The Nurse at the Nursing Home Was Not Who I Thought She Was

The morning after the accident, a different nurse came. She didn’t need to see my face for me to know what kind of woman she was. She wished me good morning in a dry voice, changed my dressings without another word, and left, leaving behind a silence that smelled of disinfectant. She didn’t come back all day. I was still blindfolded, lying in that bed at the home, counting the hours by the noises in the corridor.

In the afternoon one of my daughters came. I asked her to loosen the bandage a little, that I’d been in total darkness for too many days and needed at least to make out shapes. She protested, said the doctor had forbidden it, but in the end she gave in. She loosened the gauze just enough so that, if I strained my eyes and helped myself with my fingers, I could see something through a narrow slit. A blurred strip of light. Nothing more. Then she kissed my forehead and left.

Dinnertime came. I heard someone come in and knew at once it wasn’t the woman from the morning. This one didn’t say anything, not even hello, but her silence was of a different kind. She brought me the tray, helped me eat in small bites, and when I was done, she started on the dressings. It was then, as she bent over me, that I recognized the perfume.

It was her. The woman from the other night. The one who had let herself be touched in the dark and had paid me back with a skill that was still keeping me awake.

Tonight you’re not getting away from me, I thought.

When she stood beside me, at the edge of the bed, I slid my hand to her hip. She turned to slip away, but I squeezed my fingers gently and held her there. Not hard. Just enough for her to understand that I knew who she was.

I traced the curve of her hip, went down to her thigh, then back up, pushing the fabric of the uniform with my open palm. I heard her snort and rise onto her tiptoes, as if she still didn’t know whether she liked this or should leave right away.

—Come on —I murmured—. Let me, even a little. Like the other day.

I didn’t give her a name. I didn’t need to. I didn’t care what she was called as long as she went back to doing what she’d done the night before. The point was for her to stay, not to turn on the light, to keep being that warm voice in the dark.

She leaned back to get my hand off her. But as soon as she bent down again to finish the dressing, I slid my fingers under the edge of the uniform and ran them up the inside of her thigh. She was hot. Hotter than I expected, and wetter, as if she’d spent the whole meal thinking about this.

I left my fingers still for a moment, just resting there, feeling the heat build beneath the thin fabric of her underwear. She was breathing through her mouth in little gasps. The damned woman was trying to pull away and stay at the same time.

I ran my hand along the contour from top to bottom, over and over, slowly, until the fabric worked itself inward and I felt her give. My own arousal was rising unchecked; under the sheet, the pajama bottoms weren’t hiding a thing anymore.

I moved the garment aside as best I could and touched her directly. She was soaked.

—Mmm... —a low moan escaped her, pressing her legs together.

She squeezed them shut as much as she could, but I kept moving my fingers between them, slowly, sinking them a little deeper with each pass. The harder she pressed her legs together, the more she gave herself away.

—Mmm... —she moaned again, this time longer, trying to cross her thighs over my hand.

I searched with my other hand for the neckline of the uniform and opened it just enough to reach one of her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I passed my palm from one to the other, weighing them, caressing them however I pleased, and she stopped pretending she wanted to leave.

—Stay —I asked in a low voice, my throat dry from pure heat—. I won’t do anything you don’t want.

She said neither yes nor no. But she spread her legs and pushed her hip toward my hand, offering herself.

—Do you like it? —I whispered when I felt her open up—. Tell me you like it.

She was breathing out of control, rocking her body back and forth while I didn’t stop touching her with my fingers. Every sway brought her closer, every breath of air gave her away a little more.

—Let me taste you —I begged, salivating just from imagining it.

She was a grown woman, I could feel that in her body, in the firmness of her skin, in the way she knew exactly what she wanted. But there was something in her stubborn silence, in that way of resisting and giving in at the same time, that had me completely beside myself.

I heard her footsteps go to the door. The click of the bolt being turned shut from the inside. Then she came back to the bed, took my hand in hers, and brought it once more between her legs, as if she couldn’t stand the time we were wasting anymore.

—Well... —I murmured, crazed with delight—. So you did like it after all.

She unbuttoned the uniform all the way and bent over my face. I felt the warm skin of her breast brush my chin, my lips, my cheek. She put one nipple over my mouth and dragged it slowly across my lips.

I opened my mouth at once. I caught it, licked it, bit into it hungrily.

—Oof... —she sighed when she felt the pressure of my teeth.

I nibbled at it until her whole body tightened and she lowered her hips, seeking my fingers again. The same woman who minutes before had been squeezing her legs together was now grinding herself onto my hand.

I pushed upward and she let herself sink down, until my fingers went all the way in. And how well they fit.

—Mmm... —she moaned louder and louder, more and more often.

