My Hospital Wank

Posted by: Author: Age: 44 Posted on: 5 comments
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My hospital wank

 

Please don't drink and drive!

I don’t flat out believe hospital hand job stories. If you are in a hospital, you’re there for a reason. You’re messed up somehow and that’s what everyone is there to take care of you for. Nurses and doctors don’t suddenly decide to risk their licenses just because your dick is so magical and they’ve never seen one before.



The reason for this preamble is because I ended up flat on my back bruised and with broken bones thanks to a drunk driver. Nothing in particularly was life threatening but I was in a Halo vest with screws in my head to isolate my neck for a while. My upper torso caught the worst of it as I was a pedestrian when this arsehole's car jumped the kerb. I shan’t go into the details.



Day three I began to feel human again and by the end of the week I was allowed to sit in a chair. I was conscious of the fact that I, umm, needed a wash but with my contraption on, it was a procedure. They decided to celebrate my getting out of bed by giving me a jet of water up my backside to counteract the constipation caused by the strong pain meds. If anything is guaranteed to make you feel totally unsexy, it’s that on top of the freshly removed catheter. Well, after a seated shower and being trained how to wash my hair with my head inside a carpenter’s clamp, I returned to bed.



Shaved and clean as I was going to get for the next two months strapped inside my vest and neck traction vice, I was very conscious of the fact that there was absolutely nothing wrong with my testicles.



If you can imagine it, have you ever had someone you care about die? Sure, you’re sad and broken hearted but, you know, after a week or so, life goes on and eventually your body says to the brain ‘Boss, orgasm needed.’ You feel guilty a touch for taking care of business as the song goes but your body needs it.



Under normal circumstances this is not a problem but I was faced with the problem of set up. I had nowhere to deposit my sperm and my upper body was still so black, blue and orange that moving my arms to reach for anything was like a labour of Hercules and I needed lubrication.



When one of the nurses came by I managed to flag her for a moment.



‘Might I have some jelly for my lips, please?’



Once I’d seen someone bring some petroleum jelly for a patient.



‘Your lips are dry?’



I figured when she came back, she could move my wheely tray close and I could get to the tissue box. Instead, she brought back a Styrofoam cup with icewater. In it was a wee sponge on a stick I could use to wet my lips.



Well, I resolved to use some saliva rather than jelly. The food tray arm on wheels thingie was close, I took the tissue box and in it was a single tissue. Yes, just one. Now, I am no porn star but I’d need to pile them on my tummy, one just would not cut it. Besides, I had got it into my head that the nurses had a supernaturally keen sense of smell and did not want them to pick up on the scent of drying semen. Miracles of miracles, eventually a visitor for someone else came in and the gran was kind enough to locate a roll of lavatory paper for me to ‘blow my nose.’



I even asked her to tug the curtain closed a bit between the beds.



Great. When lights out came I was ready.



The bedding went to my waist, and I covered myself in a zig-zag of paper. I then began working my mouth to make spit. When I had enough, I covered the top of my cock and then pulled up the blankets in case someone walked in. As far as orgasms went, it took a while and I remember thinking to myself and laughing ‘I can DO this’ like an athlete trying to talk himself into winning a race. Finally I was close. I pulled down the covers and added a bit more spit. I don’t remember what I was fantasizing about, but it was probably one of my stock fantasies.



The orgasm was one of those ‘over full’ ones. When you haven’t cum for a few days, the orgasm tends to have more volume. In some ways it is very pleasurable but in other ways, a slightly less than full orgasm is ‘better’ because the muscles can clench more.



Anyway, I came. It left me with a rather perverse sense of achievement. Let me tell you, with wire stitching your rib cage closed, the repetitive motion of a wank is a pretty big accomplishment. Hardly an Olympic medal-worthy event but at the time, it surely felt a belter to me!

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