What a piece of crap life is. Imagine working so hard to get where you want to be, and your whole life turns and takes a big DUMP on you. Almost Fifty (Well, actually forty-eight) and just when things are finally getting easier...then your husband walks in and hands you divorce papers.
Worse or as bad, he had another woman already, and has the nerve to tell you HOW fucking bored he is with you. Even though things (Well, sex in particular) hadn't been great in years, you hadn't refused him THAT often...IT was just your job tired you out, and you weren't into all the weird, kinky ideas he had in mind.
You had taken care of yourself. Had done everything to make him and the family proud of all you had accomplished...ALL the sacrifices and time you had spent in getting your LVN. So, maybe, you only took care of senior citizens or "Old Farts" as the family like to call them...it was still a good, rewarding job.
Only 5'4" and a few extra pounds, but at your age, you still had a full, firm pair of 36D's that stood up and stuck out. Maybe your ass had gotten a little wider and fuller as you REALLY, REALLY filled your shorts or jeans these days, but after all, you weren't a teenager any more. And, BIG DEAL, you got your hair done about every two weeks, as you needed to cover those couple of gray hairs that showed otherwise.
What really HURT (or "sucked" as the latest expression went) was your kids seemed to take your husband's...Well, ex-husband's side in this; just when you needed their support the most. Fortunately, the only one left at home was your daughter, Brittany. Equally embarrassing was the way all your mutual friends and others didn't want to listen to your side of what had happened. In a big city you could have hidden or moved on so much easier, but in a small town everyone seem to know everyone else's business.
Only when Betty Wilson had talked you into changing shifts with her had you started to find out what really went on at the Care Center. Those 'Old Farts" had more sex drive than you had ever imagined. The ambulatory test they gave before admitting them should have been a sex drive test. You some times felt like a referee at a "swap contest", and often it was all you could do to get them separated, sedated, and in their own rooms before an all-out orgy killed some of them.
Fred Burmeister wanted you to measure his penis (only he said DICK very loudly), and kiss him before he would take his meds and go to bed. And every night it was "YES, Fred, you still have a good 8" of dick."
Emmie Franklin would have sucked every man there dry, if you didn't almost keep her locked in her room. You KNEW as you had caught her, and had to pull her off different dicks.
Bonnie Swartz never wore anything but housecoats, and would strip off and run through the halls like an Olympic sprinter. You just about had to hide and trip her to catch her.
Bill Smith would fondle your bottom (as he called it, "AHHH, a little fondling is good for you"), and could unbutton your top quicker than you could. You had left his room unbuttoned numerous times without realizing it, as he liked to skip or leave the top button still done.
Only after you had pulled them apart had Willy Jenkins stopped "pouring it to her", as he was reaming old lady Swartz's ass. YEAH, why didn't she run then, AND THEN they were both mad at you for several days.
At times, you felt like numbering all of them and getting them on opposite sides of the large recreation room, and announcing...OKAY, two and six, you do anal, four and eight, you do oral, and ten and five, you try it standing up. ALL the rest of you, just go for a group session.
NONE of this crap went on during the day when you had worked days, but there were extra aides and nurses during the day.
Betty Wilson had just laughed and laughed when you even suggested changing shifts back...as she had a NEW, young boyfriend to take care of in the evenings. SHIT...her new, young boyfriend was 42, and a half- wit to boot. But to hear her tell it...he was hung like a bull elephant and could go for at least half the night.
It all came to a head one Saturday morning as Brittany, your 18 year old daughter came home from a sleep over at a friend's, and found you crying about the latest insult to you. As you sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and bemoaning your rotten fate in life. She was sympathetic at first, and then went ballistic on you in ways you could have never imagined.
You told her about having to call in emergency maintenance to fix a short circuit at the nurse's desk, and had returned from old Bill Smith's room to find Roy, the maintenance guy, talking on the phone to some buddy of his. When he turned around to see you, he went,
"MY GOD, WHAT A HARNESS...No wonder they call you Nurse Cratchit!!!"
In shock, you looked down and realized old Bill had unbuttoned your uniform top once again. Not only that, but your super, heavy-duty support bra was in full view of anyone and everyone, although only you and Roy were at the Nurse's desk.
When you screeched, he had hastily left; muttering that the short was fixed. And he definitely needed a beer...or two.