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From: M1KEHUNT@aol.com
Subject: The Skier - by MIKE HUNT

If you've sent an e-mail to me and haven't started getting MIKE HUNT
stories on your computer, one of two things has happened. 

1) You didn't certify that you are over 18. By "certify" I mean
     tell me some interesting fact that proves you were born before the
     80's. Like "I have a white leisure suit in the attic" would do it.
     I'll know. They stopped making that shit in '77. Garment industry
     in Minnesota collapsed. Or, 

2) I fucked up. 

If the reason is #2, accept my apologies. It's really been hectic
around here, and it's tough to keep up with all the correspondence,
maintain the list, and keep churning out these filthy stories.
But I'm trying. 

Luckily, we here at the MIKE HUNT offices are expanding. We just
hired a secretary this week, in fact. Not a woman, of course. Couldn't
find one who'd even stop by for an interview. But we found a competent
guy, by coincidence also named Mike. Mike Lit. He started Monday.
It'll be nice having Mike Lit working along with MIKE HUNT, don't you think? 

Actually we only had one other applicant, a Mr. Richard Almy from
Hartford. Ivy League guy. Insisted we call him by his nickname. Weird. 
But when I went to meet him in the lobby I stuck out my arm for a 
handshake. "So," I heard myself say, "You're Dickie. MIKE HUNT." 
I knew right then it wouldn't work. 

We're not giving little Mike an e-mail address, just yet. I'm afraid
he'll spend the whole day reading dirty messages from people. Maybe
even from guys! I'm afraid he might be a fag. I watched him read two of
my stories, and I didn't see him get a boner. Of course I couldn't
watch him too closely, you know. I don't want him to think I'm a fag. 


We had a whole bunch of disclaimers here somewhere, 
if I could remember where I put them. I thought I left them
by the copier. Maybe they're out by the front door. Damn.
Well, if you're under 18, go away until I find them. 


Mike! Have you seen the disclaimer file? 


The Skier - by MIKE HUNT 


I was still a senior at Bradford. A bunch of my college buddies
and I had skipped school and gone to Great Slopes, a ski area in southern
New Hampshire. We cut classes on Friday, and pooled enough money to
rent a chalet for one night. We figured we'd have some fun, maybe
get drunk, possibly even meet some girls and get laid. You know, big
college man plans. 

The nine of us drove the 60 minutes or so in two cars. A few of had
their own skis, but most of us planned on renting them once we got
to the resort. I did; I was a novice and didn't have any of my own
equipment. 

We got to Great Slopes by about 11AM, parked, bought our lift tickets,
got outfitted and went to stand in the lift line. I made two uneventful
runs down a beginners' slope and moved over to the lift line for a
medium run. One of my buddies was in line for an even more advanced
run, and waved me over. I went. 

As soon as I reached the top, I knew I was in trouble. There were
steep hills and sharp twists and turns, but I did my best to take
it slow and work my way down. I was doing more booming than schussing,
for sure. But even though I fell down a couple of times, I was
fine...until I was about half-way down. Some jerk came whizzing by
me, knocking me off balance. Before I could get control back, I was
shooting down one of the steepest slopes, off the edge of the run,
and into the trees. 

"Two broken arms, one multiple, one a mild fracture; a cracked collarbone;
and
a fractured leg. Multiple cuts and contusions, abrasions, and possible
internal injuries," I heard the doctor say into the telephone. My
accident had been quickly reported to the Ski Patrol, which had done
a great job of bringing me down and transporting me to the hospital.
I must have been out of it, because I don't really remember the
ambulance ride at all. 

The doctor was speaking to my mother, who I could hear shrieking
through the ear piece. "Put the phone up here," I said. An orderly
carried the handset over to me and positioned it for me to talk. My
arms were pretty much useless, so he held it. "Ma, ma, it's OK. I'm
all right. Everything's fine. Well not fine, but don't worry." She
was worried. She told me that she'd be on the next plane. The folks
live in New Jersey, but usually drove to Boston when they came to
visit. For my mother to climb on the Shuttle was very unusual. 

Anyway, she did, and came to see me in the hospital the next day.
As I said, I was not in any life threatening danger. I was just in
traction, with one arm suspended above me in some sort of pulley and
gear arrangement, the other in a soft cast, and one of my legs in
a hard cast that ended about mid-thigh. Mom tsk, tsk, tsked her way
through two days, making sure to let the nurses know she was there
and insisting on full attention for her boy. I couldn't wait for her
to go home. 

