Chapter 2

PART I

The potential for calamity Nightingale foresaw very quickly became a reality. She herself brought it about. The previous evening she had put her proposal to Captain Gregory Wilson. But she had gained his ear through a subterfuge played out without her employer, Dr. H. Martin Wold-Fletcher, having knowledge of either the meeting or what Nightingale proposed to undertake. Dr. Wold-Fletcher was Captain Wilson's urologist.

Nightingale was uneasy in the morning when she arose. Having gone behind Dr. Wold-Fletcher's back she felt strongly that she had rashly and unethically exposed the doctor to the possibility of lurid scandal. With chagrin she realized her compassion had led her to expose Dr. Wold-Fletcher's reputation to injury or worse (God forbid!) to ruin, should the therapy she hoped to provide Captain Wilson become publicly revealed. It would surely be seen as under Dr. Wold-Fletcher's auspices. A cold realization struck her about sensational jackals of yellow journalism turning the intimate therapy she proposed into a titillating scandal. They would paint her as an aging whore masquerading as a benevolent nurse and Dr. Wold-Fletcher as her procurer rather than the dedicated healer he was.

She had also failed to maintain professional detachment by indulging in a masturbation fantasy about Captain Wilson. Now in her 50th year, Nightingale masturbated frequently as she had from her youth. But until Captain Wilson she had always maintained a personally imposed stricture against fantasizing about specific patients. She resolved should they continue, to regain her professional detachment. At the same time she now well understood the formidable challenge she had taken upon herself by proposing the intimate therapy she sketched out for the young veteran Gregory Wilson, captain of infantry. He had been grievously wounded and against all prognoses, miraculously survived but left both lame and impotent. As to the former there was nothing to be done for it; as to the latter medical science of the period could not aid him. So Nurse Nightingale offered and the desperate young war hero accepted.

She went about her morning routine quite preoccupied; unable to stop turning over in her mind her relationship with both Dr. Wold-Fletcher and with Captain Wilson and the events of the previous day. She had no appetite for breakfast but ate a piece of toast, then dressed. It normally pleased Nightingale to put on her nurse's attire. It was emotionally satisfying, as though she reaffirmed her vocation each time she dressed in these garments. It set her apart. She felt empowered by this manifest symbol of her profession; her vocation of compassion for and dedication to the care of others. Then too there was the tingle in her sex in the feel of her alabaster silk stockings as she pulled them up and fastened her garters. Pulling up her crotch-less girdle (she had gratefully abandoned corsets for this newly fashionable foundation garment) made her feel as if she was donning armor that would keep her most intimate bits securely hidden away and protected (and under some control one may add) in addition to shaping and firming her. While dressing, she rarely failed to indulgently fondle her nipples, stroke her plump pudenda and pat the little man in the boat, thereby sending a small frisson of pleasure radiating through her groin. But this morning her brain was otherwise occupied. There was no room for that cognitive maestro to coordinate and conduct even one or two bars of prelude to a sexual symphony.

Not a small woman, her large bones, somewhat thickened waist, broadened buttocks and full bosom made her an imposing figure in her starched white dress, stockings, and shoes. Completing this ensemble, Nightingale's cap with two black stripes identified her rank as a senior registered nurse. The long skirt, reaching just above her shins concealed two well turned legs, and sturdy thighs. When it was chilly, as it was this day, she drew on her soft deep blue woolen cape. She knew and took pleasure knowing there was a highly feminine and even provoking aura that surrounded a nurse in her professional attire. It could be seen in the lusty glances of men and not a few women as she rode the tram to Dr. Wold-Fletcher's offices.

Nightingale always prayed and read scriptures briefly as part of her well established morning routine. This morning she prayed in particular for guidance and courage to do what she had made up her mind that she must so as not to compromise Dr. Wold-Fletcher. And she prayed for strength to keep her physical needs and emotions in check as she set out on the journey to an uncertain destination; one that she yet hoped Gregory would agree to undertake with her. When she opened her Holy Bible randomly she was startled as the words of Isaiah 41:10 seemed to leap off the page. "Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness."

