Me and Nurse Irene

[StephenJude]

Me and Nurse Irene

All my life as a teenage boy, every time I went to the doctors, I was afraid of hearing the nurse say:

"We need to see you naked. We need you to take off all your clothes."

There was always a nurse, at Dr. Stoler's, who wanted to see me naked.

She would have loved to have seen me naked.

Every time she had to give me an injection, she gave it to me in my butt.

But she never got to see my penis.

She wanted to see my penis.

She wanted to say,

"OK Stephen. You've got to strip. Strip naked."

But she never got to, until that one day...

I waited until I turned 18 to contract the chicken pocks. I had just graduated from high school in May, when my sister brought the virus home from school. Even though the small, incredibly irritable blisters covered my entire body, and my temperature raged to 104, my Mum telephoned Dr. Stoler.

"Well, 18-years-old is pretty late to contract chicken pocks," the Doctor told my Mum over the phone. "He should be fine, but just to be sure have Stephen come into the office for an exam after they've run their course."

Late in June, soon after the last of the small red scabs had dropped off, and made the last mess in my bed, my Mum made me walk up to Dr. Stoler's for the examination.

I hated going to Dr. Stoler's.

I knew I would get Nurse Irene.

Wendy—the nurse who always gave me any injections Dr. Stoler ordered in my arm--was stationed at the reception desk. Which meant that Irene would be in the back, assisting Dr. Stoler in the examining rooms.

Of course, what does that really matter? I thought. This is just a simple check-up after the chicken pocks. I mean, I had a few scars, but I really was feeling fine.

"Hi, Stephen," Wendy said as I signed in at the desk. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah, I really am."

"Your Mom just called. Go right on back."

Nurse Irene greeted me at the half-door that opened onto the long hallway of examining rooms.

"We've been expecting you."

She was tall—a good six inches taller than me--and heavy, not fat, but heavy for a young woman. She couldn't have been more than five years older than me.

Reflections in her thick glasses occasionally blanked out here eyes. I hated that: I could never tell exactly what part of my body she was looking at when she looked at me.

"Room Two," she said.

And Nurse Irene followed me into the examining room.

Dr. Stoler came in before Nurse Irene could even take my temperature.

Dr. Stoler must have weighed two-hundred-and fifty pounds, all of his bulk pure bulldog.

"You’re feeling better," he said, as if he had commanded me to be well. "I see."

"Hop up on the exam table for Doctor, Stephen," Nurse Irene directed.

I scooted up and crinkled the waxpaper covering.

Dr. Stoler brushed my light brown bangs up off my forehead and looked down at my face up from under his glasses. "Just a few scars, hmmm?" He flipped over the top page of my chart. "How high did your temperature get?"

"104, Doctor," Nurse Irene answered for me.

"Hmmm, well, that may not be dangerously high but let's not take any chances. We don't want you experiencing repercussions from a childhood illness at some important point later in life, hmmm. Administer a standard motility test, Irene. Have Stephen call in a week for the results."

Motility? Dimly, I recalled the word from biology class.

Dr. Stoler left the room as abruptly as he had entered. "Call for the results in a week. Nurse Irene will take care of your test."

He closed the door, leaving me alone in the exam room with Nurse Irene.

At first, she didn't say anything, and neither did I.

She went to the small cabinet that each exam room had, brought out a small cloth and that she unfolded beside me on the exam table.

She set a small, uncapped specimen jar in the center of the clean, white cloth.

She stared at me for a long minute.

Once again, because of the reflections, I could not see where she had her eyes. I could feel her eyes on me though, warm as the June sunshine.

"Have you ever given a sample for a motility test?"

She smiled before I even said, "No, never."

"For this procedure you need to strip."

I swallowed heat. "Uh, down to my underpants?"

"Strip naked. Take off all of your clothes. Take off your underpants."

For an eternally long warm minute, I could not move.

"In front of you?"

"I have administered this procedure to quite a few adolescent boys."

She never got to see my penis!

She wanted to see my penis!

And now it looked as though Nurse Irene would get her chance.

Slowly, I pried off my white Converse All-Pros. The laces were already undone. I never tied my laces.

Clunk, clunk. My sneakers dropped one after the other onto the floor beneath the examining table.

"I am not here to embarrass you."

I wasted time over my grey sweatsocks. I bunched em up, and stooped to stick em inside my sneaks.

