This story is a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance to living persons or the departed, to reality is a coincidence. This story eventually includes descriptions of sex between adult males. If you are a minor, if this material is illegal where you live, or if this material offends you, please don't read it. Please donate to Nifty. Find the donation button on the Nifty web site to help you to pay your share of their expenses to provide these entertaining stories for you. Remember that authors depend on feedback for improvement and encouragement. All rights reserved.
James Robert Nolgren MD: Nolgren MD, Attending-6
Then their lips met, slid apart and their tongues began the dance so many men know, the happy 'I'm going to get laid in a minute' dance, the joyful 'this is going to be fun' tongue thing, teasing, tasting.
Hands wrapped around to cup firm ass cheeks, roaming over belly and chest, gently grasping their partner's head, neck and massaging each other's parts and pieces, ratcheting up the brain's bell chorus, ever more sensitive. Then their tongues went exploring from north to south, above and under, their mouths kissing everywhere, light feathery kisses.
Biggy got Ted on his hands and knees and feasted there, wetting the hatch, his slippery spit lingering. One, two, then three fingers gently, persistently opening and relaxing the muscle sphincter until Ted cried out for relief.
Ted felt the touch at his end, the millimeter by millimeter slow advance, the utter stretching fullness, Ted as hungry as a python enduring the painful stretch as the it swallows its prey, somehow a bit better with more lube and absolute control of the advance by Biggy...and then the largest part, the mushroom, was inside and the sphincter relaxed down a little to the axe handle size, an improvement.
The advance continued and Ted felt the pushing of his insides up as Biggy's cock dragged his rectum and intestine ever upward. His prostate sang a little song as the parade passed by it and kept on singing. Some minutes later he felt Biggy's balls against his inner thighs, swinging, touching, warm. Ted felt Biggy pause once more.
"You're the first man that ever took all of me, Ted. The first."
That touched Ted and he decided to tell Biggy.
"I want you to be the last guy to whom you ever say that. Take me. Choose me, man."
Biggy began his slow withdrawal but spared Ted a complete withdrawal during their intimacy. Biggy wasn't sure but thought time would help to open Ted up a little using his cock as a dilator. The thought made his cock get even harder. It couldn't get much bigger.
"I choose you, Ted. I want you. As long as you'll take me, I'll give you what you want when you ask."
He stumbled a little over the complicated sentence but wanted Ted to know exactly what he was thinking. He couldn't tell him what he was feeling. His cock was in charge at the moment and he was doing what all men know about, ramping up the sensitivity of response, the brain quickly recruiting more neurons to process the input from the center of a man in order to reach that short platform just prior to shooting semen, there beginning the absolute heart of the unbearably intense physical pleasure, knowing that ejaculation was at hand, ending with the last spurt, the pleasure that made the work definitely worth repeating.
Ted didn't feel the semen spurting inside of him. Most men didn't. He did feel Biggy's body stiffen, heard him yell, "Oh, God!" and his loud panting as the pleasure caught and overwhelmed him.
Ted knew. His own cock, now in his stroking hand, wanted some of that and he shot on to the sheet, full, overwhelmed with sensation, now in a haze of lust, emitting a joyous cry of response.
"Are you OK, Ted?" Biggy lay on top of Ted for a moment, savoring his warm soft skin, feeling his firm, almost plump ass under him.
"More than OK, man. Lay on me for a few minutes, OK?"
"Sure, does that feel good to you now?"
"It makes me feel taken, like I'm yours, 'owned' in a way."
"I just injected your bill of sale, all signed, into your ass. If I could buy it and had what it's worth in dollars, I'd go broke trying to spend every penny of it."
"Why, I declare, Biggy, how you talk. Please don't stop."
"I'm just telling you what I just did in case you didn't feel it."
"You couldn't convince anyone that you ghosted in and out of there tonight, man. I felt it. I felt all of it. I like all of it and hope we'll..." He bit his tongue. His 'ex' had accused him of being too needy and it was on his mind.
