Caring for the Colonel
by
Little Dan
All I ever wanted was to be a good person. To be kind. To be compassionate. I wanted to help people. To cure them from illness and disease. But unfortunately
I had neither the grades nor the money to get into medical school, so I turned to nursing. Even if I couldn't be a doctor, I would still be able to help people, to ease their pain, to relieve their discomfort.
It was a wise choice. A doctor really has no deep or lasting relationship with the patient. He does his job and is occasionally reachable by phone. A nurse, on the other hand, has a lasting and affectionate bond with the afflicted one.
All in all, a much richer and more profound relationship.
Soon after getting my RN, I was fortunate enough to obtain a good position on the night shift of Kingston Memorial, one of the best hospitals in the city, specializing in cardiac care and Alzheimer's. Naturally most of my patients were in their golden years, but I have a great fondness for the elderly. They have a good deal of common sense and wisdom derived from having survived so many years on this perilous planet.
The only bad thing about my job was that I was on the night shift. That gave me little opportunity to have a normal sex life. Not that I had ever had a normal sex life. With all the studying for exams I had never really had the time for any copulative activity. Nor had I ever really had the talent for it, I suppose. Girls always found me something of a nerd, and I must confess that I was forced to take my sister to the high school prom, having been turned down even by Elspeth Kent, the fattest homeliest girl in the school, who also had a bad skin condition.
Fortunately, I had gotten a small scholarship to attend the Lemington Nursing Academy, which certainly did not include money to spend on romancing women. Taking girls to MacDonald's and the neighborhood multiplex was simply out of the question for me. The most I could afford was a few magazines, and I must admit that I relied on my left hand a good bit. (I am a southpaw.)
Well. One day, things would turn around for me, when my career was established. I would not be a virgin forever.
The interesting thing about the magazines was what seemed to arouse me was the male penis. Big, stiff, hard. Nothing like my little endowment. I found it very exciting to see those big penises going into those little pussyholes. It was so sexy that I would ejaculate the very moment I might open the magazine to a particularly enticing photo. I wondered if I might be gay, but did not really dwell upon the thought. What difference did it make if you were straight or gay when your romantic partner was a periodical.
I had some wonderful patients at Kingston whom I grew very fond of while they were recuperating from whatever illness or procedure they had endured, which had required them to be there.
My first and greatest friend was Colonel Marchand, a retired marine in his late fifties. We had long and interesting conversations about his military career when I was not too busy tending to the other patients on the floor.
Colonel Marchand was something of an insomniac, and not even the strongest sleep medication had any effect on him, so that long after the other patients were asleep he remained wide awake. Colonel Marchand was lean and rugged for a man of his age. He had thick black curly hair, just slightly streaked with gray. And he had a clear ruddy complexion. It seemed that he was very athletic, even now, which had caused him to break both of his arms and his left leg speeding off the edge of a closed and forbidden ski run.
Poor Colonel Marchand. It was impossible for him to even urinate by himself, and I had to hold the urinal for him and look away as he relieved himself. I know he was embarrassed as well. Sometimes, to make sure it all got into the receptacle I was even compelled to hold his penis. It was a very long penis. And thick even in a non-erect state. I could almost imagine him having posed for magazines in better days.
I told him all about nursing school, and the little rooming house near the hospital where I was residing, and about Mrs. Kennedy, the landlady, who cooked dinner for me every night before I left for the hospital. There, we would eat in the small kitchen. Myself, Mrs. Kennedy, and her unattractive daughter, Cecilia, who apparently was waiting for me to invite her out to MacDonald's and the local Cineplex on one of my days off. But that was not going to happen.
And Colonel Marchand described to me his many adventures in foreign lands. His experience in hand-to-hand combat in various wars, and his great success with the ladies all around the globe. He had at one time been married, but was now a widower with no children, which I think sorrowed him. But he laughingly assured me that married or not, he had always enjoyed playing the field. He seemed to have a free and easy view of sexuality, which was very educational to me, since I knew nothing about it at all.
Colonel Marchand was extremely distressed with his current disability. He hated not being able to do for himself. He hated having to depend on another person to help him, even if it was a `nice young man' such as myself. Night after night we chatted while the other patients were asleep and he began to reveal his deepest feelings to me. He told me how much he missed having sex. He was, after all, a hot-blooded fit male who needed frequent release.
I did not reveal to him the fact that I was sexually naive. I was afraid he would laugh at me and I would lose his friendship, which I was growing to depend on.
He must have taken a great liking to me, which was a new experience for me. No one had ever taken a great liking to me before. And I began to feel a certain affection for him as well. You can imagine how excited I was, when he told me that when he recovered he was going to take me on fabulous ski trips, and we would go deep sea diving, and spelunking (which I looked up in the dictionary and discovered was exploring caves) together. All things I had never dreamed of doing. I explained to him that I could never go, that I had to work for a living and could never afford such a life-style. But he told me not to worry, that he would take care of everything. That it would be wonderful to have a young person like me along as a companion. And that as a nurse, should he have another accident, I would be right there. I was beginning to dream about those future adventures with the handsome colonel, whom I was now a little in love with.
Yes. I now had to admit to myself that I found Colonel Marchand dashing and masterly. I longed for him to sweep me up in his strong arms as we tobogganed down an icy groove in the powdery snow.
You see, I had never really had a father, myself, being the fourth of eight children of a welfare mother. And none of us were 100% related. I was never really sure if my mother was a tramp or a whore. But I suspected both. My sister, Agnes (the one who had gone to the high school prom with me) was now taking drugs, hustling, and supporting a demanding pimp.
And all through my school years, I had never had a real friend. I was (yes, let me admit it) an outcast. So it was only natural that I was flattered and seduced by the nightly attention Colonel Marchand was paying to me. I wanted his friendship badly.
It was after about two weeks that the talk started to get even more personal. Mr. Fledgely, the other patient in room 552 had taken a sleeping pill hours earlier and was snoring away. Colonel Marchand rang the nurse's bell, and I came running.
"Yes?" I asked, peeking my head in at the door.
"I hate to disturb you," he apologized. "But I need to take a pee."
"Of course," I answered, getting the urinal.
"I hate to be such a bother," he said. "I'm so used to being independent."
"Well, you're in the hospital now and you're hurt, and you're under my care, and whatever I can do for you, I'll be more than happy to do," I avowed.
