Книга - Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse

Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse
Lily Harlem


When scalpels are set down, the ward lights turned off and the patients asleep, there is always time for Mischief …From Lily Harlem, co-author of ‘Anything For Him’, ‘Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse’ is the perfect read for fans of E L James and Sylvia Day.I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades nurse. I find work satisfaction in whichever department the hospital needs me most, as long as it’s through the darkest hours.But it’s so often the quieter night time where the real high jinx abound.With a weakness for sexy guys wearing white coats, my fantasies are often realised and I’m adept at finding relief from the hospital grind in shadowy corners and cosy linen cupboards.Of course my dedication to patient comfort is paramount. What kind of nurse would I be if it wasn’t?But when one act of extreme, albeit highly inappropriate, kindness forced me to become the hospital director’s snitch, the length I went to in order to keep my job, satisfied my desires and found me the love that had always evaded me.A love that made me push even my not-so-professional boundaries to the extreme.Other titles in the Secret Diary series are:Confessions of a Kinky Wife by Justine ElyotConfessions of a Kinky Divorcee by Lana FoxConfessions of a Greedy Girl by Madelynne Ellis









Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse

Lily Harlem





(http://www.mischiefbooks.com)


Table of Contents

Title Page (#uf2c03ed8-0c5f-5ffe-9fa4-9ce87082c3b7)

Chapter One (#u3e89c67c-9062-58f8-8675-bd8cc3a41534)

Chapter Two (#u4dd7329b-8769-5658-ae46-3e2adb6a7557)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

About Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)










‘He’s dead.’

‘Ah shit, another one?’

‘Yep, bless him, it was peaceful, though.’

‘That’s the third this week, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, so that should be us done for a while now; they come in threes.’

The two staff nurses talking over a body in sideward six were hunched forward, with shadows spreading out behind them. A tap dripped in the corner, a musty smell hung in the air, and the wind rattled past the lead-paned window.

I stepped closer and cleared my throat.

They both turned.

‘Sharon, are you here for us?’ Annie asked with a smile. Her auburn hair, roughly pinned in a bun, wobbled as she spoke.

‘Yes. Please say you’re expecting me. I’m fed up of being passed from pillar to post this week.’

‘Too right we are. We’re so short here tonight, and now this, another trip to Rose Cottage.’

I fastened my fob watch onto my uniform, just over my left breast. ‘I’ll go.’

She widened her eyes. ‘Are you sure? It’s bloody awful out there.’

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. I never refused a trip to the mortuary – or Rose Cottage as it was known, so as not to offend delicate dispositions. ‘Yeah, whatever, I’m here to help out and I’ve got a coat.’

She glanced at her colleague, pulled down the edges of her mouth, then looked back at me. ‘Cheers then, that’s great.’

Her colleague, whom I didn’t know, but had Staff Nurse Nancy Tinkard written on a brass badge, tugged the sheet over the slackly wrinkled face on the bed, covering the unseeing, half-open eyes but leaving a tuft of grey hair sticking out. She reached up and turned off the saline drip. ‘We’ll give it the usual hour of respect before we come back in here then,’ she said.

‘Do you have a report card I can use?’ I asked.

‘Sure, I’ll get you one.’ Tinkard opened the window the tiniest crack, and a hiss of wind whistled in. She then stepped past me and out of the sideward.

I followed her up the dimly lit ward, a rise of anticipation growing in my belly and my pulse picking up a notch. Rose Cottage always meant a few minutes’ fun on an otherwise dull night. It wasn’t The Ritz and they didn’t bother with home comforts like mattresses and pillows for their guests, but hey, I could cope.

‘Have you just joined the hospital?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, moved up from Sheffield to live with my boyfriend in Skipton,’ she said over her shoulder.

‘Enjoying it?’

‘It’s OK, apart from the fact it’s nearly ten and the house officers haven’t been round yet.’

‘I know, makes you wonder what they teach the junior doctors these days.’ I suppressed a laugh. Here ten would be early for house officers to make their final rounds. She must have been spoilt with eager, efficient doctors wherever she’d worked before.

We sat at a long white desk with a hidden artificial light shining from a plinth above onto the surface.

‘Here you go,’ she said, ‘we have a full house, well, apart from Mr Parslow’s bed when he’s gone.’ She passed me a sheet of paper with every resident on the geriatric ward, named, aged and diagnosed. ‘Then we’ll have one, for emergencies, but Heathcliff Ward have three empty, so if Iceberg, or whatever you lot call senior night nurse Lisa Stanton rings, be sure to tell her how busy we are here.’

‘Absolutely.’ I glanced down the list. There was no patient less than eighty-four and no one for resuscitation should they decide to stop breathing or their heart gave up.

Footsteps caught my attention, the sharp click of heavy leather soles taking long strides on linoleum flooring.

‘Hey, ladies, how are you doing?’

‘Hi, Carl.’ I grinned. ‘Why are you out of your surgical hole?’

He set his hands on the desk, stooped, and his red stethoscope swung from around his neck. ‘Covering for sickness,’ he said with a shrug.

‘About time you got here.’ Tinkard slapped several drug charts on the table next to his fingers. ‘We’ve got drugs to be written up, three warfarins, and now there’s one to pronounce too, in sideward six.’

Carl tugged his gaze from mine and flashed her one of his most charming smiles. ‘I’m really sorry. It’s been hell in A&E all afternoon and then I had to assist in surgery. Got to do the day job on top of the extra-curricular care-of-the-elderly fun.’

Tinkard tutted. ‘Well, what am I supposed to do now? Wake up my patients to take evening medication?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ He straightened, pulled a black pen from his pocket, jabbed in the end and released the ballpoint with a flamboyant click. ‘You got the blood results then?’

Tinkard was already holding them in the air, wafting them like tissue paper.

Carl grabbed them. ‘Cheers.’

He glanced at me and I knew he was doing his best to be patient. Behind his square, black glasses he had rings under his eyes, his tie was skew-whiff and there was a blob of what was either blood or Bolognese on his white coat. Goodness only knew how many hours he’d been on his feet.

Tinkard pulled a rattle of keys from her pocket and wandered off, towards the clinical room, her footsteps perfectly silent.

Carl took her vacated seat, folding his long body into the low plastic chair and tucking his knees beneath the desk. ‘You picked the short straw tonight then, working with “Nurse Happy”? God knows where she turned up from.’

‘She’s OK, she just cares about her patients.’

‘Yeah, I suppose. Trouble is I have to prioritise bleeding oesophageal varices over a few warfarin write-ups.’

‘Oh dear, not nice. Any luck?’

‘Yeah, he’s in intensive care. Puts you off booze, though.’

‘Was he a soak?’

‘Yes, sixty units a week.’

‘Impressive by anyone’s standards.’ I glanced at my fob watch. ‘You got your car back yet?’

‘Yes, they managed to get the dink out of it without too much problem. Last time I go to the supermarket on a windy day, though. Bloody trolleys blowing about all over the place.’

‘You’ll be hungry then, this weather is set in for a few months. That’s how it is in the Dales.’ I tried and failed to stifle a yawn, waggling my hand in front of my mouth. ‘Sorry, I’m knackered, as usual.’

‘Me too, can’t wait for my days off. I’m just going to sleep.’

An image of him sprawled in bed, limbs tangled in sheets, hair messy, glasses off, came to my mind. I would eventually get into his bed with him, or have him up against a wall, over a trolley or even in a linen cupboard. Carl was a hottie in a nerdy-but-flirty kind of way, and we were playing an unspoken game of let’s-see-how-long-we-can-resist-banging-each-other-stupid. It was fun, this dancing around in a horny-doctor, sexy-nurse ritual. And let’s face it, he was fresh out of med school, five years of study, study, study, and now he’d been let loose in a hospital. He needed some action of the non-clinical variety and a lesson on how the land lay in the jungle.

A red light flashed on the dash screen, signalling a patient needed a nurse in bay four. Standing, I lightly pressed Carl’s shoulder. ‘See you later.’

He shoved his hand through his dark, slightly too-curly hair and looked up. ‘Hopefully not.’ He suddenly frowned. ‘Not that I don’t like seeing you, I do. But I really want to get some kip after this.’

‘I know what you mean, don’t worry.’

