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All the characters are consenting adults over the age of 18.
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TIMOTHY
I first laid eyes on Timothy, post-op. My heart went out to him the moment I saw him.
The kid had been in a car accident with some idiot friends who neglected to stop at a red light. Fortunately for him he was a backseat passenger, wearing a seatbelt, and was not sitting behind the driver. His two friends died at the scene but Timmy survived.
The kid got lucky but god he was a mess. Battered and bruised he was pretty much covered in bandages. He had a broken arm and a badly broken leg, bruised ribs, and his face was all puffed and scratched from broken glass.
A few days later he was moved to my ward and installed in a private room where he became my patient. His wealthy parents could afford the best; he was to get the best room and the best care, and the best care was me.
The poor broken kid was going to be my responsibility for quite some time... several months at least, depending on his spine and how his seriously mangled leg healed. In all my thirty years as a nurse, I've seen my share of broken bodies but right from the start I felt there was something different about Timmy.
Looking down at the unconscious boy I recall thinking how young he looked. His chart said he was eighteen but I'd have guessed much younger... about as old as my grandson who had just turned sixteen. He was boyish-looking... slim and trim... not big like men get as they mature.
He's still got some growing to do before he's done, I thought to myself. With a bit of luck, he'll get through this and get to grow up.
Timothy had a mop of thick chestnut brown hair and from what I could make out, hidden behind his cuts and bruises, a handsome youthful face that I was sure had never seen a razor... It really was heartbreaking to see such a young man reduced to this.
He was in what the doctors call an induced coma - peeing into a catheter, IV liquids for nourishment, and hooked up to an ECG machine that tracked his vital signs. The young fellow didn't need any nursing care when he was hooked up to these machines, but despite that, I found myself inexplicably drawn to his side.
In my rare spare time, I'd sit by his side in the visitor chair, having my coffee break or eating my lunch which was very unprofessional. As a matron, I had a lot to do and silly visits to unconscious patients was totally non-essential care.
I recall looking down at his bruised and battered face and thinking a young fellow like him should be out in the sun riding his pushbike or playing with his friends, not lying in bed covered in bandages and tubes. He looked so small and pathetic I was almost drawn to tears.
I'm a professional person and proud of my calling. And I'm bloody good at it as well. In three decades of service, I've never had an inappropriate relationship with any patient. Not once. Never even thought about it. But there was something about this particular teenager that filled me with sympathy. Good nurses are like good mothers I suppose, and I have often had affection for my patients. But Timothy... goodness... my feelings quickly grew so much more intense.
I found myself looking in on him every hour or so.
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TWO WEEKS LATER
It was late, after 10pm and my shift was over. It had been a big day. I was tired and should have been heading home, but like a moth to a flame, I found I couldn't leave without seeing Timmy just once more.
I let myself in and closed the door behind me. The first of my transgressions. There's rarely a reason to close the door of a patient's room, especially so late at night, but the normally bustling ward was all but empty at that time of night and I was sure nobody saw me.
His room was dark except for the dim green light coming from the monitor behind his bed. It showed his heartbeat - a gentle up-down bump that flowed across the screen with a confident little 'bip... bip... bip...' much like my heart beating in my ears, 'thump, thump, thump'.
I knew I shouldn't be there. If I'd found one of my younger nurses in a patient's room like this there'd have been disciplinary action. Yet here I was, breaking my own rules for some reason I couldn't really comprehend.
Standing over him, I watched him sleeping.
He was quite handsome. The tube up his nose was gone now as were the bandages. He had a nasty scratch below his eye but the bruising was much less severe. There was no doubting he was a very good-looking young man.
The recuperative powers of youth are a marvel, I thought to myself.
On an impulse, I ran my hand through his hair and was shaken by an involuntary shiver that tingled down my spine. It was so dense and luxurious...
"Oh... oh dear..."
I was totally unprepared for my reaction. My heart started pounding and my legs suddenly felt weak.
I remember thinking that if I was a male nurse and got caught touching an unconscious female patient, they'd fire me on the spot... and probably call the police. Pull yourself together you stupid old woman.
Lots of the junior nurses step over that line all the time. These days, with everyone in charge of their own orgasm, young nurses seem to drop their panties for anyone who takes their fancy. I've never done anything like that. I grew up in a time when people had moral values. I got married at twenty-two and had three lovely children to a loving husband - just like everyone else did. People back then had simple, predictable lives. These days it's all gone south. Morals and integrity are dirty words...
But he's totally out of it, I thought excitedly. I could do anything to him...
So it turns out I'm a hypocrite. I pulled the privacy curtain around his bed and sat down beside the unconscious kid, my butt squished against his hip. I found the edge of the blanket that covered him and pulled it down. Rule number two broken.
Once I started I couldn't stop. His hospital gown was the sort that crossed over at the front and tied around his middle. My hands seemed to have a mind of their own. I picked up the cord around his waist and pulled the simple slipknot undone... then I delved under... pulling the blue cotton aside...
As my fingers danced over his young hairless pectoral muscles I found I was panting with lust. "Mmmmmm... oh god..."
My nipples hardened, pressing almost painfully into my bra cups, my pelvis began to tingle... my pussy was throbbing... I pulled my uniform up and knuckled my fist between my legs...
"OOoooo mmmmmm..." There goes rules three, four, five, and six...
I know what you're thinking. I'm a mature fifty-year-old woman. What are you doing behaving like some horny teenager? Well let me tell you, age is no barrier to wanting to feel that special release. All older women can enjoy an orgasm as much as the next person!
I stood up, pulled my skirt up around my middle and sat back down. Spreading my legs as wide as I could I fingered myself under the leg seam of my knickers, right up inside myself...
"Mmmmmm oh yesss..."
I was in the process of pulling his blankets aside so I could get at his cock, when I saw the gorgeous boy was looking at me!
I made a surprised yelping sound and jumped to my feet like a naughty girl with her hand in the cookie jar. He'd woken up at some point and I hadn't realized...
To my horror, my skirt didn't fall back in place. My big boobs had sagged down over my belly and were holding up the cloth of my skirt as efficiently as a pair of clothes pegs.
His glazed eyes were looking right at my crotch... my panties were down around my thighs... he was staring right at the inflamed lips of my pussy... spread apart in the middle of my hairy forest of pubic hair...
