Chapter 3

Ginger watched them go into the bathroom and started organising his next mischief.

He slid his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. The air-conditioning cooled his spine as the thin cotton gown opened down his back. He reached around and undid the ties -- fortunately an act easily accomplished with his one good hand -- then he leaned across the bed and pressed the call button.

"If it's the male nurse I'll just ask for a drink and wait until later."

He was in luck however.

"Hello again." He looked at the name tag he had missed before. "Ah, Margaret. That's my sister's name. Sorry if I embarrassed you before."

He watched her mouth moving and guessed she was asking "When?"

He raised his hand, initially as though he was offering the back of his fingers to her to sniff, then making a small scratching motion with one finger. He was pleased when she blushed.

John had left pad and pen on the table over his bed and Ginger indicated it when Margaret tried to answer his next question -- "Why are you blushing?"

He figured she was probably nineteen, maybe twenty and surely no older, and though her appearance was probably considered "ordinary", "ordinary" was quite okay. Ginger had realised long ago the he wouldn't rate any higher himself.

After all he wasn't looking for a replacement for Henrietta, just a chance for some fun and not necessarily taken too far. A bit of flirting and innuendo, the odd double entendre -- "You thought I meant what!?" Something to liven up his, and hopefully her, evening.

Margaret had scribbled "It doesn't matter" and Ginger coaxed her again. She shook her head and he persisted. She scribbled something else and he read the words upside down before she had finished.

"What was on your hand?"

"What do you mean?" He was all innocence. It was a gamble but he figured the question indicated was hooked and he was reeling in slowly rather than risking breaking the line with too crude or smart a comment.

"I could smell something on your hand."

Ginger tried to look puzzled. "What did it smell like?"

Now she blushed again. How to describe it she thought. She knew what she thought it smelled like but wasn't going to say "my pussy". She had her suspicions and wanted to try to get the boy to own up -- well, young man, she admitted to herself. In her own way she was as much a joker and tease as him.

In the eighteen months she had been working on the wards while she was getting her qualifications she had met and learned to face down many a boy, teen, man and occasional woman who made suggestive comments or gestures, or who even outright propositioned her.

She still kicked herself for turning down one old man who promised to leave her everything. It was in the papers later how another carer had settled with his family for a pittance rather than taking her claims through the courts. It was a seven figure pittance she recalled.

Who would have believed he owned that much. He certainly hadn't spent it on personal luxuries or a private room; he also hadn't seen any of his family while she had been on duty.

This guy was the first to put pussy juice in front of her face and she wanted him to own up. (Though the others probably wouldn't have approached her if they had access to pussy in the first place -- that raised an interesting point regarding young Michael.)

She couldn't have stuck in the job if she wasn't able to give as good as she got. She was going to write "perfume" but instead grinned while bent over so he couldn't see her face and simply asked, "Who was she?"

She turned the pad towards the freckle-faced teen. What was left of his hair had been trimmed right back so it was as short as his friend Harry's, someone the nurse had yet to meet.

She stood there, arms crossed and toe tapping, waiting for his answer. She was sympathetic to the pain he must have felt but sympathy didn't mean she was going to baby him and it definitely wasn't going to make her throw her legs open. Still he was cute with his feigned innocence.

"Girl?" he asked.

She didn't change her stance and the seconds passed slowly as she held him in her steely gaze.

"Oh. Do you mean Henrietta? She's my girlfriend."

Margaret was willing to accept that as an acceptable admission. She hadn't paid much attention when she had been in before; then it was a matter of get in, get the bottle and get out but she recalled a girl over the other side of the bed when he had been a silly bugger.

Another scribbled note, "What did you ring for?" She did have work to do to.

"I've got my clothes now. Can you help me change? It's a bit hard with this arm."

Nurse Margaret Grimes gave him a sarcastic look when she handed over the next note. "Couldn't she change you? You seem close enough; that shouldn't faze her."

"She's busy right at the moment."

"Busy?"

"She's screwing my friend in the bathroom."

Margaret automatically looked at the door and saw it was unlocked, then grinned. "Wise guy! Huh! Almost got me. His friends must have left with his parents."

Ginger had learned that, if the truth was crazy enough, people would refuse to believe it. He wondered what would have happened if she had checked.

Instead she headed to the bedroom door and closed that then pulled the curtain around his bed. Ginger indicated the pyjamas he wanted and she lay them next to him on the bed.

She was going to slip the pants, little more than boxers, on first while the gown kept him modestly covered but Ginger shucked off the sleeve on his right arm and held out the left so she could ease that sleeve over his bandages.

That left him with a scrunched up gown over his lap, with a suspicious lump in the middle.

Margaret slid the short sleeved top onto his arm and leaned towards him so she could pass it around to his good side.