As I walked away I knew he was checking out my bum. His gaze was hot on my buttocks and had been getting hotter ever since I’d accidently-on-purpose shown him the top of my black stockings last week when helping a patient out of bed. Now I didn’t need to showcase my hosiery to get him worked up, he knew it was there; ten denier sheerness, then delicate lace that was strikingly dark against my pale, sun-starved flesh.

‘Hey, Mr …’ I glanced at the notes at the base of the bed. ‘… Watkins, did you need something?’

‘I don’t know you.’ Mr Watkins’ big blue eyes peered up at me and his gnarled fingers clutched a starched sheet beneath his chin.

‘I’m Sharon, one of the nurses looking after you.’

‘Where am I?’

‘On Bronte Ward.’

‘Bronte Ward, where’s that?’ His hold on the sheet tightened and the bulging blue veins that threaded over the backs of his hands twitched.

‘You’re in hospital, on Bronte Ward.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m waiting … for them.’ He narrowed his eyes, the skin at the corners pinching, as he darted his gaze left to right. ‘I have a weapon, you know.’

I flicked on the night light, hoping it would help orientate him, and glanced at my report card to see if he had dementia. No, just a urine infection which often made older people confused until the antibiotics kicked in. ‘Who is them?’ I asked, smiling down.

‘The Germans, they’re coming here, tonight.’

I rested my hand over one of his and noted how cool his flesh was. ‘No one is coming here tonight, especially not Germans,’ I said. ‘Everyone is tucked up in bed and you’re quite safe.’

He hesitated. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely, now how about I get you a nice cup of tea?’

‘Can you do that? Are you allowed? What if the Germans see the light of the fire?’

‘They won’t, I promise. Do you take sugar?’

‘Well, I would if it wasn’t rationed, six of the buggers. Nothing like sweet tea to get you through the night.’

I bit my lip to stop myself retorting that I enjoyed plenty of other sweet treats to get me through my working night. But I didn’t want to confuse Mr Watkins further.

‘Sharon, you said?’ He eyed me with a fraction less suspicion.

‘Sharon, that’s right. I’m here to look after you. Now how about that cup of tea?’ I straightened his pillow to support his neck better. ‘It will warm you up. You feel a bit chilly.’

‘Are you sure it’s safe to make tea?’

‘I’m sure.’ Not the first time in my career, I hated how those distant years affected soldiers when they reached their end days. ‘You really are safe here, nothing is going on tonight so I’ll go and put the kettle on and then maybe, in a little while, you’ll be able to settle down and get some rest.’ I reached for the blanket folded over the end of the bed, shook it out and laid it over him. ‘Is that OK?’

He studied my name badge with a lucidity in his expression I hadn’t seen a few moments ago. ‘Yes, that’s fine, Miss Sharon Roane.’

‘Great, I’ll be back in a jiffy with that tea and …’ I leaned in, conspirator-like, ‘I will make it as sweet as I can get away with.’

He twitched his mouth into a half smile. ‘You will?’

‘I will.’

‘Just …’ He licked his dry lips. ‘Be careful, you never know when they might jump out at you.’

The moment of clarity was slipping. ‘I’ll be careful, don’t you worry.’

‘Yes, keep low, stay in the shadows and don’t give them any clues to your whereabouts.’

Waiting for the kettle to boil, I plucked out my iPhone and whizzed off a message to Tom.

Got one for you. Midnight-ish.

As I shook three sachets of Silver Spoon into the tea my phone chirped a reply.

Thank fuck. I was losing the will to live – the company here is deathly dull!

I smiled and slipped my phone away. The thought of Tom always gave me a thrill of anticipation, not to mention that I liked to make the most of his impressive body, and all of its generous assets, while I could.

After dodging Germans to take Mr Watkins his tea and another, warmer, blanket, I helped an old guy onto a commode, replaced several urine bottles – which included a battle with a particularly onerous waste-masher in the sluice – and changed an insulin syringe with Tinkard.

‘You OK to take first break?’ she asked, signing the drug chart and shoving it back in the folder. Her tone implied I had no choice, despite the guise of a question.

But I was used to this. First break was the worst and as a bank nurse, going to whichever ward was short because of illness, holidays or lack of employable staff in the Dales, I always got stuck with it. The trouble with taking the first two hours was it was too early to crave sleep and too early to have the munchies so it made the rest of the shift so damn long. ‘Yeah, OK,’ I said with a shrug. I could have argued, made a fuss, but what was the point? Besides, tonight it might just work in my favour.

Mr Parslow was, of course, waiting when Annie, the auburn-haired staff nurse, and I finally headed into sideward six.

‘You want to wash or dry?’ she asked.

‘I’ll dry.’ May as well save my over-scrubbed hands from water time.

She set the soapy bowl on the table and wheeled it close. Dumped in a wad of disposable flannels.

I lifted the sheet from Mr Parslow. He wore a pair of stained pyjama bottoms and a white string vest. ‘Are we taking this out?’ I asked, indicating the cannula in the back of his right hand.

‘Yeah, he was seen this morning by Javier, it was hardly an unexpected death.’

Plucking a roll of micropore from my pocket, I removed the plastic needle and applied a makeshift plaster for his bloodless skin with a ball of cotton wool. If deaths were unexpected or unexplained, an autopsy would be performed and that meant leaving any cannulas, catheters, or tubes where they were in case they’d contributed to the cause of death. Poor old Mr Parslow had simply died because his body had worn out with age.

‘How old was he?’ I asked.

Annie gently wiped his thin face. Not that it was dirty, but out of respect, to ensure he went to Rose Cottage clean and tidy. ‘Ninety-three, not a bad innings.’

‘I wouldn’t complain.’ Where she’d washed I dried with a blue-and-white striped towel. ‘How come Javier was on geriatrics?’ Dr Javier Garelli was a six-foot-two hunk of Italian muscle, his skin shone like bronze and he had cheekbones most supermodels would hurl themselves off the catwalk for. He worked in general surgery and as a senior house officer was Carl’s immediate superior.

‘Hartley’s surgical team were covering. Not that the day staff had a problem with Javier being around, they said his aftershave lingered for well over an hour after he’d headed to Eyre Ward.’

‘I’m sure.’ His aftershave was divine, kind of sugary but masculine too, fresh air but with suggestion of a long, sultry night. It was like the rest of him, sexy as hell. What I wouldn’t do to have my wicked way with him on a gurney one night.

‘He’s bonking Iceberg you know.’

My heart stuttered at this new bit of gossip and a rise of bile burned my chest. ‘No way.’

‘Yes way. Apparently they were caught in out-patients at two in the morning by a porter searching for a drip-stand.’ Her gaze caught mine and her eyes flashed. She had the look of a kid at Christmas who’d pop if they didn’t open their presents – now. ‘Yeah, he had her bent over a table, her awful crinoline trousers around her ankles and was going for it, big time …’ her voice dropped to a whisper, ‘up her bum.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah, seriously.’

She tugged Mr Parslow’s vest off his left arm and I did the same with the right, then we slipped it carefully over his head. As his bony skull settled back on the pillow I tried to close his eyes with my palm, but they slid back to half mast, unseeing and milky-glazed.

‘Roll to me?’ I asked.

Annie was already wringing out the flannel ready to wash his back. ‘Yep.’

I tugged the frail body by shoulder and hip, exposing angled scapulae and prominent vertebrae. A huff of air, like a strangled groan, rattled up from his chest and scratched through his throat. I glanced downwards. His jaw had slackened a little further at the movement. ‘Do you think the porter could be making it up? You know what they’re like.’

‘I don’t know, it’s a rumour, and rumours are like wildfire once they get started around here.’ She washed his back quickly then dried with a flourish. ‘But there’s no smoke without fire and stranger things have happened than the hospital’s number one stud getting up-hill action with the senior nurse.’

‘I suppose.’ I wondered what Javier could possibly see in Iceberg. She was a cold-hearted cow – everyone thought so. Last week she’d snapped at me for sitting down on the job when I’d gone off duty twenty minutes previously and was waiting for the rain to ease before heading home on my bicycle. Not bothering to listen to my explanation, she threatened to have my pay docked and inform Personnel of my inherent slackness.