Eventually she did, but I had at least another week, probably more, 
in the hospital before I was released. That was going to be a drag.
With my right arm in traction, I couldn't write, I could barely hold
a book, I couldn't really do much of anything. And because of the
mass of ropes and pulleys, I couldn't even leave the bed. Basically
I could watch TV, have somebody help feed me, and have somebody else
stick a bed-pan under me twice a day. What a life. 

Most of the nurses were older, I guessed in their 40's and even 50's.
Most were married, though I wondered how, they were so ugly. And most
of them had a bad attitude, I supposed from having a lot of demanding
shithead patients, like I might well become. Because when you're
totally dependent on someone else, you want attention immediately.
After all, you're used to pissing when you want to, not when someone
else has the time to stick a metal bowl under you. 

But there was one pretty young nurse named Carole Anne. She was on
the evening shift, a result of her lack of seniority, she said. She
liked it because most of the doctors were gone and there was generally
less activity, and fewer people looking over her shoulder and hassling
her. We spent a fair amount of time talking to each other; she told
me I was the only young person on her floor. 

In fact, I was one of the few patients on her floor at all. I was
in a semi-private room, but except for the first day, there wasn't
anyone in the other bed. Or in the room across the hall. I guess it's
like the grocery store: sometimes you step in line and it's full,
and sometimes you walk right up to the cashier. I don't know when
a hospital's busy season is, but this wasn't it. 

But I'm getting ahead of my story. Carole Anne had been on her "weekend"
(even though that was Friday and Saturday) when I was admitted. I
had been attended to by Rita on those days; old, cranky, wrinkled
Rita, I thought to myself. My mom flew back home on Sunday afternoon,
confident that I wasn't going to die or something. 

On Sunday about 4PM, I met Carole Anne. She came in to see if I needed
anything, and to tell me that she was going to bathe me after dinner.
Giving a bath to someone in traction is more like quickly wiping them
down with a washcloth. That would have been fine, but I realized that
it also meant she would be my bedpan service for the next 8 hours.
I vowed to hold it in. 

Now Carole Anne was about 5'4" with a short perm that perfectly framed
her cute face. She had only been a nurse for about 6 months, which
I guessed made her maybe a year or two older than me. Early 20's for
sure. She had a very attractive figure, which her starchy little nurse
outfit neither complimented nor hid. At our college campus she could
have ridden the Queen's Court float at the Homecoming game, although
I don't know if she would have won the title or not. Still, she was
a cutie, and in different circumstances I would have been trying to
figure out how to get a date with her. 

Dinner came and went; a nurse's aide took to the task of feeding
me and then cleaning me up. I felt like a baby, unable to do even
the simplest job for myself. Eating with my left hand and stiff elbow
was uncomfortable, at best. A little after 6:00 Carole Anne came in
for my "bath." She pulled the circle of curtains around the bed, an
unnecessary action because there was no one else in the room. I figured
it was just standard procedure, or else she was just absent minded
about it. She undid my hospital gown; it was simple because it wasn't
even tied behind me. It was a special one that just tied onto my arms
and legs and was draped over me. She folded the gown down, until it
was in a small pile over my crotch. She did the same thing working 
from the bottom up. When she was done, I had a pile of neatly folded
hospital gown covering my dick, and not much else. 

She dipped the washcloth in warm water, then squirted some liquid
soap onto it, and began to wash my chest. It felt great, if only because
I was a greasy mess, and it felt good to finally get clean. The washcloth
scurried about, up and down, performing its function with alacrity.
As she leaned over me to reach the far side of my torso, I tried to
look between the buttons of her uniform at her tits. Even though the
buttons were widely spaced, they rarely gapped, and I got hardly a
flash of her lacy white bra. Still, I could sit there and stare at
her chest as she ministered to me, since she was preoccupied with
her task. 

And stare I did. I mean, I had nothing else to do. She washed my
shoulders, and gently brushed at my face, making sure not to get any
soap in my eyes. Then she moved down to my feet, and washed them.
One of my legs, of course, was in a cast, which covered part of the
foot to which it was attached. She washed the toes and the heel, then
moved to the "good leg." 