She braced her elbows on both sides of my head and moved back and forth, up and down, setting the rhythm herself as if she were the one fucking me.

—Get on top —I pleaded, my voice broken—. Get on top of me.

She yanked the sheet aside, pulled down the waistband of my pajamas, and took me in her hand. She had me soft as silk and hot as the rest of her. She stroked me slowly, from top to bottom, while with her other hand she held me with a firmness that made me clench my fists in the sheets.

—Get on top and just let me have a little —I insisted, my fingers still moving inside her.

She snorted a couple of times. She seemed to consider it. And suddenly I felt the mattress sink on both sides of my body: she had climbed on, astride me, one knee on either side of my hips.

She’s going to do it, I thought, my heart pounding in my throat.

She lifted herself a little, moved her underwear aside, and pressed the heat of her cunt right over me, not letting me in yet.

—Do it —I begged, beside myself—. Please.

But instead she started sliding along my length, rubbing against me without letting me in, up and down, soaking me through with her own wetness. Every pass tore a moan from me.

—Mmm... —I let out, shivering.

She rocked her hips with a sensuality that didn’t seem improvised. She rubbed against me, slow, controlling every movement, stopping just when I thought she’d finally give in.

I was so on edge it already hurt. I needed to finish, needed it with an almost painful urgency.

—Just do it already —I begged, giving her a slap on the hip.

She ignored me. She kept sliding slowly, with absolute command of the situation.

—Mmm... —she moaned, leaning forward.

She rested her elbows on my shoulders and offered me her breasts again. I devoured them as best I could. I buried a hand in her hair, trying to pull her closer, and that was when my brain played a dirty trick on me.

That hair. The shape of the nape of her neck. The exact feel of those curls between my fingers. Something inside me went off like an alarm, and I didn’t know why.

—I want more —I said, trying to cover the unease with desire.

She shook her head and kept rocking, sliding along my whole length without letting me in. I was so aroused I couldn’t take it anymore. I stretched out my arms, grabbed her by the hips, and pulled her up to finally enter her.

—No —she said, frightened, leaning forward—. Not that.

And hearing her, my blood ran cold.

That voice. I knew it. I knew it too well and not from the other night, not from the corridor at the residence, not from any of the nurses. It was a voice I’d been hearing all my life.

My stomach clenched. I tried to get her off me, stammer something, but before I could, she pressed herself against me again and resumed the motion, rubbing slowly, as if nothing had happened.

—Shhh... —she whispered—. Don’t say anything.

—Mmm... yes... —I heard her moan more softly.

She kept rocking without stopping, using me for her own pleasure. I moved my head to slide the blindfold aside and forced my eyes through that slit my daughter had left loose in the afternoon. I could barely make out a silhouette in the dim light: a woman biting her lip, eyes closed, swaying slowly over me.

I didn’t want to see more. I didn’t want to confirm what the voice had already told me.

***

She lowered her hand, took me between her fingers, and guided me against her without letting me in, rubbing me exactly where I needed it most. She quickened the pace, her breathing turned ragged, and I felt her tense all over, shaken by a series of spasms that left her trembling above me.

—Mmm... mmm... mmm... —she kept sighing as her whole body shook.

When she finished, she didn’t stop. She wrapped her fingers around me again and began to move them very slowly, almost tenderly. I didn’t last a minute. I let go with an intensity that folded me in half, and I heard her release a sigh of satisfaction at feeling it.

—Yes... —she said in a very low voice, looking at what she had caused.

She kept stroking me for a few more seconds, stretching the moment out, and then she stayed very still, catching her breath on my chest.

I didn’t even dare breathe. My head was spinning. Part of me wanted to tear the blindfold off and look her in the face, demand explanations, scream. The other part, the cowardly one, the one that had been in darkness for days and was terrified of being left alone, preferred not to see. It preferred dimness and doubt to certainty.

Suddenly she moved again, slowly, pausing only an instant against me before pulling away completely. Her attitude had me utterly thrown: not a word, not an explanation, not a reproach.

She got out of bed. I heard her straighten her uniform, button it one by one. She smoothed the sheet over me with a care that hurt more than anything else. Then she leaned down, gave me a long kiss on the forehead —the same kiss from the afternoon, exactly the same— and headed for the door.

She slid the bolt back without making a sound and left the room without saying a word.

I was left alone in the dark, my heart racing and her perfume still hanging in the air. That perfume that now, too late, I knew perfectly well how to recognize. The same one I smelled every time she came to loosen my bandage and kiss me on the forehead.

It took me a long time to fall asleep. And when I did, I already knew that the next day I wouldn’t ask anyone to take it off for me. Some things are better left unseen.