fingertips lingering on the head of my cock, shifting ever so slightly. Nothing for a few seconds, then grasping again at the bottom of my shaft, repeating the upstroke. After three, maybe four of these, each one ending with fingertips dancing lightly on the head of my cock, I felt a firm grip around the head and a slow movement downward and, when it reached the bottom, starting back up. Each time, I felt the orgasm boiling up from within, but at the last instant, nothing again as the hand lifted away. A longer wait this time, perhaps 10 or 15 seconds as my orgasm subsided. The cycle began again with a slow upstroke.

I don't know how long this had been going on; I felt sluggish, as if drugged, and my arms and legs felt heavy, very heavy. And my balls, I was distinctly aware of a delicious ache, a heaviness, it contributed to the overall feeling that I was in the middle of one long orgasm, but without ejaculating. And as badly as I wanted to ejaculate, had I been given a choice, I would have had the tease continue, forever if possible.

I did not perceive the passage of time, but I did have a strong sense of déjà vu, as if this were a recurring dream. I became convinced that it was not a dream, and that it had happened before, many times. In fact, I had no recollection of anything else. I remembered hearing voices, but not understanding what was said. Eventually I opened my eyes, slowly, about halfway at first. I heard two distinct female voices, and this time, I understood the words.

"His eyes are opening, is he awake?" asked the first voice.

"Nah, coma patients open their eyes all the time, some of 'em."

"Does he know what you're doing?"

"Maybe he does, maybe he don't, but if he wakes up, he won't remember. Might remember it as a dream, but at least it's a good dream. Most these patients say the nightmares are pretty bad, at least, the ones can talk after they wake up; I'm giving 'em something nice to dream about."

"The ones who can talk?"

"Brain injuries, you never can tell. Most never wake up. If they do, maybe they can talk, maybe they can't. Same with walking. Eating. Going to the bathroom. The lucky ones, they come out okay."

The conversation continued, as I stared ahead with a blank look on my face. It was definitely not a dream, but I wasn't ready to let on that I was awake. I don't even know for sure I could have formed the words. It felt so good, what she was doing, holding me right on the edge, I wanted it to continue forever. A soft moan escaped my lips.

I opened my eyes a bit more. The light was dim, and I could see hazy, unrecognizable shapes before me. I don't know how much time passed while I was in that space between waking and sleeping. Eventually, things started to come into focus. The room was vaguely familiar; soon I recognized it as a hospital room. I could see a rather large middle-aged African-American woman dressed in blue scrubs, manipulating my erect, well-lubricated penis with both hands.

"See," she said, "when he's about to shoot, hands off, or at least stop moving. When you aren't touching it, is when he wants it the most."

Another black woman, similarly dressed, much younger but equally large, stood on the other side of the bed, watching intently and asking questions.

From what I could see, feel and hear in those first few minutes, I gathered I'd been injured quite badly in an accident, and had been in a coma. My legs, both in casts, were splayed out, my right leg held aloft by some kind of traction device. My arms were still too heavy, I couldn't move them. I just stared straight ahead, listening; it seemed to be all I could manage at the time. I also learned from their conversation that the older woman, Nurse Martha, the night duty nurse, had been coming in several times a night to massage my penis, edging me over and over. She was telling Rosie (the nurse's aide), that it was the best part of her job, playing with the dicks, at least, the ones that still worked. I gathered it was Rosie's first time to engage in Martha's little game. She reached out and joined in, massaging my balls with both hands.

Martha spoke up, "Nice size, for a white man, don't you think?"

"I thought it would be bigger than this."

Martha continued in her rhythm without speaking.

Rosie continued, "It's so thin, makes it look longer than it really is. It's kinda cute."

"One of my favorites. I been in here twice already tonight."

As I lay there in a daze, edging over and over, I realized they were talking about my dick. In its flaccid state, my cock is about six inches long. Erect, it gains at most three quarters of an inch in length, and not much girth, so I guess it is a long, skinny erection. A little extra circumference would be nice, but I'm not complaining; it fits into the average female mouth without much strain on the jaw. Because my flaccid dick is as long as most guys' erections, it seems to attract attention.

