Chapter 1: Nurse Ward

Ambulance

Monday Afternoon, June 21, 1976

Gradually, I felt my senses start to return. I could hear voices, but not quite make out what they were saying. Then there was light; I could see shapes, and the shapes became faces peering down at me. For an instant, I thought I saw Janelle leaning over me; no, it wasn’t Janelle, it looked like her older sister. No, that’s crazy, I told myself, she doesn’t have any sisters, and she’s an only child ... Beth, her mother, that’s who it must be. But why is she leaning over me?

I tried to push myself up, but there was a stabbing pain in my shoulder. The person that had to be Beth held me down.

“Don’t move, there’s an ambulance coming, if anything’s broken, you don’t want to move,” she said.

I tried to remember what had happened to me; I recall getting Cathy’s letter, then walking down to the music shop, and listening to a new record. Then I was going to the newsagent. I must have been hit by a car, trying to cross the laneway. My knee and shoulder were really painful, and I had a splitting headache. I was also wet and cold; I was lying in a large pothole, filled with rainwater. But I didn’t want to move, in case I had a broken bone.

Soon there were two ambulance officers with me; I could see people move the car back a bit further; the paramedics strapped a brace around my neck and knee, and then slid me onto a board. Moving me that little bit caused shooting pains in my knee, head and shoulder. I was placed on a stretcher, put in the back of the ambulance, and we were off to the hospital.

“Can you tell me your name and address, Mate,” one of the ambulance officers asked.

I gave him the details, and he asked me where it hurt, whether I could move my toes and fingers, did I have any double vision. He jotted things down on his notepad, and by then we had pulled up at the hospital entrance. I was wheeled out of the ambulance towards a throng of medical staff. Somehow I heard Beth talking to them, saying how I appeared out of nowhere, and she couldn’t stop before hitting me.

Once in one of the ER rooms, a doctor introduced himself to me, told me that I had been hit by a car, and it appeared my knee and shoulder had been damaged.

“We’ll get you to x-ray soon, to see if there’s a break,” Doctor Spence said, “but the immediate concern is the bash on your head. You must have hit it on something when you fell.”

I described what I could remember of the incident; the explosion of red light in my head, and then passing out. His concern was that the impact might have caused internal bleeding in my brain.

“If that happens, it can put pressure on the brain cells, which is what we call ‘a bad thing’.” I liked his bedside manner. “That can cause damage to the brain, which could lead to all sorts of problems, neurological deficits, even death.”

“Neurological deficits, what does that mean?” I asked. “Does that mean I could turn into a drooling imbecile?”

He laughed. “That’s probably it in layman’s term, but basically you are right. There’s no real way to see if there is anything bleeding in there, not without major surgery, which can cause its own problems. So we need to keep you under observation, ask you what seem to be silly questions, get you to do physical tasks, to make sure the noggin is still working properly.

“Okay, first question; what is your name?”

“Will, William Turney Morris,” I replied. I felt that giving the full name would show that I could remember that.”

“And what is today’s date?”

“Monday, the twenty-first of June, 1976.”

“And where are you?”

“Mona Vale hospital, I assume.”

“That’s all good. Now squeeze my finger with your right hand, as hard as you can.” I complied. “Now do the same with your left hand.” He moved to the foot of the bed, and put his hands on the soles of my feet. “Now push against my hands with your feet, again, as hard as you can. Just flex your ankle down, as if you are using the accelerator in your car.

“That all seems good; now we’re going to get these wet clothes off you, and try to clean your head up a bit. That’s probably going to hurt, but we need to inspect the wound, make sure there’s no dirt or anything that can cause an infection.”

He called two of the nurses over, and they managed to get my jacket and shirt off, then my shoes, socks and jeans. Pulling my jeans down caused more shooting pain from my knee; so they had to cut around the knee area, so they could remove the leg of the jeans without putting too much pressure on my knee. Then they helped me up into a sitting position.

“We will have to clip some of your hair away from the wound,” the Doctor said. “We can’t really stitch it, because the skin is so thin over the skull. Instead, we will use some special surgical staples. Now, this will probably hurt as we clean stuff out.”