I rested Mr Parslow onto his back again and rummaged in the bedside locker for clean pyjamas. Found some; navy and crisply new, with a Marks and Spencer price tag still in place. I wondered if whoever bought these had any idea they’d be the last clothes he’d ever wear. If so, it was nice that they were M&S, you could rely on the quality.

Annie had whipped off the existing pyjama bottoms and was washing his withered, lifeless penis with well-practised efficiency. ‘Apparently he’s off in March, got a registrar post at St George’s.’

‘In London?’ I took up the task of drying where her flannel had been.

‘Yeah, will serve Iceberg right if she falls for him then he goes and leaves her.’

I muttered an agreement and we dressed our silent patient in his smart, new pyjamas. Despite the quiet, reverent task I couldn’t help the wave of panic in my guts. Javier had been working in my hospital for nearly two years and I hadn’t once played hide-the-sausage with him. I always presumed there’d be plenty of time for that conquest. Part of me enjoyed the slow burn, the flirty smiles and suggestive banter we indulged in whenever our paths crossed in the dead of night. Another part of me now worried that I’d been wasting time when I could have been getting down and dirty, sweaty and naked, with my very own Italian stallion.

There was only one thing for it. I would have to up my game, become the hunter rather than the hunted.

Javier had no idea what was about to hit him, literally.

Mr Parslow was now fresh and dressed. Annie and I quickly tidied the room, did an inventory of his meagre belongings – splayed toothbrush, red comb strung with silver hairs, a half packet of toffees and several items of nightwear in various states of cleanliness – then we wrapped him in a paper-thin shroud and covered him with a clean sheet.

Annie left and I dropped the last of the damp towels into a linen skip.

A sudden bang on the window caught my attention. I turned and stared into the bleak darkness. The blind hadn’t been drawn over the slightly open pane and a feathery flash of silver-white knocked up against the glass. Once, twice, three times.

Curious, I stepped closer, trying to discern what was buffeting the rain-splattered window with firm insistence.

A gasp of surprise caught in my throat. It was a dove, out at night, in a gale.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ I bent and peered closer.

A black, beady eye’s attention settled on mine for the briefest of moments, then the dove took off, into the night, its wings ethereal and ghost-like, flapping against the wind.

I glanced at the mound on the bed and fought a prickle of unease tickling the back of my neck. Odd things happened in a hospital, but a dove, at night; that had been a first.

Quickly I shut the window. Mr Parslow’s soul had had ample time to depart. All that remained was his shell, so there was no need to have an escape route for his spirit to start its journey to Heaven; and I was pretty certain it would be Heaven, what with having a white dove coming to collect him on a storm-wild night.

I didn’t mention the dove to Annie or Tinkard. I just called for a porter to help me transfer to Rose Cottage and tugged on my coat. I checked my iPhone again. Another message from Tom.

You coming?

I typed back quickly.

Yes, so will you soon!

The porter appeared. He was new, a young guy, wide and stocky with hair so short you could see his scalp through it. He had the word love tattooed over the knuckles on his right hand.

‘You got one for Rose Cottage,’ he grunted, tugging the closed, coffin-style trolley along behind him.

‘Yes, sideward six.’

Luckily Mr Parslow’s skinny body was light, and within a few minutes we were heading out of the ward with him safely ensconced in the metal trolley.

‘Hey, Sharon,’ Tinkard called. ‘You may as well go for your break after you’ve done that, it’s just gone midnight.’

‘Right you are.’

The ward door shut with a heavy click and I put some muscle into pushing the trolley along the deserted corridor. As the pace picked up I stared at the lumpy back of the porter’s head and wondered if he was the one who’d found Javier and Iceberg.

If only I could see into his mind.

I pondered on whether I should question him. Just come straight out and ask if he’d seen the hottest medical senior house officer since Pompeii’s hospital had got showered in ash, shagging the Wicked Witch of the West where the sun doesn’t shine.

I thought better of it. My asking alone could become gossip, and I was keen to avoid gossip that included myself. There were too many skeletons in my cupboard, and, for that matter, in clinical rooms, sluices, linen rooms, and in that handy, unused office at the back of the pharmacy. No, I would keep quiet and do my own investigating.

Stepping out into the night, I was whipped in the face by my hair, the band holding it in a low ponytail no match for the ferocity of the gale. I hunched my shoulders and stooped, trying to shelter my face from the needle-points of rain blasting my cheeks. The sound of the torrent of drips hitting the metal trolley was almost as loud as the wind creaking at the row of oaks leading to Rose Cottage. Their boughs strained and moaned, their leaves hissing in great waves of noise.

The porter sped up behind the back of the canteen and put considerable energy into pulling. By the time we went past the incinerator and turned the final corner, I found myself jogging along the uneven path.

Luckily Tom was waiting with the door to Rose Cottage held open.

We rushed in, the trolley banging over the door-bar and a scurry of leaves whirling around our feet.

‘Fucking hell,’ the porter said. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there.’

Tom shut the door, winked at me, then took hold of my end of the trolley and wheeled it into the bay of body drawers. I trailed along behind, tucking my wind-wild hair back into its ponytail.

‘Yeah, good job the VIPs in here don’t care about shitty weather,’ Tom said, stopping at twenty-six C and then opening the trolley’s lid to reveal Mr Parslow’s covered body.

‘Bloody hate this part of the job, me,’ the porter said, staring at the shroud-covered lump and shuddering. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.’

‘You go if you want,’ I said, ‘I’ll help here.’

He widened his eyes and took a step backwards. ‘Really?’

‘Sure, I’ve done it a million times. Doesn’t bother me.’

‘Bloody hell, thanks …’ He nibbled on his bottom lip and scanned my coat, as though searching for my name badge.

‘Sharon,’ I said. ‘Go, we’ve got this covered and I bet you’ve lots to do.’

‘Yeah, I have actually.’ He yanked his sleeves over his hands and strode back to the door.

Tom followed and I heard him lock it shut, as was standard procedure at Rose Cottage. The NHS couldn’t risk body snatching, that’s why Tom was employed as night security here.

‘Poor sod,’ Tom said, wandering back in. ‘Looked white as a sheet, didn’t he?’

‘They all do to start with.’

Tom pulled open the drawer and together we slid Mr Parslow onto the metal; his body, although light, was a dense weight. Tom then pushed the drawer shut and closed the door with a resounding slam.

He wrote Mr Parslow’s name on a piece of card and slipped it into a slot beneath.

‘So how long have you got?’ he asked, a naughty smile tugging his lips and his smoky-blue eyes twinkling.

I raised my eyebrows. ‘No time at all. Change of plan, I have to get straight back, sorry.’

‘Ah, Sharon,’ he said, frowning. ‘Why do you go and tease me like that? You know how much I look forward to your visits. They’re the only thing that keeps me going in this lifeless place.’

‘Sorry.’ I glanced down his body. Through his uniform – dark-navy trousers and shirt – Tom’s well-defined muscles could be made out, as could a fantastically long wedge of flesh behind his fly.

My pussy clenched as I remembered last week when I’d paid him a visit. He’d bent me over the desk and rammed himself into me for nearly an hour. It had been so damn hard to walk back onto the orthopaedic ward I’d actually considered nicking a pair of crutches.

I hitched in a breath, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep up my pretence for more than another few seconds. Tom’s big dick and his skilful use of it was too damn irresistible. ‘The ward is crazy busy.’

He reached for me but I stepped away. ‘Just a kiss and a quick grope then, to keep me going.’

Quickly I moved even further away, towards the autopsy room. ‘Ha, ha,’ I said gleefully. ‘Just kidding, I’m on my break now.’

He flattened his lips into a tight line, as if holding back a broad smile, though at the same time narrowing his eyes as though furious with me. ‘You little minx,’ he said. ‘You’ll pay for that.’

‘Only if you can catch me.’ I darted into the autopsy room, dark except for a couple of low lights over a set of huge scales. The air was cool and laced with disinfectant.

I glanced around. There was a big, steel surgical table in the centre, a row of cupboards, several filing cabinets and a desk holding an ancient computer monitor.

‘Sharon,’ Tom called, the door shutting behind him with a soft whoosh. ‘You can’t escape.’

‘No, please, no,’ I said with a giggle and ran towards the far side of the room.

