As he faded into and out of consciousness, Paul realized that things weren't as he'd planned them for this week.
The previous night, he had told his mom that he was going to go out with the guys. They had decided that they wanted to try paragliding since one of his friends knew a guy with all of the gear that they'd need.
The next morning, Paul met up with his friends at the hill and they suited up. The friend had given them cursory instructions, which they'd sort of laughed off, feeling that they knew what they were up to and that they'd have a good time without all the worries of "instructions" and "cautions."
Paul had a wonderful flight. The wind had lifted him gracefully into the air and he found it rather easy to steer himself around. He'd instinctively known where the lifts were and would smoothly guide himself into them to soar into the air. It was the best feeling he'd had in a long time. The adrenaline was rushing through his system, the endorphins making him feel the high that comes from activities like this. It was a dream come true.
As Paul was moving towards the hilltop to join his friends on the ground, a gust came rushing up the edge of the hill and flipped him sideways. This erratic change in expected flight disoriented him and he pulled the wrong guideline, turning him even further and losing all lift. He slammed into the ground, not too far from where his friends stared in utter astonishment.
Paul groggily gained consciousness in the hospital. He had no idea where he was nor what was happening. He vaguely heard a man talking and his mother crying. He heard the man say things like "traction," and "next three weeks," but wasn't sure just what that meant and surely didn't suspect that those phrases applied to him.
After several hours, Paul finally woke up to the point where he could really take stock of the situation. He was lying in a bed, his legs attached by cables to a frame over the bed. His toes were black and blue sticking out of the ends of casts which went up to his knees. The rest of his body, though scratched and bruised, seemed to be in decent condition.
Before long, his mother came into the room and was pleasantly surprised to see Paul awake. She rushed to his side to kiss and hug him, happy that he was awake and seemed to be doing well enough, under the circumstances. She fussed over him and managed to get the story out between accusations of "I told you to be careful," and "you know better than to do something stupid with those boys."
Apparently, the crash has broken his ankles in several places and he was going to be in traction for at least three weeks while they healed to the point that he could use crutches. He was going to be in casts for at least 6 weeks, but he should be able to walk again after therapy.
Doing some quick math in his head, Paul realized that he should still be able to make it to his first week of college in September, but it was going to be close. What a way to start school ... wrapped up and on crutches!
His mother informed him that she was going to have a traction frame set up at home and that he'd be able to go home early the next day. There wasn't anything more for him that they could do in the hospital, but he'd have a nurse at home to help him out while his parents were at work during the day.
Paul was pleasantly surprised with how his room was set up when he got home. The traction frame seemed odd, but it didn't look like he'd want for anything in particular. His mother had moved the larger bedside table near his bed and it was covered with several books, his Nintendo DS, the remote for the TV she'd wheeled into his room, as well as some snacks and a glass for drinks. It looked like he'd be living the life for some time. It almost looked like he was going to enjoy this.
Then, reality set in. As he was being moved into position and the traction was being set up, he realized how trapped he really was. Though he could see how beautiful it was outside, he couldn't enjoy it fully. Though the TV was there, there weren't any daytime shows he was interested in seeing. He was now stuck in his room for several weeks. Further reality hit him when he realized he had to use the restroom ... and he wasn't going to be able to walk in there. That's when he noticed the bedpan and his face turned a deep crimson. He was mortified at the thought of his mother having to empty a bedpan.
He groaned and his mother leaned over to see what was wrong. He was too embarrassed to tell her and just mumbled that he didn't like being stuck inside.
It was at that point that the doorbell rang.
Paul heard his mother's voice as she welcomed someone into their home. Her voice got louder as she was obviously nearing his room, showing the visitor inside. She came into his room and said, "Paul, this is your nurse, Denise."
Paul's heart skipped a beat. He had been expecting a nurse like he had in the hospital, someone who was at least 60, sour-faced, and unhappy about life. To his surprise, the girl standing next to his mother was about 22, was beautiful, and had a huge smile on her face. He could tell she was happy to be alive and was looking forward to helping out.
His mother winked at Denise and then said, "Paul, aren't you going to say anything?"
"Uhh ... yeah. Sorry. I must have forgotten my manners. Hello."
"It's okay, Paul. It's a pleasure to meet you," Denise said as she walked up to shake his hand. "Expecting something different?"
"Yeah. I thought my nurse was going to be one of those old sour-pusses we had at the hospital."
"Well, I'm not there, yet," she laughed, "but after a bunch of years, watch out! I'm a senior in nursing and am working on my senior project ... you. I need to get some experience before the real hard work begins."
They seemed to fall into a casual conversation, their personalities blending well together. Paul forgot all about his injuries and his problems, getting caught up in Denise's easy manner and her beautiful smile. That smile wasn't just in her lips, but spread throughout her face, almost lighting up her whole being and spreading out to encompass everyone near her.
It was at that point that Paul realized he still had to go to the bathroom. He blushingly asked her if she would be willing to step outside because he ... then he just pointed at the bedpan without looking at Denise, embarrassed that he even had to talk about it.
She smiled that warm smile at him again, touched his arm, and said, "don't worry about it. I'll be outside. When you're done, just give me a call. And, Paul, seriously, don't worry about it. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. We're all human; we all have to take care of ourselves as much we can and get help when we can't. I'm here to help."
With that, Denise left the room, leaving Paul to do his business. He was blushing furiously when she came back, but she just went about cleaning up as if it wasn't a big deal at all. Her actions calmed his fears a little, but it still took a while for him to look her in the eye. When he did, he forgot all about the bedpan for she was looking at him with care and happiness. It felt so good to be lost in her eyes.
Over the course of the next week, Denise and Paul got to know each other better. They became close friends, sharing their ideas and hopes for the future as well as their passion for good jokes. It seemed they both had a plethora of jokes in their minds to whip out at any odd moment. They laughed more in that week than either one had in the previous few months.
Each day, Denise would rub down Paul's legs and arms, trying to keep the blood circulating well in his body so his muscles didn't fall prey to atrophy too much. She would generally use a wet cloth as well so that his skin would be cleaner. Paul didn't think too much of that because they were joking so much during the rub-down that he didn't realize that was a small sponge-bath.
After the first week, however, it was time for a serious sponge-bath. Denise continued joking, but her motion showed that something was different. She had undone the buttons on his top and had exposed more of his skin. She also had more hot water with her this time. The differences registered in Paul's subconscious and he started to react differently.
In his eighteen years, Paul had had a few girlfriends, but nothing really serious. The girls didn't seem as interested in someone as "nerdy" as he. His sexual experience was therefore pretty limited.
When Denise started with the sponge-bath, Paul tried to think of other things. He tried to think of a good joke, but his mind kept returning to how much Denise could see and, more importantly, how good it felt to have her rubbing his body. The blood started to pulse into his penis, lengthening it considerably. He tried to ignore it, but it was impossible. To make matters worse, Denise kept getting closer and closer to his burgeoning erection.
.... There is more of this story ...