Jay Friday
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A Hospital Stay [Part 1]
🕑 Added 2024-11-01 16:00:00 +0000 UTCI blinked. It felt like I was in an elevator that the floor had dropped out of, or maybe a rollercoaster going through a loop-the-loop repeatedly.
One of the EMTs -- he had told me his name, but I couldn't remember it -- looked down at me with concern as we went in through the automatic double doors. "Sir, can you count to twenty for me?"
"Yeah, sure. One, two, three, our..ourour...ouror...fffour..." I said, muzzily. The connection between my brain and mouth didn't seem to be working the way it usually did.
"Okay, sir, try to focus. We don't think any of your organs have been damaged, but you've lost a fair amount of blood at this point, and remaining conscious would be good."
I nodded. Well, I tried to nod. But moving my head made me nauseous, like the contents of my brain and stomach were both sloshing around simultaneously.
"We got a priority one, multiple knife wounds in the abdomen," he shouted as we went through a second set of double doors. I was vaguely aware of a flurry of movement around me.
I tried to focus, but the room was spiraling away. Idly, I wondered if I was dying. There had been a lot of blood, both before the EMTs had arrived and afterwards. Maybe this was what dying was like.
Faces peered down at me, mostly out of focus. One of them shouted the word coding, which didn't mean anything to me. And then everything oddly just sort of slowed down, and greyed out. Slower, and slower, greyer, and greyer...
---
I came to. My body ached. My mouth felt like someone had packed cotton balls into it, my abs and midsection generally felt unpleasant, and my head felt like someone had clocked me pretty good in the right temple.
Someone had, I now recalled. And then I had thrown that someone out of the bar, like I was supposed to.
And then one of that asshole's buddies had pulled a knife. Which I had taken from him.
Unfortunately, there had been a second buddy. Who also had a knife.
I sat up. Or tried to. Even if the muscles in my core had been working properly -- and they were not -- I was bandaged across my abs enough that it was difficult to move.
I was in a hospital room. Various monitoring devices were attached to me.
I sighed. Well, I was alive, at least. I had always known this was one of the hazards of being a bouncer -- had done my best to train to prevent it -- but sometimes you went up against three guys with knives, your backup was a little too far away, and it wasn't like the movies. At least I had health insurance. And I didn't appear to be paralyzed or anything -- I took stock of myself physically. Could move all my fingers and toes. Some nasty swelling on my back and the back of my head -- probably from hitting the pavement after getting knifed -- and I didn't want to think about my abdomen. But, y'know, it could be worse.
At that moment, a head poked around the corner. "Oh good, you're awake." A woman in a nurse's scrubs bustled in, and pulled my chart out. She was older, pretty -- in her forties, maybe, blonde hair that was up in a bun.
She had a businesslike demeanor. "Good morning, Mr....Donalt. Afternoon now, really. My name is Denise. I'm the lead nurse on this floor. I'm not sure how much you remember, so I'm going to go through the basics here. You're currently in the critical care unit at National Medical Center. You showed up at about 1AM this morning with...well, the all-you-can-eat injury buffet." Her eyebrows raised as she scanned the chart. "You were stabbed six times, and you have a number of other injuries that on their own would be concerning but compared to, you know, all the stabbing, are relatively minor. You get jumped or something?"
"Uh, no...well, yeah, kind of. I'm a bouncer. Threw a guy out. He had two friends. With knives. Am I, uh, okay?"
She looked at me, disapproving. "Do you have a neurological disorder? Trouble understanding speech or something? No, you are not okay. You got stabbed six times."
I laughed. The disapproval radiating off her intensified. I liked Denise. I had to stop laughing, though; it made my midsection ache. "Uh, no, no neurological disorder that I'm aware of. Sorry, I meant to say will I be okay?"
"Well, you got a lot of surgery last night. Someone from wound care should be by any minute now to check your bandages. You're definitely going to be here a while. And you'll have to wait for a doctor to give you a prognosis, nurses aren't supposed to do that."
I must've looked disappointed and concerned -- I certainly felt that way. Was she not telling me because there was bad news?