They hit the showers. Lather, rinse, repeat. An Uber picked Ted up and took him home that night.
Two days later, Dennis came into dinner with the mail and passed it out to the core. They all had received an application from one Biggy Jones to be their cook. The form showed his culinary school training, the good restaurants where he had been chef and listed references.
"Do we know this guy? The name sounds familiar."
Lawrence replied that the only Biggy he had heard of was the nurse that examined Joe. "Wonder how he knew we had a cook position open?"
They turned, startled, as the sound of a dishwasher tray of silverware hit the floor. "Ted are you OK?"
"Sorry to disturb you guys. I heard you mention Biggy."
"Yes, do you know him?"
"Only in the, uh, Biblical sense, I would say."
"You what? OK, you don't get off that easy. The core wants details, buddy. We need details here. Dish it, baby."
"I don't think divulging personal information is in my contract, but we dated one time." Dennis and Joe raised their hands to stop James and Lawrence from taking this any farther.
"He's right, guys. We can't ask that of him."
"Is it OK to ask if you would recommend him as a cook?"
"I can't comment since I've never eaten his...his cooking."
"Oh, that clears that up. Will you be offended if we hire him?"
"Hell, no." That had to suffice for a recommendation of some kind.
A small happy silence reigned over the table. The silverware was picked up and re-washed. It wasn't a scheduled date night. Lawrence wondered if anyone wanted to meet him in his bed for the night. Three men volunteered cheerfully.
Lawrence called Biggy the next day to offer the position to him. Biggy accepted and moved into the bedroom next to Ted's bedroom the next day. He resigned his nursing position and began the serious evaluation of the kitchen, its equipment and started to plan menus after interviewing for allergies and likes and dislikes and favorite recipes.
At ten p.m. that night he knocked on Ted's door and heard a cheerful 'come in'. He entered, shut the door and removed his clothes. Ted emerged from his shower to find Biggy lying on his back on the bed, primed and ready for action.
Ted threw aside his towel and mounted the pommel. He loved playing cowboys and had a suitable steed, a mischievous horse devoted to a thrilling but safe ride with little chance of being thrown.
In retrospect, Ted thought, it was a good thing the windows were closed, or the residents of the community might have reported mating mountain lions loose and on the prowl in the corrals.
The first crossmatch between couples in the core turned out to be Lawrence and Joe. They both happened to be home. The other lovers were at work. They were drinking tea, looked at each other and Joe asked him if he was up for some loving. Remembering the previous episode, Lawrence was immediately 'up' for that and said so.
They went up to Lawrence's bed and lowered their pants and briefs just enough. Lawrence took him in his arms and they kissed for a few minutes. Lawrence then turned him over just as before and feasted again until Joe begged him to fuck him. Lawrence did just that and they both had a great time. They showered, dressed and that was that.
That night after dinner was a couple's date night. "Dennis, I want to let you know that I asked Lawrence to make love to me today."
"Did you...?"
"Yeah, we played, and he fucked me."
There followed a pause and Dennis carefully replied. "This was coming, and I knew it was coming. Why don't I feel better about it?"
"What do you feel?"
"I'm feeling left out, a little betrayed, jealous I guess."
"I understand that."
"Would you feel better to know that if you had been home, I would have asked you first?"
"Yes."
"About the betrayal part. We're all equal lovers in this group of ours. I love him, and he loves me. He loves you and you love him. He's your biological father."
"I guess I just wish it had been me."
"I can tell you he loves you very much...enough to know that his own son's lover won't be taken from you cuz you're such a hot, not to mention wonderful, guy."
"OK. I don't know if I'm acting this way to get you to ask me to love you and be intimate or whether I'm afraid that you've transferred some of your affection away from me."
"Come here, you big fraud. I am your other half. Have been since law school. We are joined at the hip since you asked me to marry you. We have each other's back. In this core relationship, we have given two other men some temporary claim to my ass and cock, but you have original and final access to my back and heart. Capisce?"
