Late Sunday evening, it’s very late for a routine call. I lie here in this hospital bed, between sleep and vague drowsiness, hot, frustrated and uncomfortable. Waiting. Always waiting. Waiting to be fed bland hospital food, waiting to be taken to the toilet for a pee, as I am after all learning to walk again, waiting for a hello or a kind word. There again I am lucky to be alive, and boredom and frustration are the least of my worries.
As if reading my thoughts, I hear you walk over to the window and open it much wider to let in some of the fresh autumn evening air. I can tell it is you by your footstep. I’m glad it is you, I can tell that you are good at your job, very professional, hard-working and cool under pressure. There is a definite understanding between us. It took a little while to get established, but it is definitely there now. Call it what you will, a shared complicit awareness, particular consideration in your voice, the way you make a little extra time for me in your busy routine, the slightly lingering glances we sometimes share.
My single room is lit only by a pale blue lamp above the door. Quietly you come and sit down in the chair by my bed. I’ve had not visitors this weekend, maybe you are feeling sorry for me. Silence. It is as though you are measuring a decision, measuring the calculated risk you are about to take. Although my eyes remain closed, I am very aware of you now. Andrenalin starts to course through me, almost making me shiver involuntarily. What can be going on?
I haven’t ejaculated since the illness set in, it must have been weeks of slow physical recovery, and I’m already semi erect. My member is hard and damp against my restraining white boxers. My excitement only increases further as the full reality of the situation dawns on me – you have carefully chosen your moment in order to minimize the risk of detection.
As though to confirm my realization, I feel the sheet over my groin being lightly pulled back. Soon, I feel cool fingertips tracing the length of my now fully stiff member through the cotton fabric of my boxers. Gently you graze your fingernails, up and down. My heart is pounding. What do I do? How do I react? Above all, I am terrified that you will lose heart and walk away, leaving me unsatisfied. And I want to come so badly.
Instead, I feel you gently draw back the restraining fabric of the boxers, the cooler air of the room feels delicious against my hot, hard cock. You continue your work, tracing your fingers up and down, outlining the contours of my hard, full testicles. You gently tease and examine, luxuriating in the soft flesh of my shaft and foreskin, bending down close to breath in the heavy, sweaty musk of my testicles. You take my shaft between thumb and forefinger and begin to wank me with slow, deliberate, sensuous movements.
You take your time, exploring and luxuriating, discovering this new, curious member of pleasure. I feel you pull back my damp foreskin and carefully examine the hard, dark purple angry glans. You trace your finger right across the paired tip, the tiny opening at the tip of the glans is already swollen and distended. It’s no good, I can’t hold back anymore, I have to give a sign. My right hand traces down the bed and meets your soft, slender left hand. You know, you understand, and meet my sweaty, anxious palm with a reassuring pressure. It’s alright, we are together. You are completely comfortable in what you are doing, and that means so much to me.
You continue to wank me, experimenting with the rhythm and pressure. After a short while, I feel your lips start to trace up and down my shaft, ever so lightly, feeling and measuring my need. You need more. Starting with my testicles, and then moving upwards, you start to apply a series of light, delicate licks and kisses. God that is awesome. I want a more continuous, urgent pressure… and you won’t give it to me.
Instead, without picking him up, you place your tender damp lips either side of my now throbbing shaft and work your way upwards. You work your way downwards, and then up again. This is so slow, so tender and intimate, I’ve not known anything remotely like this before. Nothing breaks the still silence of the room but my now laboured breathing. I’m desperate to come, and you know it. All I can do is to flex my hand in yours, where you feel and reciprocate your desire to share this loving gift, this intimate moment.
You take my shaft in your right hand in an upright position and gently rub me up and down between thumb and forefinger.