For those of you who have never been in a coma, I can't say I recommend it. For starters, you probably won't remember what got you into said coma in the first place. Or, at least, that's what I've gathered from my support group, Awake & Alive (6:00 on Wednesdays at the Y). I mean, Jared was told he was in a car accident, but he doesn't remember any swerving or collision that was said to have happened. Archie doesn't remember getting hit in the head by a falling 2x4 at the construction site where he worked. Sam doesn't remember falling down a flight of stairs. Tony doesn't remember getting shot during a robbery. Bill doesn't remember OD-ing. And I certainly don't remember my alleged stroke.
What you (meaning I) do remember, however, is waking up in a white room, in a white gown, covered by white sheets, surrounded by docs and nurses in crisp, white uniforms. Waking up and being completely immobile. Like, can't even move your eyes immobile. Just stuck there, staring at the same god damn patch of wall for fourteen months. I mean I know it could've been worse, like fourteen years, but being trapped in my head for 400 days (give or take) is easily the closest I've ever been to hell.
Sometimes days would go by in a blink. That was the scariest part. I would strain to see the clock on the wall parallel to the bed out of the corner of my eye, and the hands would be moving like helicopter blades. It got to a point after maybe two months that the only things that happened in what felt like real time were events of significance. Like the time my dad cried into my leg for an hour. Or when he and my mom brought me a birthday cupcake (they had to eat it). Or when the weird kid I sit behind in Anatomy came and prayed over me for most of a day.
But the most significant, stand-out moments have to be the ones where Ruby was in charge of my P. T. Let me explain. When someone is bedridden for extended periods of time (including comatose), the skin being pressed against the bed nonstop like that results in pressure ulcers, or bedsores. That, plus the atrophying (wasting away) of muscles from lack of use, is a serious health risk. These things require someone to come in about every two hours to physically move the patient around to avoid them. Usually Kaholo would do this during the day, a big Hawaiian guy who's also a fantastic singer, which I can say because I probably listened to him sing the same song over three hundred times and didn't get sick of it. At night, Norma would take over, an equally big, considerably older southern grannie, who could not sing anywhere near as well as Kaholo. I think she resented him for that.
Anyway, when either of these two called in sick or took time off, Ruby would replace them for however long. Ruby is Hispanic, I think Puerto Rican, and about five-seven. She has short black hair that she wears in a bun, and a beautiful face usually caked in makeup. Also, she's stacked like a god damn Jenga tower. The way her legs slowly widen from her ankles into her soul-crushingly gorgeous thighs, which rise into a perfect heart-shaped pillow of an ass, was only matched by a pair of breasts that would make a Shaolin Monk stray from the path. They were 34Ds, but with her choice of undergarments it could easily have been mistaken for several sizes larger. And they were always just barely exposed on top by the handful of loose buttons on her nurse's uniform. She was my golden-brown goddess.
Now of course all this was enough to make her visits memorable, this perfect body moving around me as her small, smooth hands caressed and tugged at my limbs and muscles, whispering soothing nothings to me in Spanish. And at first, that's all that happened. It was only after Norma was let go for stealing morphine, (which she later overdosed on) about three weeks before I got up, that things changed between Ruby and I.
Once again, for the first few days, everything was completely normal. P. T., two hours of whatever's on the radio, P. T., repeat. But after a short while, I can't say how long exactly, I began to find myself unable to restrain my involuntary reaction as a male when confronted with a viable mate. No thoughts of baseball, cartoons, or computer games could un-funk my junk. And, as thick as the gowns and blankets are at a hospital, it didn't take long for Ruby to notice this change either.
She gasped the first time she saw me build my tent, which I can easily say is my proudest moment as someone with a cock. She tried not to pay attention to it after that, but my cock remained upright even when ignored. Every time she came in, it stood in attention, and stayed up until several minutes after she left. After a day or two of this, I caught her eyeing it whenever she would stretch my legs, even one time licking her lips. I could see lust in her eyes, and I prayed nightly to whoever might hear me that she one day soon act on it.
And before long, she did.
It wasn't much at first. She came in, did my exercises, "accidentally" grazing her tits, legs, and arms against my soldier-in-attention, then made for the door. Instead of opening it, however, she peeled out the window and locked it, turning off the light along with it (I don't know why she did that part, the city lights were enough to illuminate the room even through blinds). She passed by the foot of my bed and sat on the chair against the perpendicular wall, just outside of my peripheral vision. I heard a soft, barely audible rubbing of skin on fabric, followed by skin on skin. Before long, those soft noises escalated into wet slapping and moaning. This last bit didn't last, unfortunately. When she was done, she straightened her uniform, toweled up the mess she'd made, then walked out like nothing happened.
This went on for a couple days, but I guess it ceased to be enough for her. I can only assume because I don't know, but I think the idea of my being instantly aroused by her presents was what got her going. Anyway, a few days later, after finishing up my P. T., locking the door, and so on, she didn't make for the chair. Instead, she opted to climb up onto the bed, rubbing her hands up and down my legs, belly, chest, and later, cock. When she made sure I was fully erect, she mounted me. Not penetratingly, she left my blanket and her uniform on, but she did sit down on my cock, pressing it to my belly, and rubbing and gyrating back and forth on it until one (usually her) or both of us came. This also lasted several days, the latter part of which involved her unbuttoning her top and playing with her breasts, caressing their birth and pinching their nipples.
Before long, not even this was satisfying to her. I remember it so distinctly, she finished the P. T., locked the door and killed the lights, and made her way to the bed as per the new norm. But this time, before climbing on, she pulled a shiny little cellophane square out of the pocket of her uniform, the latter which she then proceeded to let fall to the ground, revealing her magnificent skin, leaving only her genitals covered.
She pulled my blanket back, placing her lips just above my knee and working her way up, the cellophane crinkling in her hands as she tore it open. I remember being impressed not only with her abilities as a multitasker, but also with her surprisingly steadfast choice in makeup, almost none of which smearing off or leaving marks on me.
Anyway, her soft lips eventually found their way to my balls, on which she sucked gently, letting them roll around in her mouth a little before attending to them individually. After she felt they were properly moistened, she slid her tongue up my shaft before reaching my head, which she laid a peck of a kiss on, like a greeting, before engulfing in her mouth. The rest of my cock followed suit, filling her mouth and passing into her throat just as her lips reaches its base. She slowly pulled herself back up, my cock popping audibly out of her mouth. She held the tip of the condom to my head, then pinched the air out of the tip with her lips. She gave my cock one more good once-over to make sure I was protected and ready before returning to her previous task, that being kissing her way up my body.
She passed over my belly, chest, and neck in seconds before reaching my lips, which I willed my very hardest to move to little avail (I'm pretty sure my jaw twitches a little bit). She pulled away, my bottom lip still locked between hers, stretching away until she let it go and it returned to my teeth with a soft slap. She then began a familiar exercise, rubbing her ass and pussy over my cock as it pressed to my belly, propping herself up by my chest and gasping softly with each motion.
Inevitably, she grew bored with this as well and, standing on her knees over me, awkwardly slid her panties off one leg at a time.