The familiar words helped a lot. "Since Lawrence scratched your itch already, let's give it a rest and you do me tonight?"
"Open sesame, lover."
It wasn't the last episode of jealousy for any of the core but talking about feelings turned out to be therapeutic and led to new closeness, new intimacy, and sometimes better, more imaginative sex. No one in the group was entirely submissive. They all had fun playing one role or the other. One wall they could not and did not try to cross was the employer wall between them and Ted with Biggy.
The two staff members loved each other dearly, worked well together, came to know the core by the freckles on their ass and the sight of their cock, but never would they complain about being harassed.
Ted's ass had grown accustomed to Biggy now. Nightly dilating events had proved their worth and Biggy was able to enter 'at will' now, still held snug but the fear of hurting Ted didn't enter the wonderful equation. The night that Biggy asked Ted to make love to him eventually came along.
"It occurs to me, lover of mine, that my ass hasn't had the pleasure of your company. Are you willing to make love to me sometime?"
"I thought you'd never ask. I want you on your back." Biggy scooted. "Bring your legs up and out, Mr. Jones. Spread them apart." Ted felt a sudden rush of affection for his skinny lover with the horse cock who had given him so much pleasure. He knelt between his legs, leaned over and kissed Biggy deeply. He applied lube to Biggy and himself. "Hey you, I'm going to touch you with the tip of my cock. Then I'm going to push very slowly while you push back out at me. This might hurt for a minute."
Biggy felt. Biggy pushed. Ted popped in to a sudden sharp intake of breath from Biggy. "Ouch, fuck, hell." Ted stopped.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"Yes...no.... If you stop, I'll have to hurt ya."
After a bit, Biggy relaxed a little, swallowed, and gave the nod. "Do it while I still have the courage, Ted."
The moments that followed gave Biggy a huge glimpse into a bottom's life and experience, though perhaps not typical for it was a first for him. His equipment had always been wanted, his ass not so much. He had difficulty imagining that Ted loved sex with him but had all the evidence that he did. A thought about 'capacity to love' came into his head and he giggled.
"Whatcha laughin about?"
"About people's capacity to love...I always wondered what that meant and in the context of being a bottom it just got obvious, kind of."
"Ooooh, you are a brat. Are you saying I'm a bottomless pit?"
"If the shoe fits..."
"They giggled together then Biggy said, "Can something be kind of good?"
"Whassamatter? You got the 'big-cock-tiny-ass' syndrome or something? You know there's only one cure for it."
"Ok, I'll take the bait. What's the cure for that, er, syndrome?"
"Repetition, man. Over and over." At the stricken look on Biggy's face, Ted replied, "It was good enough for me, wasn't it? What's sauce for the gander is sauce for the other gander."
"What, you're a gander too! Imagine that. Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Quack, quack."
"Oh, now I understand."
Their new joke in the staff quarters and in the kitchen was "Quack, quack." It was used as a verb, "Hey, you wanna get quack- quacked?" and as a greeting, "Quack-quack." and as a vamp, suggestive, low-voiced "quackkk-quaaackkk" and a noun, "This here quack-quack needs washing too." or, plural, "Would mind you mind drying these quack-quacks?", a location, "Oh the vacuum? It's over in its usual quack-quack."
It drove the core crazy kind of, but they guessed it was some kind of love shorthand between the two and they were on the money.
The tangle of blood vessels had been there for many years. It had been dormant, which is to say no symptoms had been caused or noticed.
It couldn't be seen deep in the brain nor detected without a brain angiogram which isn't the average test done on anyone every year at an annual physical exam, a bygone, abandoned concept (for the most part) as the population grew and the health care dollar pie shrank, a double hit on the amount of money available to care for each person each year, not to mention the triple and quadruple hits on the same pie from fraud and from insurance company executives who were paid millions, money that could have gone to patient care.
The system was broken in a hundred ways.