"Really?" he asked, and the look in his eye was a little funny, but I just dismissed it. I raised his hospital gown and placed the urinal under the tip of his penis.
"It feels like it might slip out. You'd better hold it," he warned me.
"Okay," I agreed and gently enclosed it in my hand holding it into the urinal.
"You have such nice soft hands," he told me.
"I do? Thank you," I said.
"Just like a woman's hands," he continued.
This made me a little embarrassed. I did not what to be thought of as effeminate.
"The way you hold it. It just feels so nice," he breathed. "Did you learn that in nursing school?"
"I guess," I said, not looking at him, half evading the question. I could feel the hot liquid rush through his fleshy tube and flood the plastic container. When he was finished, he asked me to shake his organ and squeeze it so that there would be no little drops left to soil his gown. I, of course, did as he requested.
"Oh. That feels so nice. Your hand feels so nice on my prick, Cooper. Just rub it a little."
"But Colonel Marchand," I protested. I could feel his instrument stretching out both lengthwise and widthwise in my hand, and I'm sure my face was red, but fortunately the room was dark, except for the little night-light above his bed.
"Please. Do it for me. Just hold it a few seconds. I can't hold it myself. And we're friends, right?"
"Yes" I said hesitantly, happy that he considered me his friend.
"Why don't you put that urinal down on the floor, there, like a good boy, Cooper."
I set it down and stood back up, closing my left hand around his now rigid length. He groaned slightly. I looked cautiously across at Mr. Fledgely, but he was out like a light, and the floor was pretty quiet right now. It was 3 a.m.
"That's it, Cooper," he said to me, almost crooning. "You have such a sweet touch. It feels so good the way you hold it."
"I'm glad," I told him. "After all I was his nurse, and if I could make him feel good, so much the better. I actually felt it throbbing in my enclosed hand.
"If you could move your hand up a little----gently------yesss-----just like that------and now-----maybe back down a little---yessss. Yesss. That's nice." I suddenly came to the realization that I was masturbating Colonel Marchand, and I was shocked with myself, but I didn't dare to withdraw my hand. And also I didn't really dislike it.
"You know a rugged-athletic guy like me needs to cleanse his system regularly, if he wants to stay healthy."
What did he mean? I didn't even want to think.
"I got three weeks worth of jizz in those big balls of mine (they were unusually pendulous and weighty looking.) I need to get it out, but both my arms are in casts. You'll help me won't you, Cooper? You're my friend, right?"
"Yes," I said. I now knew what I had to do and was determined to help the colonel out of his predicament. I stroked, and I fluttered my fingers, and I tickled his large testicles, following all his suggestions, of course, and he groaned and moaned, and I kept looking back over my shoulder at Mr. Fledgely, but so far so good. And then The colonel's powerful behind started bucking on the hospital bed and he was making unheard of sounds, and then I felt the organ thicken in my fingers, and gobs and gobs of thick white gluey ejaculate came out. It must have been congealing in there for a month. I know that mine is much more liquid.
His forehead had broken out in a sweat and he was panting. I gently released his spent organ, and reached for a tissue on the night table, and with the tissue, I wiped up the mess I had made on his abdomen and thighs, and also in his thick curly black pubic hair, which was just slightly turning to gray.
I wiped my own hand, and threw the tissues into the wastebasket by the bed. But I took another tissue, and swathed his damp brow with it, which he seemed to appreciate. It had been an effort for him to be ejaculated, what with both arms and one leg immobizilied. I then took another tissue and wiped my own forehead. I was damp too.
"That was wonderful, Cooper," he smiled. "You're such a good guy. We're gonna have such a good time climbing Annapurna." And then he dozed off to sleep. The pills hadn't worked, but the ejaculation had. I had really performed a medical service for that man (let others think what they may.) I was a true nurse in every meaning of the word. Take that Florence Nightingale! Bet you never did that for your wounded colonels in the Crimean War.
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, when he rang for me again around 3 a.m. the next night. Colonel Marchand, of course, needed to pee. By this time I knew what the score was, but I was okay with it. Mr. Fledgely, in the other bed, was as usual deep in slumberland.
But it didn't proceed exactly as it had the night before. In the middle he stopped me. I was doing everything he wanted, stroking and flittering my fingers all around his penis and testicles and then grabbing hold of it. Everything just as he instructed, and then suddenly he stopped me. I didn't understand. What had I done wrong?
"You know what would feel even better," he explained. "If you bent down and took it in your mouth. Get it real wet with spit, and then slide your mouth up and down on it, up and down, just like you did your hand, and when you slide your mouth up and down, you can lick on the head a little with your tongue, and you can even make a kind of suction in your mouth to draw the milk up.
He put the heavy cast, which was his left arm on the back of my neck, and guided me to take his turgid erection in my mouth. I didn't fight it. It was almost like a learning experience, and I love to learn things, and moreover I was happy to know that I was giving Colonel Marchand pleasure. It must have been much pleasure, because he roared and slammed my head down on his prick, so that it went all the way down my throat and I choked, and I felt his juices guggling up in the back of my throat and sliding down into my stomach. I tasted the last few drops on my tongue as he gently lifted my head off, holding my hair with three exposed fingers. It was not an unpleasant taste.
"You're just gonna love it, Cooper, when we paddle down the Nile, you and me."
It sounded wonderful. I might even develop a muscle or two. Paddling down the Nile that is.
After another night, I didn't even wait for him to ring. I just came in and did my job.
On the third night he had another thought.
"I thought of something that would be even better," he told me.
"What's that?" I asked. I really knew nothing.
"Well if you could just drop your scrubs, and maybe climb over my middle, and------- well, you know."
"No," I said. I didn't know.
"You won't do that for your old friend?"
"I didn't say that. You said you know" and I said no.' I don't know"
He laughed. I guess I must have seemed awfully stupid and unworldly to him.
"Well what I want you to do," he explained, "is sit on it."
"How can I sit on it?" I asked. I was really perplexed.
"Didn't you ever have it in the ass?" he asked me.
"No," I said indignantly, almost waking Mr. Fledgely.
"Well you're in for a real treat, Cooper."
"Really?"
"Take my word for it."
"Well, okay." I dropped my pants and started to climb up on the high hospital bed.
"You got some lube?" he asked.
"Lube?"