I gritted my teeth; I heard the sounds of them snipping the hair away, then pain as they cleaned around whatever the wound on the back of my head was. After a minute or two they had finished, and I saw them put some blood-soaked cloths in the waste bin. After that, it was up to the x-ray department, where they took several images of my knee and shoulder, then back to the ER room.

Beth was there waiting for me; looking worried.

“Oh Will, I’m so sorry,” she said, hugging me. “Are you feeling alright? When I saw it was you that I hit, I felt sick to my stomach. Janelle would never forgive me if I had killed you, or left you disabled.”

She looked at my head, then the shoulder and felt my knee.

“I don’t think anything’s broken, but the x-ray will confirm that,” she said. “The bash to your head is the big worry; do you have any pain there?”

“Just a headache, that’s all,” I replied. “I’m so sorry; I wasn’t looking properly when I ran out to cross the street.”

The doctor returned with the x-ray pictures; he put them up on a light box, and looked at them. Beth studied them with him.

“Well, nothing’s broken, Will,” he said. “There’s just some bruising and probably a sprain; we’ll put a compression bandage on it. You will be on crutches for a week or so, but there won’t be any lasting problems. The shoulder’s just bruised and scraped as well, we’ll get a dressing on that. Sister Ward, do you think you can dress that shoulder wound properly?”

Beth took great care, cleaning the cuts on my shoulder, washing the area with antiseptic, and then putting a dressing on it. She smiled at me as she was working; I felt confident that she was attending to me. Once that was done, a police officer wanted to interview me about what had happened. I told him how it was raining heavily, and I tried to run across the laneway, from one covered area to the other, without looking properly. He told me that the accident was completely my fault; but they weren’t going to charge me with anything.

“I reckon the pain you’re feeling is probably sufficient punishment,” he said. “Just remember in the future, look both ways, you may not be so lucky next time.”

I felt suitably chastened; not only had I caused the injuries to myself, but also given Beth a big scare. All because I wasn’t thinking about what I was doing, my mind was occupied by thoughts about Cathy.

The doctor did a few more tests to make sure there were no problems with my brain. He asked me where I lived, and who was home. When I told him my parents were away for the week, he was reluctant to release me.

“You really need someone keeping an eye on you for the next few days,” he said. “If you start to have problems with coordination or memory, that could mean there’s bleeding in your brain somewhere, and we need to take action quickly before it causes serious problems.”

Beth suggested that I could go home with her, since she had the next few days rostered off, and would be able to change my dressings and make sure there were no neurological problems.

“I’m good friends with his parents, I’ll call them this evening to make sure everything’s okay,” she said.

I thought it would be a good idea; the possibility of the ‘neurological deficits’ worried me, so having someone who understood what to look for keeping an eye on me was reassuring. I was fitted with a pair of crutches, and Beth and I left the hospital.

“We should get some clean clothes for you,” she said. “Also, what if you get your guitar; if you play stuff for me, we can see how your coordination and memory is. I’m sure you’re sick of questions about your name and the date.”

We stopped off at my place; I struggled with the crutches to get up the back steps. I grabbed some clean clothes, my toilet bag and guitar. Beth helped carry stuff back to the car, and we drove to her place. She had to help me up the stairs; it was going to take some practice with the crutches before I was able to get around easily. By now it was approaching dinner time; Beth suggested I call my parents and let them know what had happened.

I called them at my Uncle’s place, they said all of my grandmother’s stuff had been moved in, but she had, in my mother’s words, ‘taken a turn’, and was up in the hospital under observation. The doctor suspected it was just angina, bought on by the stress of moving, but they wanted to make sure she was okay. I told them about my day, first about Cathy, and then being hit by the car. That worried them; so I put Beth on to give them all the medical details. They seemed happy that she was keeping an eye on me, and my father finished the call with ‘running across a street without looking is what I would call doing something stupid’.

For dinner, Beth heated up some beef vegetable soup; almost thick enough to be a stew. The perfect meal for a cold, wet winter’s night. After dinner, she checked my dressings, and then got me to do some coordination exercises. Touching my nose with a finger, reaching out to grab a pencil, stuff like that.

