Confessions of a Nurse

Confessions of a Nurse Ch. 01: Willy

I was a naive little 18-year old when I started working as a nurse in England in 1967. I was a virgin -- most good 18-year old girls were in those days -- and I had had very few boyfriends. I'd seen naked male bodies during my nursing training, of course, but apart from some kissing and the occasional teenage fumbling hand inside my bra I'd never had any real sexual experiences. That was soon to change.

I worked mainly with three other women on my ward -- Hyacinth, a smiling, roly-poly West Indian nurse in her thirties, who rather mothered me; Diana Curtis, a cynical upper-class bitch of about 25 who didn't really want to be there; and our supervisor, Sister Tanner. She was an Irish woman of 40 with a fearsome reputation, but she was always very kind to me. She frequently snapped Diana's head off, but she spoke gently to me, laughing off my silly mistakes, unfussily showing me the right way to do things, and giving me warm smiles and encouraging words whenever we ran into each other. Diana once told me, laughing rather nastily, "You want to watch yourself with that old dyke Tanner, darling. She's got her eyes on you." Innocent as I was, I didn't know what the term 'dyke' meant. I asked my big sister and, when she'd finished pissing herself laughing at me she told me in very crude terms exactly what it meant.

Hyacinth was very helpful to me as well, but Diana really was a lazy cow. She would frequently wheedle Hyacinth into massaging her feet towards the end of a shift, and, to Hyacinth's disgust, she made no secret of her ambitions. "I've got no intention of spending the next 30 years in this mausoleum around the sick and dying. As soon as I've got my hooks into some nice rich surgeon, and fucked the bugger into marrying me, you won't see me for dust." One day, as we were sitting taking a rare break, Diana, lounging in an old armchair with a cigarette hanging from her mouth, gave me one of her smiles that meant she wanted something. "Sally darling, it's time for old Willy Martin's bed bath. You wouldn't be an angel and do it for me would you? I think I've done something to my back and I can't really bend." I knew that if I agreed I would be lumbered with the task for good. Reflecting that Diana's relaxed position in the soft chair would do nothing for her supposedly bad back I grudgingly said that I would. When I checked the patient list on the wall I saw he was listed as George Martin, and asked Diana why she had called him Willy. Hyacinth hissed in irritation, and Diana gave a barking laugh. Speaking around the fag clamped between her lips, she muttered "You'll find out dear." As I left the room I heard Hyacinth scold, in an outraged tone, "Diana, really, what you think you do to that child?"

It was not uncommon for patients to be given bed baths. Strictly speaking it should have been a male orderly who did it, but for some reason we didn't have one, so I got my equipment together and sought out Mr Martin. He was in a private room off the main ward, which I knew must have cost a pretty penny. When I entered the room it was in semi-darkness, and I saw an old, gaunt man lying on his side in bed, reading a newspaper by the light of a small torch. He was actually in his mid-60s, but to an 18-year old he seemed ancient. When he saw me he said "Hello dear, you're new, what's happened to catty Curtis?" Ignoring his cheeky reference to Diana I moved towards the curtains and asked if he wanted me to open them. "No thanks doll, the bright light hurts me eyes."

I didn't know what was wrong with Mr Martin, but he certainly didn't look well. He had wispy grey hair, sunken cheeks and a very pale complexion. He was tall and lean, although it was clear that he'd been in pretty good physical condition at one time, with the residue of well defined muscles in his arms and across his chest. He had a warm smile and twinkling blue eyes, surrounded by deep laughter lines. He told me with a chuckle, "Dishy Diana normally starts on my back -- saving the best till last", and rolled onto his belly. I helped him out of his striped pyjama jacket and washed his upper body while he made little comments about news stories he'd been reading. Then I pulled his pyjama bottoms down, which wasn't easy as his legs were quite weak. As I wiped a damp flannel between the cheeks of his bum he sighed and murmured, "Ooh that's nice love, you've got a much lighter touch than Diana."