She read the passage several times. Each time her excitement grew. Had Nightingale been struck by a bolt of lightning she could not have received a more emphatic and definitive signal from the Almighty. If one door was to close behind her very well then, Thy will be done. Her dread receded to a manageable anxiety considering the events she expected would take place this day. Clearly another door was about to open. The Lord had unmistakably reassured her. She was to step forward and pass through to a new phase of her life; to her true vocation. As the door to her flat clicked shut she uttered a small prayer of thanks and set off for what was to be her last day in Dr. Wold-Fletcher's employ.

Late in the afternoon she met privately with Dr. Wold-Fletcher. Nightingale candidly outlined her transgression and her proposal to Captain Wilson. She also offered her profound apology and handed Dr. Wold-Fletcher her resignation, written out earlier in the day. She hoped he would not sack her but if he did she hoped it would not be a bitter confrontation. But Dr. Wold-Fletcher listened with a flush of color climbing up his neck thence into his cheeks while dismay, anger and frosty resolution passed across his face.

"Yes, well, I am shocked and sharply disappointed by this grievous lapse Nurse Synge. I shall obviously have to dismiss you. I cannot have nurses unilaterally indulging in courses of treatment of my patients; treatment that you, Synge, are not qualified to administer. Indeed, altogether presumptuous; you've gone quite out of bounds. Regrettable too, I knew your father. Fine doctor, hmmm; fortunate that he is not with us to be witness to what you've done."

He fell silent. Nightingale fought to keep from weeping. She bowed her head and smoothed her skirt.

"I think, yes I'm quite sure, in addition to dismissing you, I must insist that you not go forward with this "therapy" as you call it, with my patient, Captain Wilson. I shall be challenged, I fear, to undo the damage you may have caused. I must have your assurance that you will not see him further."

Nightingale's head snapped up. This was a demand that she had not anticipated. She looked directly into Dr. Wold-Fletcher's eyes and saw both anger and righteous determination.

But Nightingale's resolution rested on the granite foundation of devout religious conviction; conviction redoubled by direct personal revelation no less than as if she had experienced her own private Pentecost. "Doctor that is a demand I cannot accept. I have made a commitment to Captain Wilson. More than that, I have sought Divine guidance and I have been affirmed. Should the Captain accept I must go forward; I will go forward, for his sake."

Now Doctor Wold-Fletcher spoke with ill concealed contempt. "Poppycock! Divine guidance indeed! You have no idea what you are doing and do not have the requisite qualifications. There is nothing more to discuss. I shall not be passive about your obstinacy. Your personal effects will be sent round. I don't want you in here again. You are not the person I had thought you were. Now get out."

Shaken and stung by Dr. Wold-Fletcher's harsh words but with her resolution undiminished, Nightingale returned to her flat. But the calamity had not yet played out. Late the following day a messenger brought a communication from the Nursing Board.

"I'm instructed to bring back your signed acknowledgement Miss, along with any communication or document you wish to submit." Nightingale read with trembling hands. Dr. Wold-Fletcher, trading on a respected and growing reputation in the local medical arena had clearly moved swiftly to thwart her.

The board summoned her to a suspension and revocation hearing for (1) practicing medicine without a license, for (2) violating the trust of her employer and for (3) conducting or proposing conduct in a way so as to bring disgrace on the nursing profession. The Board offered, in fact it urged in the alternative that she could surrender her nursing license to avoid a hearing. That is what she did, with great reluctance and profound regret, resolved in her trust in divine guidance and swallowing her considerable pride so as to do nothing that would further aggravate Captain Wilson's unhappy state of mind. She was now suddenly and summarily stripped of a profession to which she had dedicated herself for nearly three decades. Nightingale wondered if Dr. Wold-Fletcher was right; that she was not the woman she had thought she was.

Would she hear again from Captain Wilson? She had her bequest from her late father to take care of her needs, but not indefinitely. She would have to find other work. But what could she do? Despite her resolve, that evening she cried bitterly. She thought of St. Theresa of Avila, said to have remarked from a muddy ditch where she had been pitched by an overturned cart, that if this was the way God treated his friends she was glad not to be an enemy. The thought made her snicker through her tears and a large bubble of mucous formed on a nostril. She rinsed her face, said her prayers and collapsed into bed.