As she washed my foot, I complained. "That tickles." I kicked my
leg a little. She moved up and wiped off my lower leg, then my thigh.
As she did so I continued looking at her cute face and even cuter
body. I began to have a natural male reaction. I got an erection.
It came on suddenly, springing forth like a newly watered flower.
She saw it and quickly picked up the folded gown from it. My partly
erect dick waved in the air. 

She looked completely professional as her fingers encircled my swollen
member; I thought I was in for a wonderful time. I was about to be
disappointed. Big time. Because instead of stroking it gently as my
various girlfriends might have, she took her other hand, extended
two fingers in a "Brownie-scout" type salute, and whapped the head 
of my dick with them. Hard. Really hard. 

"OW!" I shouted. "SHIT, what was that? OH SHIT, THAT HURT," I yelled. "OW." 

She was taken aback, and stepped away from me. As the pain in my
groin subsided slightly I looked at her. She was beet red. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "That's what we were trained to do in nursing
school if a patient got an, I mean, if, well, you know." 

"Well SHIT, that HURT!" I complained."Jesus! That REALLY hurt. Fuck." 
My penis was throbbing. 

She just stood there looking at me. She blushed even more. "I'm sorry...
I'm really sorry. I've never had to do it to anyone before. I didn't
realize.... I mean I'm really sorry. It's just that you were, ah,
and I thought I should, ah, you know take control, and ah," 

"Control? How's this for control?" I hissed. "Get the fuck out of
my room! SHIT. It STILL hurts!" 

She cleaned me up as best she could and replaced my gown. She was
right about one thing. My erection had vanished. She worked quickly
and turned to exit. 

"I really am sorry," she said. "That's just what we were trained
to do..." 

"I know. You already said that," I said testily. "It's crappy training.
You hurt me." 

She left the room. I didn't see her for the rest of the night. 

The next day passed uneventfully. I mean, I watched some soap operas
on TV, I chatted with a few of the old, wrinkled nurses, you know?
A big day. 

Late in the afternoon Carole Anne peeked her head around the door.
"Hi," she said. 

"Oh hi," I responded. "It's the torture monster." I wasn't happy
to see her. 

She stayed outside the room, her head twisted around the doorway.
"I deserve that," she said. "I know I said I'm sorry yesterday, but
I REEEAALLLY am sorry. That was a terrible thing I did. Please. Accept
my apology." With that she stepped into the doorway and brought a
small boquet of flowers from behind her back and held it toward me. 

Of course with my arm in a sling I couldn't do much, but I cracked
a little smile. I couldn't help it. "Well...." I said, as though I
were making up my mind. "Well......" 

"Honest, Mike. I'll never do it again. To anyone. I was just as shocked
as you were. In our class they sort of glossed over it, and maybe
I missed something or something, but..." Her voice trailed off. She
started over. "But... hey, I'm trying to apologize, OK?" 

"Well...." I smiled at her. "OK. Apology accepted. But jeez, man,
that hurt." 

"I know," she said softly. She placed the bouquet up on the table
by the head of the bed. It was out of my sight, but if I turned my
head a little I could see it. She left the room. 

At 5:30 sharp the food detail came in and fed me. I didn't see her
again until after 6. 

When she came into the room, it was obvious she was going to give
me a bath. I shuddered at the very idea. She came into the room and
drew the curtain. 

"I know, I know," she said. "Trust me. I learned my lesson." I rolled
my eyes. "No really. It'll be fine." 

She began her routine, but as she bent over me I noticed that one
of the buttons on her uniform had accidentally come apart. It happened
to be the one right at the peak of her tits, and now I had a view
into her blouse. It took me only a moment to size up her skimpy brassiere.
Her globes hung there, restrained in space as she moved the washcloth
up and down my chest, around my neck, and over my shoulders. 

I averted my eyes. As much as I wanted to peek at this gorgeous girl's
tits, I didn't want a repeat of the previous day. I looked at the
ceiling. I thought about the news. I tried the multiplication tables. All
the way up to 9 times 9. I felt a twitch in my dick. 

She moved down to my legs, and took care of the foot with the cast.
Then she began washing the other leg in a repeat of the previous day.
That wasn't all that repeated. As she tenderly washed my thigh, I
felt my dick twitch again. I certainly wasn't as erect as the previous
day, but I knew that my little internal traffic director was
sending a shipment of blood to my penis. 

She softly rinsed my leg and my thigh, and then picked up the gown,
revealing my crotch. She stared at me. Looking me straight in the
eyes, she squirted some soap on her hand, and began to massage it
into my groin. She didn't touch my penis, but she sure was making
this difficult. I felt my dick twitch again. And again. And again. 