But her expression softened. "This is not an official prognosis to be clear, but yeah, you should be okay. I'm sure they'll want to do tests to make sure you've got organ function, you're coping with the blood transfusion well, but I think the wounds missed everything vital."
She didn't smile, exactly, but almost. Maybe. "The major concern is probably going to be infection, so: rest, drink lots of fluids, and take the pills we give you."
I nodded at her, relieved. "Thanks for telling me. I'll be a model patient."
Another woman knocked on the door and came in. "Hi, I'm Natalie, from wound care..." she trailed off in shock as she came around Denise and saw me.
I was having a similar reaction. Dimly, I heard the monitors I had attached to me registering spikes in heartrate and blood pressure.
Natalie.
I hadn't seen her in eight, maybe ten years, but she was much the same as I remembered. Blonde hair, oval face, freckled skin, green eyes, full lips. The lilac scrubs she was wearing -- her favorite color, I recalled dimly -- were loose enough not to show off much of her body. But if the toned arms I could see were an indication, she was hotter in her late 20s than she had been during college.
"James? Oh my god. What the fuck happened to you?" She brought her hand to her mouth.
"I, uh, I've been doing security for this bar, and..." As I spoke, she was peering at my chart over Denise's shoulder, and then back at me.
Her face paled. "Jesus, you're lucky to be alive." Denise nodded her agreement, although she was mostly looking back and forth between me and Natalie, obviously trying to decide how we knew each other.
"I mean, I am pretty good at my job, I wouldn't say it's all luck," I said, defensively.
Natalie rolled her eyes. "That's the James I remember, yeah. What'd you do, trip and fall on a kitchen knife? Repeatedly?"
Natalie was clearly way more assertive sarcastic than I remembered. I flushed a little. "For your information, some asshole put his hands on one of our waitresses, so I threw him out. And then it turned out two of his buddies had knives. And they weren't kitchen knives," I said.
Natalie rolled her eyes. "Such a hero. God, of course you end up where I work. I can't believe this." She took a breath, and glanced at Denise. "It's fine, I can treat him. We dated during college, that's all." The tone in her voice indicated that it wasn't a high point in her life.
Denise nodded, but was looking at me with appreciation, a different level of respect, hearing the story behind the injuries I was sporting. "Are you okay with her treating you?"
"Yeah, it's fine. Thanks, Denise." I was all politeness. "And it's good to see you, Natalie. Been a long time."
"It has." She was silent for a beat, and then, "I've got a few other things to take care of, actually. I'll be back in a bit to change your bandages." And she left.
I got the impression that it wasn't part of the plan, that she wanted a few minutes to gather herself. Denise clearly had the same impression, eyeing me speculatively, obviously hungry to know more, but then just said, simply, "It's nice that you stood up for that waitress. World could use a few more men like you. You hungry?"
I wasn't, especially, but she made me drink some juice anyway, with an encouraging, "Big guy like you, gotta get some calories in."
And then she bustled out.
Which left me alone to think about Natalie.
---
I hadn't seen her since college.
She and I had met through one of my freshman year roommates; she had gone to high school with him. She was incredibly inexperienced when she went to college, and it was immediately obvious to my roommates that she was attracted to me. I was young and dumb, though, so it took a while for me to realize that's what was going on.
And even once I realized, well...she was a nerdy, unpopular girl. A bio major, wearing loose clothes, the wrong makeup, and so on. Smart, academically inclined, and not my first choice for a college hookup. (I know, I know. I was a superficial piece of shit at 19, okay?)
That all changed when I ran into her once when she was out for a run, wearing a cropped top and leggings. The woman had an astonishing body, when it wasn't obscured by a baggy hoodie. Full breasts, a trim little waist, a tight butt.
Once I saw that, it was just a matter of a few it's late, I'll walk you home offers when we were both drunk after various parties, before one of those walks home ended in us making out. I was just such a good guy, you know?
