This story is the expression of a fantasy that I've had for a long time. It is partly autobiographical, in that I took some incidents and events from my own life and used them. But I've never had an actual homosexual experience or been involved in a gay relationship. Therefore, the story is pure fantasy—my idealized version of what it might be like to have a gay lover. For those of you who are gay, the story might not ring true. For that, I apologize. Please know that I dealt with my fantasy and the subject matter as honestly as I could. I'm sure that this story probably resembles in some ways my other submissions to this site. That is fine with me. I like the way I write. In my writing, I experience the romance that I lack in my real life. In any case, I hope that you enjoy the story.
I would say that I'm a reasonably good-looking, forty-three year-old man. Brown eyes, salt and pepper hair, average weight, five feet eleven. I'm told that I have a good sense of humor. I can tell a joke. I've been fortunate to enjoy good health as well. I watch what I eat and I exercise. I own my own title abstracting business, and it involves standing around a lot in courthouses, so I make sure that I go to the gym from time to time.
My wife Margaret and I divorced about two years ago after being married for twenty-five years. We had raised two children, a son and a daughter, and when the youngest left home, we looked at each other and asked, "Who is this person?" There was nothing left of the marriage. We tried for a while to enjoy being together again, like when we first married, but there was nothing there. So we moved on. Margaret became involved with someone about eight months later. She was happy, although she had no plans to remarry. I, on the other hand, had dated a few women I wasn't really interested in, then nothing.
The loneliness gets a little tough, sometimes.
I said that I'd been healthy. That was true until earlier this year, when I came down with pneumonia. Mycoplasma pneumonia, in fact. My doctor said it was "community acquired," which means that I got it from somebody else. Hell, I could have told him that. Anyway, it put me in the hospital for five days while I got a course of antibiotics.
For the first two days, I felt terrible. All I wanted to do was sleep. I didn't want food or anything to drink. I just wanted to lie in bed. On the third day, I felt better. I decided to ask my nurse if I could take a shower.
I was a little surprised when a young man entered my room that morning. He was carrying a clipboard, had on colorful scrubs, and was wearing a stethoscope around his neck.
"Good morning. Is it Richardson? Mr. Cliff Richardson?" I affirmed that it was. He took my wrist and looked at my hospital identification band. "My name is Tad Sorenson, and I'll be your nurse today," he said.
It was the first time I'd seen him. The first two days, my nurses had been females. Tad was young, maybe twenty-five or six, and fair-skinned, with light brown hair. He was slender, with blue eyes and small, even white teeth.
"Good morning, Tad." I said. "Hey, would it be possible for me to take a shower today? I feel a bit scummy."
"I don't see why not, sir," he replied. "We'll just cover your IV site with some plastic wrap to keep it dry. But first, I need to do your assessment. Can you lean forward in the bed while I listen to your lungs?" He leaned over me, listening to my lungs with the stethoscope. I was suddenly more aware than ever of my funky odor.
"I'm sorry if I'm a bit ripe," I said.
Tad was leaning over me, concentrating on my lung sounds, his stethoscope on my chest. I noticed that he had a very nice watch, an Omega in fact, and that his hands were small and nicely formed. He nails were clean and trimmed, and his fingers were long and slender. He wore a heavy gold class ring on his right ring finger. Tad did not smell funky. He smelled good. "Excuse me," he said, taking the earpieces out. "I couldn't hear what you said."
"I said, I'm sorry if I smell bad," I said.
"Don't worry about it, Mr. Richardson. I've smelled much, much worse," Tad said, taking my wrist and looking at his Omega while he counted my pulse. He wrote something on his clipboard and told me he'd see me later, then left the room.
A little later, they brought me a breakfast tray with the usual, bacon and eggs. I almost never ate bacon and eggs, but for the first time in several days, I was hungry. I ate everything on my plate, and the coffee and orange juice too. About that time, the patient care tech, a middle-aged black lady, came in and said she was going to "clean me up" and change my bed. I told her I wanted to take a shower and she rolled her eyes a little. "I spoke to Tad about it already," I said. She put the bed linens down on the chair and left the room.
Five minutes later Tad came in the room and said, "Okay, let's fix that IV so that you can shower."
"I think I made the tech mad," I said as Tad disconnected the line and flushed the site.
"Who? Mary? Don't worry about her. She's used to her patients not being able to even talk to her. You are a bit of an oddity around here, sir. A patient who can ask questions and make requests." Tad said this while deftly applying plastic wrap around my IV site and taping it in place. "There," he said, "that should keep it dry. Do you need any help getting to the shower?"
"No," I said, getting up from the bed. But then I couldn't reach around and get the damn gown untied.
"Let me help," Tad said and I felt a gentle touch and a breeze of cool air as my gown was untied from the back. I stepped into the small bathroom and took off the gown. I handed it through the door to Tad. As I closed the door, I glanced at him. He was looking at me openly, even somewhat appraisingly. I was glad that I'd spent as much time at the gym as I had.
"Call if you need anything," he said through the door. I told him I would, and turned on the water. The hot water felt really good. I shampooed and then started on my body. As I scrubbed off the dirt, my hand wandered to my penis, now semi-erect. I usually masturbated at least three times a week, but I hadn't felt like it lately. Maybe tonight, I said to myself.
I put on clean underwear and Mary helped me into a clean hospital gown. For the first time in days, I felt human. I shaved and put on a little after shave lotion. I still coughed occasionally, but not nearly as much as when I came in.
Tad was in and out during the day. I was reading a book by Cormac McCarthy when he came in once. He remarked on it. "Oh, so you read McCarthy too. I've read a couple of his, but I don't think I understand everything that's in them."
"I've read Child of God, All the Pretty Horses, and Blood Meridian," I said. I enjoyed them, but I don't understand them either. I've never been able to get what the critics mean when they say Blood Meridian is about 'regeneration by violence.'"
"Still," Tad said, "there is something compelling about them. They're so simple on the surface, yet deep. You know?"
Tad's shift ended at seven that evening, and I was sorry to see him go. He checked on me one last time at about six-thirty. "So, are you working tomorrow?" I asked.
"Sure am," he said, giving me a smile.
"Will you be my nurse tomorrow as well?"
"Most likely," he said. "We keep the same patients for several days. It's called 'continuity of care' in healthcare talk."
