Caring for the Colonel

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All I ever wanted was to be a good person. To be kind. To be compassionate. I wanted to help people. To cure them from illness and disease. But unfortunately I had neither the grades nor the money to get into medical school, so I turned to nursing. Even if I couldn’t be a doctor, I would still be able to help people, to ease their pain, to relieve their discomfort.

It was a wise choice. A doctor really has no deep or lasting relationship with the patient. He does his job and is occasionally reachable by phone. A nurse, on the other hand, has a lasting and affectionate bond with the afflicted one. All in all, a much richer and more profound relationship.

Soon after getting my RN, I was fortunate enough to obtain a good position on the night shift of Kingston Memorial, one of the best hospitals in the city, specializing in cardiac care and Alzheimer’s. Naturally most of my patients were in their golden years, but I have a great fondness for the elderly. They have a good deal of common sense and wisdom derived from having survived so many years on this perilous planet.

The only bad thing about my job was that I was on the night shift. That gave me little opportunity to have a normal sex life. Not that I had ever had a normal sex life. With all the studying for exams I had never really had the time for any copulative activity. Nor had I ever really had the talent for it, I suppose. Girls always found me something of a nerd, and I must confess that I was forced to take my sister to the high school prom, having been turned down even by Elspeth Kent, the fattest homeliest girl in the school, who also had a bad skin condition.

Fortunately, I had gotten a small scholarship to attend the Lemington Nursing Academy, which certainly did not include money to spend on romancing women. Taking girls to MacDonald’s and the neighborhood multiplex was simply out of the question for me. The most I could afford was a few magazines, and I must admit that I relied on my left hand a good bit. (I am a southpaw.)

Well. One day, things would turn around for me, when my career was established. I would not be a virgin forever.

The interesting thing about the magazines was what seemed to arouse me was the male penis. Big, stiff, hard. Nothing like my little endowment. I found it very exciting to see those big penises going into those little pussyholes. It was so sexy that I would ejaculate the very moment I might open the magazine to a particularly enticing photo. I wondered if I might be gay, but did not really dwell upon the thought. What difference did it make if you were straight or gay when your romantic partner was a periodical?

I had some wonderful patients at Kingston whom I grew very fond of while they were recuperating from whatever illness or procedure they had endured, which had required them to be there.

My first and greatest friend was Colonel Marchand, a retired marine in his late fifties. We had long and interesting conversations about his military career when I was not too busy tending to the other patients on the floor.

Colonel Marchand was something of an insomniac, and not even the strongest sleep medication had any effect on him, so that long after the other patients were asleep he remained wide awake. Colonel Marchand was lean and rugged for a man of his age. He had thick black curly hair, just slightly streaked with gray. And he had a clear ruddy complexion. It seemed that he was very athletic, even now, which had caused him to break both of his arms and his left leg speeding off the edge of a closed and forbidden ski run.

Poor Colonel Marchand. It was impossible for him to even urinate by himself, and I had to hold the urinal for him and look away as he relieved himself. I know he was embarrassed as well. Sometimes, to make sure it all got into the receptacle I was even compelled to hold his penis. It was a very long penis. And thick even in a non-erect state. I could almost imagine him having posed for magazines in better days.

I told him all about nursing school, and the little rooming house near the hospital where I was residing, and about Mrs. Kennedy, the landlady, who cooked dinner for me every night before I left for the hospital. There, we would eat in the small kitchen. Myself, Mrs. Kennedy, and her unattractive daughter, Cecilia, who apparently was waiting for me to invite her out to MacDonald’s and the local Cineplex on one of my days off. But that was not going to happen.

And Colonel Marchand described to me his many adventures in foreign lands. His experience in hand-to-hand combat in various wars, and his great success with the ladies all around the globe. He had at one time been married, but was now a widower with no children, which I think sorrowed him. But he laughingly assured me that married or not, he had always enjoyed playing the field. He seemed to have a free and easy view of sexuality, which was very educational to me, since I knew nothing about it at all.

Colonel Marchand was extremely distressed with his current disability. He hated not being able to do for himself. He hated Sakarya Escort having to depend on another person to help him, even if it was a ‘nice young man’ such as myself. Night after night we chatted while the other patients were asleep and he began to reveal his deepest feelings to me. He told me how much he missed having sex. He was, after all, a hot-blooded fit male who needed frequent release.