After that, I had her hooked. I wasn't that experienced, but I wasn't a virgin either, and she was. I had done a lot more than she had, and I was all too happy to help her try new things. I was her first real kiss. The first guy she had ever gone down on. I was the first guy to give her an orgasm. And, eventually, I took her virginity.
She was always very complimentary, and how often she wanted to hook up with me certainly reflected that. She thought my dick was huge (and yeah, it's big, but not huge, certainly). She came easily during sex -- from penetration only, which was new for me at the time. Hell, even I made her squirt a few times. She liked dirty talk, and she liked it when I fucked her rough, she liked it slow and sensual, liked having her hair pulled, liked...well, really, anything I did. She was kind of obsessed with me, in and out of the bedroom.
It was awesome. I felt, to borrow the words of the late Carl Weathers, like a goddamn sexual tyrannosaurus.
Unfortunately, I was, I'm not proud to say, absolutely a typical 19-year-old asshole, at the time. Eventually, of course, she wanted to make it official, be boyfriend/girlfriend. I was okay with that...at first.
But she wasn't cool. She was kind of clingy, a bit desperate. Annoyingly needy, if I'm being honest. And, well -- I wanted to see who else I could hook up with. It's not like I was some player with a roster of women, but there were a few other girls who had made their interest clear, and it was college. I didn't want to miss opportunities to sow my wild oats.
So I told her I thought we should see other people, gave her all the usual tired lines, and dumped her.
We hooked up a few times after that, of course. I was, as mentioned, a tremendous asshole, and not above using her emotional entanglement to create a friends-with-benefits situation, even though I knew she wanted something more. But eventually, over time, I think she got tired of my bullshit -- there was no huge blow-up, no dramatics, we just drifted apart.
I felt kind of bad about it, but also...wondered if there'd be any spark there, now.
So, you'll understand why seeing her threw me off so badly at first, but I was coming to terms with it. Not a big deal. Our past was a long time ago; I was a different person now. So was she, clearly. She had become a nurse. Good for her.
And at least I'd have some eye candy while I was convalescing. Judging by my state, I wasn't getting out of here any time soon.
---
Natalie came back half an hour later. Some admin staff had stopped by to confirm my insurance info (which, fortunately, was in my wallet) and as that man left, she entered.
She came in much more businesslike, this time. "Any pain?" She moved around the room, grabbing a pair of gloves, checking readings on the various monitors attached to me.
I wondered if this was how she wanted to handle things: just pretend nothing had happened. It wasn't my preference, but I wasn't about to force the issue.
"Uh, I mean, yeah." I watched her move around, bemused. Like I mentioned earlier, the scrubs were pretty loosely fit, but every now and then as she leaned forward, adjusted, reached up to check the IV drip, or made some other movement, I'd get a hint of the curve of her ass, or the shape of her breasts pushing against the fabric of her top as she stretched.
"Like sharp pain where the wounds are, or dull aching pain all over?" She glanced up at me and I shifted my eyes to hers. I didn't think she had caught me staring.
"Um, dull aching pain, mostly. If I try to sit up or do any major movement, though...definitely sharp pain."
She nodded. "That makes sense. It'll get better over time. Now, let's have a look at those wounds."
She walked over to the door, shutting it, and then pulled a chair over to the bedside.
I started to sit up, and winced. She nodded. "It's all good, I'm sure your abdominal muscles are still trying to figure out what the hell happened. I'll help you. On three. One, two..." She slid one hand under an armpit, wrapping it against my back, leaning into me. I was a lot bigger than her and it was obvious she was going to have to really heave to get me upright. I could feel her bracing against me, preparing for the effort. It was distracting -- the smell of her perfume was new, but her closeness, the feel of her hand on my back, was all too familiar. I could just barely feel the curve of one breast against me, and was thinking about that when I realized I ought to be helping her. Grimacing, I struggled upright as she exerted herself.
She pulled away. "Whew. You packed on some weight since I last saw you."
That was true. Mostly muscle, fortunately. I had gotten into working out after college, a way to blow steam off in a demanding grad program. It also helped the night job go smoother. People were less likely to start a fight if you were bigger.