I asked the old boy to turn over and he said, "You'll have to help me -- it takes ages on my own." He put his arm around my neck and I helped him turn. It was an awkward position, and for a few seconds his face pressed deep into my bust through my uniform apron and dress -- accidentally, I assumed at the time. While regaining my breath -- he was a dead weight and I'm only five-feet-two -- I stood back to assess the task in hand, and gave an involuntary gasp. Standing out from a mesh of grey pubic hair was a long, thick, very erect penis. I'd seen very few outside anatomical text books, but this looked an absolute monster. (To this day, decades later, it still ranks as about the biggest I ever saw.) Now I understood why Diana nicknamed Mr Martin 'willy'. He glanced down at his cock, looked at my shocked face and gave me a big grin. "Sorry about that dear. Don't worry, it won't bite you."

All the while I washed his neck and chest, covered in a thick mat of silver grey hair, I was aware of that thing rearing up at me. Mr Martin just kept grinning, apparently amused by my discomfort. Finally unable to put it off any longer, I delicately placed a thumb and forefinger on his cock, taking my flannel in my other hand. Before I could react Mr Martin placed his hand over mine and pressed my fingers around his shaft. It felt burning hot against my fingers, the skin soft and silky yet with a rock-hard firmness beneath the surface. I snatched my hand away -- but not quickly enough to prevent a knowing glint from appearing in Mr Martin's eye. Leering at me, he said "Your first, is it sweetheart? Well, how did it feel?" In my inexperience I didn't want to be rude to a patient so, hoping that he couldn't see in the dim light how red my face was, I smiled and told him in a quavering voice that he was a naughty old man. He chuckled and said "You don't know the half of it sweetheart." I washed his cock quickly and firmly with the soapy flannel. As I cupped it around his big balls he groaned and the prick jumped like a thing possessed. I left the room in a daze, and it must have shown on my face. Hyacinth bustled me into a chair and said "You just sit there dear, I'll make you a nice cuppa tea."

That night in bed I had my first really erotic dream. The details were quite vague, but Mr Martin featured strongly in it, standing towering over me with a prick the size of a train sticking out from his groin. When I awoke, my hand and fingers felt hot, as if they were still wrapped around his tool. All the following day I was nervous and clumsy at work, thinking about going back into that room. When I finally did, Mr Martin greeted me cheerily, and again he had a big erection when I turned him over. I told myself I was just being silly -- I was a nurse, I had to get used to this sort of thing, and there was nothing rude or embarrassing about the human body. Determined to show I wasn't intimidated I took the initiative, wrapping my hand firmly around his prick. I had meant to do so for only a second, but it was as if the thing cast a spell on me. I just sat and stared at my small pale hand wrapped around it. Mr Martin had gone very quiet, his chest rising and falling quite rapidly, and after a few moments his hand closed over mine again. Our eyes locked, and I felt him start to shuffle my hand up and down the length of his cock. When he removed his hand, to my amazement my own kept up the rhythm, slowly masturbating him as he lay back on his pillow and sighed happily. Instinctively I began to increase the pace of my rubbing, and after a minute or two a hot stream of spunk rose like a fountain and splattered onto my arm. Mr Martin closed his hand over mine again. "Thanks dearie -- I needed that."

I quickly finished the bed bath and staggered out of the room. That night my dreams were far clearer. I lay beneath Mr Martin while he pushed his prick deep inside me, chuckling "Is this your first dear? How does it feel?" I awoke with a start. Reaching a hand between my legs I found I was sopping wet, my virgin pussy a furnace. Without really meaning to I left my hand there -- the same hand that had wanked Mr Martin a few hours earlier -- and dipped a finger inside myself, stirring it slowly around. The following morning, to my deep embarrassment, as I was dressing my sister groaned from her bed across the room, "For Christ's sake Sal, if you have to frig yourself during the night could you at least try and do it quietly?"

After that first time a regular pattern developed with Mr Martin. He would lay and talk about his life -- his long career in the merchant navy, all the ports he'd visited, all his sexual exploits...he was clearly a good looker with a lot of charm in his younger days, and his storied were often funny, sometimes moving, frequently fascinating. He also talked at some length about his wife of 35 years, who had died a couple of years previously, and who he had obviously loved deeply despite all the casual relationships he'd had around the world. And while he talked I bathed him, massaged the occasional aching muscle, and stroked and caressed him to a daily orgasm. I actually managed to kid myself that it was simply an extension of my duties as a nurse, to do my utmost to ensure the physical and mental wellbeing of my patient. Deep inside, of course, I knew that was complete bullshit; but it really was as if, with his sparkling eyes and his soft, rhythmic voice, he had cast some kind of spell over me. Besides, I was a young girl involved in my first serious sexual experimentation, and I just couldn't help myself. I kind of saw it as a sort of game. In fact, I used to tease him: push a flannel-covered finger deep into his backside, and ream it around while he squirmed with pleasure; tickle his leathery scrotum from behind, which made him groan; that kind of thing. And I really did enjoy the feel of my fingers clutching that thick, warm, smooth cock, pumping it in different ways and in different rhythms to make him come. It honestly never occurred to me that things would go any further -- but then one day Mr Martin pulled a fast one on me.