He chased but I dodged at the last minute, went to run for the door. He cut me off and I swivelled, found myself barging into the bolted-down table in the middle.

I gasped as the air flew from my lungs, but recovered quickly and, with my hands flat on the cool surface, scooted to the end.

Tom was facing me now, his face strewn with shadows, but I could see the thrill of the chase had flushed his cheeks and caused him to pant.

‘Come here,’ he said, edging closer.

‘No.’ I moved away from him in a circle around the table.

But it was futile; he was tall, fast and strong. Suddenly I was grabbed and tugged to the end, my body pulled up against his.

He pressed his lips down hard on mine and instantly the game was over. Now it was all about carnal satisfaction. With Tom, I was always guaranteed a spectacular orgasm and I couldn’t wait to start riding towards it.

‘Ah, yeah, baby, I’ve got you,’ he said, shoving my coat off and flicking it out of the way. ‘You gonna take it good again? Like you did last week?’

‘Yes,’ I panted, tearing at the buttons on his shirt. ‘Yes, that was so hot, I could hardly bloody walk the next day.’

He chuckled, low, deep and sexy, then kissed me again, the stubble on his chin scraping my skin and his breaths blowing hot and hard on my cheek.

He had my uniform up around my waist now and was forcing me to lie back on the ice-cold table. He stepped between my legs and leaned over me, pressing his groin into the gusset of my knickers.

‘Really, on here?’ I said, slotting my fingers into his hair and drawing my knees up so they pressed either side of his hips. ‘Where they chop up dead people? Isn’t that a bit freaky?’

‘The French for orgasm is petite mort so it’s kind of fitting.’ He was fiddling with the elastic of my underwear, at the juncture of my thighs.

‘Yeah, I suppose, but, oh –’ My words were cut off and turned into a delighted moan. He’d plunged two fingers high up inside me and found my clit with his thumb.

‘Oh, you’re such a dirty nurse,’ he murmured, kissing and licking over my cheek. ‘I bet you’ve been getting wetter and wetter ever since that poor old sod croaked, haven’t you?’

‘I –’ Words wouldn’t come. My brain could only concentrate on his touch.

He pulled out a little, shoved back in and set up a steady rhythm. Small squelching noises echoed around the room, mixing with my panting breaths and the sound of my pulse raging in my ears.

‘I love it when you get so wet for me,’ he said, gripping the back of my neck with his free hand and nibbling the side of my neck. ‘I’m going to really miss your cream, Sharon.’

‘Ah, yes, Tom, please, I want you in me.’

His hand was good, but a hand was a hand. Tom’s equipment was sensational, the sort of specimen that should be pickled in a jar when he died and saved in a museum as a perfect example of the human penis.

‘Coming right up, baby,’ he said, withdrawing and fumbling with his flies.

I shoved at my knickers, gasped briefly at the chill on my buttocks, then kicked the material away. I tried not to think of the bodies that had lain lifeless where I was about to be screwed senseless. Perhaps it would re-balance the karma for this table – if furniture held karma, that is.

Tom was rolling a condom on with astonishing efficiency. ‘You’re the only one that ever takes all of me,’ he said, looking me in the eye. ‘And it feels amazing.’

‘Tell me about it.’ I reached for him and kissed him hungrily as he pressed me back onto the hardness of the metal. He tasted of coffee, chocolate and perhaps a hint of tobacco. He tasted of Tom, which to me meant sex and pleasure and orgasms of the super-intense variety.

He was nudging into me. I locked my ankles in the small of his back and gripped the sleeves of his shirt. This part always required a good amount of concentration on my behalf if it was to be erotic pain and not ow-that-hurts pain.

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ he said into my mouth and gaining the first inch of entry.

I held my breath, waiting for more, desperate for more, all of it, all of him.

‘Damn, you feel so hot,’ he said, pressing his chin against my temple.

His stubble would leave a telltale red rash, but I didn’t care, to hell with any consequences. Right now I just wanted more of him inside me.

I rocked my hips up to meet him and he pushed in – much faster than usual.

‘Oh, yes,’ I cried out as red flashes filled my vision. ‘So good.’

‘Only good?’ He stilled.

‘Fantastic, and you know it.’ I half-heartedly thumped his arm. ‘Just give it to me.’

He hesitated for a second, then shunted in completely.

I cried out, so did he.

The brutal entry and the swirling pleasure-pain had my entire body tensing.

‘Ah, yeah,’ he groaned, lifting his head and staring at the wall behind me. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

I felt like I would burst. That at any moment the tip of his cock would come right out of my throat. How was it possible for my little body to take such a monster? I didn’t know, but it did, and it felt bloody incredible.

Tom began to move. Keeping himself lodged high, he churned his hips in a circular movement, catching my clit just right.

Groaning, I arched my back, lifted off the table and clung to him. Already the first blissful sparks of orgasm were there. It wouldn’t take long.

‘Ah, yeah, this isn’t going to be a marathon session like last week,’ he said. ‘You’ve got me too damn hot for you. I’m near already.’

‘Me too.’ I smoothed my hands over his shoulders. ‘Me too.’

He pulled halfway out, sliding easily, then rode back in. We both grunted and I harnessed the growing pressure.

‘Yeah,’ he said, repeating the process. ‘Oh, yeah.’

‘Faster, harder,’ I said, catching his fleshy earlobe in my mouth and sucking.

‘Your wish is my command.’

Suddenly our mating cranked up a notch. If it had been desperate before, now it was frantic, wild and utterly animalistic. Breathing no longer mattered, nor did the rest of the universe. Tom inside me and the explosion about to detonate was all that existed.

‘Ah, I’m coming,’ I shouted, biting down on his earlobe.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he groaned, shifting his head but not escaping my teeth.

He was rod-hard, as hard as he ever got. And I was being impaled; he was ramming me down as much as he was forging into me.

It was there. I was spinning through ecstasy, my body not my own for a few sweeter-than-sweet seconds, but belonging to a glorious state of heavenly pleasure.

And then came the best bit, my pussy contracting and spasming around Tom’s cock. My internal muscles rejoicing at the incredible length and girth they had to grip and shudder against.

Tom was coming too, at the perfect moment. He was groaning and moaning like a dying man. I released his ear, found his mouth and kissed him. He kissed back, hungrily.

‘Oh, yeah, that was so good,’ he said, breathless and finally slowing his thrusting hips.

‘Tell me about it.’ I was trembling, my flesh prickly and sweat-coated.

‘You’re incredible,’ he said.

‘Kind of you to say so.’ I brushed his hair back from his face where it was hanging like dark fingers around his forehead. ‘How are the wedding plans going?’

‘Not bad, Cheryl is stressed but her mum’s helping her.’

‘It must be a nightmare planning such a big event for so many people.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s what she wants.’

He touched his nose to mine, rubbed it in an Eskimo kiss. ‘Are you sure we can’t still do this once I’ve tied the knot?’

‘We’ve had this conversation before.’ I stroked his earlobe – it was wet and slightly swollen from my exuberant kisses and bites.

‘I know, but bloody hell, Sharon, we’re so damn good together.’ As if to prove the point he ground into me, extracting another delicious tremor. I couldn’t hold in a satisfied groan.

‘I have some morals, you know,’ I said when I’d recovered, ‘and screwing married men is definitely on my list of no-no’s.’

‘But how is this different? I’m engaged to be married right now.’

‘You haven’t promised to forsake all others yet, though, have you?’

‘No, I suppose not.’ He kissed me gently. ‘I will miss this, though. You. Us.’

‘Me too. But Cheryl makes you happy and will do for the rest of your life.’

‘Yep, she’s great.’ He pulled out and straightened.

I became aware of the cold, unyielding surface I was lying on and the dampness between my legs.

‘I’ve got cheese sandwiches and a pork pie in my tuck box if you want to share,’ he said, tugging off the condom and slipping his still semi-erect cock away.

‘Sounds great.’ I jumped off the slab of metal, pulled on my knickers and straightened my uniform.

I would miss my time with Tom and his talented dick, but that was just the way it was. Cheryl would have to learn to cope with him and I’d have to find myself another well-hung pastime.

Perhaps an Italian one was in order.