I was, by now, more than half-erect. Her hand continued to stroke
and slide around my groin area, applying the soapy lotion everywhere
except my member. Then her hand slipped between and under my legs
and she pushed hard to reach my buttocks. I could feel the soapy solution
cover me there as her hand slid beneath me. My dick grew again. 

She withdrew her fingers, and put another squirt of liquid on them
and on her palm. Now her hand returned to the juncture of my legs,
and she grasped my balls, massaging the cleansing fluid into them. 

BOING! I was at full erection. She continued looking me in the eyes
as her hands continued their professional duties. 

"I'm sorry," I said. "I can't help it. Don't hurt me." 

"I know," she answered. Her hand glided up and encircled my throbbing
cock. I could feel the slickness of the soap as her fingers explored
the length and circumference of my organ. She continued staring into
my eyes as her hand played its knowing game. "I won't. Don't worry."
She paused. "I'm just giving you a bath. But a special bath to make
up for yesterday." Her hand was moving up and down like a piston in
motion stroking my dick back and forth. 

Now with my one arm in traction and the other in a soft cast, I hadn't
been able to touch myself for days. And I was used to jerking off
at least every day, maybe more. It was only moments before I
felt myself rushing toward completion. 

Her hand continued its pounding as I exploded. My first spasm shot
my cum several feet straight up into the air. I guess I had built
up the pressure during my days of inactivity. "Whew!" she laughed.
"Wow!" The second spurt was also airborne; even the third managed
to lift off nearly a foot. Then, as she continued pumping me,
my jism flowed out of the end of my man pole and down all over
her hand. 

She slowed down her pumping, and I felt my own hot fluid trickling
down the sides of my still hard member. Finally it was over. She wiped
off her hand on the washcloth, then cleaned me up, including a gob
of cum that had hit me in the chest. (It must have been the first
spurt, I decided.) After checking me thoroughly, she put my gown back
on and tied the various loops that would keep it from slipping off. 

As she did so, she spoke softly to me. It was almost a whisper. "OK?"
She looked at me. "I said I was sorry. I really am. Still." She paused
a moment. Then she said "Even steven?" 

I said "Even. But my name's not Steven." 

She giggled. "I know Mike. I know." 

The next morning my doctor told me that I was leaving the hospital
in two days, and that it would be a lot cheaper to get a home-health
nurse to visit me once a day, and anyway my insurance was about used
up. I only had two more days. That was really good news. And really bad. 

When Carole Anne appeared the next day, I asked if she did home health
service. She shook her head. She said it didn't pay well, and was
unreliable. "Some weeks you never got a call," she said. "No call,
no pay." It was a doomed idea anyway, since I lived over an hour away. 

We chatted for a few more minutes and I asked her when my bath was.
She squinted at me, and then said, "Mike. I said we were even. Yesterday
was, uh, my way of showing you how sorry I was. But I could really
get in trouble if somebody caught me. I could lose my job! I don't
want you to think that's a regular part of nursing protocol." 

"Oh I don't," I quickly countered. "Although wrinkled Rita did
it for me just a couple of hours ago." 

She laughed. I smiled. She left the room. At 5:30 sharp the food
service arrived, and shortly after 6 Carole Anne walked in and drew
the curtain. "OK tiger," she said. "Bath time." 

I couldn't wait. Once again she untied the various ties that kept
my gown on top of me, folding each section neatly down over my groin,
never exposing that part of my body. Even after her little speech,
I wanted a repeat performance. As she began the routine, she wetted
down my chest and shoulders. As she reached for the far shoulder,
she bent over and her breast tips scraped my chest through her uniform.
She was not totally convincing when she said "Oops. Sorry." 

My dick twitched. This time it took maybe 20 seconds for me
to come to full erection. I was holding the folded gown up on the
head of my dick. I could have twirled it like a pizza man, if only
I could get the rotation started. 

She looked at me. "Tsk tsk, what are we going to do with you?" she
said, chiding me gently. "You're like some horny teenager." 

"Well, I'm not a teenager. I'll have you know I'm 21," I replied,
groping for something to say. My dick remained rock hard, causing
an obvious tent in the material. 

"Goodness," she smirked. "Boys." She stopped the movements with the
washcloth, and walked away from the bed. She had her back to me as
she squirted some more soap juice on the washcloth. Then she returned
to the bedside. 