“Now, how about you play and sing,” she said. “I don’t want you to treat it like a performance; just do stuff as if you are practicing at home. We can see how your coordination and memory is going.”

I pulled the guitar from the case, checked the tuning, and tried to think of some suitable songs to play. I started with the usual set of fingering exercises that I ran through most days. I didn’t seem to have any problems with them, except for some stiffness in my shoulder. I couldn’t tap my left foot to keep time, either, but that was because of my knee preventing me from really moving my ankle.

Once I had run through most of my exercises, I played a couple of folk songs; singing softly as I played. I had no problems remembering either the music or the words; I even played one of the more challenging pieces, my merging of ‘Waltzing Matilda’ and ‘Road to Gundagai’.

“I seem to be able to play and sing without any difficulties,” I said. “I can put it away, if you want to watch the TV.”

“No, keep playing, I like it,” Beth said. “Why don’t you play more, there’s one you play that I really like, that ‘Summer Song’ one.”

“I’d prefer not play that one at the moment,” I said, and told Beth about the situation with Cathy. “That song reminds me of what she and I had earlier.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Will,” she said. “Don’t play that, then, not if it has some sad memories associated with it.”

I played a few other songs, plus some of the blue numbers; after an hour of playing I felt that I had pretty well tested out my brain. Beth suggested that I should have a shower, and she would check all the dressings, and an early night would be a good idea. She helped me to the bathroom, and supported me as I undressed. She found a plastic shower cap, and fitted that over my head, to keep the water off the wound to my scalp.

“Tomorrow afternoon we can give your hair a good wash,” she said.

She turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, and when it was right, she took off her clothes, and helped me into the shower. I was taken aback when she stripped off and joined me in the shower. I wasn’t worried about being naked in front of her; I mean, how else could I have a shower? But to have her naked, in the shower with me; I was unsure where to put my hands, I didn’t want to hold her, so I braced them against the side of the shower to keep myself steady.

Beth put some liquid soap on a washcloth, and proceeded to wash all over my body. When she squirted some soap on my prick, and started rubbing my prick and balls with her hands, I looked at her.

“We have to make sure you are clean there,” she said, winking. “Besides, I think he likes that.”

My prick was now fully erect; responding to her touching and stroking. I would challenge any straight guy not to get an erection under similar circumstances; Beth was an attractive woman, despite being seventeen years older than me. She was in the shower with me, naked, stroking my cock – so why wouldn’t it get hard? I tried to think about the fact that she was Janelle’s mother, the fact that at the start of the year, Janelle and I had made love several times, including in this very shower, and if Janelle knew just what was going on, she would be very upset. Those thoughts were quickly blown out of my mind when Beth rinsed the soap from my prick and bent down to plant a kiss right on the tip of my knob.

“Now, let’s see about those scrapes and grazes on your shoulder, and bandage your knee up,” she said as she turned off the water.

She dried me off; patting the parts of my body that were injured, and then had me sit down on the stool in front of the vanity. She removed the dressing from my shoulder, and made some noises to herself as she checked the wound.

“I’m going to put some more antiseptic on it,” she said.

It stung as she cleaned around the cuts and grazes, and when that was done she put a fresh dressing on it. Then she wound the bandage back on my knee, and helped me up.

“It might be an idea to sleep in my bed tonight,” she suggested. “That way, if anything happens to you, I’ll be right there.”

She helped me across the hallway to her bedroom, pulled back the covers and arranged the pillows. She indicated the side of the bed closest to the door.

“That side will be more convenient if you need to get up for a pee in the night,” she said.

I rested the crutches against the dresser, and sat on the edge of the bed. Beth helped swing my legs up and around, and assisted me to lie back on the pillows.

“Comfortable?” she asked, and I nodded.

She leant over me, held my prick in her hand, and placed her lips around my knob. She sucked gently, taking my knob completely inside her mouth. She swished her tongue around my knob, before sliding her lips down over my shaft, taking my whole prick into her mouth.