I didn't say any of that though. I just grunted in acknowledgement, mulling over how...nice it had felt, being that close to Natalie again.
She went back to being matter-of-fact. "Alright, sir, if you don't mind removing your hospital gown from the waist up, I'll take a look at those bandages."
Uncomfortably, I shrugged out of the loosely tied top. Her eyes lingered on their way down my chest, before arriving at the mass of bandages around my midsection. She winced. "Ouch, James."
I nodded, glum. "I can't even say 'you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.' Pretty sure they're both just fine."
She smiled, but it faded as she slowly unwound the bandages, checking each wound in my torso as she went. "You really are lucky," she said softly. "Some of these could've been really bad."
I nodded again. "I know it."
She checked the stitches as she went, redressing wounds. Her hands were gentle, delicate, deft. She got the same look -- brow furrowed in concentration, biting her lip -- as she had in college when she was puzzling out some practice exam question. It felt...weirdly intimate.
She smiled up at me wryly. "You're pretty different than you were in college. You didn't have this tattoo...or this much muscle." Her hand ran up to my pec, tracing the tattoo there. Did I detect a hint of...admiration...in her voice? I felt my body react, my cock stir slightly.
"Oh, I dunno, I was pretty dumb back then too, it just didn't usually result in so much grievous bodily harm," I quipped.
She giggled at that. "Yeah, you were pretty dumb."
I was glad she laughed. I smiled. "So, how have you been?"
She shrugged. "Good, mostly. Went into nursing after I graduated. COVID was really rough. Things are a lot less hectic now, though."
Then she glanced up at me. "How about you? Still dumping girlfriends so you can sleep around, or is getting stabbed your full-time job?"
There wasn't malice in her voice, just amusement. But I reddened anyway. "I...was an idiot, Natalie. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I've never said sorry before now. And, no, this isn't my career plan. I'm getting an MBA. The bouncing job just has super flexible hours and helps pay the bills."
She nodded. "Thank you. And, hey, it's all good. I mean, it wasn't good for a while. A long while. You broke my heart." She smiled, warming up a bit. "I spent a lot of time imagining you getting stabbed, but this is excessive even for what I was picturing."
I laughed, and then, wincing again, opted for just nodding.
I tried to think about how to phrase the next question. "So...husband? Two kids? White picket fence and a dog in the yard?"
Her turn to laugh now. She held up her hand -- ringless -- and shook her head. "No, no. Thirty and flirty. Single and ready to mingle. Or whatever." She looked at me speculatively. "You?"
I shook my head. "Turns out an MBA and a mostly-evenings job does not make me 'relationship material.' Girlfriend dumped me five or six months ago."
"Well, well," she teased. "A taste of your own medicine."
As we talked, she had been checking the stitches on each wound, re-wrapping bandages. and then paused as she approached my groin. There was a separate bandage, visible peeking out of the bottom of the hospital gown, that was clearly wrapped around my upper thigh, right where my hip and leg met. She glanced up at me, questioningly.
"Uh, yeah, one more. It went a bit lower," I affirmed.
She held the eye contact for a long time, her face inches from mine, before biting her lip, and looking down and away. The sexual tension was absolutely palpable, now.
"Okay, why don't you remove the gown down below too, then, so I can check that wound too." There wasn't anything suggestive in her voice, not really...but it wasn't matter-of-fact, either. She was interested.
I was getting hard. Not like, full, rock-hard-erection hard, but certainly...engorged.
I was sure that what I was probably supposed to do was to pull the gown fabric around, exposing a leg, maybe part of my hip, but covering most of my groin.
But, heart beating fast, turned on, I decided to take a risk. Slowly -- watching Natalie's reaction -- I pulled it over that leg and then kept pulling, exposing my cock as well.
There was a silent beat, as she stared, lips parted.
Her frozen gaze reminded me of the first time she'd gone down at me. I had been able to tell she was intimidated. I vividly recalled her kneeling in front of me, looking up at it, openmouthed and intimidated. She'd drawn in a shaky breath, and said "I...I'm gonna try...but you're so big, James, I dunno..." before slowly lowering her mouth onto me. She hadn't been especially good at it, if I was honest with you. Hadn't been able to make me cum. But the way it had happened had been so hot.