I did not reveal to him the fact that I was sexually naïve. I was afraid he would laugh at me and I would lose his friendship, which I was growing to depend on.

He must have taken a great liking to me, which was a new experience for me. No one had ever taken a great liking to me before. And I began to feel a certain affection for him as well. You can imagine how excited I was, when he told me that when he recovered he was going to take me on fabulous ski trips, and we would go deep sea diving, and spelunking (which I looked up in the dictionary and discovered was exploring caves) together. All things I had never dreamed of doing. I explained to him that I could never go, that I had to work for a living and could never afford such a life-style. But he told me not to worry, that he would take care of everything. That it would be wonderful to have a young person like me along as a companion. And that as a nurse, should he have another accident, I would be right there. I was beginning to dream about those future adventures with the handsome colonel, whom I was now a little in love with.

Yes. I now had to admit to myself that I found Colonel Marchand dashing and masterly. I longed for him to sweep me up in his strong arms as we tobogganed down an icy groove in the powdery snow.

You see, I had never really had a father, myself, being the fourth of eight children of a welfare mother. And none of us were 100% related. I was never really sure if my mother was a tramp or a whore. But I suspected both. My sister, Agnes (the one who had gone to the high school prom with me) was now taking drugs, hustling, and supporting a demanding pimp.

And all through my school years, I had never had a real friend. I was (yes, let me admit it) an outcast. So it was only natural that I was flattered and seduced by the nightly attention Colonel Marchand was paying to me. I wanted his friendship badly.

It was after about two weeks that the talk started to get even more personal. Mr. Fledgely, the other patient in room 552 had taken a sleeping pill hours earlier and was snoring away. Colonel Marchand rang the nurse’s bell, and I came running.

“Yes?” I asked, peeking my head in at the door.

“I hate to disturb you,” he apologized. “But I need to take a pee.”

“Of course,” I answered, getting the urinal.

“I hate to be such a bother,” he said. “I’m so used to being independent.”

“Well, you’re in the hospital now and you’re hurt, and you’re under my care, and whatever I can do for you, I’ll be more than happy to do,” I avowed.

“Really?” he asked, and the look in his eye was a little funny, but I just dismissed it. I raised his hospital gown and placed the urinal under the tip of his penis.

“It feels like it might slip out. You’d better hold it,” he warned me.

“Okay,” I agreed and gently enclosed it in my hand holding it into the urinal.

“You have such nice soft hands,” he told me.

“I do? Thank you,” I said.

“Just like a woman’s hands,” he continued.

This made me a little embarrassed. I did not what to be thought of as effeminate.

“The way you hold it. It just feels so nice,” he breathed. “Did you learn that in nursing school?”

“I guess,” I said, not looking at him, half evading the question. I could feel the hot liquid rush through his fleshy tube and flood the plastic container. When he was finished, he asked me to shake his organ and squeeze it so that there would be no little drops left to soil his gown. I, of course, did as he requested.

“Oh. That feels so nice. Your hand feels so nice on my prick, Cooper. Just rub it a little.”

“But Colonel Marchand,” I protested. I could feel his instrument stretching out both lengthwise and widthwise in my hand, and I’m sure my face was red, but fortunately the room was dark, except for the little night-light above his bed.

“Please. Do it for me. Just hold it a few seconds. I can’t hold it myself. And we’re friends, right?”

“Yes” I said hesitantly, happy that he considered me his friend.

“Why don’t you put that urinal down on the floor, there, like a good boy, Cooper.”

I set it down and stood back up, closing my left hand around his now rigid length. He groaned slightly. I looked cautiously across at Mr. Fledgely, but he was out like a light, and the floor was pretty quiet right now. It was 3 a.m.

“That’s it, Cooper,” he said to me, almost crooning. “You have such a sweet touch. It feels so good the way you hold it.”

“I’m glad,” I told him. “After all I was his nurse, and if I could make him feel good, so much the better. I actually felt it throbbing in my enclosed hand.

“If Adapazarı Escort you could move your hand up a little—-gently——yesss—–just like that——and now—–maybe back down a little—yessss. Yesss. That’s nice.” I suddenly came to the realization that I was masturbating Colonel Marchand, and I was shocked with myself, but I didn’t dare to withdraw my hand. And also I didn’t really dislike it.