"Place your clothes on the chair as you remove them."

I got em and set my sockroll on the chair.

"Now your shirt. Take off your shirt."

I could have wasted more time over my shirtbuttons, but maybe I should just get this over with quick...

"Take your shirt off."

I tugged my cotton purple-white-and-black majdras over my head without unbuttoning, and pulled my arms out of the rolled-up sleeves.

"Did you go to Lollapalooza?" Nurse Irene asked, catching sight of my concert T-shirt.

I had been sleeping in my La]ollapalooza T-without laundering, so the armpits were a little funky, with smelly yellow stains around the stretched-out collar.

"Me and a buddy read poetry there."

"Oh, yeah? So you're a poet, huh?"

For a second, I thought, this'll be OK; she's about to call this whole thing off. "Sorta."

"Well, how can you wear an undershirt in this hot weather?"

I popped open my mouth. Was I supposed to answer?

"Oh, well," she said. "Take it off."

I took it off.

I could still not see her eyes, but I could feel the heat of her admiration.

How could she admire my skinny-bone chest?

I had grown a whole foot the summer before, but my wrists and elbows refused to catch up with the rest of me.

"Now let's do your pants," said Nurse Irene. "Take your jeans off."

I could feel the ghost of pleasure and heat about to become a boner behind my zipper.

Oh, God, don't tell me I'm gonna pop a hard-on!

I could see her eyes from where I stood now. Nurse Irene stared straight into my zipper!

Reluctantly, I unbuckled my belt, popped the stud, and unzipped my zipper.

Immediately I popped that boner I had been afraid of popping.

My jeans opened, going loose around my hips, showing off my JC Penney briefs, snug, with two wide royal blue stripes in the waistband.

Nurse Irene smiled at pyramid tenting out through my grinning zipper.

And I knew she knew the shape of things to come.

"You're wearing those rabbity briefs that boys wear!"

"Huh?" I unzipped my grungey, Lee Riders.

"Nice hairy legs!"

"Huh?" I twisted my rip-ups off my knees and ankles.

"Just put your jeans with the rest of your clothes."

I tossed my jeans over the chair, and stood in front of Nurse Irene, nothing on but my mock Fruit- of-the-Looms.

"Well," said Nurse Irene. "You've gotta be naked; you've gotta be nude."

How long had Nurse Irene wanted to tell me to take off my underpants?

She wanted to see my penis.

She never got to see my penis--until right this moment; right now.

"Take off your underpants."

And I didn't want to. Because, boy, was I erect!

And I didn't want Nurse Irene to see my erection!

I stuck both thumbs behind my elastic waistband--and pulled my underpants down from the back.

I took off my underpants, and Nurse Irene saw it all!

She always wanted to see my penis, and now she saw my penis!

And she saw my testicles!

And she saw my pubic hair!

And she saw my erection!

Nurse Irene didn't take her eyes off my penis. She didn't even blink. "You certainly have nothing to be ashamed of!"

How could I be naked in front of Nurse Irene?

All of my body on total display?

I didn't know what to do with my underpants...

Could I really just drop em; just abandon em on that chair?

"Give me your underwear.”

I obeyed. I handed over my underwear to Nurse Irene.

“Now hop back up on the examining table."

I could hardly believe myself--but I handed Nurse Irene my underpants.

She kept a hold of my underpants, and I got climbed back aboard that table.

I fidgeted.

My hard-on would not go down.

"All right, Stephen. How long ago did you last masturbate?"

I shocked.

I clamped my legs together around my penis.

“What?"

"To climax.”

“When did you last reach a sexual climax?"

"What do you have to know that for!"

"I need to know when you had your last ejaculation."

I could feel red pounding on my face.

"If you have masturbated to climax in the last thirty-six hours I may not get an accurate reading of your sperm motility."

"How you gonna—measure my sperm?"

Nurse Irene smiled. "How do you think? By taking a sperm sample, of course!"

I cringed over my penis, crossing my legs and clutching my knees.

Nurse Irene pulled on a pair of latex exam gloves.

She picked up her uncapped specimen jar.

"Spread your legs, Stephen; open your legs up wide."

With both hands still capping my knees, I forced open my legs.

My penis sprang up, surefire, and eager as flame.

The tip drooled, a dot of pre-cum gleaming on my muskrose glans.