Any thoughts that I might have had about this not being a good idea had evaporated completely. All I could think about was her mouth around my cock, how damn good she was at sucking me off. I looked down at where Beth was sucking; I could see her two breasts, large and round; with big, erect dark brown nipples. I had a sudden desire to suck those lovely melons; to take each hard nipple into my mouth in turn.

“You like?” she asked, as she pulled her mouth from my prick with a wet “plop”sound.

“Uh-huh”, I managed to say.

She knelt on the bed, straddling my waist. I could see her pussy; the thick, dark hair already looking wet. Through the hair I could see two plump, wet lips, already starting to open. She placed her hands on her breasts, caressing them and tweaking her nipples.

“Would you like to on suck these?” she asked, as if she was reading my mind.

She didn’t wait for my response; she just leant forward, until her breasts were pressing against my cheeks. All I needed to do was turn my head slightly and there it was; a lovely firm nipple, surrounded by a puckered areola, pressed to my mouth. I opened my lips and drew her lovely firm nipple into my mouth. As I sucked, I took more of her boob into my mouth, and I suckled at her like I was a hungry baby.

I could feel her rubbing her pussy against my prick; she was rocking back and forward, letting her wet labia slide around my shaft. Before I could say anything, she had reached down and pushed my prick up, and with her next move backward I slide inside her. She sat upright, and I could see her smiling broadly as she started rising up and down. She wasn’t as skilled at riding me as Megan was, and I wondered just how Jillian would be to have sex with. Megan claimed she was more experienced than her, and it was Jillian that had suggested some of the great moves and techniques that made making love with Megan so enjoyable.

Beth continued riding me; increasing her speed until she was pounding up and down, causing my prick to slide deeply into her. It did feel great having this sexy older woman fucking me; it had been a while since I had last had sex. Watching Beth as she was fucking me, pleasuring herself on my cock was very erotic. Her full breasts were bouncing up and down, and I imagined just what it would be like to fuck her tits.

She cried out as she came, short little gasps of pleasure each time she thrust down on me. I was also close to coming; she kept riding me, and I pushed up into her matching her downward movements. I groaned loudly as I started spurting inside her; she let herself collapse forward and we kissed.

“How is your head feeling?” Beth asked me. “Has your headache gone?”

Actually, it had gone; there was just a background ache from the gash in my skull, plus the throbbing from my shoulder and knee. Considering what I had been through earlier, I felt pretty good.

“No, there’s no headache at all,” I replied. “Must have been all those endorphins released recently.”

“Sex is a great natural way to deal with pain,” she said. “Now you should try to get some sleep.”

She rolled off me, and lay by my side, her head on my shoulder. I put an arm around her, and she snuggled up to my chest. I closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

Lessons with Beth

June 22 - 24, 1976

I was woken by Beth leaning over my groin, sucking my cock. She quickly had me erect and hard, and mounted me, just like she had done the night before. After we had both come, she stayed sitting astride my waist, with a sly grin on her face.

“Do you like waking up that way?” she asked. “You can’t beat sex for helping you heal, once your knee isn’t so painful, we can try some other positions, too. How about a shower?”

She helped me out of bed to the bathroom, where we had another nice shower. Once again, she made sure I was completely clean, including my prick and balls, before drying me, and checking my injuries. She replaced the dressing on my shoulder, pleased with the way it was healing, and put the bandage back around my knee.

“Later this afternoon I’ll give your hair and scalp a good wash,” she said. “The wound should have started to cover up, and there’s probably still some dried blood around there, which I’ll clean up.”

While we were having breakfast my parents called to see how I was doing. I told them I was feeling much better after a good night’s sleep, the various cuts and grazes were healing well, and my knee was feeling a bit better. Beth gave me the standard set of neurological brain tests, to make sure there was no problems with my mental processes, then got a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope, took my blood pressure and pulse rate, and stuck a thermometer under my tongue.

“I should have taken your vital signs last night,” she said. “BP’s 120 over 80, pulse is 60, temperature is 37. All pretty good. How is the shoulder and knee feeling?”

I told her they were still feeling a bit tender, but not aching like they were yesterday.