Happily, the next day Captain Wilson rang her flat, having quickly learned that she was no longer in Dr. Wold-Fletcher's employ. "Damned sorry business," Gregory said when he and Nightingale spoke "Dr. Wold-Fletcher, giving you the sack. I don't relish being the cause of your dismissal."

She pish-poshed his expression of regret. Nightingale reminded him that what had led to her professional demise was all of her own doing. It was she, Nurse Synge, who needed to apologize for coming between Gregory and his doctor. Having danced through that obligatory minuet of manners, Nightingale put the question. What were they to do; would they go forward? When he accepted she had to tell herself to remain calm and offered a small prayer of thanks. They made arrangements to meet at his residence two mornings hence and begin therapy.

PART II

Despite his wrath over Nightingale's deceit, Dr. Wold-Fletcher made no further issue of it beyond what he had done already and did nothing to interfere with her so-called "therapy" for the young man. He was irritated when he read Captain Wilson's brief note thanking him for being not merely instrumental but central in his physical recovery. Nevertheless under present circumstances, added Captain Wilson, it would be best if he made other arrangements.

Dr. Wold-Fletcher did nothing because he had been invited to lunch with Harold Julius Corday, M.D., PhD, fellow of this, that and the other college of medical sciences. Gregory's uncle by marriage, Dr. Corday was a prestigious retired physician, former chief of medicine at a large local hospital, former President of the Medical Society (in his 8th four year term); and, for many years to the present day, a most influential and deeply respected member of the Society's executive board. His keel lay far deeper in the deceptively calm seas of the local medical community than did Dr. Wold-Fletcher's.

Over lunch Dr. Corday was quite cordial. He commiserated with Dr. Wold-Fletcher, allowing that he had heard of the unfortunate business with the late Dr. Synge's daughter, Nightingale, wasn't it? Yes, yes his nephew Gregory had rung to seek his Uncle, Dr. Corday's advice. Can't imagine what got into Miss Synge; known to be a bit odd though. Excellent nurse, mind you; fine specimen of a mature woman as well. Very devout, great compassion, perhaps excessive on the sympathy end of patient care he mused. Certainly Dr. Corday understood Dr. Wold-Fletcher had no choice in sacking the woman and Dr. Corday would not think of interfering. No, no, he was not asking that Dr. Wold-Fletcher reconsider at all. No that was, hmmm, what ... mused Dr. Corday?

"Let's say as dead an issue as the warm body left behind by a promising young surgeon who, in an inexplicable lapse, cut this when he should have cut that but nevertheless had gone on to become a well regarded physician and surgeon." That allusive analogy brought a pause in the audible conversation and a flush to Dr. Wold-Fletcher's face. Struggling, he retained his neutral expression and swallowed his anger. In the momentary silence Dr. Corday's eyes spoke instead. The point of the cordial luncheon invitation, Dr. Wold-Fletcher, thought, was about to be thrust home. Dr. Corday continued, at the same time he hoped, since Gregory was withdrawing as his patient, Dr. Wold-Fletcher would agree the interests of all involved would best be served if he took no other steps against Nurse Synge in regard to Gregory.

Let him keep an eye on the matter and be assured that he, Dr. Corday would not allow the Synge woman, now a former nurse, to do anything that would compromise Gregory's physical or mental health. After all what could the woman do with whatever notions she had? Certainly, he continued, nothing more than Dr. Wold-Fletcher, with all of his experience and skill, had done; and he employing the latest and best medical science and healing art in the bargain. Dr. Corday speculated, predicted in fact that both Synge and Gregory would see that her ministrations were futile and they would all move on. Didn't Dr. Wold-Fletcher, agree? Dr. Wold-Fletcher got the message. This "cordial" luncheon engagement between two professional colleagues was not revealed to Nightingale and Gregory until many years later.

During Captain Wilson's long recuperation, when it was clear that he would recover, his parents had built for him a splendid cottage on the grounds of their country home. Thoughtfully they placed it far enough away for privacy but near enough so that Gregory could join them for dinner or otherwise be only a short walk away from the main house if he so chose, and vice versa of course. The cottage included an office, sitting room, bedroom, bath, small kitchen and an exercise room.