"If you never had it in the ass, Cooper, it won't go in dry. Go get some fucking lube."
"Where?" I asked.
"I don't know. This is a fucking hospital. You work here." He was getting a little annoyed with me. I remembered where they kept the lube, and pulled up my pants. I ran down the hall to procure the gel, and hurried back.
"Lube up my dick," he told me. I coated it from top to bottom and all around.
"Okay. Now get some of that stuff on your fingers and work them into your little hole."
Naturally, I followed his every command. I might have been one of his privates in the corps.
"You ready?" he asked me. I knew I wasn't. I was tight. I took more lube and worked my fingers around trying to spread the hole for him. Finally I crawled above him, facing him, my anal opening poised over that large pointy spear.
"Now sit on it," he said. And slowly I did. Little by little, I worked the head in. That was the hardest part. It hurt a little, so I rested, but then I started sinking down on it, until I was indeed sitting on him, his hard cock up my asshole, my buttocks resting on his heavily muscled thighs.
"Now work yourself up and down on it," he told me. Finally I understood what it was all about, and I must say that as he clucked and crooned, I myself gave in to a passion I didn't know I had. My own penis erected and I grasped it and began to masturbate myself as I massaged my insides with his hard thickness. "AAAAAGGGGHHHH," I started moaning continuously, until I saw Mr. Fledgely, in the next bed, flick his eyes open, and stare at me in consternation. Then he fell back to sleep.
As the colonel shot his load inside my body, I ejected my own seed onto his belly. After falling on his chest for a few moments of rest and affection, I sat up again and reached for the box of tissues.
"That was great, Cooper," he told me. "You're the best RN in the world. Anytime I get sick, I want you with me. You hear that?"
"Yes," I breathed happily and gratefully.
"I like you. I think I'll take you with me to the Olympics next time. We'll have a ball."
"Okay," I said. I didn't really believe it, but maybe---------
About two weeks later, came that terrible night. I signed on for duty, and went to each room to check my patients, and Colonel Marchand's bed was empty. He had been released. He was gone. I hadn't known he was about to be released. And he hadn't even given me his phone number or asked for mine. Of course he knew where I worked. Were we really going to do all those wonderful sporting events together? I began to get a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. But no. I was determined to have hope. I would see Colonel Marchand again. I was sure.
As I was bringing Mr. Fledgely his sleeping pill the next night, he looked me straight in the eye. The same cold knowing look I had seen in those eyes when they snapped open the first evening I was riding Colonel Marchand.
"Cooper."
"Yes?" I asked, handing him his pill, and a glass of water. He put both down on the eating tray near the bed.
"You know what you were doing for Marchand?"
"No," I said, playing dumb.
"Yes, you do," he insisted. "I have Alzheimer's so I don't always remember a lot of things, but I remember that."
"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," I insisted.
"Cut the crap Cooper. I've been in this hospital a long time, and I don't have a great future ahead of me, but I need to get laid."
"Mr. Fledgely," I said indignantly.
"I want to stick my cock up your ass. I want to shoot my hot load inside you, Cooper. Okay"
"No. It's not okay," I protested. Mr. Fledgely was in his mid sixties and emaciated, with sparse gray hair and stubbly whiskers. He only shaved about once a week. He was the epitome of unattractive. I had no intention of having personal relations with Mr. Fledgely.
"Well, since there's nothing better around, either you let me use your ass, or everyone in this hospital is going to know what you've been doing,"
"They'll never believe you," I smirked. "You have Alzheimer's."
"But they all know I have periods of lucidity. Like now. Care to test me?"
I didn't really want any innuendoes floating around the hospital. Even though I looked upon what I did for Colonel Marchand as a nurse's tender ministrations, I knew everyone else would think that it was at the least unprofessional, and at the worst, disgusting and perverted. And also I would be fired. And if I were fired how would Colonel Marchand contact me for our next trip together? Moreover, I would be fired without any letters of recommendation. Indeed, the opposite. My reputation would be besmirched throughout the entire health-care industry. I would end up permanently unemployed and unemployable, finally having to work for my sister's nasty pimp. Not a pretty thought.
"All right," I told Fledgely. "Just what do you want me to do?"
"I'm not taking the sleeping pill just yet. Finish your rounds and when it's nice and quiet come in here. With your ass greased up. Got it?"
"Yes," I said, angrily. What could I do?
An hour later, I sheepishly appeared by Mr. Fledgely's bedside, having closed the door to the room.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Drop your drawers and turn around. I want to see your ass."
I complied.
"Closer," he commanded.
I backed up toward the bed and soon I felt his long bony fingers squeezing my buns. Twisting and squeezing. Twisting and squeezing. And then a long bony digit started crawling up my hole. I bent forward at the waist slightly thrusting my behind toward him, so that I would dilate more easily and there would be less friction.
"Damn. Nice ass," he said.
"Thank you," I said.
"I mean you're no runway model, but you got a damn nice round firm ass. Real nice. Real nice." He was patting, and rubbing, and fingering me all the while.
"What I'd really like to have is some pussy," he said. "But this ass will do just fine. Get me ready." He had been rubbing his crotch through his gown and I saw an impressive mound arising. I knew what was expected of me, and I gingerly raised his gown, exposing his long gangly legs and gnarly knees. Not a pretty sight. But then I saw what he had been gripping and fondling. Standing straight up. It was long. It was very long. It was a foot long. It was frightening. It was fascinating. It was very aroused. It was oozing pre-seminal fluid. Even at his advanced age, his penis was behaving like one of a randy teenager.
The sight of his organ began to overcome my general revulsion of Mr. Fledgely. How could that thing ever get all the way inside me? It would tear me. It would hurt me. It would be straight in places where my insides were curving. I was afraid of it. I wanted it.
"Suck on it," He said, grasping it and raising his hips towards me. I bent down and took it in my mouth. And more of it. And more of it. I could not take all of it. I wanted to, but I could not take all of it.
I sucked him lasciviously for more than fifteen minutes, occasionally looking up into his mean eyes and noticing the satisfied sneer on his crinkled lips. It had been quite a while since he had had a treat like this.
"Okay," he said. I knew what that meant, and I stripped down and climbed on the bed. I was about to straddle him, when he said. "No. Not like that. I like to be on top. I get to be the one in control, okay?" The `okay' was not a question. It was a declamatory statement.