“You know a rugged-athletic guy like me needs to cleanse his system regularly, if he wants to stay healthy.”

What did he mean? I didn’t even want to think.

“I got three weeks worth of jizz in those big balls of mine (they were unusually pendulous and weighty looking.) I need to get it out, but both my arms are in casts. You’ll help me won’t you, Cooper? You’re my friend, right?”

“Yes,” I said. I now knew what I had to do and was determined to help the colonel out of his predicament. I stroked, and I fluttered my fingers, and I tickled his large testicles, following all his suggestions, of course, and he groaned and moaned, and I kept looking back over my shoulder at Mr. Fledgely, but so far so good. And then The colonel’s powerful behind started bucking on the hospital bed and he was making unheard of sounds, and then I felt the organ thicken in my fingers, and gobs and gobs of thick white gluey ejaculate came out. It must have been congealing in there for a month. I know that mine is much more liquid.

His forehead had broken out in a sweat and he was panting. I gently released his spent organ, and reached for a tissue on the night table, and with the tissue, I wiped up the mess I had made on his abdomen and thighs, and also in his thick curly black pubic hair, which was just slightly turning to gray.

I wiped my own hand, and threw the tissues into the wastebasket by the bed. But I took another tissue, and swathed his damp brow with it, which he seemed to appreciate. It had been an effort for him to be ejaculated, what with both arms and one leg immobizilied. I then took another tissue and wiped my own forehead. I was damp too.

“That was wonderful, Cooper,” he smiled. “You’re such a good guy. We’re gonna have such a good time climbing Annapurna.” And then he dozed off to sleep. The pills hadn’t worked, but the ejaculation had. I had really performed a medical service for that man (let others think what they may.) I was a true nurse in every meaning of the word. Take that Florence Nightingale! Bet you never did that for your wounded colonels in the Crimean War.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, when he rang for me again around 3 a.m. the next night. Colonel Marchand, of course, needed to pee. By this time I knew what the score was, but I was okay with it. Mr. Fledgely, in the other bed, was as usual deep in slumberland.

But it didn’t proceed exactly as it had the night before. In the middle he stopped me. I was doing everything he wanted, stroking and flittering my fingers all around his penis and testicles and then grabbing hold of it. Everything just as he instructed, and then suddenly he stopped me. I didn’t understand. What had I done wrong?

“You know what would feel even better,” he explained. “If you bent down and took it in your mouth. Get it real wet with spit, and then slide your mouth up and down on it, up and down, just like you did your hand, and when you slide your mouth up and down, you can lick on the head a little with your tongue, and you can even make a kind of suction in your mouth to draw the milk up.

He put the heavy cast, which was his left arm on the back of my neck, and guided me to take his turgid erection in my mouth. I didn’t fight it. It was almost like a learning experience, and I love to learn things, and moreover I was happy to know that I was giving Colonel Marchand pleasure. It must have been much pleasure, because he roared and slammed my head down on his prick, so that it went all the way down my throat and I choked, and I felt his juices guggling up in the back of my throat and sliding down into my stomach. I tasted the last few drops on my tongue as he gently lifted my head off, holding my hair with three exposed fingers. It was not an unpleasant taste.

“You’re just gonna love it, Cooper, when we paddle down the Nile, you and me.”

It sounded wonderful. I might even develop a muscle or two. Paddling down the Nile that is.

After another night, I didn’t even wait for him to ring. I just came in and did my job.

On the third night he had another thought.

“I thought of something that would be even better,” he told me.

“What’s that?” I asked. I really knew nothing.

“Well if you could just drop your scrubs, and maybe climb over my middle, and——- well, you know.”

“No,” I said. I didn’t know.

“You won’t do that for your old friend?”

“I didn’t say that. You said ‘you know” and I said ‘no.’ I don’t know”

He laughed. I guess I must have seemed awfully stupid and unworldly to him.

“Well what I want you to do,” he explained , “is sit on it.”

“How can Serdivan Escort I sit on it?” I asked. I was really perplexed.

“Didn’t you ever have it in the ass?” he asked me.

“No,” I said indignantly, almost waking Mr. Fledgely.

“Well you’re in for a real treat, Cooper.”


“Take my word for it.”

