The Patient in 406

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Night shift nurse manager Tanya Swanson hates the hours, the short staff, the fatigue and the depression, but a bright spot in her otherwise dreary life is Marine Sergeant Jack Prestwood, who is in post-op recovery from surgery on both eyes. Jack can't see Tanya, but her charms cheer him up in multiple ways.

I hope you'll forgive the cliche wrapped like gauze around the "Night Shift Nurse" part of my post. For starters, I'm not a, so-called, naughty nurse, like they feature in those gross and cheesy porn videos. In fact, I'm far from it. I'm a responsible health care professional that cares deeply about her patients and how well my floor is run. Even so, this is a true story about the one time I had a serious lapse in judgement. Maybe you'll understand how it happened if I explain a little more.
To protect my privacy, I'll call myself, Tanya Swanson. I'm the night shift nurse manager on the post-op floor of a suburban hospital connected with one of America's largest healthcare providers. I won't tell you the name, because if I did, you'd recognize it.
Despite the general issues associated with working the night shift — the long hours; short-staff; fatigue; on-again-off-again-depression; and the fact that my sleep clock is perpetually screwed-up — I actually love my work. I get to help people who have real needs and are frequently groggy because they're just waking up from a surgical procedure and the anesthetic that accompanied it. We have nine beds on my floor, which means three of us get stretched pretty well over the 12-hours we work, 7:15PM to 7:15AM, (19:15 to 07:15) trying to care for all the patients and prep the floor for the next day's shift.
Most of the people we care for, have fairly common issues. There's the usual nausea and vomiting from the anesthesia, some thirstiness, and occasional restlessness — all stuff we're used to and have no trouble coping with.
But things were different with the patient in 406. His name was Jack Prestwood, Marine Corps Master Sergeant, Jack Prestwood. Thirty-something and ruggedly handsome, he was built like a seasoned combat pro — broad shoulders, brawny biceps, six-pack abs, narrow hips and a perfect jaw line. Yup, Jack had everything you can imagine when you think of a warrior. It was obvious he was someone who was well-equipped to bravely manage the brutality of war and yet have what it takes to be gentle, sweet and caring. He was a rare breed indeed.
I wasn't supposed to have 406 that night. I normally look after the desk and a couple of the odd-numbered rooms, but Suzi called in sick, so Olivia and I had a lot more to cover.
ROOM 406 - WEDNESDAY NIGHT, 11:00PM (23:00)
"How are the eyes feeling, Sergeant?" I asked. His chart explained he'd had a rare problem, double scleral buckling. In other words, he needed both his retinas reattached. After suffering an explosive concussion in Afghanistan, they rushed him here instead of Germany, because our eye surgeon is one of the best.
"Not sure I can feel much of anything yet," he said, "who are you?" Jack reached out a hand.
"I'm Tanya, the night shift nurse manager," I said, taking his hand in both of mine. "It's nice to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine," he said with a little smile creasing the jet-black, days-old stubble on his cheeks. "Yours is the first female voice I've heard since Hot Lips Hannah."
"Ha, wow, there's a name!"
"Right?" Jack smiled broadly now, "she's this gorgeous, stacked chopper pilot who airlifted me out and got me to Bagram."
"Hmm," I mused aloud, "sounds like the two of you have some history."
"Oh, I wish," Jack laughed, "but she's gay. In fact, she used to get hit on so much she started wearing an I like girls sticker on her flight helmet." I laughed along with Jack.
Then it was quiet. Jack seemed to sigh and think about something far away. Still holding his hand in mine, I asked, "Are you alright?"
"Oh yeah," his voice had changed, the bravado was gone, "just thinkin' about home."
"You married?"
"Yes. No. Shit," he whispered. "It's a mess. I was married when I left for this last tour. But I got one of those emails, you know?"
"What kind of an email?"
Jack stayed silent as did I.
"I can leave you alone if you like," I finally suggested, sensing his pain, and pulling my hands away from his.
"No, please, don't," he gripped my wrist with a gentle but desperate bit of force. "She wrote that her fuckin' ex-boyfriend dropped in on her and . . . sorry, excuse my language."