"Okay," I said shrugging my shoulders. I only knew how to sit on it. I wasn't sure what to do. As I stood there frozen, he began to order me.
"Lie down on the bed. On your belly. Ass up."
I positioned myself as he wanted, and he sat next to me stroking his obscenely long instrument with his left hand, and playing with my rear with his right hand. He lifted his hospital gown completely off now, and I shut my eyes. I just didn't want to see his hideous form. Whatever was going to happen now would happen in the dark.
He climbed on top of me and was lying flat out along my back, his face to the side of mine. His breath was strong next to my nose. I felt the long rod in the ridge between my buttocks, and then he raised his middle slightly, and positioned it with his right hand. Slowly he eased it into the opening, which I had lubricated before coming to the room, as he instructed me. It wasn't that thick, so it wasn't too painful at first. In fact, it felt kind of pleasant. I had my eyes closed, and I was just imagining the handsome figure of Colonel Marchand on top of me, his weight bearing down.
But it was going in deeper. And deeper. And owwww. Owwwww. I raised my ass a little to ease it around a curve and it was better, and after a while I felt him sink his whole weight on top of me. It was all in. Every inch of it. The whole damn foot of it. My channel closed around it and began to enjoy.
He raised and he sank, he raised and he sank, he raised and he sank, and little by little my bottom adjusted to each of his movements and it was gorgeous. Just gorgeous. My eyes were closed and in my mind my handsome colonel was on top of me with a foot-long prick fucking my little asshole.
He fucked me slowly, enjoying every instant. Every pull, every push. Every time he was completely inside me, he did a little circular movement and our balls bounced together, but now I could feel the end was near. He was beginning to growl, and his breath was getting fiercer. I tried to turn my head away, but he was holding me motionless as he began to slam into me.
I felt the width of it expand inside me, and then the hot fluid was spouting into me. Spout. Spout. Spout. Spout. Spout. Spout. Spout. Etc. etc. He had really needed that. Slowly he lifted his middle and withdrew it, and as the knob exited it was followed by a little burst of gas from deep inside me which had the effect of making me expel what must have been several ounces of his thick white cum. I could feel it running over my balls and down by legs.
I reached for a tissue and tried to clean myself. I let Mr. Fledgely clean his own greasy prick. Quietly I got dressed, and before leaving the room, I handed him a cup of water and his sleeping pill and waited until he had swallowed. Then I turned off all the lights and left the room, closing the door behind me, and returned to the nurses' station in the center of the corridor.
"Any problem?" asked Malvina, my co-worker on the night shift. I had been gone a very long time.
"No. Everything's fine," I answered. And indeed it was. As disgusting as I found Mr. Fledgely, I had absolutely adored his bony body on top of mine as he was plumbing the very depths of my anal canal. I don't have to tell you that this became a regular thing, night after night. But I reasoned that I was bringing great comfort to an elderly patient who had little to look forward to. I was Cooper `Nightingale', the young man with the lamp. Wasn't this really what being a nurse was all about?
But in short order, Mr. Fledgely's son and daughter had him moved into a nursing home, and his bed was filled with a series of other patients, to whom I ministered and dispensed pills.
One day a new patient arrived. In room 559. Just down and across the corridor.
A very interesting gentleman. His name was Pedrao Gilberto. Senhor Pedrao
Gilberto. He was a truck-driver, and he was from Brazil, and had been visiting his sister when he had taken ill. He was a big wooly bear of a man, with a pendulous belly, which strangely enough did not repel me. He was a diabetic, and had had a small attack. One of my duties was to give him his evening insulin injection in his fleshy behind.
The very first night as I raised his gown to inject the medicine I was stunned by the size and beauty of his enormous buttcheeks. They were not totally firm. He was, after all, not young. Over fifty But he was a powerful handsome man, with a full head of almost white hair, and white tufts all over his large body. On his back. On his arms. On his legs. Around his penis. He even had a small white beard and moustache. And though he was dark complected, he seemed to me like Santa Claus. A Brazilian Santa Claus. And he was jolly and merry and we had great fun together.
The first night when I raised his gown and saw his behind, my legs went limp. As I injected the needle, he flinched and his buttcheeks jiggled enticingly. Withdrawing the needle, I sterilized the spot with an alcohol swab and then began to rub his entire butt soothingly.
"That feels so nice," he said. "I love massages." I immediately began to massage his other buttcheek with my other hand. He gasped in appreciation, raising his cheeks up a little. Before long, I was giving him a full body massage. But I did not touch his penis. It was his beautiful roly-poly buttocks that thrilled me. So soft. So jiggly. What would it be like to lie on those two pliable pillows? I could only fantasize.
On the night of the third massage, the fantasies stopped. As I was lovingly rubbing his generous bottom, his right hand reached out sneakily and grasped my penis through my uniform. My stiff penis. We both knew immediately what was required. I crossed to the door and shut it and came back to the bed, dropping my uniform beside it. He lay happily on his stomach and waved his beautiful loose jiggling cheeks around in the air to excite me. They did.
Not having expected this, I had not brought any lubricant, but there was a small plastic bottle of hand lotion on the night table. I used that. This was a first for me. I was a man, but I had never fucked anyone before. This would be like my confirmation into the adult world. I was so excited.
My prick slipped easily into the warm round hole. My prick was not so big, but I think that other pricks had expanded the hole before I got there. Still, it was wonderful. I lay on his back and breathed in the aroma of his thick white hair, and felt the most unbelievable bounciness of his beautiful bottom. And my penis felt like it had found a home. For the first time in it's life, it had found a real home. I would have to do this more often.
I felt the cum bubbling in my balls. I hated to have this end, but I needed to shoot my load. As he felt it scald into him he raised up, (raising me with him-he was much bigger than I) and he began to jerk himself off onto the clean hospital sheet. What would the morning staff make of that?
When I returned to the nurses' station, Malvina again asked me if everything was all right, and I said to her, "wonderful. Everything is wonderful."
Yes, I had pleasured myself. But look what I was doing for the patient. He had wanted it desperately, and I had provided him with hope and salvation. Was there a better nurse in the hospital than I? I didn't think so.