Nurse Irene reached one hand between my legs, and cupped my balls.

I pumped my legs once around her hand spontaneously.

Nurse Irene giggled, at me, feral, and male, and pumping my halls between my legs.

"If I hold your testicles like this I will be able to judge when you're ready to ejaculate."

"You mean—you need to feel when I'm about to—come?"

"Of course!"

She rolled em between her fingers and thumb.

"I need your sperm fresh from your penis."

I could not move, I could not think.

Was a nurse allowed to touch a boy--down there?

"Don't worry." She cosseted em, soothed em. "I won't squeeze."

Sweat trickled down my ribs, and wishboned my crotch, my pubes slick as morning grass.

"Masturbate for me, Stephen. Masturbate! Bring yourself to orgasm! I need you to ejaculate! I need to see you come!"

I lifted my right hand off my knee. Gently, with stupid caution, I opened my hand. Each finger shook. I set my hand on my penis, a fingertip by fingertip, not closing my fist. My penis welcomed the touch of each finger.

Could I do this?

Could I masturbate in front of Nurse Irene?

She gave my balls a smart, quick tug.

"Do it, Stephen!”

“Do it!”

“I want to see you do it!"

I wanted to close my eyes.

I gripped my erect penis in my right fist.

I took one pull.

I began to masturbate--in front of Nurse Irene!

She cupped my balls; she squeezed my balls. Her thumb dandled in the quick of my thighs, twisting a snarl of my pubic hair.

I yanked my penis from tip to root.

I burnished my glans.

My penis drooled, milky with precum.

How could I do this?

How could I be doing this?

How could I be masturbating in front of Nurse Irene?

"I can feel you; I'm feeling you. I can feel when you're about to come!"

An explosion of hot feral wicked-boy sparks bullseyed my penis, smack in the joint between the head and the shaft—faster, freer, wildfire—free.

She watched me; closely, carefully, she saw every speck of me, as if she never wanted to forget watching a masturbating boy!

"Come creamy, Stevie! Come creamy!"

A thrill kindled in my coccyx, bickered my nape.

"You're almost ready! You're about to climax! I can feel you! You're going to squirt!"

Nurse Irene turned her open specimen bottle upside down and capped the tip of my penis.

A loop of my sperm fired, jelly-lightning - a shot of come felt like a fire that would have rocketed onto my chin--sputtered into her specimen jar.

Nurse Irene batted away my hand, and grabbed my penis; she took my penis away from me.

"Ulp!"

"C'mon, Stevie, you've got one more spurt! You've got one more dose of sperm to squirt for me!"

Nurse Irene masturbated me; she milked me until I fired my very last drop.

She uncapped my penis, turning her bottle right-side-up.

Nurse Irene had one more indignity for her masturbated boy!

She popped a sterile, disposable wipe from a little foil box on the cabinet, and nipped in to pinch the tip of my diminishing penis clean.

"Got to keep things clean if we want to keep em topnotch."

I clamped my legs together, to try to hide myself.

"Soon as I see you put your clothes back on I will deliver your sperm sample to the lab. Call us in a week and we'll have your results.”

Nurse Irene handed me my underwear.

I looked up. Nurse Irene swirled my sperm around the bottom of her bottle.

She looked dreamy and pleased to have the cream-of-some-young-guy sloshing around her lucky charm jar.

Nurse Irene grinned, watching me pull myself into my underwear.

“Good to the last drop, eh?

[hightab]

Good story but I think you are missing the nurses MO why she wants to see him naked.

[hightab]

Good story but I think you are missing the nurses MO why she wants to see him naked.

Does she need a reason?

Everyone and everything Needs a reason to do things or not to do things it’s the way of the world. Besides it makes it a more enjoyable story.

[Lefanto]

Everyone and everything Needs a reason to do things or not to do things it’s the way of the world. Besides it makes it a more enjoyable story.

Maybe she's just a voyeur who likes to see nude boys and who thinks Stehen is particularly cute.

[StephenJude]

Thanks to hightab I will follow this up with Nurse Irene And The One Boy Who Almost Got Away, which will begin: “All her life as a registered nurse Irene Masterson never had any doubts why she chose her profession….”

Look for the story, appearing here soon (and with Special Thanks to hightab, and, if approved by The Blushing Princess, a special appearance by Cayce).