“We should do some practice with your crutches,” she said. “Get you accustomed to using them, get you up and down the stairs. Stand up, let me check them out.” She looked at how they fitted, felt under my armpits where they were resting. “They seem to be adjusted properly.”

She got me “walking” up and down the length of the hallway; telling me to take smaller steps, and getting into a rhythm of swinging my legs forward to just in front of the crutches, then moving the crutches forward, and so on. After a few minutes I got the hang of it, and then we moved onto a more difficult task – the stairs. We spent the next fifteen minutes going up and down the stairs from her door to the parking area. This was much harder, but again, once I got into the rhythm of moving the crutches, then my legs, it became easier.

We took a break after a while, I was starting to get a bit out of breath, and my hands and arms were getting sore. We sat in the living room, and Beth did more of the neuro tests. By now I was good at touching the tip of my nose with a finger, and all of the other coordination exercises she put me through. I decided to do some guitar practice; no sense in letting that get rusty. There wasn’t really much else to do; every so often I would look out the window; the rain was still pouring down steadily.

After we ate lunch, Beth suggested we do something a little different this afternoon.

“How about you help me trim my pubic hair?” she suggested. “It’s gone a bit wild over winter; I normally keep myself neat and trim in summer, when I would be wearing a bikini. Let’s go to the bedroom, I’ll get the stuff we’ll need.”

She spread a large towel out across the bed, and got a small bowl of warm water, a liquid soap container, some wash cloths, and a razor from the bathroom. She also had a small, battery powered trimmer; the kind a barber would use to trim a man’s beard or sideburns. She stripped her clothes off, and lay on the bed, her backside on the towel.

“Now, you can get between my legs and tidy me up,” she said.

I got undressed, and knelt between her legs. Her pubic hair was thick, dark and plentiful; she certainly had the hairiest pussy that I had seen. Not that I was going to tell her that!

“How do you want it trimmed?” I asked her. “Do you just want a patch at the top?”

Beth explained how she would normally trim her pubes; she would leave just a narrow strip about an inch or so long at the top of her crotch. I started with the trimmer, removing all the hair from the side of her lips, being careful to stretch the skin smooth. I could see her starting to get wet; no doubt from the touch of my fingers and the vibrations from the trimmer. Once I had the sides trimmed, I started on the top patch; trimming it so there was just a narrow strip leading up from where her labia met. I used the trimmer to shorten the hairs that were to stay; I left them at maybe a quarter to half an inch long.

I then used a washcloth to dampen the areas that I had trimmed, and put some of the liquid soap on the skin. Using the razor, I carefully shaved all of the trimmed area, leaving everything smooth and hairless. Finally, I used a fresh damp cloth to wipe away any hair and soap residue. By now she was quite wet and slippery from her own juices; her labia were all swollen and open, and I could see glimpses inside her pink, wet vagina.

“Can you pass me that mirror on my dresser?” Beth asked me. “I want to see your handiwork.”

I gave her the hand mirror, and she used it to inspect her pussy.

“Oh, that looks so much better,” she said. “You did a great job, thank you. It’s much neater than when I try to do it myself.” She spread her labia open with her fingers. “I can see right up inside me now!”

Her pussy did look rather sexy, I thought. Now that it was trimmed, with most of the thick bush removed, I could see all of her. Her inner lips were almost non-existent; just two thin strips of skin, almost tiny ridges parallel and inside her outer lips. The outer lips were thick and fleshy; looking like two ridges running from where they joined just above her clit, down either side of her vagina, and tapering off below that. Those two lips were swollen at the moment, a darker red, and very moist.

Beth put the mirror back on the side table, and lay back. She reached down, and spread her labia open again, and with her other hand, started rubbing a finger around her pussy; up and down her slit, dipping into her cunt, then spreading her juices around her clit. I moved back between her legs, wincing as I put sideways pressure on my knee. I gently moved her hands away from her pussy, and moved in so my face was very close to her. With one hand, I spread her lips open, and I put my mouth to her pussy, licking and sucking her.

Beth gasped with pleasure.