The plastic surgery department was set slightly apart from the general wards. It had its own gardens, a small canteen and several overnight rooms for visitors as it was a regional centre.

I was always happy to be sent there. The staff were hugely committed and experts in their field. The atmosphere was one of nurturing and support, not just for the patients but also for their families.

‘Hey,’ I said, strolling into the cluttered office. It was my second night on duty out of seven so I was still feeling pretty energetic. Plus last night with Tom had meant I’d had a lovely, deep, satisfying sleep all day.

‘Oh, good, it’s you, Sharon,’ Felicity said. She was the department’s head night nurse and I knew her well. We’d both been around since scalpels had been made of flint and bandages of mammoth hide.

I grinned. It was nice to be wanted. ‘You busy?’ I asked, grabbing a report card from the desk.

‘More than usual. There’s been a clinical inspection today and it knocked the late shift back several hours with everything.’

‘Bummer. You want me to get on with anything straight away?’

She glanced down her chart. ‘Yes, could you bedbath Ted Graham in room three? I promised I would, but I have to do the drug round first so it will be ages before I get to him.’

‘No problem at all.’ I glanced at his details on my sheet. Thirty-four-year-old with third degree burns to both hands. Ten days post second skin graft and reconstruction.

‘Great,’ Felicity said. ‘But don’t rush him, will you, if he wants to chat, let him. He’s one of us after all.’

‘He is?’

‘Yep, a fireman, flames got his hands when he was rescuing a pregnant woman from a house fire.’

‘Oh, damn.’

‘Indeed.’

After slipping a plastic apron over my dress, I knocked quietly on the door of room three and stepped in. I shut it tight behind myself.

Ted lay on the bed, a sheet up to his waist and his head sunk into a stack of pillows. He looked big and tough with a wide chest and thick biceps, but his hands were wrapped tight in bulky white bandages, rendering him practically helpless and creating quite a contrast to the burly masculinity of his body.

He smiled when he saw me; his jawline was a wide angular shape, his teeth neat and white. Everything about him was big. He was on a whole different size scale to me.

‘Hi,’ I said and turned down the volume on some chat show he was watching. ‘You must be Ted?’

‘That’s me.’ His voice was deep and rasping, almost smoky. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke.

‘I’m Sharon, would you like me to help you freshen up? Seems the day staff have been frantic.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘You can say that again, they’ve been buzzing around like a bunch of bees that’ve had their nest kicked.’ He laughed. ‘Quite funny to sit back and watch, and not have to do anything to help. I’m used to being in the middle of all the action.’

I liked Ted already. It was the twinkle in his eye, the buoyancy of his voice. He was having a rubbish time, but when people could still smile in that state I couldn’t help but admire them. I didn’t know if I would, given the same situation.

‘We’ll keep ourselves locked out of the way,’ I said, pulling a face. ‘Far from the madding crowd.’

‘Good plan.’ He tried to sit up but struggled when a pillow slipped and he couldn’t stop it falling to the floor.

I pulled his table away from the bed and adjusted his back support. Redoing his pillows.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘these damn hands are not up to much at the moment.’ He lifted his bandaged fists causing his pectoral muscles to flex and twitch.

I touched his warm, tendon-rich forearm and smiled gently. ‘That’s why I’m here, to help.’

‘I haven’t seen you before,’ he said. ‘Even though I’ve been laid in this room for three weeks now and going backward and forwards to theatre.’

‘No, I haven’t been here for about a month.’

‘Ah, have you been somewhere exotic on a long, luxury holiday with a handsome doctor?’

I laughed. ‘I wish.’ Mmm, four weeks on a deserted island with Javier would certainly give me a boost in all departments. ‘Nope, I’ve just been working on different wards. I’m a bit of a jack-of-all-trades, they send me wherever is low staffed at the beginning of each shift. Tonight I’m afraid you’ve drawn the short straw.’

‘Hardly the short straw,’ he said, tipping his head and studying me with a naughty glint in his eyes.

I laughed. ‘Nice of you to say so. Do you want a drink?’ I nodded at the empty glass on the table. It had a white straw sticking from it.

‘Please, there’s some Coke over there.’

I glanced at where he’d indicated. He had a small, bright red fridge humming in the corner.

‘I had it delivered here from Argos.’ Ted smiled. ‘I hate warm drinks, even in the winter. A habit from days in sunnier climates.’

‘Great idea.’ I opened the small glass door. ‘Hey, you’ve got some beer in here. Want one?’ I turned to him.

He looked at the closed door that led to the ward, as if seeing a frowning authority on the other side. ‘Well, I don’t know if I’m allowed.’

I laughed. ‘Yes, you’re allowed. It’s your beer, you’re a grown man. Have one if you want.’ I picked up an icy cold can and held it aloft.

‘Will you join me?’

I shook my head and widened my eyes. ‘I think that might just get me fired faster than a ball out of a cannon.’

He grinned and I sensed he was swaying.

‘What about the drugs I’m on?’ he asked.

‘No worries. It isn’t strong beer, so one will be perfectly fine and it will probably help you get a good night’s sleep.’

‘I could sleep for the Olympics these days. Not much else to do.’ He rolled his eyes and I thought his mood might switch, but then he grinned. ‘Go on then, if you’re sure it’ll be all right.’

‘I’m sure.’ I shut the fridge and picked up a tall glass from a shelf. ‘Have you had family in today?’

He shook his head. ‘No, not today, and not tomorrow either.’

That surprised me. I would have thought his people would be swarming around him. ‘Why not?’

‘Just how it is for me.’

‘No family?’

‘Nope.’ I held the glass as he took a sip of the beer through the straw. His lips were wide and plump, the bottom one held a small dink at the centre. I noticed there was a good couple of days’ worth of black stubble over his cheeks, jaw and down his neck.

‘Ahh, that’s so good,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Reminds me of being in Greece; with the sun on my back, a heart full of hope and a lust for adventure.’

I walked to the sink, set about filling up a bowl of water and collecting washing paraphernalia. ‘Greece. I’d love to go there.’

‘Beautiful place if you can cope with wasps and earthquakes.’

‘Can you tell me about it?’

‘You really want to hear?’

‘Yes, absolutely. I’ll give you a bit of a wash while you talk. It will make me feel like I’ve had that holiday. I could do with one.’ Plus I liked the lilt of his accent, I couldn’t place it but it was light and complemented the rich throatiness of his voice.

‘Couldn’t we all.’ He paused, then, ‘I grew up in Greece. My father had a job with the government and was posted in Athens. It meant we had a nice house with a pool and a maid. Me and my sister went to a private English school but also learnt to speak fluent Greek. It’s like that when you’re kids. You pick up languages without even having to think about it, don’t you?’

I nodded and wiped his face with the warm, soapy flannel. When I dried, the sound of stubble rasping on the towel was loud in the quiet room. ‘Would you like me to give you a shave?’

He opened his eyes and looked straight into mine. They were a stunning shade of dark blue, like the deepest part of the ocean. ‘Would you mind? Have you got time?’

‘No, not at all, and yes I have time. It won’t take long.’

‘That would be great then.’ He smiled again and then clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. ‘I hate being so dependent. It’s not me at all.’

‘Hopefully it will only be for a few more weeks, and that’s why we’re here, to help.’ I reached for a razor and a can of shaving foam. Flooding my hand with white froth and beginning to spread it around his jawline, the short tough hairs were sharp on my fingertips and the feeling briefly reminded me of my fun with Tom the night before.

‘Well, thanks, I appreciate it, everything you all do,’ he said, his mouth a dark slash in the frothy mess on his face.

‘No worries.’

Silence descended upon us as I began to carefully scrape the wet razor down his right cheek. I was aware that he was watching my face intently, almost like he could see the reflection of what I was doing in my eyes. I was leaning in close, I had to, breaching personal space was the only way to perform my task, but if he looked downwards there was no doubt he’d get a flash of cleavage.

But he didn’t look down, he carried on starting intently at my face and carefully twisting his mouth to stretch the skin on his cheek.