Pre-cum was flowing freely as Rosie observed, "If he don't cum pretty soon, these balls gonna pop I swear!"

They laughed softly. God I wanted to cum so badly, but I didn't want them to stop, so I just lay there, eyes half closed, watching but pretending not to watch. Pretty soon they stopped and began to clean up.

"No," I cried out, "don't stop now!" They did not react at all to my outburst. I realized I hadn't spoken at all, except in my own mind.

"Ain't you gonna finish him?" asked Rosie.

"I don't ever finish any of my patients. Who needs all that messy spunk all over everything? If you want to play with my patients, I just got two rules: don't get caught, and don't make 'em cum."

"Why you care if I make somebody cum? I like to see 'em shoot. I'll clean it up."

"Just don't," Martha said in a harsh tone. I got the feeling Martha might have had some issues with men, and was taking it out on the patients. Whatever her reasons, she certainly had perfected her technique.

"Do you ever touch a man while he's awake?" Rose asked.

"Course I do, but never at work. That'll get you fired," Martha answered. "It's better this way. Like this one here, he'd be crying and begging right now. I don't want to have to listen to all that whining. Or be making demands, and I don't take that shit off nobody."

They arranged my gown and bedsheet as it should be, and quietly left. I lay there with my erection and aching balls for who knows how long, needing so badly to cum, before I finally drifted back to sleep. Those were (and still are) my earliest memories. Everything prior is a complete blank. To the best of my recollection, I'd literally spent my entire life on the edge of orgasm, without ever going over.

Chapter 2

The next thing I remember was waking up as my hospital gown was being peeled off my upper body. Once again, I opened my eyes but remained silent. It was a trim young woman, chattering away about nothing in particular, although I did hear her mention "sponge bath." I realized I could read her name tag, "Amy," I don't recall her last name. Young, maybe mid-20's, red hair, pouty lips, a cute nose and the greenest eyes, with long eyelashes.

She started washing my upper body, working her way down to my waist. An orderly entered, a strong young man, to help maneuver me around so she could wash my back. Apparently my right hip was pretty messed up, so they had to be careful about it. The orderly made a wise crack about my butt crack. She laughed in response and washed my anus in an exaggerated way, which involved a couple fingers getting up in there, which got a pretty good laugh from him. At that point, my dick started to stiffen.

The orderly left after helping Amy reposition my body and replace the gown over my shoulders. I noticed that she was careful to reattach the restraints on my arms before continuing. She washed my feet and then moved to my upper thighs, since both legs were in casts from ankle to thigh. She had to lift my gown, exposing my genitals. It was all I could do to stifle a gasp when she washed my balls, handling them very gingerly, as if they were eggs. When she started to reach for my erect penis, I finally found my voice. Ever since I could remember (it was only about 12 hours, after all), I'd had an ache in my balls from weeks of being denied, and it was growing stronger every second.

I moaned and uttered something like, "Oh yes please." Not having spoken in weeks, I was a little hoarse.

The poor girl nearly jumped out of her skin. Her face turned red with embarrassment as she stuttered and stammered. I was so close! It was a huge let down. But, aided by the meds they were pumping into me, I managed to maintain a façade of innocence, as if I'd awakened from a dream.

I gave the pretty young lady a confused look and said, "I'm sorry, did I startle you?"

She recovered pretty well, considering the shock of hearing me speak after all those weeks. She assumed a professional attitude, completely ignoring my nudity.

"Oh no, sorry I was just surprised. Doctor West wants to be notified soon as you wake up. Excuse me a minute, I'll get your nurse, she'll want to call the Doctor." In spite of her professional manner, Amy was obviously a bit flustered. She walked out quickly, leaving me uncovered (and erect), without closing the door.

The wing I was in wasn't very busy at the moment, and of those who passed by, few looked in. However, many of those who did look did a double-take. It was mostly hospital staff, so they would be accustomed to nudity, but a patient lying there with an erection was obviously a bit out of the ordinary.