"God," I whispered, "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah," Jack sighed, "I just never expected she'd do that to me. I really thought we were solid."
The words, "She doesn't deserve you," slipped out of my mouth before I could hold them back.
"Ha, well, you're sweet Tanya, but you don't really know me. I can be a handful." His words made me picture him with me in the shower for a brief moment before I could get my mind to behave.
"I'm sorry you have to deal with your eyes and that too," I whispered, thankful he couldn't see how red-in-the-face I was.
"It's all for the best, I guess, Jack breathed, pushing his head of shaggy, dark hair further back into his pillows. "I want her to be happy, but it - it hurts, you know?"
I stayed silent.
"How about you?" Jack turned his bandaged eyes in my direction. I wished I could see his eyes. I was imagining them to be a soft, understanding shade of brown.
"How about me, what?" I was confused.
"Are you married?"
"Oh, me? No."
A big grin came across Jack's face in my direction, "You're not gay, are you?"
"Well, I probably wouldn't turn Hot Lips Hannah away, but, no," I laughed, "I'm not gay."
"Seeing anyone?"
"Tanya," Olivia's voice interrupted from the doorway, "can you check on 401 again? I've got my hands full out here."
"Sure," I said, "be right there."
"Sorry I kept you," Jack apologized in his lowest, warmest voice, a voice that made me want to tell 401 to wait another hour for me.
ROOM 406 - THURSDAY MORNING, 6:35AM (06:35)
Whenever I’m alone with you,
You make me feel like I am whole again . . .
Jack was listening to Adele’s music playing quietly on his bedside speaker as I walked in. “Good morning, Sergeant,” I said.
“It’s Jack, Tanya, and good morning,” Jack’s face glowed a full, white toothy grin, “I am so ready for today.”
“I’ll bet you are,” I smiled back, pulling a roll-around stool under me so I could sit at his bedside. Dr. Morgan is going to be in here in a few minutes to get those bandages off.”
“Sounds good.”
“And, they’ve got you scheduled to get out of here, tomorrow, that’s Friday, probably a little after 12-Noon.”
“Ha! The taxpayer gets to pick-up another day-rate for me,” Jack said.
“Yup, that’s the system. Do you have someone you can arrange for to pick you up?”
Jack was quiet, his smile having faded. “I’ll work it out,” he said.
Well, you look good,” I hoped my words sounded nurse-like and not flirty, even though I knew exactly what I truly meant. “Your vitals are just right. You feeling okay?”
“Pretty much, I guess,” Jack came back tentatively. “Just a little anxious, I think. Feeling a little lost too, to be honest.”
My hands found Jack’s broad, tattooed right hand, covering it in an embrace that I could feel instantly calmed him.
“God, thank you,” Jack whispered, “you have no idea what your touch means to me.”
I couldn’t speak, or think. The current running between Jack’s body and mine was completely and totally distracting. This delicious contact seemed to stop time in its tracks. Jack’s hand, gloriously resting in mine, felt heavenly. His touch, accompanied by Adele’s lyrics — words I’d heard a million times before — now took on a deeply suggestive, sensuous meaning. Jack could feel it too. His EKG showed both elevated heart rate and breathing. Damn, I thought, what’s happening here?
“Alright, Sergeant Prestwood, let’s see what you can see, hmm?” Dr. Morgan’s voice shattered what was happening between Jack and I, forcing us both to clear our throats and sit up straight. Jack switched off the music as I vacated the stool for Dr. Morgan, retreating to the doorway where my warm hands suddenly chilled in contact with the reality of the metal door frame.
“How’s the recovery been?” Morgan asked with clinical coolness.
“Beautiful. Just beautiful,” Jack said slowly and with relish, his smile seeming to send me a coded message that made my whole body quake.
“So, as we unwrap these,” the doctor spoke as he worked, “you are gradually going to see more and more light.”
“Yes,” Jack breathed, “I can see it already.”
“That’s always a good sign,” Morgan quipped.
As all the strips of gauze fell away, Jack’s breathing hastened once again.
“Now, we’ve got just these last two thin patches, Dr. Morgan instructed, “as they come off, everything is probably going to seem bright and out-of-focus, but that’s normal.”