Little waves of prickles ran up my spine, nape and onto my scalp. I had a sudden sweep of self-consciousness. I was being scrutinised, closely, but I was also being trusted to wield a razor against a stranger’s face and throat. It was a great privilege to be so trusted. Who was I kidding? I was hot and tingly because Ted was an incredibly handsome fireman and I was performing an intimate task for him. Donning a nurse’s uniform didn’t quell my appreciation for a gorgeous bloke with a sexy smile, a roguish voice and a history of saving women from burning buildings.

I straightened and jiggled the razor in the water to rid it of the stubble and used foam. ‘Carry on telling me about Greece. I sense there’s an “until” coming up,’ I said with a smile then nibbled on my bottom lip.

He twitched his eyebrows. ‘You’d be right. I was seventeen when it all started to go wrong. I had dreams of going to university in the UK and studying marketing.’

‘Marketing, interesting.’ With my fingertip I gently smoothed the froth beneath his nose, trying my best not to get it in his nostrils. He kept very still while I shaved around his top lip, just pulling his mouth down a little to elongate the skin.

Top lip smooth, I carried on shaving, moving around to the opposite side of his face. Still he didn’t talk, he stayed silent, his breaths warm and tickly on my arm. My own breathing became slow and steady as I concentrated.

The stubble came away easily, leaving a perfect stretches of golden skin in its wake. I repeated the process over and over, sloshing the razor in the bowl of water after each downward track. Eventually I finished and dabbed his now silky jaw with the damp flannel and a warm towel. Admiring my work as opposed to the ruggedly handsome planes of his face – or so I told myself.

He touched his cheek to his hunched up shoulder, rubbed briefly, as if checking my work. ‘Thanks, that’s great. I can tell you’ve done that before.’

‘A few times.’ I smiled, tipped the water away and refilled the bowl. ‘So did you do your marketing course?’

‘Yep, I applied to several universities and was accepted into Manchester. I couldn’t wait to go and start my new student life. Though to be honest, thoughts of girls were considerably more prominent than my desire to learn. Well, unless you counted my interest in studying the female form, that is.’

He laughed as I wiped the warm flannel over his broad chest. His muscles were firm and solid, neatly squared pecs and small dark nipples. Just a hint of hair over his sternum. His flesh held an olive glow, like the Greek sunshine was still within him. It was impossible not to appreciate his sturdy, sculpted physique, though I was careful not to linger with the soapy flannel. That wouldn’t have been professional at all.

‘And I was right,’ he said as I dried with a long sweeping movements. ‘The girls at uni were hot. Hot with a capital H. And willing too. Not like where I’d grown up. Back in Athens, I’d been seeing this local girl, Phedra. She had long black hair; it felt like silk and never tangled in my fingers. I found it fascinating how I could stroke right through it and it flowed like water and tickled the back of my wrists. You know, this sensitive part?’ He lifted his hand, the underside of his wrist facing my way.

I nodded, gently raised his arm higher and soaped beneath it, swirling the flannel over curls of golden underarm hair. ‘Was she your first love?’

He allowed me to hold his arm up. ‘Phedra? Yes, I suppose she was. Hormones go a bit nuts when you’re that age, don’t they? I wasn’t sure if I was in love with her, like as a person, or her body. She had great tits … shit, I’m sorry, Sharon.’ He frowned. ‘You don’t want to hear this.’

‘Hey, don’t mind me, and of course I want to hear your story.’ I towelled where I’d washed, the underarm hair fluffing as it dried. ‘And believe me, there isn’t anything you can say that will shock me. I’ve been hanging around this place too long for that.’

‘I’ll try and shock you then, shall I? Just for the fun of it.’ He grinned.

‘Go on, tell me, just for the fun of it, and I promise not to faint.’ I smirked wickedly then pressed my lips together to ensure I didn’t appear flirty, because that wouldn’t be right at all. Not with a patient. Though I couldn’t help but think it was a damn shame Ted was going to be stuck in here, out of action for a few months. We could have swapped numbers and arranged a naked rendezvous.

He matched my smile and nodded at his beer again. I held it for him as he slurped, then set it back on the table.

‘Phedra, like I said, was a hottie. Her breasts were the subject of all my fantasies. Many a time I tossed off thinking what they’d feel like if I squeezed them together and put my …’ He hesitated, then shrugged, as if making a decision to just say it as it was. ‘My dick between them. Warm, soft, tight. I even had a photograph of her with this itsy-bitsy bikini on. I would set it above two pillows and pretend it was really her. Not that I looked at her face, just her cleavage. Which was all well and good, this fantasy,’ he said, ‘until Uriana, our Greek maid, walked in to my bedroom and caught me coming all over Phedra’s smiling face.’ He paused. ‘Am I shocking you yet?’

‘No, not at all.’ A bit, maybe, but by his candid honesty more than his teenage actions.

I washed his abdomen meticulously and tenderly. Thinking how much physical exercise he must have endured to get such deeply ridged muscles etched into his stomach. I suddenly became aware that I was prolonging the task and he’d stopped chatting to watch me. Quickly I reached for the towel. ‘And then what?’ I asked, swallowing tightly.

‘It’s good to be able to talk,’ he said, watching me dry. ‘It’s like going on a trip down memory lane. I’ve spent too much time just sitting here thinking lately. Weird how thoughts swirl inside your head, when you have an injury that could be life changing.’

‘Hopefully not “too” life changing,’ I said. ‘And, yes, it is good to talk, so come on, what happened when the maid walked in? You’re keeping me in suspense.’

He widened his eyes and shook his head. ‘Oh, yeah. Shit, I thought the roof was going lift off the villa. The sight of me, butt naked, on my knees …’ He hesitated, blew out a breath and shook his head.

I tried to rid the image he’d created in my brain. It was pretty hot, especially if I imagined him in that position as a man, and not as a teen.

‘Yeah, me,’ he went on, ‘butt naked, on my knees, exploding over a photo of a smiling brunette. The maid screams, drops the mop and bucket of water she’s carrying and runs onto the landing as though the hounds of hell are after her. Well, I’m just frozen. Time’s stopped. It wasn’t until I saw Phedra’s face, smiling up at me and wearing some freakish pearly face-mask that I realised what was happening. I jumped up pretty sharpish then. Pulled on my clothes and spent the next ten minutes calming Uriana down and bribing her with my entire stash of drachma, this was before Euros you see. In the end, in return for payment, she promised not to say anything to my parents when they got home. There must have been the equivalent of fifty quid in my wallet, a month’s wages for her, at least. Luckily she stuck to her word, though she never walked into my room again without knocking.’

‘I bet she didn’t.’ I reached for a clean, black T-shirt from his locker, shook it and held it up. ‘Do you want to wear this overnight?’

‘Yeah, that will do. Got it from a U2 concert years ago.’

‘Nice.’ I helped him slip it on, being careful to stretch the sleeves wide over his hands and making sure there were no creases in his back. I then pulled back the sheet. He wore red boxer shorts and his long legs were thick, strong and hair-coated. There was an oblong dressing over his right thigh.

‘Worst thing about the whole thing,’ he said, resting his head back as I started to carefully wash his legs. ‘Was it took so long for me to guarantee Uriana’s silence that when I got back to Phedra’s photograph, my goddamn cum had wrecked it, fizzed it away or something. I was more fed up about that than Uriana walking in on me. I tried to clean it up, even had a go at drawing in her cleavage again and the outlines of her bikini top and nipples – which, by the way, you could just see straining through. There must have been a breeze on the beach that day or something.’ He laughed. ‘Or something. In my naivety I liked to think since I’d taken the shot that she was turned-on by me. I’d been feeling all macho and muscled up since I’d just hit six foot. I pretended, on several occasions, that she was actually thinking about us in bed together as I’d taken the picture.’ He sighed. ‘What happened next didn’t quite go to plan, though.’

‘And the plan was?’

‘You sure you want to hear?’

He really was a talker, and getting quite into his story. I wiped and dried his kneecaps. ‘I wouldn’t be listening otherwise, I’d be making some excuse that I had other patients to see to.’

He looked worried. ‘Do you?’

‘No, not at all.’ I smiled. ‘Just you, so carry on. I’m intrigued.’

‘It was a disaster,’ he said, ‘after my photograph of Phedra was ruined, I made a pact with myself that I wouldn’t go to university without at least touching her breasts. Heck, I was seventeen, that should have been a tick on my scorecard already and so should several other things. Most of my mates were going all the way with their birds, so they’d said.