It was a little trick of her own -- invading the patient's personal space, daring them to take some action either naughty, which she could complain about, or retreating in abject fear, which tended to stop further propositions; a sort of put up or shut up test that tended to be win-lose in her favour regardless of the outcome.

Occasionally the patient stood firm but remained restrained -- then it could be win-win all round. Ginger proved able to meet her challenge and turned so his lips barely missed scraping her cheek as she looked over his shoulder to untangle the sleeve.

Her breasts, neatly covered by the little white square of her pinafore with badge and inverted watch, made the softest touch against Ginger's chest and he leaned the slightest bit forward, only to give her better access over his shoulder of course. He felt the softness give, paused for a second, and then straightened as if he had only just noticed the contact.

Margaret was delighted; he was playing the game perfectly. Everything remained innocent and deniable, yet both felt the arousal caused by the underlying tension.

She leaned back and noticed what she called a 'da Vinci' smile. Michael was pleased with the contest, obviously, but refused to admit he had been playing. No cheesy grin here; just the merest uplift as if to say "it was good." She had always wondered if Lisa had played the same sort of games with Leo.

As she did up the buttons she noticed that the lump in the hospital gown seemed bigger.

"Ah then -- time for the coup de grace."

"I'll put that in the laundry," she said, forgetting his current infirmity. It didn't really matter as he could see her looking at the thin garment and she wondered just how far her hand would get as she reached to pick it up. It was just another game of chicken.

She had seen plenty of penises -- soft, hard and even so shy they had withdrawn back into the embarrassed patient's body; it didn't faze her. The reactions from her patients however were almost always unpredictable.

The very youngest didn't seem at all worried -- prepubescent, there was little to see and absolutely nothing of interest. Young teen's weren't much better though they had apparently eaten from the tree of knowledge and were now far more sensitive of the changes occurring throughout their bodies.

One or two, developing early and finding themselves to be change room celebrities, seemed quite proud of their appendages though Margaret had always wondered what they felt they had done to be proud of. Perhaps they required hours of exercise to develop their cocks to monumental size? (Some people only get small monuments awarded to them but they can still be valued just as highly by the community.)

She delighted in deflating some egos by suggesting that their size was such a sign they had been "exercising" too much. Once she even had gone as far as leaving a note for the resident doctor to check out whether the muscle in the lad's left arm was atrophied since the right (supposedly) appeared so much bigger.

As she had read out what she had written she added a quiet bit of advice to her patient, "You might want to use your left hand for a while until your arms even up." She made half a jerking off motion so he had no doubts what she was saying.

Blushing then, and even more so when the doctor did check him out, the poor patient was no more trouble to the nurses and Margaret received many congratulations over the following days.

Ginger was made of sterner stuff; if she'd been privy to some of the evenings when he and his friends had "performed" in front of, or even for the pleasurable viewing by, each other she would have understood he no longer worried about someone seeing his penis, no matter what state it was in.

Margaret paused just before lifting the gown from his lap and Ginger wondered if she had decided to chicken out. Nope. It was swept away causing his erection to bend and spring back, the movement inevitably drawing Margaret's eyes even though she was determined to play it cool.

It was a neat example of maleness, a finely sculptured multi-hued marble; the appearance only softened by the collar of flesh which surrounded and covered the head, his little piss hole slit exposed in the middle like a barnacle in its shell. She was tempted to ask him what other toys he had gotten for Christmas but that taunt was better reserved for those she discovered jerking off during the night.

She looked up and he was grinning at her. She supposed that was only fair as she had looked far longer at it than she had intended.

"It's alright. It doesn't bite."

Her response was easy enough to read from her lips. "I might!"

Their grins broadened.

Margaret threw the gown onto the end of the bed and reached for his pyjama shorts.

"Can you get me a wet cloth and towel first please. I just need to wash around..." He indicated his groin. "It's alright. I can do it myself."

Ginger didn't want to have her thinking he was trying to get her to rub his prick and balls. Well he didn't want her to think that too much. If it happened he certainly wasn't going to complain but mainly he wanted to distract her while getting her to enter the bathroom.

Handing him his clothing she slipped through the curtain and reached for the bathroom door. Her knock was perfunctory and as automatic as the turning of the door's handle.

She, like all nurses, was near-godlike in her ward, at least as far as the patients (and a few doctors) were concerned. If she needed to go anywhere then no-one was going to stop her. Little matters like privacy and retained dignity while sitting on the crapper were secondary; if they could be provided well and good, but that was really only a bonus for the patient.

John and Henrietta had little time to react.

As the sounds died down John had resumed pumping his hard cock into Henrietta's willing body. He kept his movements slow and deliberate, aiming for a reasonable level of enjoyment over a protracted period rather than an immediate cataclysmic release that may not involve the both of them.