Every other developed country on the planet had fixed theirs but the US who stuck to something that didn't deliver to all, that limited tests, that ran up prescription drug bills, that bankrupted one of every three US seniors before they died, sticking to that system because of lobbyists for the pill industry, the doctor's groups and hospital groups who profited.
The other factor that caused inertia was because the general public had been brought to believe the myth that these other systems somehow constituted 'socialism', a concept everyone knew wasn't 'American' even though Medicare and Medicaid were popular and were as socialized as anything gets.
Besides, everyone knew that Canadians had to wait months just to get routine surgery done and that was that, despite the testimony of Canadian doctors who stated their patient's waiting times approximated those in the US.
People did come over the border for care to the US. If one lived in a small Canadian border town that didn't offer some procedure or service, one traveled across the border to a large US city that did. Sometimes wealthy Canadians, like wealthy Saudis, traveled to places like the Mayo clinic far from their home country just to be treated by the best, they thought.
Truth was that penicillin worked the exact same way no matter what in which hospital it was given. No matter that insurance companies in the US delayed approval of all kinds of procedures for months if they thought they could.
The tangled web of blood vessels was called an aneurysm, a terrifying tangle prone to sudden rupture with variations of blood pressure and thin blood vessel walls in the tangle.
The typical symptoms and progression of an untreated rupture were a sudden excruciating headache worse than ever felt before, interruption of vision, collapse, seizures sometimes and death. If the rupture occurred in a hospital with a neurosurgeon or radiologist in the house trained to quickly intervene, sometimes patients survived. Some were damaged with stroke symptoms, many died.
Lawrence awoke at one a.m. in his bed with a headache so bad he couldn't think straight, was almost certain of his diagnosis, turned and squeezed James' arm so hard that James screamed and woke up, turned the light on to see Lawrence's face, his tears, and knew that a catastrophe had come and had a good idea of what was happening.
James called for the paramedics, called the hospital to alert that a ruptured aneurysm case was coming in to the ED, alerted the hospital operator to summon neurosurgery and the interventional radiology team to prepare for a brain aneurysm case.
The paramedics quickly arrived, the entire house was up now, the ER was ready, and the interventional radiologists began the precarious task of sealing off the vessels feeding the large mass. They inserted a very long tube into the arteries feeding the brain and under live high-resolution feed-tested the flow feeding the aneurysm.
They then injected particles of a substance that blocked those arteries, reducing the head of pressure to the aneurysm and slowing the bleeding down a lot. Interventional radiologists did a lot of 'artery-jamming' and were good at it.
By that time, Lawrence had received IV steroids to limit damage and diuretics to lower blood pressure in the brain. The skull was a hard, bony case, not a balloon that expanded to accommodate bleeding.
Excessive pressure from bleeding forced the base of the brain to try to exit the case through a small round circle-like opening in the base of the skull and that herniation caused death of tissue and often, death of the patient. Decreasing pressure in the case was a really good idea and a primary goal of treatment.
The neurosurgeons then took Lawrence up into a high-tech OR high above the city and began a painstaking surgery that made an opening in the skull, then through the dura mater and meninges. They found evidence of a dark purple hematoma deep inside, which they approached with great care and gently, kindly, opened the hematoma or blood clot and suctioned most of the clot out.
They were pleased to see that fresh bleeding was minimal after the interventional radiologists had done their work. They inserted a special intra-cranial blood pressure device, miniaturized, that transmitted the pressure wirelessly to a bedside monitor.
They inserted a special drain, so any accumulating blood had a place to go outside the case. They applied a dressing which would keep the environment out of his brain.
They could always replace blood. They couldn't resurrect a dead person.
The weary neurosurgeon team, in their scrubs and white uniforms walked into the family waiting room and found three men prepared for the worst standing in front of him. The Chief neurosurgeon recognized James as a colleague in the OR. James introduced Dennis and Joe as the other two of their core family of four men. The neurosurgeon didn't blink an eyelash. Briskly and cheerfully, he continued.