Pedrao was there for only a week and then a fallow period set in. Short term visitors with whom I had little chance to get acquainted. I went back to my magazines and dreamed daily of Colonel Marchand. If only he would call me. If only we could run off together. If only he would be my knight in shining armor and save me from what was now becoming just an aching routine. My life was nothing but drudgery stretching endlessly into the future until I would be old and alone. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be romanced. I wanted all the adventures that Colonel Marchand had promised me. But I would never see him again. I had looked in the phone book, and he must have had an unlisted number, because he just wasn't in it.
Two years passed, and then the most amazing thing happened. I was at the nurses' station while Malvina was doing her rounds. I was leafing through the local tabloid, which I hardly ever do. I'm really not much interested in either news or gossip. BUT. But there on page one was a picture of my handsome Colonel.
"Marchand to run for State Senate' announced the headline.
I quickly flipped the pages to the article and read it excitedly. "Roland Marchand, retired U.S.M.C. Colonel and war hero announces plans to run for State Senate seat being vacated by retiring centenarian Wilfred Gomes."
I closed the paper and took several deep breaths. I think tears were running down my cheeks. I had found my wonderful Colonel. He was running for the State Senate. We would meet again. I would attend a rally. Better still, I would sign up as a campaign volunteer.
The one thing that distressed me was that the Colonel was running for the party which hated and despised people like I now realized I was. They wanted to take away all our civil rights, and if they could have, they would have been overjoyed to see us all destroyed: i.e. shot, burned at the stake, or beheaded. But it was obvious that the Colonel didn't feel that way, so he could only change things for the better. He would make them see light and reason.
A few days later after a little detective work, I located campaign headquarters in a tiny storefront on Sycamore Street. I immediately went in and volunteered.
After filling out several forms, the nice young lady took me to the corner desk in the back of the front room and introduced me to the campaign manager, Lenny Silver, who shook my hand and welcomed me.
We began to lay out campaign literature on different tables, and a couple of the young ladies took piles of pamphlets out into their cars to distribute through the neighborhood. They told me that Colonel Marchand would be checking in sometime during the afternoon. I was hoping he arrived before I had to leave for the hospital. My heart was pounding.
Would he remember me? How could he not? How could he not remember when I loved him so desperately? We had been such good friends. He had said that. I knew I had never had a closer friend. I longed to be with him again.
Of course he would remember me. He had just been too busy to keep in touch. He probably had thought of me as often as I had thought of him. I couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he saw me here.
Around 3 p.m., after a busy day recruiting new staffers, the bells over the front door jingled and in he stepped. My handsome Colonel Marchand. So masculine. So imposing. He was so tall he almost had to stoop coming through the door. My knees started shaking a little, and my throat went dry. I couldn't wait to see his reaction when he saw my face.
But he didn't seem to notice me. He went straight over to Lenny Silver's desk and pulled over a chair. They huddled together in a private discussion for almost half an hour. Soon I would have to leave for work. If only he would look in my direction. But then the conference ended, and Colonel Marchand took a stack of papers and was about to go into his private office, behind the main salon, when I stood up from the collating table and said tremulously------"Colonel Marchand-----------"
He looked at me blankly. My God. He didn't even know who I was. After all we had been to each other. My heart was about to break.
"Yes?" Asked Colonel Marchand, looking at me quizzically and trying to place my face. I think he realized he had seen it before somewhere.
Lenny Silver got up and came over to me, leading me toward the Colonel.
"I'm sorry," said Lenny Silver. "Colonel Marchand. Let me introduce you to our new volunteer, Cooper-------Cooper----what is it?" he asked me.
"Cribbins," I offered. "Cooper Cribbins."
"Cooper here is turning out to be a real good worker. He's solidly dedicated to your campaign," said Lenny Silver.
"Cooper-----Cooper. You know, you look familiar to me. Have we met before?"
I answered haltingly, almost in tears. "Well, yes. I work as a nurse at Kingston Memorial. I took care of you when you had your skiing accident a couple of years ago," I offered.
His ruddy face turned ashen. But then he almost immediately recovered his composure. "Good to have you on our team, Cooper. Why don't you come into the back office with me, and I'll try to explain to you what I'd like to accomplish in the State Senate."
He held the door open for me and followed me through it. Then he closed the door. We were alone. Now we could say what was really in our hearts.
"I was hoping you would call me," I began.
"Well. You know, you can see I've been very busy. Politics is very time consuming"
"But the Sahara. We were going to ride side by side on camels over the Sahara. You told me."
"Yes. The Sahara. Of course. But there have been so many pressing domestic problems. I just couldn't get away."
"But I thought you liked me." I was almost sobbing now.
"Of course I like you Cooper." He patted me on the shoulder.
"I thought you really liked me," I pursued. And then finally it burst out. The deepest feelings that had been buried within me. "I love you," I told him.
"Don't be silly, Cooper. We had a little thing. That's all. I was immobilized.
"You promised to take me all over the world," I protested.
"And I wanted to. I really wanted to, but then I got involved," he explained.
"Involved?" I questioned. What did that mean.
"Cooper, I'm a married man."
"But your wife died," I reminded him bitterly. "You were all alone."
"Well, yes. I was then. But I got remarried. I have a new wife. This really classy society lady. She's the one who inspired me to run for the Senate. She's backing me all the way. With her money, her connections, her confidence. She's a great lady."
I nodded. He continued.
"So you see I wouldn't ever want anything to come up that my put my present position in jeopardy. You understand that, don't you?"
"Yes," I answered. "I had pinned my hopes all these years on a man who considered me a temporary convenience and was now finished with me. Goodbye Annapurna. Goodbye Sahara. Goodbye Antarctica. Etc. etc.
"You will be discreet?" he asked me.
I assured him I would be, but I was getting angry now. I wanted to tell the world that Colonel Marchand had fucked his male nurse while during a stay in Kingston Memorial. That would put an end to the Senate career. That would put an end to the marriage. He would be bereft and alone like I was and come running back to me. The thought flitted through my head, and he watched me with piercing eyes almost divining what I was thinking.
"I had really been looking forward to the Sun Valley Ski Trip we talked about, " I told him. "You said you were going to teach me how to ski."
"Yes. Yes, I did. I remember that. And I feel ashamed that I haven't followed through on any of my promises. You know what, I'm going to take you on a great trip this very next weekend. Maybe even for a week. Can you get the time off?" he asked me.
"Yes. Yes," I answered in a rush. They owed me a lot of vacation days.