As I wrapped my hand around his organ, he said "You know, I've been worried about that black spot on the tip of my dick -- you don't think it's cancerous do you?" I couldn't see any black spot, and I told him so. He shook his head. "Oh, it's quite small, but it's very obvious if you look closely." It didn't occur to me at the time how difficult it would have been for this old man to bend his head close to his cock to look but, sighing slightly, I leant my head down to see if I could see anything. Quick as a flash the old devil placed a hand on my head behind my nurse's cap and pressed it gently but firmly downwards. I gasped in surprise and, in a trice, he pushed his huge prick into my mouth. I tried to struggle, but he was surprisingly strong and held me in position, wrapping his large hand around my skull and pumping my mouth up and down on him, as he had done with my hand. The first time the tip of his cock hit the back of my throat and I gagged, but after that the feeling and taste of it was actually quite nice, and not seeing a way out, other than sinking my teeth into the poor old devil, I accepted the position.

I wrapped my lips around his dick and actually licked my tongue along its length. The weight of his hand lessened, so that he was just resting it on my head, and it was now me, not him, who was moving my mouth up and down his shaft. Experimentally I licked my tongue around the tip and he groaned and the cock jerked wildly. I suddenly became aware of a hand under my dress, above my stocking tops, then it slipped inside my pants and he cupped his palm around one of my bum cheeks. He just let it rest there as I continued to suck him and caress his prick with my tongue. After a couple of minutes he gave a huge groan and his hips bucked as I felt an eruption of warm, salty, slimy liquid against the back of my throat. Instinctively I swallowed, and felt it trickle down my throat. Feeling breathless I released the cock from my mouth and rested my head for a moment on his belly. Lolling back on the bed he murmured "God Sal, you're the best little cocksucker I've met in years."

After that I finished washing him in record time and went straight to the nurses' room, which was thankfully deserted. I drank five cups of water, one after the other, but I couldn't get the taste of his spunk out of my mouth, not for the rest of the day. That evening, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, I thought deeply about what had happened. I couldn't deny to myself that, after the initial shock, I had actually enjoyed the sensation of having Mr Martin's prick in my mouth. Nevertheless, I knew I -- we -- had gone way too far now, and I was scared of what might happen the next day. So when I get to work the following day I told Diana that I was fed up of giving Mr Martin his bed baths, and that she'd have to go back to doing them. She tried to bully me but I suggested we ask Sister Tanner who she thought should do it. We both knew Tanner would take my side, and Diana instantly, and furiously, backed down. Over the next few days I passed Mr Martin's room several times in the course of my work, and every time I lingered outside, trying to pluck up the courage to go in and say hello to him, but realising deep down how foolish that would be. However, one afternoon just as I was preparing to go home for the day, Diana cornered me and said, "Old Willy's been asking after you. Apparently he's being discharged tomorrow, and he asked me to ask if you'd go and say goodbye to him. He said he really appreciated all the care and attention you gave him; cheeky old sod, as if I haven't been doing anything for him!"

In the locker room a short time later I slipped out of my uniform and into a sleeveless green and white polka dot dress, with big white buttons down the front, as far as a thick white plastic belt at my waist. As it was a hot summer day I decided to remove my stockings and suspenders and go home bare-legged. I still hadn't made up my mind about Mr Martin's request, and I lingered outside his door for fully two minutes wondering what to do. Finally I told myself I was being silly -- it was only fair to go and see him one last time, and it wasn't as if I'd be making myself vulnerable, giving him a bed bath or anything. I wouldn't even be touching him, except perhaps to shake his hand. I crept into the dim room, hoping that perhaps he would be asleep. I thought for a moment that he was, then I heard his soft voice: "Hello Sally, thanks for coming. I wanted to thank you properly for everything you've done for me." He reached out a hand to me, inviting me to come closer to him.