"Lawrence is stable. We've decreased the blood pressure inside of his brain and removed the blood clot. There is minimal bleeding right now inside his brain. We've sprayed some medication to stop that minor bleeding and put a drain in and an intra-cranial pressure transmitter."
"There's no way to assess for damage yet until he wakes from his light anesthetic. He didn't feel anything during the surgery and received enough narcotic. I am sure he didn't feel pain or headache after the first IV dose."
"Time will tell us more. We will keep him in an artificial coma for a few days to assist in his healing. He can't thrash around in bed. It could kill him."
"The surgery took a little over six hours and I'd say he will live barring some complication we can't foresee. I wouldn't be surprised to see some residual stroke-like damage and this is the kind of brain injury that our world-class rehab tackles. They are very good at what they do."
"I wish I could tell you more. James, you have my number. Lawrence will go directly to the high-risk neuro ICU for post-op care and the senior resident will attend him directly and wake me as needed. I plan to stay in house tonight."
"Thank you for all you've done, doc."
"James, since you are a doc and work here, you are welcome to go up for a few minutes and be with him if you wish. You know the way, I'd guess."
"I'm going to take these guys home and will take you up on your offer first thing in the morning. Since he's still under, he wouldn't know that I was there so the comfort would be for me. You just provided the information that helped me a lot, thank you."
The drive home was somber. Ted and Biggy were up refreshing the bedrooms for their rest, asked about Lawrence and began to plan for a brunch instead of breakfast that day.
The brunch never happened.
A small bleeder with a weak wall couldn't take the strain of back pressure between the brand-new mini-clot at its tip and the swelling, dying mass of cells behind it, the mass cut off from its blood supply by the artificial clots. It blew out and the rip in the vessel grew rapidly backward into the dying mass of cells. The pressure inside the cage steadily increased, but slowly so the nurse decided the monitor needed to be recalibrated, which she had never done, but read the manual and started pushing buttons.
The Senior resident came in, asked what the patient's ICP was and was told that it had been creeping up, but she was sure it was the monitor and was recalibrating the monitor. He screamed for the supervisor of the unit who came running.
"Did you authorize this monitor to be recalibrated?"
"Of course not. No one asked me about it."
"Is anyone at the desk monitoring the pressures?"
"Our monitor nurse is on break."
"So, who is watching the store?"
"I can't be everywhere at once, doc. Stand down."
"This nurse may have just killed a patient and you want to stand down."
"I'm so sorry."
"What's the big deal? His heart is still beating," the bedside nurse chimed in.
By this time the Senior resident had turned on his iPhone recorder without being noticed by the nursing staff and caught that snippet.
"We can't compare previous numbers with recalibrated numbers, that's why. Were you taught that in nursing school?"
"Don't get nasty with me doc. The nurses' union will have you up before a committee."
"Call the Chief quickly" This was spoken to the Supervisor, whose own nightmare was just beginning.
"Finish the recalibration with the Supervisor and do it quickly."
"We need to examine the patient STAT."
The Senior was speaking everything out loud now for the recorder to catch.
"Pupils now fixed and dilated. No response to painful stimuli but then he's in an artificial coma. Heart rate 90. Respiratory rate 16. Blood pressure 90/60 mm/hg. Low. Urine output low. Looking at the nursing charted data from an hour ago, no record of urine flow, no blood pressure reading noted. no respiratory rate noted. Heart rate noted as 90 BPM. No recording on nurse notes an hour ago of any pupil exam."
"What the hell was she doing? Knitting? I am recording this so any changes on the record after the fact will be crystal clear. This is nurse negligence. It's not for me to be the judge or her jury, however. I feel a little like the supervisor who said she couldn't be everywhere."
"I've been down with a seizing patient in the next ICU and expected to hear if there was a change in Lawrence's condition from the nursing staff. Damn it."
The Chief of neurosurgery arrived, heard the story, read the nurse notes and went pale. "I think, he said, that we'd better call the house supervisor and the administrator of the hospital, then call James."