“Well, okay.” I dropped my pants and started to climb up on the high hospital bed.

“You got some lube?” he asked.


“If you never had it in the ass, Cooper, it won’t go in dry. Go get some fucking lube.”

“Where?” I asked.

“I don’t know. This is a fucking hospital. You work here.” He was getting a little annoyed with me. I remembered where they kept the lube, and pulled up my pants. I ran down the hall to procure the gel, and hurried back.

“Lube up my dick,” he told me. I coated it from top to bottom and all around.

“Okay. Now get some of that stuff on your fingers and work them into your little hole.”

Naturally, I followed his every command. I might have been one of his privates in the corps.

“You ready?” he asked me. I knew I wasn’t. I was tight. I took more lube and worked my fingers around trying to spread the hole for him. Finally I crawled above him, facing him, my anal opening poised over that large pointy spear.

“Now sit on it,” he said. And slowly I did. Little by little, I worked the head in. That was the hardest part. It hurt a little, so I rested, but then I started sinking down on it, until I was indeed sitting on him, his hard cock up my asshole, my buttocks resting on his heavily muscled thighs.

“Now work yourself up and down on it,” he told me. Finally I understood what it was all about, and I must say that as he clucked and crooned, I myself gave in to a passion I didn’t know I had. My own penis erected and I grasped it and began to masturbate myself as I massaged my insides with his hard thickness. “AAAAAGGGGHHHH,” I started moaning continuously, until I saw Mr. Fledgely, in the next bed, flick his eyes open, and stare at me in consternation. Then he fell back to sleep.

As the colonel shot his load inside my body, I ejected my own seed onto his belly. After falling on his chest for a few moments of rest and affection, I sat up again and reached for the box of tissues.

“That was great, Cooper,” he told me. “You’re the best RN in the world. Anytime I get sick, I want you with me. You hear that?”

“Yes,” I breathed happily and gratefully.

“I like you. I think I’ll take you with me to the Olympics next time. We’ll have a ball.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn’t really believe it, but maybe———

About two weeks later, came that terrible night. I signed on for duty, and went to each room to check my patients, and Colonel Marchand’s bed was empty. He had been released. He was gone. I hadn’t known he was about to be released. And he hadn’t even given me his phone number or asked for mine. Of course he knew where I worked. Were we really going to do all those wonderful sporting events together? I began to get a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. But no. I was determined to have hope. I would see Colonel Marchand again. I was sure.

As I was bringing Mr. Fledgely his sleeping pill the next night, he looked me straight in the eye. The same cold knowing look I had seen in those eyes when they snapped open the first evening I was riding Colonel Marchand.


“Yes?” I asked, handing him his pill, and a glass of water. He put both down on the eating tray near the bed.

“You know what you were doing for Marchand?”

“No,” I said, playing dumb.

“Yes, you do,” he insisted. “I have Alzheimer’s so I don’t always remember a lot of things, but I remember that.”

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” I insisted.

“Cut the crap Cooper. I’ve been in this hospital a long time, and I don’t have a great future ahead of me, but I need to get laid.”

“Mr. Fledgely,” I said indignantly.

“I want to stick my cock up your ass. I want to shoot my hot load inside you, Cooper. Okay”

“No. It’s not okay,” I protested. Mr. Fledgely was in his mid sixties and emaciated, with sparse gray hair and stubbly whiskers. He only shaved about once a week. He was the epitome of unattractive. I had no intention of having personal relations with Mr. Fledgely.

“Well, since there’s nothing better around, either you let me use your ass, or everyone in this hospital is going to know what you’ve been doing,”

“They’ll never believe you,” I smirked. “You have Alzheimer’s.”

“But they all know I have periods of lucidity. Like now. Care to test me?”

I didn’t really want any innuendoes floating around the hospital. Even though I looked upon what I did for Colonel Marchand as a nurse’s tender ministrations, I knew everyone else would think that it was at the least unprofessional, and at the worst, disgusting and perverted. And also I would be fired. And if I were fired how would Colonel Marchand contact me for our next trip together? Moreover, I would be fired without any letters of recommendation. Indeed, the opposite. My reputation would be besmirched throughout the entire health-care industry. I would end up permanently unemployed and unemployable, finally having to work for my sister’s nasty pimp. Not a pretty thought.

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