"Yes. But it has to be our little secret. No one else must suspect a thing."
"I understand completely," I assured him
I didn't care if he had a wife. I only wanted to be with him as much as possible and to love him as I always had.
"Where will we go?"
"You just let me do all the planning. I want it to be a wonderful surprise for you."
My heart leaped in my chest, and I leapt forward to throw my arms around him. I wanted to give him a big hug, and maybe even a little kiss. I was overjoyed.
"I have to leave for the hospital now," I explained.
"You just leave all the arrangements to me. I'll think up something really special that you're just going to love. Do you still have that night tight ass that felt so good?"
"Yes," I assured. "I've been alone a lot recently-----dreaming of you."
"Poor kid," he threw his right arm over my shoulder in a big brotherly fashion. "Old Colonel Marchand is going to do right by you. I'm going to give you the vacation of a lifetime. One that you'll never forget."
Everything was going to be all right. All my dreams were going to come true. Even though we couldn't live our love out in the open, I would still be Colonel Marchand's kept boy. I couldn't wait to hand in my resignation at the hospital. All my training in care and compassion would be now only for him.
"But listen," he cautioned. "If we're going to be pals like this, I don't think you should be working on the campaign. I wouldn't feel comfortable."
I understood totally, and agreed to tell Lenny Silver that I found I was going to be too busy to really give the campaign my proper attention, so that I would not be back. Colonel Marchand promised to call me at the hospital and leave instructions on where we were to meet Friday evening.
"But I'm not always at the nurses' station," I said.
"If I call when you're not there, isn't there someone who can give you a message?"
"Yes. Someone is usually there. If I'm doing my rounds Malvina will be at the desk."
"Well, just to be real discreet, I'm going to tell her the message is from Fred. So if you get a message from Fred, it's from me."
"Till Friday Evening," I said, and I did lean forward and give him a little peck on the cheek. He seemed to stiffen slightly, but that was probably just my imagination. I went out of his office and gave Lenny Silver the sad news that I could no longer work on the campaign, and now it was getting very late and I was worried that I wouldn't get a bus to get me to hospital on time. One finally came, and I just about made it.
The next night, when I finished my rounds and returned to the nurses' station, Malvina said, "You just got a message from Fred."
"He called?" I asked, hardly believing my luck.
"Yes. He wants you to meet him at United Gate number 7, on Friday at 6 p.m."
He had called. He had called. We were going. I wished I had been at the desk to take the call, but he was going to take me on a fabulous journey, just as he had always promised. I would make arrangements with the hospital immediately to take my vacation days. And then if everything worked out----who knows? I might not be back at all.
I didn't even know how to pack. Whether for hot or cold weather. I wish he had given me a little clue, but I did the best I could and called a car to take to me to the airport on Friday afternoon. Just to make sure there would be no traffic problem to screw things up for me, I ordered the car early and arrived at the airport at 4:30. I stood by my suitcase right under the sign where it said to gate number 7. I know I should have gone to a seating area, but I was so afraid of not being there when he arrived. I still didn't quite believe it was all coming true. I had this awful fear that I would still be standing there hours and hours later, and that he had lied to me and wasn't coming. I didn't know if I could face that kind of heartbreak. Just thinking about it, I was starting to cry a little, standing by my suitcase, but around 6:10---there he was. Coming toward me, as big as life. Smiling and jovial. My handsome Colonel Marchand.
He threw an arm around my shoulder, "How are you Cooper?"
"Just great," I assured him, but then I admitted "I was afraid you weren't going to meet me."
"Now wouldn't that be crazy? I told you we were going, and we're going." He led me over to baggage check before we walked down to the gate. We each had to hold our own ticket going through inspection, and I had too much change in my pocket, plus my keys, plus the lucky silver tooth I had found on the street when I was ten years old, so I set off the alarm and it took me extra time.
I looked down at my ticket, meanwhile, and was a little surprised.
Finally we got to the gate, and immediately thereafter they began to board the flight. We were traveling first class, so we got to board before anybody else except the old lady in the wheel chair. I sat down in my comfortable window seat as Colonel Marchand stowed our coats in the overhead. When he had seated himself beside me, I said to him.
"My ticket says Lenny Silver."
"Yes," he nodded. "I decided that would be easier. You don't mind flying as Lenny Silver do you?"
"I guess not," I said. "I still don't know where we're going." I knew the destination must have been posted right there at gate number 7, but I had been too excited to notice.
"We're going to New Mexico," he beamed, slapping my right knee.
"New Mexico?" New Mexico didn't seem as exotic as the Sahara or the Nile or Annapurna.
"Yes. We're going to Carlsbad, New Mexico. You ever hear of the Carlsbad Caverns, Cooper?"
I certainly had, and I had always wanted to see them. I told him so, and then I asked, "Are we going spelunking?" hoping I had gotten the word right.
"That's right, boy. That's just what we're gonna do. We're gonna go spelunking in the beautiful Carlsbad Caverns. Just wait till you see those stalactites and stalagmites. They'll take your breath away."
I began to imagine them as I drifted off into a little nap, sleeping until just before we landed. When we got to the airport, Colonel Marchand called a car to take us to our motel in Carlsbad. When he was paying the driver, he pulled out a money clip such as I have never seen before. So many bills. Most of them hundreds. He had in his pocket probably more than I earned in a year.
"You shouldn't carry so much cash," I advised him. "It's dangerous.
"I know," he answered. "I just never took to credit cards."
We entered the motel office and the Colonel checked us in.
"Reservation for two for Lenny Silver," he said. I was puzzled. I would have to ask him about that when we were in our room.
They gave us Cabin Twelve and the motel owner carried our bags past the other eleven cabins and turned the key in the door. I stepped in. It was magnificent. It was splendid. It was like a suite. It had a living room with a sofa and television, and then a bedroom with two enormous king size beds, and this huge marble bathroom with a Jacuzzi. I had never been in a Jacuzzi. I was looking forward to trying it.
Colonel Marchand tipped the man and then we were alone, looking at each other.
"It's beautiful," I told him. "I've never stayed in a place like this."
"Well, that's what I'm here for, boy. To spoil you." He laughed and opened his arms. I rushed into them and he squeezed me. I wanted to kiss him, but he didn't want to do that.
"You said your name was Lenny Silver at the desk," I noted.