Instantly I knew I'd made a terrible mistake entering the room. His voice had a mesmeric effect on me. My mind screamed at me to get out of there, right away, but my body refused to obey. Numbly I felt my legs moving, and within moments I was sitting on the edge of the bed, obediently holding Mr Martin's hand. He appeared to be naked under the bedclothes. He gave me his warm, crinkly smile, and I felt my heart melt. He half-whispered, "You know, you're such a sweet little girl Sally." His free hand began to stroke my hair. I shuddered and involuntarily closed me eyes. "Such a sweet, sexy, little girl. I'll bet your hair's really beautiful when you haven't got it up in a bun like that." I felt his fingers removing hair grips, and a moment later my long light brown tresses hung about my shoulders. I shook my head to settle them. Our eyes locked for what seemed an age, then Mr Martin's hand stroked down my hair onto my neck, onto the collar of my dress, then onto the first button, just above my bust.

He began to undo my buttons, slowly, confidently, one by one. As he did, his eyes on the bare white flesh which was gradually revealed, he spoke in a quite matter-of-fact tone. ""I really enjoyed what you did for me, what we did together. Especially that last time. You're going to make some lucky bloke a very skilful lover one day." Undoing the last button his hand rested for a moment on the thick white plastic belt of my dress. I watched, frozen, as one-handed he unbuckled the belt and pulled it open. Releasing my hand which he'd been holding, he placed his hands on the collars of the dress at my shoulders and eased it down my arms and off. Then, as casually as if it was a mundane task he did every day, he reached around my slim back and unclipped my black bra, easing the straps of that down my arms.

I'd been in the room only a couple of minutes and her I was, sitting naked from the waist up on the bed of a man old enough to be my granddad. Strangely I felt no fear or alarm; only a strange inner peace, and a slight curiosity as to what would happen next. My boobs were small but nicely rounded with little pink nipples, and Mr Martin stared at them greedily. He murmured "You've got really beautiful tits Sally." He put his arms around me, and I felt his bony fingers press into my back and his warm mouth close over one of my boobies, his tongue flicking the nipple, which instantly swelled to hardness, causing me to tremble. He eased me back on the bed and, slipping off my shoes, I lifted my legs, lying beside the old man. By now I knew exactly what was going to happen -- I was about to experience the first fuck of my life.

He moved his hands from behind me and one closed around the boob he wasn't sucking. The other slid up my leg and started to tug at my panties. I didn't even hesitate, I just lifted my bum off the bed to allow him to pull the sodden knickers down my legs, kicked them to the floor, and eased my thighs apart as I felt his hand press between them. He slipped a finger along the length of my slit, then two fingers entered me. It hurt at first and I gave a small cry; then my pussy seemed to accommodate itself to the invasion and I started to enjoy the stretching feeling, and the warm sensations passing through my loins and into my chest as Mr Martin swished his fingers around inside me.

I reached under the covers and wrapped my fingers once again around his huge cock -- the first one I'd touched, the first one I'd sucked, and now about to be the first one I would take inside my cunt, a word I had never used before. I could feel my body heating up, and I suddenly wanted very badly to feel that prick inside me. I sat up and kicked my dress off, leaving me lying, completely relaxed, before my first lover. He propped himself on an elbow and stared down at me. "Jesus Christ Sally, you are such a beautiful woman. You're going to have to help me with the next bit sweetheart." He must have seen a slight look of puzzlement on my face because he said, "My weak legs -- remember?"

With that he laid on his back and pulled me gently on top of him, then eased me down his body until my slit was rubbing against his cock. Placing his hands on my hips he deftly lifted me, then eased me down. I groaned as his enormous prick entered my pussy, inch by inch, feeling as if it was stretching me to the limit. As I sat on him, the cock buried to the hilt inside me, it felt as if it reached halfway into my body. Mr Martin started to lift my hips and lower them again but, as I had with my hand, and with my mouth, I quickly picked up the rhythm and began pumping my hips up and down, plunging my tight little pussy fiercely down onto the monster on which I was impaled. My fingers curled in his steely chest hair while he gripped my hips. After a short time he let out a roar and I felt him shoot his load inside me. I carried on for several more stokes then a series of white hot flashes passed through my body and I heard a female wailing somewhere in the distance, then realised it was me. Fully spent, I finally collapsed on top of Mr Martin, stars exploding in front of my eyes.