A visiting family strolled by, looking for a particular room, and all of them glanced in, slowed considerably and did a double take. Dad managed to pass without otherwise reacting, but a big smile appeared on the mom's face, and their two teenaged daughters peered in, eyes wide. I could hear them giggling and whispering as they continued down the hall. I figured they were about my age, and not bad looking, either one of them.

A few minutes later, I noticed the girls walking slowly past in the other direction, heads together, looking at a cell phone; probably tweeting or whatever. They slowly passed my door without looking in, then stopped and casually backtracked a few steps, probably just loitering, having tired of visiting sick relatives and looking for some other distraction. I closed my eyes partially, so they wouldn't know I was watching. It was pretty obvious they were looking at and discussing my dick, although they tried to be discrete. With my arms restrained and legs immobilized, there was nothing I could do about it. It was an embarrassing situation, but I found the whole thing incredibly erotic. I was so damn aroused to start with, I was sure their attention would push me over the edge. I thought I was going to ejaculate without being touched, and might have done so, had it not been for the distraction of several people rushing into my room.

There was a male doctor accompanied by 4 females in scrubs: nurses, aides, or technicians, I couldn't identify them all. Amy entered close behind. I could tell they were excited; apparently my awakening was a really big deal around there. There was a flurry of activity, as the medical team was focused on the instruments, gauges and monitors to which I was connected. For the most part, the group was very professional, trying not to notice, or at least pretending not to notice my state of arousal. Amy was just staring at my cock; as a result of which, my full attention was soon consumed by the ache in my balls, and my cock showed no signs of softening. When she noticed me observing her, her face turned a deep shade of red and she looked away, but only for few seconds.

Dr. West started asking questions, but I could not tell him my name, address, phone number, or anything else about myself. He explained that I'd been in an accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury; I'd been out for 10 weeks. He asked me to describe the last thing I remembered. I actually considered telling him about Martha's hand jobs, but thought better of it.

"I can't remember anything before waking up in this hospital room during my bath," I replied. That brought my situation, being uncovered and aroused in a room full of people, to the doctor's attention.

He seemed to want to help, but his solution was to tell Amy, "Why don't you go ahead and finish while we talk." Doctors, especially surgeons, see things differently from the rest of us.

Amy blushed a little; well, she blushed a lot, realizing that the only thing left to wash was my cock. She hesitated for a moment; it seemed that everyone had paused to see what she would do. Dr. West was the type who always spoke with authority; he was clearly not someone whose orders you would question. I could tell Amy was feeling the pressure.

To her credit, she took a deep breath, regained her composure, answering calmly, "yes, sir," and moved in to complete her task. Dr. West resumed asking questions, not noticing the lack of activity in the room, as everyone watched Amy approach the bed.

If I was excited before about having my cock washed by this pretty young thing, the thought of having it done in front of an audience took it to a whole new level. I just knew I was going to cum, and there would be lots of it, and lots of people on hand to see it happen. Oh, I wanted this so bad. I knew the Doctor was talking to me, but all I could hear was the ache in my balls and the ringing in my ears. It took some effort to maintain a calm exterior, but with the help of IV pain meds coming on board, I managed.

I have vivid memories of this moment; it plays in my head in slow motion. I've had full-blown orgasms that were less intense than the mere anticipation of what was about to happen. I knew the slightest touch would be enough. I was completely immobilized, there was a crowd of women gathered around, and my cock was rock hard! And soon to be in the grasp of a pretty girl! All eyes (apart from the doctor's) were on Amy's hand and my cock as she reached out towards it. I remember bracing myself for the explosion.

But her hand never reached its target. Something happened - an alarm went off. My memory of the event from that point forward is pretty much a blur of movement and voices, and those hospital machine noises. My physiological response was completely normal given the circumstances, but no one else in the room considered my perspective. While I was having the most intense sexual experience imaginable, they were just treating another patient with multiple injuries, recently awakened from a coma.