"Yes. Yes, I did. Can't have the wife tracing my footsteps now, can I? She's a real bulldog. And suspicious^Å^Å."
I laughed. Now I understood. Of course, that would be the reason. There was always a simple answer. His whole Senate career depended on her, and he had to be very careful. Well, fine. I would just forever remain his `Back Street' love.
I took another look around the spacious bedroom. Those two king size beds. The one nearer the window, and the one nearer the door into the living room of the suite.
"Which bed should I take?" I asked.
"The same one as I'm going to take, Cooper. The other one we just mess up for the maid." With that he pulled back the bedspread of the bed nearest the door, and pulled me down on it with him. We were both still dressed, but he was veritably humping me. I could feel his hard prick grinding against mine through all the clothing.
"When do we start spelunking?" I asked him. It would be interesting to explore the caverns.
"Not for a few days yet, boy. I'm just gonna spend this whole in-between period fucking your brains out."
I giggled. He started pulling at my clothes, and indicating that I should undress. He did likewise. Soon the two of us were between the sheets, still grinding against each other, but with nothing between our two bodies now.
"Christ. You don't know bad I need this, Cooper."
"You do?" I asked, a little surprised. "What about your wife?"
"Great gal! Great gal!" he repeated. ""Fashionable, stylish, classy, loaded. Getting her to marry me was a real coup all right. The only thing is she hates sex, so I hardly ever get to do it. And if you remember, I'm a passionate man."
I couldn't imagine how anyone in their right mind would not want to have sex with Colonel Marchand.
"And I can't cat around the way I used to," he complained. "She has spies everywhere. Money and influence. Great combination, except when I need to get laid----so you see I'm really glad I ran into you again, Cooper. This is a great opportunity for me to fuck someone silly again."
He then flipped me quickly over on my stomach and spit into his hand. He wet his cock with the spit, which is hardly what I would call sufficient lubrication, but he was not going to wait one more second for what he so badly needed. A piece of ass. And it was mine.
He speared me mercilessly, and even though I screamed, he just continued pounding away on me, and grinding deeply in. He would leave fancier positions for later. Right now he just needed to shoot his load.
I was glad when I felt it spurting into me, and felt his dick softening inside me. I had not really enjoyed this. I had endured it for his sake, because I loved him. Suddenly I heard him lightly snoring. He had dozed off with his cock still buried in my ass, and I was crushed beneath. I closed my eyes, and tried to enjoy the feeling, and eventually I also took a little nap.
We both woke up a couple of hours later feeling refreshed and invigorated. We showered. Yes! Together.! I soaped myself up, and then I soaped him all over. He was getting aroused again with the soaping. He was a tiger. Before I knew it he had spun me around and implanted the soapy knob into my anal eyelet. He wrapped his arms around me, literally lifting me off the floor as he fucked into me. I totally relaxed and went with it now. It didn't hurt. It felt wonderful. I twisted my arm back and around his neck and placed my face so that my ear was against his panting mouth. It was as close as I was going to get to a kiss. We fucked and we fucked and then we stopped. He hadn't come this time.
I felt like a failure. "Didn't you want to come?" I asked him.
"Gotta save some of that for later," he explained. "Can't use it all up right now."
We finished our shower and dressed and the Colonel called a car to take us to a very fancy French-Mexican restaurant only a couple of miles from the motel. I had Cassoulet con Guacamole. It was simply delicious.
I hate to sound like a lovesick romantic teenager, but the next few days was just like a honeymoon for me. Wherever we went, we made love. We walked in the woods, we made love. We climbed a hill, we made love. We went for pancakes, we made love. I felt like a June bride. It was everything I had dreamed of all the times Colonel Marchand had described the trips we would take one day, while he was under my care at Kingston Memorial.
One morning after breakfast---that's when we went for the walk in the woods, he stepped off the path pulling me by the arm with him.
"I have to take a pee," he said.
"Okay," I said.
He drew down the zipper and eased it out, letting it hang. Nothing was happening. I was waiting. Then he said-----
"Remember in the hospital when you used to hold it for me?"
"Yes," I answered, and I felt the same sentimental rush of nostalgia that I think he was feeling.
"Well, why don't you hold it for me now. Like you did back then?"
I opened my hand and gently clasped it.
"AAAHHH, that feels so good," he said to me. "You have the touch of an angel." I felt a rush of happiness flood my heart, and then the Colonel's flood started pouring forth out of his penis onto the dry ground, killing all the young grasses it touched. When he had finished, I knew what I had to do. I gently squeezed the last drops from it, but never took my hand away. I just kept moving my hand back and forth on his stiffening penis as we stared meaningfully into each other's eyes.
Then he took my shoulders and pressed me into kneeling position before him.
"Suck it," he said.
I sucked and I sucked and I sucked. And then the Colonel was getting a little tired of standing there so we found a patch of grass and the Colonel stretched out, relaxing on his back while I plied my magic on him.
"The touch of an angel," he repeated, guiding my head up and down. After a while we got up and finished our hike. The Colonel made sure he didn't ejaculate too often, so we could keep up the lovemaking night and day. He knew that's what I wanted, and he was so right.
We were going to fly back on Thursday, so the Colonel had it planned that we would do our cave exploring on Wednesday. I was all excited. Tuesday night we made magnificent love, and he told me I had the greatest ass God had ever created, and he would never forget this wonderful week we had spent together, and I fell asleep as I did every night now, with his long soft length clenched inside my rectum. I had grown so used to it, I didn't know how I would ever sleep again alone and unplugged in my own little room back at Mrs. Kennedy's. If only this could go on forever. But there was so much to look forward to. So many adventures ahead of us. Annapurna. The Sahara. The Nile. The Great Wall. They would all be just as wonderful.
The next morning after our breakfast at The Pancake Barn, we retired to the deserted men's room and locked ourselves in one of the two stalls. He had me `drop my drawers' as he said and bend over the bowl with my hands on the tank, while he stood behind me and fed it in doggy style. He said he just had to have one more feel of my fabulous ass before we went into the cave. This time he blasted into me what felt like a torrent, and I was all aglow, knowing that I was going into the caverns with my Colonel's precious life fluids coursing through me.
