Bret awoke in the Stanford Memorial Hospital recovery room. It looked like some one had rubbed Vaseline on his eyeballs. He could see a white faced clock hanging on the wall but it was all bury. He blinked and mentally shook his head trying to bring the world back into focus; the anesthesia had apparently really done a number on him.
"I'm going to need you to raise your left arm for me." A voice said. The voice was deep and muted, like it was spoken from across the room.
"Honey, raise your arm for me."
Bret could see his arm lying in his lap. He turned his head, it was, a nurse. Bret tried to say I can't with a mouth like a dried up river bed.
"How are you feeling? You awake yet honey?" A warm soft meaty hand touched his forehead.
"Yeah, I'm awake." Bret whispered. He swallowed hard; his throat was so dry and scratchy.
"Your throat is a little raw after we take out the breathing tube. Would you like a sip of water?"
"Yes, thanks." Bret said. Reality was coming back now. He was here for reconstructive surgery on his shoulder. He had fallen off a roof. Took a step back and there was nothing there. Fell on his shoulder and busted it up real good. Thank god for workmen's comp.
The plump redheaded nurse returned with a white Styrofoam cup of water. He got a better look at her. She was wearing the full blown operating room garb, blue medical scrubs, a hair net, and a clean room face mask. Her pasty double chins hung over the nylon straps of her mask.
She wore a thin gold necklace; Jesus hung from it carved in gold, forever in agonizing impalement.
The water tasted icy and refreshing going down his parched throat.
"Can you raise your arm?" She asked again.
"Very good."
"Now wiggle your toes."
Bret performed all her simple post operation exercises. He was mildly surprised he had to really concentrate on what he was doing. It was like his brain wasn't firing on all eight cylinders.
"Ok, very good Mr. Holmes, the staff will move you too your own recovery room shortly, just hang tight." She patted his leg and winked at him. For the briefest of seconds he swore she glanced at his crotch and smiled. What the hell was that about?
Bret looked around the recovery room. It was a large room, more narrow than wide. He could see eight beds. Only two were occupied besides his. The other two patients slept softly. Really softy actually, Bret could only tell they were alive because he could see their heart monitors regularly spiking with each pump.
He looked at his right shoulder. It was heavily bandaged. He couldn't move it. He figured he didn't want to anyhow, seeing as how it would probably hurt if he did.
He raised his head looked at the ceiling tiles, then closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Chapter 2
"Bret. Bret you awake solider?" It was Doctor Benjamin Morton.
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm doing alright."
"Good I'm glad to hear it. You did fine. The operation went smoothly without incident."
Bret noticed he had been moved to his own room. He was the only guest. Good, I don't want to share a room with some jerk, some old codger that just wants to talk about the depression and his time in the service, thought Bret.
"Good, I'm glad." Bret said.
"You're a strong young man, strapping even. With a strong and healthy fellow like yourself, we usually never have complications." Dr. Morton continued.
Strapping? Who says that? Bret wondered. I guess this doctor does.
"Of course you can't be too sure. Any time we cut into someone we have to very careful, infections, viruses, excessive bleeding, well there are a host of things that could go wrong, put you on ice in the morgue faster that you can drain a nut."
"Dr. Morton!" His assisting nurse, who shadowed Dr. Morton, interrupted the good doctor at his crude remark.
Bret laughed.
"He is a young man Miss Lopez. I try to speak frankly with my patients." He smiled at Bret and made a rude jerking off gesture.
"Women just don't understand what its like to be a man, do they Bret."
"Ah, no I suppose they don't." Bret said, what a fucking nut, was this guy for real? Had this joker really just operated on me?
Bret had only spoken to Dr. Morton briefly in the O.R. as he was getting anesthesia pumped into his IV tube. Had he been crude before? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter, whatever. It was nothing compared to the talk on a construction site. Guys bragged about eating out their girlfriend's clam even on her heaviest menstrual days.
"We want you good as new and pounding pussy as soon as possible. I'll be back to check on you in a couple days okay buddy." Dr. Morton said. Nurse Lopez left the room blasting out a highly audible sigh and rolling her eyes.
"Ok, thanks Doc." Bret said, not sure what to make of the surgeon.
Dr. Morton took another glance at Bret's chart as he was leaving the room.
A nurse passed Dr. Morton as he headed out the doorway.
She was a sex cat. Dr. Morton spun on his heel and bit his knuckle. Bret checked the busty nurse out head to toe. She wore a short white nurse's dress. It was very form fitting, tight against her double D-cup boobs, micro waist, and round voluptuous hips. Dr. Morton looked straight at her ass and made hip thrusting pump motions behind her back.
Bret chuckled at the doctor. Doc Morton rubbed his head like a sudden heat wave roasted him. He bowed his head nodding in disbelief then left the room whistling and humming smooth jazz.
The vixen of a nurse smiled at Bret as she approached his bed side.
"Hi honey I'm Carmel ." She tossed her long brunette hair off her shoulder and around to her back. Bret swore some how she did this in slow motion.
She leaned forward and touched Bret's shoulder bandage. She had about ten inches of exposed cleavage between those luscious melons. Bret felt embarrassed gawking at her pink pillows, savoring the soft massive mounds, but he couldn't damn well look away, it was like trying to not look at a car accident as you drove by, impossible.
"How's the shoulder honey." Carmel asked. Her voice was velvet, smooth, like melted chocolate.
"Um, what, oh, its fine." Bret stammered, mesmerized by Carmel 's full red lips.