‘About two weeks later I was out with Phedra. We’d been to a disco with a group of friends. She’d been glued to my side all night, touching my chest, kissing my neck. Really staking her claim on me in front of all the other girls. I could have taken my pick of them in reality. I had sun-blond hair, a tan, and as I said, I’d shot up that year.

‘The disco was good. Phedra and I danced wildly. I flung her about, she laughed, I pressed her to me and she giggled and told me I was the only one for her. When a slow song came on at the end, I dragged her close, so close her soft, big breasts pressed against my chest and I swear I could feel her nipples poking at my shirt. Naturally, the snake in my trousers went from asleep to wide-awake in the space of a nanosecond, and there was nothing I could do to hide it. Part of me didn’t want to, so I kept her close. Real close. Jesus, I can still remember the look on her face now. Wide eyes, a quick “oh” of surprise and then she tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth and kinda smiled. Damn, that gesture was so innocent yet so bloody erotic.’

I licked my lips and realised, with a flutter in my chest, that I’d been doing the exact same thing as I’d shaved him. Had he thought that was erotic too?

‘I hope you don’t think less of me for this next bit, Sharon, but remember I was a horny teenager, and I was yet to get myself any action, of any description.’

‘Not at all. It’s all part of life.’

‘Yeah, you’re right about that.’ He paused. ‘So I took her home, I always did, and when we got there, me still hard as an iron girder – God knows how I managed to walk – we noticed her parents were out. I asked if I could come in. Get a drink. It was July, hot enough to fry eggs on the road, even at night.

‘Her house was small, frilly, if you know what I mean. Lace doilies, crocheted tablecloths: effigies of Christ all over the place, on the wall, on the fireplace, even on top of the fridge. We guzzled water, but then while I had thoughts of going into her bedroom and persuading her to finally show me her beautiful breasts, she opted for the sofa in the living room. Said she wanted to show me some history book of her father’s or something. So I sat next to her, horny as heck, and not even trying to disguise that fact. I looked at her chest, jiggling slightly under the low-cut, polka-dot dress she wore and eventually, I took the plunge and went for a kiss that was full of passion.

‘She matched my enthusiasm and my hopes soared. This was it. Phedra was as into it as I was. Her chest was mashed against mine, her nipples tight. Her tits were big but she felt so small, with tiny shoulders, delicate arms squeezing me. I felt like a man, you know, and I couldn’t wait to prove that I was one.

‘I lowered her down, onto her back, surprised that she was letting me take such control. She usually stopped our kisses if my breaths got a bit heavy. But not this time. No, this time her breaths were as heavy as mine, her little hands were skimming up and down my body. I spread kisses down her neck – her skin tasted of vanilla and sherbet, kind of summery but also dead sexy.

‘I was growing bolder, exploring the first rise of her breasts with my tongue. She slid her hands into my hair, arched her back, pressing herself into me. Encouraged, I slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders and exposed her gorgeous chest. She didn’t wear a bra so my access was unhindered and I had none of the agonised fumbling my mates complained of when trying to undo clips and catches, know what I mean?’

I nodded.

‘She was perfect and fitted in my hand just right. I can still remember the weight of the outside slopes as I squashed them together, creating that channel my horny teenage imagination had been dreaming about for so long. She panted my name and I suckled her nipples. The most lovely gasps and sighs came from her. I was flying high. I was onto a winner. Sucking Phedra’s perfect breasts was a top fantasy and fulfilling it was spinning me high. Well, it did for a few minutes, and then the damn anaconda between my legs demanded attention. I sat up. It pained me to move even an inch from her, and I was scared that I might break the spell. But luckily it didn’t. She just stared at my groin, all big eyes and slack mouth as I tugged out my erection. I had to touch it carefully, I was so close to coming. One wrong move, a frantic jerk or an over-zealous squeeze and it would be all over.

‘I repositioned with my legs either side of her chest. It was a bit awkward on the sofa, but I managed. She just lay there and eyed my engorged manhood like it might bite her. I said a few words of encouragement as I angled the head between her tits, and this seemed to spur her on. She squeezed the flesh together, creating that perfect tunnel between them, just what I’d fantasied about. I remember sucking in a breath, holding it deep, and then sliding through her sweat-damp cleavage. If felt amazing. Not least because she groaned like she actually enjoyed it. That hadn’t been something I’d counted on. By the time I’d repeated the action my balls were tight into my body. I was so close.

‘She was watching the tip of me pop out of her cleavage on each ride. I thought about sliding into her gasping mouth but decided to save that for another time. I was too close to shooting my load. I wouldn’t get there.

‘And then, I had my first spurting session with a real, live girl. Jizz flew from my slit, slapping onto her throat, her chin. I shunted into her breasts, fascinated by the sight of my semen landing around her mouth, her cheeks. Damn, I was proud of the serious quantities my balls could produce. She looked shocked to be honest, shocked and stunned.

‘Well, I had about three seconds of being on top of the world, and thinking this was it, from now on we’d forget about discos or lounging at the beach. We had found a new pastime for whenever we hung out. Damn, she even looked like the photograph I’d jizzed over. And then the overhead light went on, brilliant and white, and her parents looked in from the living room doorway.’

‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘You really didn’t get much privacy as a teenager did you.’

‘Tell me about it,’ he groaned. ‘Again I just froze and stared down at Phedra, who was sticky and gooey, and looking like someone who’d just woken up and found themselves dropped into a porn movie.

‘The mother squealed and begged the Lord to save them from my hideous urges then fled to the kitchen. Her father, in Greek, told me to get my pants up. Naturally, I did, pretty sharpish, didn’t want him messing with Mr Cobra down there. Phedra grabbed a red-and-white lacy shawl from the arm of the sofa, wiped her face, kind of – she missed a blob of cum just to the left of her mouth – then quickly dragged up the straps of her dress.

‘It’s then it becomes really shameful, if you can imagine it being more so. I told the biggest lie of my life. Her father, although a small man, managed to look like a damn ninja in that moment, and he asked me what my intentions were with his daughter. I looked to Phedra for support, but her face had drained of colour, her hands were shaking, she looked too shocked to even cry. I glanced around the room and my attention fell on a grainy photograph of Phedra’s parents in a silver frame. That’s when the lie came to me. I took Phedra’s hand, squeezed it tight and told him that my intention was to marry his daughter.

‘He still didn’t look too happy, though he did unclench his fists. So I kissed Phedra’s knuckles, dropped to my knee and looked into her eyes with as much sincerity as I could muster given the circumstances. I proposed then, and it felt kind of right. She let out a little sob, that blob of cum on her face wobbled, and then she nodded.

‘And that was how I became engaged, the first time, at least. Her mother came running into the room and hugged me, the father shook my hand, and Phedra finally stopped shaking and I managed to discreetly wipe the last of my excitement from her face.’

‘The first time?’ I asked, freshening up the water and spotting a tube of aqueous cream on the shelf. ‘Tell me about the second.’ I set about massaging the cream into his freshly washed feet. His toes were long, the arches deep, there were a few pale hairs on his two biggest toes. He didn’t react to my extra measures at preventing bedsores so I guessed he wasn’t ticklish.

‘I bought Phedra a ring, then much to her surprise informed her I was still going to Manchester to study. I told her this would mean a better life for us in the future. She cried to start with but eventually she saw my reasoning. Perhaps I wouldn’t have gone if Phedra had let me go all the way, but she’d barely let me touch her since I’d slipped a ring on her finger.

‘The thing was though, her look-but-don’t-touch plan backfired. I’d barely been in Manchester a week and I was in bed with Stella, a red-haired student on my marketing course. She was as in to it as much as me, and wonderfully experienced. She used to do this rotating thing with her hips and then squeeze her internal muscles. Damn, it drove me to the edge every time. God knows how we managed to get any studying done that first term, we were insatiable.

‘Did I miss Phedra? No, not a jot. I wouldn’t have admitted that even to myself back then, though, I liked to pretend I wasn’t that much of a scumbag. I even tried to justify it in my head that I was refining my technique ready for our wedding night. But really, I don’t know who I was trying to kid. I loved being with Stella. She was hot, naughty, and just like a bloke the way she wanted to get naked anywhere, anytime, anyhow.’