So naturally they jumped into action when my heart rate suddenly accelerated, along with whatever else the machines were screaming about. As they pushed some kind of medication into the IV, the room started spinning, and I fell into a deep sleep, accompanied only by the all-too familiar ache in my swollen testicles.

I didn't wake up again until the next morning, when Dr. Campbell, the orthopedic surgeon came in for his rounds. I had multiple fractures in both legs, and my right hip sustained injuries that required surgery, which Dr. Campbell said was successful. Both my hands were basically crushed; he had operated twice on each, and determined no further surgery would be required. He expected I would make a full recovery, at least from a physical standpoint.

He wouldn't comment on the amnesia; "those questions are for your neurosurgeon, Dr. West." He offered to answer any other questions before leaving, but I would need some time to digest what he had said. "I've discussed all this your mother," he said, "she might be able to help you understand." That was the first I'd learned about the existence of a mother.

Dr. West came in not long after Dr. Campbell left. Picking up where we left off the day before, he informed me that he had operated to relieve pressure on my frontal cortex. He expected my speech, hearing and other senses, and motor functions would be largely unaffected, but that the severity and duration of the amnesia could not be predicted. I may or may not recover some or all of my history. Although I lost access to "event memory," I'll probably retain much of what I've already learned. I may suffer learning disabilities and my personality might be altered. It would take months, maybe years for all the effects to become fully known.

The doctor told me that I'm "one of the lucky ones. Dying is not the worst thing that can happen to you in a motorcycle accident."

"Motorcycle accident?" I said. "I must be a biker. What happened to my tattoos?" I laughed out loud at my own little joke, but Dr. West was not amused - no sense of humor.

"It's best for you to discuss those aspects of your condition with Dr. Levinson. She'll be coming in for a psychological evaluation."

Sessions with Dr. Levinson started that same day. She gave me the details about the accident. It seems I accepted a ride on the back of a friend's motorcycle, which friend was under the influence of one or more illegal substances. They estimated our speed in excess of 100 miles per hour, when he laid it down to avoid a mini-van, which we hit anyway. My blood tests indicated a fairly healthy blood alcohol level, which was of course illegal for a person of my age in my state, which turned out to be California. Had I not worn a helmet, I would probably be dead, or best case, still comatose. The motorcycle friend, whose name I have forgotten, along with his face and everything else about him, didn't survive. Sad I know, but it's not like I knew him. I asked whether the bike was repairable, but didn't get an answer. Apparently that was "in bad taste."

Funny thing, for the entire duration of our session, the one thought running through my mind was "How can I get a hand job from this woman." She wasn't pretty or young, or even the least bit attractive; that's how desperate I was to feel some skin on my penis. I started planning to flash her at the first opportunity; luckily, better judgement prevailed. The thought occurred to me that I was obsessed with sex, and I resolved to avoid disclosing that to any of my doctors or therapists. I didn't know whether that obsession existed before the accident, but I liked it and didn't want them messing with it.

Dr. Levinson also filled me in on my identity and family details. I learned that my name is Stephen Wood, and I was an 18-year-old high school senior. I lived with my mom, Virginia and two sisters: 19-year-old Morgan, and Michelle, who was 18 and a junior at my school. Michelle was a grade behind because she lost a year to a serious illness at age 7. Morgan attended community college while living at home.

Dear old Dad, it turns out, was long dead: boating accident when I was eight. He was missing for 2 weeks before a dog walker found his body. Why the doctor thought I needed those details is beyond me; she seemed to think I should be sad, having just learned of my father's demise, but I had no idea who he even was.

I was much more curious about Michelle and I being the same age. Was I a twin? Or was she my step-sister? It's slightly more complicated: my original Mom died when I was 4 years old. Dad married Virginia about a year later, and the girls became my step-sisters. But, there being no ex-wife in the picture, Virginia adopted me about the time I turned six. As far as the state of California was concerned, she was my actual mom and the girls were my actual sisters. I couldn't help thinking of the possibilities; there could be no incest in my mind, regardless of what California thinks. That attitude pretty much confirmed my self-diagnosis of an obsession with sex.