When I arrived at The Montgomery Assisted Living and Convalescence Center, I had no idea what to expect. I had just spent a dreadful week in the hospital following lumbar surgery and was starting a several-week in-patient stay that would involve post-op monitoring, as well as physical therapy to help regain strength and mobility. I chose this place based on its location. It was close to home and made it easier for my wife to visit.

It didn't take long before I realized that most of the folks residing there were senior citizens. Apparently, it's common practice to put young rehabilitation patients in nursing home facilities. "OK with me", I thought. "At fifty-six, I'm rarely the youngster in the room. It'll be good for my ego".

When my orientation and tour ended, my caseworker Julie wheeled me to my room. It was a typical hospital setup, with two adjustable beds separated by a privacy curtain. A telephone on a nightstand, and a television on the wall with the remote control/call button tied to the bed. A shared bathroom with a large shower stall completed the accommodations.

"Nick. This is Al. Your new roommate", Julie loudly addressed an elderly gentleman in the far bed. While he was fully dressed, and laying on top of the covers, he was fast asleep and offered no response.

"Nick", she whispered, "is not only hard of hearing, but sleeps all day. I'm afraid he won't be much of a conversation partner".

"Not a problem", I told her. "I keep to myself. I'm sure I'll be fine".

Just as Julie was explaining the dining schedule, a young man in doctor's scrubs approached. He smiled at me briefly, then turned to my tour guide.

"Miss Julie", he said, in a thick Latin accent. "The wifi networks is no workeen again". His English was a little broken, but the effort was sincere. And his voice had a soft, sing-song quality.

"I'll call it in to Daniel after I finish with Mr. Tomkins". Then she introduced me to the young Latino. Carlos, the nurse assigned to me, would be in charge of getting me started each day, Julie explained. The rehabilitation process involved a lot of moving parts, and he was one of them.

Carlos was an interesting character. It didn't take long for me to figure out that he was as gay as the day is long. Queer as a three-dollar bill, and proud of it, he carried himself like a lady. From his frosted hair and perfume to his extra tight uniform that revealed the thong and tight bubble butt beneath, Carlos was comfortable in his skin.

My surgery was relatively minor and, while it was a bit painful, I could walk with the assistance of a walker, However, as a rehab patient, I was strictly limited in my activity. I would spend the next few weeks in a wheelchair, getting out of it only to go to bed, the bathroom, or physical therapy sessions. At night, alarms on the beds were activated to alert the staff that someone had gotten out of bed without authorization. Rehab patients and old people are fall risks, and thus an insurance liability. The staff would be my support group.

Mornings started around 6 a.m. when both the late and early shifts overlapped. The halls were filled with the sounds of medication carts and squeaky rubber soles. Breakfast usually arrived at the room at approximately 9 a.m. The time before the arrival of your meal was spent washing up. Since the nurses were in charge of bathing the patients, and each nurse tended to two patients, bathing all the patients every day was impractical. Therefore they staggered the schedule, alternating from day to day between showering and sponge bathing. On days that Nick showered, I was sponged bathed, and vice-versa.

I had never been sponge-bathed before, let alone by a guy. Needless to say, I was a little apprehensive on my first morning when it was my turn to be naked while a gay man lathered and rinsed my body. I felt extremely bashful in my nudity and slightly vulnerable in his hands. But, the episode passed without any awkwardness or fanfare. It was very professional in every aspect. Smalltalk to keep distracted (he's from Mexico, been here fifteen years), and a gentle hand made it much less stressful than I anticipated.

Carlos and I got to know more about each other during the following days. And if our bath sessions meant nothing to him, I found myself looking forward to them by the end of my second week. Totally comfortable by then in the situation, I enjoyed having a male nurse, that happened to be gay, clean me with a washcloth. It felt good to be pampered.

I didn't realize how much I enjoyed being with Carlos until Friday of my third week. As he told a story that I wasn't listening to, I felt his hand beginning to lather my chest - without a washcloth. I didn't say anything. He's a professional, and this is okay. He continued talking about something as he poured water over my crotch, then put a small amount of liquid soap in his hand and massaged my cock in his bare hands. He kept talking about god-knows-what, never acknowledging the erection growing in his hands.

I wasn't quite sure of what was happening. I understood that I was being bathed, but suddenly I was being jerked off too. It wasn't a true handjob like you give yourself while watching porn. It was a warm, soapy fondle of my nuts, with an occasional tug on my pipe mixed in. Not a true handy, but it was working. As he talked about a lottery ticket or something, my cock swelled in his hands.

Then, as quickly as it started, it ended. Carlos rinsed my genitalia, and moved on to my legs and feet, all the while talking. My soldier left standing at attention, without a happy ending. No money shot. No spreading my seed.

I didn't hear a word spoken to me that day. I spent the whole morning and afternoon wondering if I had been a victim. Had I been involved in a gay encounter? Or was I making too much of a sponge bath? The only thing that I knew for certain was that I had a monstrous hardon, and I didn't mind that it was at the healing hands of a queer male nurse. I passed Carlos in the hall later that day. He nodded and smiled innocently as we passed each other. My nuts tingled when I saw him.

My next bath with Carlos started off as simply as the others but again became erotic. Sitting on a stool before me, my nurse turned me around and began to lather and caress my ass cheeks. His hands glided softly across my butt, slipping momentarily between the cheeks to massage my anus. I could feel his warm breath on my back, and when he turned me around again my cock was inches from his face.

As he lightly sang a tune in Spanish, Carlos began to bathe my genitalia in his bare hands again. My reaction was immediate as the blood surged and my dick swelled.

"Oh! I see somebody is happy ", he giggled.

"Yessss", I moaned as he rinsed my crotch. I then placed my hand on the back of his head and pulled him close. I felt his mouth slide over my erect cock. It was wonderful. He cupped my nuts in his left hand and slowly worked me in and out of his hot mouth. His right hand reached around to my butt, stroked my cheek, and pulled me closer.

His technique was flawless. Stroking and slurping. Licking and sucking. Shaft. Nuts. Everything attended to. My head spun as Carlos gave me the most amazing blowjob I ever had. He bobbed up and down vigorously as his spittle dripped from my scrotum. I could feel my load building up, before finally blasting into his waiting mouth. I lunged a few times, shoving myself deeper as I came like never before.

We both let out a long, low moan as my cum filled his mouth to the overflow point. I had blown my first gay cum shot, and it felt marvelous. Carlos milked the last drops of semen from me, then stood up. While gently holding my dick in his right hand, he leaned in and put his lips to mine. He kissed me lightly twice, then our lips parted and Carlos snowballed me, serving me a hot batch of my own seed. I reached into the waistband of his scrubs and grabbed his bum as our tongues shared the salty discharge.

I enjoyed the rest of my stay there, as Carlos and I became close friends.

To be continued . . .