And now, I could hear her draw in a slow breath, watching as my cock got that much harder at the memory.
She glanced up at me. "You always did have a nice dick." We were alone, the door was closed, but she whispered the words out anyway.
Well, that got me even harder. "Thanks...and, uh, sorry about the...physical reaction..." I felt like I had to maintain plausible deniability.
She shrugged. "It's all good, it happens to some patients while I'm treating them. Are you...thinking of anything in particular?"
I just nodded.
She smiled, coy, now. "We did have some pretty good times, didn't we? I mean, I didn't really know what I was doing..."
"I was, uh, happy to help rectify that," I said. Fuck, this was pretty hot, talking through our past. I wondered if she had been thinking about the same thing. Maybe she'd go down on me.
"Well, you started to rectify it, anyway," she said, softly.
I paused, and blinked, not really clear on what that was supposed to mean. Was that a dig at me?
"I mean," she whispered, teasingly, "I've done a lot since then..."
As she spoke, she leaned forward to fiddle with some of the bandages, as if adjusting them. In doing so, her forearm grazed across the length of my cock, stroking up it. I suppressed a moan. I was rock hard, now.
"H-have you?" I still wasn't sure where this was going, but it's not like I was going to complain while she was touching my cock.
"Mmm, yeah. After you dumped me, I really got to play the field...learn more about what I liked...what men liked..." She trailed off, looking down at my cock, and then looked up at me. "And James, that looks so uncomfortable. Do you want some...help with it?"
I nodded again, helplessly.
She stood up, walked across the room, grabbed a tube of some kind of vaseline, or gel -- maybe for ultrasounds or something? -- and came back over.
I watched as she squirted some of the gel onto her hands. I felt a little disappointed. A handjob? But I was hardly going to complain too much. It wouldn't get me off, I knew. She had tried handjobs a few times back in our college days, liked giving them, but they had never made me cum. To be honest, I didn't think she was very good at them, either. But, hey, this was already way more than I had expected when I had woken up this morning. I wasn't going to look a gift-handjob in the...hand...and handjobs often turned into more, anyway.
"Anyway, like I was saying. I've done a lot since our college days..." she rubbed her hands together. "I wonder if you'd be able to keep up with me, now..."
Okay, so these were digs at me. I rolled my eyes. "Please. I used to make you cum so haaaah--"
The last word turned into a moan as, staring me right in the eyes, she brought both her hands to my shaft, gripped me tightly, and started pumping.
Her technique -- two hands, tight grip, but not too tight, slick with the gel -- was completely different from what I remembered. It was perfect, incredible. I moaned again as she found a rhythm, pumping with both hands.
"Mm, yeah, I thought you'd like this..." Natalie's voice was amused. "I didn't really know how to give a handjob back then. And you certainly didn't teach me, did you? But now...well, I know all sorts of things."
As she spoke, she stopped stroking with one of her hands, wrapping it around the base of my shaft, fingers touching my balls, and rapidly pumped her other hand up and down over the head of my cock and the first inch or so of the shaft. Her hand squelched, a quick, slick pace over the most sensitive part of my cock.
I writhed in ecstasy. I couldn't help it. God, she was good. She slowed down again, and panting, I looked up from her hands, into her eyes. She was already staring at my face, amused.
"You did used to make me cum so fast, though. I bet you'd like to do that again, wouldn't you? I could ride you..." she started stroking me again, slower now, stroking both hands up down my length. She leaned forward to whisper in my ear. "...just climb up on that big dick...I'm better at that, too..."
I groaned. Fuck, she had never been assertive like this. "Y-yeah, ride me," I grunted the words out. I reached up, squeezing her tits through her uniform. Fuck. They felt just as good as I remembered. Full, soft, more than a handful.
"Are you sure? But I want to play some more with this big dick...mmm, while you squeeze my tits..." she purred the words out, speeding up her strokes.