“Oh, that’s so lovely,” she said. “Can you lick ... oh, yes right there, yeah, fuck, on my clit!”

I pressed my tongue more firmly to her pussy, letting the tip push her clit first one way, then the other. With my lips around her labia, I sucked in her juices, tasting the strong, musky flavour. It was hard to recall just how some of the other women tasted; I think Janelle probably had the strongest taste of all of the other women I had been with, but Beth’s was stronger and muskier than hers. Not that it was unpleasant or nasty, just different.

I could hear Beth moaning; telling me how good it was feeling. She was giving instructions every so often; telling me to lick right where I was, or to press harder, or (quite often) not to stop what I was doing. I was amazed at just how wet she was getting; it was like somehow I had turned on a water supply with my tongue. She was almost as wet as Janelle would be after she had come and squirted; but Beth hadn’t even come yet.

She was close to coming; I could hear her moaning. As my tongue pressed firmly to her clit, she cried out; and I felt her body shaking. Her hips jerked up and down, making it difficult for me to keep my mouth on her pussy. Then, she gave a loud groan, and there was a huge surge of her wetness; all warm and musky. She didn’t squirt like Janelle; it was more a gentle gushing flowing from her cunt.

“That was ... that was something so wonderful,” she panted. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard. Now, what if you slide up, and we can try a good position, getting your prick to rub against my clit as we fuck.”

I slid up her body until my prick was against her pussy; Beth reached down to guide me into her. It was like sliding into a hot vat of melted butter. She got me to slide up a little higher, and she wrapped her legs around my thighs, pulling me into her.

“Now, don’t thrust in and out, like you normally would,” she said. “Just rock back and forward, while I’ll try to push up into you. Can you feel your cock rubbing against my clit? Fuck, that feels so damn good!”

I had to admit I couldn’t feel all that much difference myself; she was far too wet for me to discern any subtle changes. It was difficult not to thrust in and out; the only thing that kept me from doing that was the pain in my sprained knee. Just rocking back and forward wasn’t putting a lot of pressure on my knee. I could feel her breasts moving against my chest, I was tempted to raise myself up, so I could suck them, but I didn’t want to change my position from what Beth had told me to take up.

The rocking movements were causing my prick to rub against her clit; Beth was pushing up at me, and I could feel her wet pussy moving around my knob. Slowly, I was getting closer to coming, as was Beth. She urged me to rock faster, and she pushed up against me with more urgency. Suddenly, she cried out, her body shaking as she came. I could feel her cunt spasm around my cock; and she pushed on my hips moving me a bit lower.

“Now fuck me hard!” she exclaimed. “Pump into me, Will!”

I raised myself up on my hands, and started thrusting in and out. She moaned as my prick pushed deep into her, and I could feel my knob sliding into her, spreading her cunt apart. I closed my eyes, tensed my muscles, and with a final, deep thrust, exploded into her. I held myself still inside her as my cock spurted.

When I had finished, I lowered myself so I was again lying on her chest. She unwrapped her legs around my thighs, put her hands around my shoulders, and kissed my lips, hard. Her tongue pushed between my lips, and stabbed at my own tongue. She moved a hand up to the back of my head, and pressed my face to hers.

After a minute or two, we stopped kissing, and I rolled off her, and lay on my back. I felt exhausted; my knee was aching, and my grazed shoulder was hurting as well. Beth rolled on to her side, and traced her fingers lightly across my chest.

“I guess other women have told you just how fantastic you are at giving oral sex,” she said. “It’s been so long ... I can’t remember exactly the last time a guy went down on me, and even that was just okay. Even then, guys go on as if they are doing you a huge favour, and you are in debt to them big time.”

“Did you and Janelle’s father...” I started to ask her.

“Oh, yes, we did that, and a lot, lot more,” she said. “But after we were forced to split up, and he went into the army, and I started my nursing career, it was years before I started dating again. I really didn’t feel like seeing men, and then when I heard that he had been killed, in Vietnam, I was upset for a while. When you are a single mother, raising a child, you don’t have a lot of spare time. Most men don’t want someone who already has a kid; so it has only been in recent years that I’ve been dating.