We were part of a tour group. The Colonel felt it best that we take the tour, even though he had been here many times before and knew the caverns like the back of his hand, so he said. It was fascinating. Dark. Mysterious. Exciting. The vast subterranean caverns and the beautiful glistening icicle-like projections rising from the floors and dripping from the ceilings.
The stalactites were the ones dripping from above us, while the stalagmites were the giant shining projections rising all around us-----some kind of miracle of calcium and water over many millennia. I would not soon forget this. Each chamber we arrived at was more breathtaking than the one before had been.
We had been following a path, which was now forking, and the tour guide was taking us down the left-hand path.
"No. No," said the Colonel. "The other path is much nicer. Let's go right."
"But shouldn't we stay with the group?" I asked.
"No. No. Don't you worry. I know my way around here like the back of my hand. Been here many times. Just follow me."
Of course, I followed my lover. He was right. It was shimmering. It was dazzling. It was the solar system under the earth. I was trying to burn it all into my memory to last me forever. We walked for a long time, looking at all the shimmering projections, the high ceilings, the vast sudden drops. Then there was a little narrow break in the stone wall. A giant fissure in the earth.
"The chamber through there is just spectacular," said the Colonel. "You have to see it."
Okay," I said.
"You go first," he urged me. I turned myself sideways trying to ease myself through the narrow opening. At the end I could barely get through. But when I stepped into this phantasmagorial room it was like nothing any mortal had even been meant to see. So dazzling. I knew why the Colonel had wanted me to experience it. It was incredible.
"You were right. It's incredible," I told him. He didn't answer me.
"Colonel?" I called. "Are you coming?"
"Having a little trouble getting through," he said. "Guess I'm not as skinny as I used to be. I used to be nice and skinny like you."
"That's all right. I've seen it. I'm ready to come back." I went back up to the crevice and tried to pry myself in. I wouldn't fit. It was too narrow. But how could this be? I had gotten into the chamber, surely I would be able to reverse my course.
I pushed and I pressed, and my heart started to pound inside my chest.
"I'm having trouble getting into the crevice from this side," I called. "What should I do?"
"Keep trying," he encouraged me.
I did. I tried and I tried and I tried. And I was sweating. And I was crying. "I can't get out," I called. "I can't get out of here."
"Just wait," he said. "I'll go and get some help. We may need some pickaxes or jackhammers to widen that crevasse."
"Hurry," I begged him. "Please hurry."
"I'm on my way, but before I go, I just want you to know something. That mouth of yours is a national treasure and you have absolutely the sweetest hole I have ever fucked."
"Thank you," I said. "Get help. Hurry back."
I have no sense of time here, night or day, but I do have my watch which has the day and date on it, and that was two days ago. It seems obvious to me now that the Colonel is not coming back with help. Perhaps he didn't know the caverns like the back of his hand and he got lost, or the other possibility is---No. I don't want to even consider that.
I'm very hungry and thirsty, though I do get a little moisture just by licking the damp walls of the large cave. I think that I am getting weaker, and I keep falling into a strange dozing sleep, and each time I wake, it seems like whatever happens, it doesn't even matter any more.
I know now that I will be in this chamber forever. For all eternity. Perhaps in ten million years or more, someone will come into this cavern and chipping away with a pickaxe, will discover my remains as the core of an enormous beautiful stalagmite. Well, so be it. I am at peace. I am at one with the caves. I am at one with the earth. And I have been loved.
Is it possible?
In my stupor, I hear voices in the outside passage.
"HELP," I screamed.
"Who's there?"
"HELP. I'm trapped in this chamber. I've been trapped for two days. HELP!"
"I can't tell where your voice is coming from," the voice said. "Can you sing? I'll try to locate you," he shouted.
I crawled up close to the crevasse into which I had squeezed myself two days earlier, and began to sing.
"MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB, LITTLE LAMB, LITTLE LAMB. MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB WHOSE FLEECE WAS WHITE AS SNOW. AND EVERYWHERE THAT MARY WENT, MARY WENT, MARY WENT. EVERYWHERE THAT MARY WENT THE LAMB WAS SURE TO GO."
"I've got you now," he said. "I'll go for help. Give me an hour. But keep singing."
"Okay," I said. "MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB-------------" I followed with HERE WE GO ROUND THE MULBERRY BUSH, then with THE FARMER IN THE DELL, then with SHE'LL BE COMIN' ROUND THE MOUNTAIN WHEN SHE COMES. Mostly I stayed with MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB. I knew that one best. At last I heard that blessed voice again.
"I've got a crew here with jackhammers, and pickaxes. We'll widen this crevasse and get you out."
It took them six hours. I never stopped singing. "MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB, LITTLE LAMB, LITTLE LAMB----------"
Finally they had widened the space enough that I was able to crawl through. One of the men had thoughtfully brought me a jelly doughnut and a thermos full of hot coffee, which I gulped down gratefully. They even wrapped me in a warm blanket, for it was only then that my teeth began to chatter. I went to thank the man who had saved me. It was the tour guide. Luckily for me, on a crazy whim, when he gotten to the fork in the cavern path on that day, he had decided to take the right hand path instead of the usual left hand path. I almost kissed his hand in gratitude.
He was even kind enough to drive me back to the motel, where I discovered to my dismay that Lenny Silver had checked out precipitously two days earlier. Even my suitcase was gone.
Everything was clear to me now. My infatuation had been a mad illusion. The Colonel didn't love me. He wanted to be rid of me forever.
I called Malvina long distance to wire me money for a return airline ticket home, and on the long flight I wondered what recourse I had against Colonel Marchand. There was no proof that he had ever been in Carlsbad. He had not flown or registered at the motel under his own name. He had used paper money, not credit cards. There would be no plastic trail. He had planned this so very well, that I should really be dead now. That had obviously been his intention all along. It was malevolent.
And if I made any accusations, who would believe me? I was only a lowly nurse. (And in addition embarrassing things would be revealed, such as that I had sucked his cock and even sat on it while he was a patient under my care at Kingston Memorial. And I would immediately be disgraced and lose my job.) Moreover, he was an important retired Colonel in The United States Marine Corps, a respectable married man who had a rich and powerful wife, and was now running for the State Senate. Any news of this would hurt me much more than the Colonel. Silence was my only recourse. I would have to try to put all of this behind me and forget everything. Nevertheless as I was flying home, I made one very important decision. On Election Day, I would not be voting for Colonel Marchand.