I wasn't in a position to resist or argue -- if I had been stabbed a bit less last night, maybe I could've taken charge. As it was, with her jacking me off, I just lay back and let out another moan. "Fuck, Natalie..."
She smirked. "But then, who knows if you could even make me cum the way you used to, James. Right now it certainly seems like I'm in control."
She was hot, and the handjob was incredible, but that felt rude. I stopped fondling her tits and gave her a direct look. "Natalie, c'mon. You're incredible, but we both know if I weren't injured that I'd have you bent over this bed in a heartbeat."
Well. I tried to say that, anyway.
Instead, as I opened my mouth, she leaned in, an amused smile on those full lips, just an inch or two from mine, staring into my eyes. She raised her eyebrows, like she was excited to hear what I had to say. And then her grip tightened, and she started pumping me much faster with both hands. What I had wanted to say came out as a strangled Nnnngh instead.
Not only did it render me speechless, but I knew at this new pace, I'd cum in no time. I could feel the orgasm mounting already. It just felt so good.
The Natalie I remembered from college wouldn't have noticed. But staring into my eyes, she must've seen something in my expression, or in the way my body was reacting, that clued her in. One of her eyebrows quirked up. "Ooh, you really like this, don't you?"
Her hands were relentless. "J-just slow down a bit..." I managed to stammer the words out, trying to get ahold of myself.
"Why? I can tell it feels good..." the words came out teasingly. "And anyway, I don't remember you having any trouble lasting...this should be no problem..."
I blushed bright red. I could feel my impending orgasm gathering even faster, now. I didn't say anything, trying to fight off the sensation.
"I mean, I'm not gonna make you cum, am I? Just from a handjob?" She bit her lip. "You remember our marathon sessions? God, you'd make me cum so many times on that cock...I'm getting wet thinking about it...the way you used to manhandle me...and all this muscle you've put on now, I bet you'd really throw me around..."
The way she was talking was only making it harder to hold back. And her hands were...just perfect. Inexorable.
I was going to cum. I let out another moan. I could hear the desperation in it. I was sure she could too.
"Oh...or maybe I am going to make that big dick cum. With just my hands...that never happened in college..." she giggled. I flushed. I wanted to stop her, to hold back, but it felt so good...
She leaned in, and whispered, "You know, it doesn't seem like you could handle fucking me anymore, James. I'm a little too much for you, now."
And then, staring in my eyes, she picked up the pace, moving even faster, those talented hands practically a blur on my cock.
With a sense of shame, I tried to resist, to show her I could handle her. But after only a few more seconds of the most intense handjob I had ever received, there was no way to stop it. I gave up, gripped the hospital bed rails, and started cumming. Hard.
Dimly, I realized she had grabbed a wad of medical gauze just in time, so I didn't end up making a mess of the bandages she had just changed. She pumped me as I orgasmed with one hand, maintaining that incredible pace, giggling as I helplessly sprayed into the gauze she was holding in her other hand.
Fuck. That was the hardest I had cum in a very long time. I slumped back, a little dazed, panting and catching my breath as she inspected and changed the bandage on the last wound.
"Well, I think you're all taken care of," I could hear a teasing note in Natalie's voice. She stood up to leave.
"W-wait...Natalie...maybe we could..." I tried to sit up, but admittedly, I still didn't have it altogether -- and my core muscles were still complaining.
"Maybe we could what?" The amused condescension was written all over her face.
I wasn't sure what I wanted to say. That had been unbelievably hot. Maybe we could date? I don't always cum that fast? Maybe we could do that again? I really want to fuck you?
What came out of my mouth was: "Uh...maybe...can we..."
She just laughed. "I dunno, James. I'm not sure I'm really looking for anything committed right now. Maybe we can hang out again sometime soon. Although I do have a lot going on."
I reddened. I recognized the echo of my own words from a decade ago thrown back at me.
Smugly, she said, "I'll be back to check those wounds tomorrow. No major physical exertion, please. I don't think you can...handle it. See you then."
I didn't know what to say.
She walked out of the room.