‘Sounds fun.’

‘It was, and after Stella it was Nancy, then Emily, and then a bunch of girls whose names all kind of merge into one in my memory. I was on a frenzy for the whole three years I studied. It helped being compared to Brad Pitt who was just making a name for himself as an on-screen god back then. Personally, I thought the resemblance was tenuous, but I wasn’t going to deny girls their fantasy and did my best to make them squeal in delight until the early hours of the morning.

‘I never saw Phedra again. And I’m ashamed to admit that. Not to break off the engagement nor to explain myself. I just didn’t go home in the holidays. My parents were shocked by my long absence from Greece and even came to see me after eighteen months with reports of Phedra’s distress and her family’s growing concerns for my commitment to her. I told them nothing had changed and I just wanted to be standing on my own two feet financially before taking on the responsibility of a wife.

‘They left after three days, not entirely convinced and seemingly suspicious of all the pretty girls who called “hello” to me around the campus. I never saw them again, my parents. And that last meeting, that was full of deception, pains me even all these years later. They were killed the next spring, in a plane crash. They were on one of these light aircrafts and it crashed into the sea in a storm. My parents and three of my father’s work colleagues and their wives were all reported missing. They’d been to Cephalonia on some work-jolly, wine-tasting weekend. It seemed the pilot had also indulged, so the inquest said.

‘The bodies were never found, so no funeral as such. They had a service, of course, but I didn’t go. My sister never forgave me for that, and I’ve never forgiven myself for it either. But the thought of seeing Phedra and her parents was just too terrifying. Why, I don’t know. I should have manned up and told her the situation, but while the authorities were searching for the plane for two months I fell into a place where only alcohol and shagging seemed to make the pain bearable.

‘My university course came to an end. I had a degree, plenty of inherited cash and had taken to fluttering on the horses, which just added to my list of vices – women, booze and gambling. I had a big win, on a horse at Cheltenham, and decided to use the cash to do some travelling. I hopped on a plane to Vegas, the city of lights and dreams. It turned out to be a one-way ticket for several years.

‘On my very first night there I met Cleo. She was tall, blonde, bubbly and from Texas. Her Southern drawl made my groin ache right from the first time she said “Howdy, cowboy, how ya doin’?” I bought her a drink and she sat with me at a roulette table in Caesars Palace. When she kissed my cheek and wished me luck right before a thousand-buck win came in, I was smitten.

‘Cleo became my world. I gambled a small fortune but won a larger one. My luck just kept on growing and for six months I didn’t need to work at all. Then a friend I’d made said he was opening his own casino, just off the strip. Not quite as salubrious as Vegas’ other signature hotels, but classy enough for me to want to invest. With inheritance and big wins I threw up fifty per cent of the cash he needed and signed the deal on the same night I proposed for the second time in my life.

‘Cleo, in her true spirit, yeha’d and leapt on me. I adored her enthusiasm for life, her ditzy nature and the fact that in her eyes I could do no wrong, despite my failings. None of which I’d ever tried to hide; she knew it all. I’d cocked up with my family, drank and gambled, but she still loved me. It made me love her all the more.

‘We married, but we didn’t settle in Texas, we bought a pad in Vegas. Cleo didn’t need to work. She had her nails done, went to the gym, wished me luck when I threw dice. She was there for me, I was there for her, and the casino I’d invested in was making me a good living with minimal effort required. We were on a permanent holiday and for several blissful years I was happier than I thought it possible to be.

‘Then Cleo began to withdraw and eventually confessed she hadn’t been taking her pill and couldn’t understand why she wasn’t pregnant. Technically she should have been – we were at it every opportunity we got. We were like a couple of rabbits on speed. And why not, she had a body made for fantasies and was up for anything, if you know what I mean.’

‘Mmm,’ I said, thinking what a lucky girl this Cleo was to be rolling not just a dice but also between the sheets with Ted.

‘I paid for us to go and see the best doctor in town. A ton of tests later, we got our answer. I was shooting blanks, no swimmers at all. Not one little bugger to even have a go at wriggling into an ovum. All that time I’d been so proud of my huge quantities of jizz, presuming it to be laden with tadpoles, and it was just empty juice – vodka and lemonade without the damn vodka.’

‘That’s bad luck,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Yeah, we were too, devastated in fact, and I began to drink heavily again, something I’d stopped doing. My luck took a downward turn at the tables, not that it mattered. I only gambled with my spare change really. The casino was my steady wage and paid the bills. I guess I was depressed again but didn’t recognise it at the time.

‘It was a few months before I noticed there was something different about Cleo. She was putting on weight, eating weird stuff and sleeping all the time. She couldn’t hide her pregnancy from me for another day.

‘Her confirmation of my suspicion really turned my world upside down. That feeling, dreams coming true, existed for an entire three seconds, then she blurted out that the baby was Stan’s. Stan was my best friend, the guy I’d set up the casino with. It seemed during my depression Stan had been cheering Cleo up, not with a box of chocolates and a bunch of flowers, but with his big, fat, cheating dick.

‘If I thought I’d been depressed before, then now I was rock bottom. Cleo announced that she was in love with Stan and wanted to divorce me and marry him so he could raise his child. Talk about getting kicked in the guts when you’re already down. I’m pretty sure I would have made a go of it, with her and the baby, if she’d just given me some time to get used to the idea. I loved her with all my heart and could have loved her child. But Cleo always was an instant gratification kind of girl. If she wanted something she wanted it now, and right then, she wanted Stan.

‘So there was nothing left for me to do but sell the house and move away. I didn’t fancy Greece and a sister who still wouldn’t speak to me and a fiancée who I hoped had moved on with her life but would probably still garrote me given the chance.’

‘So that’s how you came back to the UK?’ I asked, finishing up with his feet and putting the cream back on the shelf.

‘Yes, I went to Manchester. It was where I knew and I took a job in marketing. I hated it, despite climbing the ranks pretty quickly. Everyone there was such a shark, ready to take chunks out of one another to look good or claim an idea or strategy. I might not be a model citizen, but I knew right from wrong, and the things that went on at this place, well it was just plain immoral.

‘So five years ago, divorced, alone, and in a job I hated, I upped sticks to the Dales and joined the fire service. It wasn’t as well paid as marketing. But for the first time I felt like I was doing something worthwhile. The guys I worked with were salt-of-the-earth types and the people I helped genuinely in need. I finally found a sense of peace within myself.’

He sighed, and I helped him drink a little more of his beer. He gulped quickly, taking over half the drink in one go.

‘Until three weeks ago,’ he said licking his lips. ‘That damn beam came down and this happened.’ He held up his bandaged hands. ‘I guess it could have been worse though.’

‘Yep, you could not be here at all, same goes for the person you saved,’ I said, squeezing out the flannel.

He gave a small shudder. ‘I know, I’m used to risking myself but the thought of a bad judgment or a twist of fate having implications for someone else makes my blood run cold if I think about it too much.’

‘I know what you mean.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure, doing the job you do.’

Our eyes connected briefly.

‘So have you been going through all of this alone?’ I asked.

‘I’ve got good friends, the best. The guys from the station have been in and out visiting.’ He sighed. ‘But an accident like this, it kind of reminds them all of their own mortality and the risks they take on a daily basis. It’s not easy viewing.’

‘What about your sister? Has she been to see you?’

‘No. I sent her a letter two weeks ago. I know it arrived in Greece, I sent it recorded delivery. She signed for it but she hasn’t answered. Not yet anyway.’

I shook my head. What a cow. An injured brother and she ignores him because of something that happened years ago. Life was too short. I had no siblings and would have done just about anything to have a brother or sister when I was growing up. Some people didn’t know how lucky they were.

‘Hey, don’t look sorry for me,’ he said. ‘That’s the last thing I need. I’m sure it will all work out.’ He grinned. ‘Me and Mr Cobra down there have had some serious fun, and one thing I’ve learnt is you’ve gotta take the ups with the downs. This is just one of the downs, I’ll get through it no matter what the future holds.’ His eyes sparkled, telling his story had obviously made him wonder what direction his life would take from here. Would he be able to go back to the job that had finally given him his place in the world and brought him peace?





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