When she arrived Nightingale had on her white nurse's attire but wore a plain nurses cap without the senior nurse striping as it was a function of her lost licensure. Nightingale thought wearing her nurse's clothing would put the therapy in a clinical context that Gregory had grown accustomed to during his long recovery. At the same time she wondered if her attire would provide visual stimulation as nurse's attire did for many men. If she discovered that it did, although at her age she harbored some misgiving about her matronly body stimulating young Gregory. But if it did then she would record it in her therapy notes.

"What will you do now?" Gregory asked. "I mean, what will you do for a livelihood? Of course I'll compensate you for your therapeutic services. But that won't be enough to sustain you by itself, I shouldn't think."

Nightingale responded more sharply than she would have if she were not picking her way down this new path with acute sensitivity to her keenly tuned moral and professional sensibilities. Perhaps some secondary concern about her honor and dignity crept into the mix as well. After all she contemplated, although all details of what might occur were still to emerge, they would engage in activity she believed essential but that would, if viewed in the harshest and most cynical light, be seen as an exchange of carnal pleasure for remuneration.

The young captain was somewhat taken aback by this stiff reaction.

"You will not give me any money or anything of value for my "services" as you call it. "I could never take money for doing this. I am doing this out of Christian charity, a work of mercy as our Lord instructed; at least to assuage your needs and at best to restore your virility. We won't speak of money further. I am not without resources and if I need anything more, well then the Lord will provide."

Nightingale's reaction bemused Gregory. He thought her extraordinary; even unique. She could, by no stretch of imagination be thought of as a beauty, this matronly Rubens model of a woman, with graying hair and beginnings of wrinkles, both soft belly and ample bottom shaped and firmed but yet obtruding and promising a banquet awaiting caress beyond her garments; with a fulsome bosom that slowly gave way to gravity. Time was those well nippled spheres did cantilever out high, proud and so firm that a pencil could not be held between breast and chest; with extraordinarily large nipples both in girth and length and keenly sensitive in the bargain. More than once she had reached orgiastic bliss by stimulating her nipples without touching her ample pussy.

One could see as well the beginnings of a wattle at her neck. The woman had been a mature woman when Gregory was still filling his diapers. Yet now standing in proximity there was a fetching sensuality to her. If she was not a beauty queen she flashed a wonderful, genuine and confident smile; looked out of kind and often amused brown eyes and spoke in a dulcet female voice. Nightingale carried herself with poise and authority. And she smelled good too, something floral, he could not have said what. But under it another odor, no other word for it, an odor, a hint of an edgy, musky, visceral scent. Indeed it carried the sort of pheromones that lift a male animal's nostrils to the breeze and stir slumbering phalluses.

"Shall we chat for a bit?" Nightingale asked. "I think it will be useful if I describe what we'll do to begin your therapy."

"Yes, that's fine. Before you begin I want to say, that is, err, just you are quite fetching in your nurses attire."

"Thank you Gregory. That's very kind. A lady enjoys such compliments even when there's a bit of blandishment in them." She smiled demurely, thinking to herself that Gregory was yet another male stimulated by a woman clad in white nurse's attire. Inside, against her resolve and against all previous training and experience, she felt a wave of warmth flow through her bowels.

"Blandishment you say? Am I that transparent?" Gregory asked with a grin. "I am working on getting over my ridiculous reticence with women so I am practicing with you."

"Of course and that is good. It will help with your therapy. Now, focus on this with me. I'm going to be making notes as we go forward. It is important that we establish a baseline of your condition so that we can measure progress. I will take some measurements of your penis, your scrotum and your remaining testicle. Very gently I will also test the sensitivity of your penis and scrotum. I must also palpitate your prostate gland, Gregory. To do that I will need to perform a digital rectal exam. I may need to use an instrument if my finger will not reach. The gland lies at the base of your bladder and surrounds your urethra. The prostate is a major reproductive organ in the male and can provide a great deal of sexual pleasure itself. If it is responsive that will be a very encouraging as I am quite sure it will stimulate your penis and aid in achieving erection. If it does not do so immediately then we shall coax your member to stand firm at some later point as we move further into your course of therapy. Now is that satisfactory so far?"