Please note that the names of the people in this story have been changed and no identification with actual people should be inferred.
The "The Nurse" - a young nurse's encounter with a young, hung man.
My name is Erik, and you may have read my other stories - "German Lake Adventure," "Annual Checkup with Dr. Cody," and "The New Suit." I would appreciate any comments regarding these adventures and the one that follows below.
You can read more in detail about me personally in the other stories.
The events that follow date back to when I attended a local university on the East Coast on a one-semester study abroad program - I was twenty-two years old at the time. It all started when I was talking to a friend who had just finished his own semester abroad, and being adventuress myself, it was an easy decision for me to sign up for a similar program.
So, in the late summer of 2006, I was on my way for my own one semester stint at a university on the East Coast - about fifty minutes outside of New York.
I had two choices when it came to housing - live on campus or seek my own accommodation locally somewhere. Having a relatively independent frame of mind, and not particularly fond of sharing a room with someone, I decided to look for something off-campus, something that gave me a little more freedom. Before arriving in the US, I had already started to scout out some lodging options and had narrowed it down to three available choices. Two of them were apartments and the third was renting a room in a house. I eventually settled for the less expensive option of renting a private room in a big colonial home, about a fifteen-minute bike ride from the university.
For the owner, Yvonne Brooks, who had lived alone since her husband passed away about twelve years earlier, the house was clearly too big. For this reason, she would selectively rent out rooms for various "charitable" purposes - such as for exchange students. Although she did not need the money, having someone around to help with various chores around the house when needed was certainly an added bonus. The low rent, a sign of her generosity and merely symbolic, was just high enough to keep "freeloaders" out.
Her house was set in a typical New Jersey town - well diversified, with colonial homes built shortly after the turn of the century. This particular house was three stories high and had a huge wrap-around porch. The yard was not particularly groomed, and it was obvious that there was no one to take care of things around the house - only parts of the house had been selectively renovated since the house was originally built.
There were only two rooms for rent at any one time, both of which were on the third floor, and as luck would have it, during my time there, I was the only tenant.
Yvonne Brooks, a woman in her late seventies, was struggling with various handicapping ailments which required her to use a four-foot cane. Additionally, a few years back, she had a stairlift installed so that she could easily get from the first to the second floor where her bedroom was located.
Highly religious, and very traditional in nature, she preferred to be called Mrs. Brooks - a wish I respectfully adhered to.
There was public transportation that ran up and down the town and ended up within a few minutes' walk from the university campus. Although I had pre-arranged to avail myself of a bicycle, Mrs. Brooks was generous enough to let me borrow her car in case of an emergency or if the weather was not cooperating.
This particular event took place following an unfortunate bicycle accident I had coming back from the university.
I was about three weeks into the semester and had just left my Thursday afternoon class, riding my bike on my way back home. About halfway there, I was riding through one of the side streets on a road that had a pretty steep incline. As I was biking downward, a car did not see ran the stop sign on the cross street I was going down - and it was too late to brake in time and the hood went passed the stop sign just enough that my bicycle got caught on the front fender - and I toppled over the handlebars and had to catch myself with both hands as I fell on the pavement.
Silly enough I was not wearing a helmet, but luckily, I did not hit my head or any other vital body part.
Being young and fairly athletic, I didn't seem to get too hurt, and after brushing myself off, checking for anything broken, I stood up just fine - only with some minor pain in both my wrists from catching myself as I tumbled forward.
The person driving the car - a man in his early fifties, came out of the car and apologized profusely.
The front tire on my bicycle had bent just a little, and he offered to drive me to my house - having my damaged bike partially hanging out the back of his trunk. After dropping me off, he gave me his contact information and said that if there is anything he could do, please give him a call.
That night, as I tried to sleep, the pain in my right wrist got worse, and the following morning, I decided to go to a local medical emergency center to have it checked out.
Mrs. Brooks' generous offer of borrowing her car came in handy and there was a center about a ten-minute drive downtown. My Friday class did not start until two in the afternoon, so I decided to have my wrist checked out.
Well, turns out, after some x-rays, there was a small fracture in my right wrist and a sprained left wrist.
The doctor decided it was best to put the right wrist in a cast to wear for a few weeks and wrap the left one tightly with some gauze. As part of standard procedure, I was told not to drive, but Mrs. Brooks' car was an automatic, and I chose to ignore this part of the doctor's orders.
As coincidence would have it, that very week, my landlady had her niece, Jasmine visiting from New York. Jasmine, the middle daughter of Mrs. Brook's younger sister, was a nurse working at a major hospital on Long Island.
As I returned from my doctor's visit, and entered the house and walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Brooks and Jasmine were sitting conversing at the kitchen table.
"O boy! What happened to you" - Mrs. Brooks asked with her eyes wide open.
"Just a small accident on my bicycle. Nothing major, but I do have a fracture in my right hand and strained my left just slightly. I'll be just fine." - I say, a little embarrassed from the event.
"OK, let me know if there is anything I can do, and feel to use my car again when you need it, as long as you are OK to drive it." - she followed with.
"I want to introduce you to my favorite niece - Jasmine!" - she says with a sense of pride in her voice.
"Jasmine - this is Erik. He's an exchange student on a one semester program at the university. He'll be staying here with us until the Fall semester is over."
"Hello Jasmine!" - I say, with an effort of politeness.
"Hi Erik" - she says with a big smile on her face - a smile that drooped immediately, as she with a sense of compassion, looks at the cast on my right wrist and the wrapped brown gauze on my left.
"You poor thing - yes, let me know if there is anything I can help with also." - she immediately followed with.
After some small talk, I hobbled up the stairs to my room and got changed as my shirt had been scuffed in various places when I fell. As I struggled to take off my shirt and pants, I noticed a few more scrapes on my arms and legs - something I hadn't noticed at the time of the accident. Nothing major, just a few strawberry bruises.
After struggling to get another set of clothes on, I decided to go down to the kitchen for a late lunch, where Jasmine and Mrs. Brooks were still sitting having afternoon coffee as I entered it from the hallway.
From the little causal conversation I heard, I could tell that they were very close, and that Jasmine was probably more like a daughter than a niece to Mrs. Brooks. It turns out, as I later found out, that she visited Mrs. Brooks on a regular basis - to help out with various tasks around the house and at the same time satisfy a yearning to come back to her old neighborhood where she grew up. She later confessed that, from time to time, she felt a little homesick from staying out on Long Island.
I would describe Jasmine as "plain Jane" - and not very attractive. Not ugly, just not attractive, partially due to the fact that she did not seem to care very much about her appearance. A little chubby, about five foot two with dark brown hair - cut short with square bangs outlining her face - a simple haircut as her appearance was obviously not a priority. Her nose was slightly too large to properly balance out her face and her two front teeth were just ever so slightly separated. From what I could gather from our later conversations, she was in her early thirties. At first, I thought she was gay, but I think rather from her lack of interest in making herself look good.
That very evening, I was sitting in a nook just outside my bedroom on the third floor - a space that had been made into a small study with books dating back to as far as Mr. and Mrs. Brooks entire lives - however a perfect spot to sit a do some studying without any distractions. I had a small class assignment to do and had to read a few chapters in a sociology book.
About thirty minutes into my reading, I heard a few squeaks coming from the stairs below - stairs that were original since the house was built - and every third or so made a squeaking sound when stepped on.
I turned around, and saw that it was Jasmine - she stopped about halfway up an says;
"We're having some tea in the kitchen. I know you are busy, but I could bring you a cup if you wish" - she says.