Involuntarily, I cleared my throat from where I stood in the doorway, realizing, after I did, that something inside of me wanted to signal my beautiful Jack Prestwood my exact position in the room, so when he could see, he would see me first.
It worked.
“Hello you!” Jack said to me just after the last two patches were removed and his eyes – his beautiful, deep blue eyes — looked in my direction.
Dr. Morgan turned and looked at me with a quizzical expression and then returned to his role as a clinician, holding his retinometer close to Jack’s face to see the proof his surgery was a success.
“I’d say you are good to go, Sergeant.”
“Thanks, doc. Thanks for everything,” Jack said, his eyes still on me.
ROOM 406 - THURSDAY EVENING, 10:30PM (22:30)
“Is there a reason they won’t let you work 24-shifts?” Jack greeted my evening stop in Room 406 with a grin. “Because that Hector guy isn’t anywhere near as beautiful as you.”
I laughed and blushed and decided not to try a clever comeback, something I’ve never been very good at. Instead, I just stepped to Jack’s bed and instinctively smiled and reached for his hand. After a moment or two of eye contact, I self-consciously began some nurse-speak.
“So, they still have your discharge time at 12 . . .
Jack pulled me down and kissed me. I was stunned and yet relieved. I’d wanted to kiss this amazing man the very first time I laid eyes on him. His kiss was sweet and powerful, soft, yet anxious. A kiss anxious with pent-up passion and desire, and somehow, through his kiss, I could feel his deep emotional scars and pain.
After the kiss, we just looked at each other, trying to figure out what all this meant.
“Um,” I finally whispered, “normally, um, a shower is recommended . . .”
“You’ll have to help me,” Jack broke in, smiling and winking, “I’m a blind, helpless, invalid.”
“You’re not blind,” I mockingly scolded him. “But we can put those bandages back on if you want them,” I whispered.
“No,” Jack breathed, “that would screw up this beautiful view.”
I messaged both Claire and Olivia, letting them know I’d be in 406 for a while. Jack started streams of steaming water running in the shower as I locked the bathroom door behind me. Sergeant Jack Prestwood pressed his body against mine, pushing my back against the door.
Taking my face in his hands, Jack breathed, “I really don’t know who you are, Nurse Swanson, but I want to find every possible excuse to see you again and again and agai . . .”
I interrupted him with an open-mouthed, tongue-led kiss that made pressure from his erection beneath his hospital gown find its way between my legs, adding to the flood of desire already running there, beneath my scrubs.
A torrent of passion flowed out of each of us and into the other as we kissed and touched and moaned. Our clothes on the floor, Jack lifted my 120-pound frame off the floor, draping my legs over his hips, granting his beautiful, long, thick and throbbing prick access to my flooding sex. Between Jack's strength, my weight and gravity, I fucked him with fury from 4-feet off the ground. The intensity of his cock deeply penetrating me from this amazing angle, the slippery sound of our sex made cumming too easy for me.
Jack, on the other hand, had more control. It seemed he wanted to make me cum and cum and cum until I was exhausted. When I finally got him to put me down, my legs folded beneath me from orgasmic shaking. Jack caught me, but let my body down slowly to kneeling position at the feet of this amazing man. I took his erection into both of my hands and looked up, smiling, "You are a handful, Jack Prestwood!"
Something about Jack's cock slipping in and out of my throat thrilled me in a way I'd never before experienced. All I wanted was to please him the way he had just pleased me. After my fingers, lips, tongue and throat gave Jack's manhood a wet and wild ride, long squirting spurts of cum jetted from him into my mouth, off my lips and down my chin, cascading across my breasts. Licking and swallowing Jack's gift, I stood kissed him so he could have a taste of his own medicine.
Over the last 30-days, another 25 or more post-operative patients have come and gone through Room 406, but none of them like Sergeant Jack Prestwood. He sends me a private message every week or so, letting me know how he’s doing, calling me “beautiful,” and each time telling me, “Tanya, you saved my life.” 
I’ll never forget him, my beautiful Jack, my patient in 406.

Submitted: May 26, 2020

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