As she bent over, I could see that she had unbuttoned two buttons
on her uniform. The perfect two on the top half. The ones directly
in front of, and above her tits. As she bent over, the material "pooched"
and I had a beautiful view of her brassiere encased breasts. They
were lovely, and the bra was a wispy thin material that I could easily
see through. I was surprised that a bra would be designed for tits
as large as she had out of such thin material. But obviously it was,
because there I was looking at it. 

She maneuvered herself over onto the side with my good arm, and as
she reached for my cock with her soapy hand, I slid my hand into the
gap on her uniform. I cupped her tit and gently squeezed. Her nipple
popped to attention in my palm, and I felt her heavy breast aching
for release. As best I could I pulled the material of that cup down,
down over her nipple, down over her breast. The bra cup became bunched
up below her tit, which now hung even lower as she bent over me. 

The full weight of her tit was now hanging in my upturned palm. I
massaged it, sliding my hand back and forth to feel the hardness of
the cherry tip in my hand. 

Her hand was busy, also, applying her soapy lotion and slathering
it up and down my boner. She pumped me and pumped me, and in a very
few minutes I was ready for release. She knew it. It must have been
her medical training. 

She said "Countdown to ignition." I guess she was referring to the
previous evening when my spunk had become airborne. She pumped and
pumped my cock. I squeezed and squeezed her breast. Finally I could
take no more and I hoarsely whispered "Blast off." 

I came, pumping my jism out through that tube that was somehow bigger,
and yet tighter than just a few minutes earlier. My spunk flew into
the air, although not as high as the previous evening. But even as
my eyes clenched shut from the pleasure, I could see her staring at
my dick as she pumped it. Another wave and then another washed through
me, until I was completely spent. As I awoke from my reverie I realized
I still had her hanging breast in my hand. I slipped my hand out of
her uniform. 

She straightened up, pulled up the bra cup, and buttoned the open
buttons. Then she went about her business in her most professional
manner, cleaning me and finishing my bath. I actually felt my dick
start to twitch again as she washed off my penis, but she would have
none of it. Finally she replaced my gown with a clean one, bent over
and gave me a little kiss on the lips, and departed. 

She came back in the room later, as things quieted down, and we talked
about a lot of stuff. I knew I liked her, and wanted to date her after
I was released. Even though my school was more than an hour away,
I thought I could see her most weekends. Imagine my surprise when
I asked for her home number and she wouldn't give it to me. She said
she was married! 

I was more than surprised, I was shocked. First, she was so young.
Second, she didn't wear a ring. I asked her about it. "Oh, most of
the nurses take off their rings when they come on shift. You know,
chemicals, and body fluids, and stuff. If you accidentally get a shock
when you're zapping someone's heart the ring will burn a line right
around your finger."

I was crestfallen. We talked some more, and she left. I had just
one more day in the hospital. And one more session with Carole Anne.
I hoped. 

The next day blended into the tedium of all the others. Soap operas
on TV. Wrinkled Rita disposing of my bed pan. Life in the ward sure
isn't like ER on TV. At 4:00 sharp Carole Anne poked her head around
the door. 

"Hi," she said. She pulled a small teddy bear from behind her back
and offered it to me. I took it with my improving left arm and felt
the soft white fuzz. "Going away present," she said. I was hoping
for something more. 

We could both hear the call button at the nurses' station ring, and
she said "Duty calls. See you later." She winked. 

Time expanded. The minutes seemed like hours. I must have looked
up at the clock every 30 seconds. Finally it was dinner time. Jello
again. Whoopee. And just as quickly dinner was done. The nurses' assistant
left. I was alone in the room. I counted the minutes until 6:00. There
were 23 of them left. Now 22. I felt like I was singing "99 bottles
of beer on the wall" with an endless supply of bottles. The clock
dragged. 

At last she showed up and pulled the curtain around her. I began
to get a hard-on even before she finished removing and folding up
my gown. Tonight she didn't even make the pretense of folding it over
my groin for my own modesty. She took the gown and threw it in a heap
on the floor. My dick stuck straight up. 

"My goodness, aren't we eager tonight?" she said. "You really like
to be clean, don't you?" She smiled at me. She unbuttoned the top
half of her uniform except for the very top button at her neck. She
unbuttoned it to below her navel. I reached up and slid my hand inside.
She shook her head and stepped back, then pulled the sides of the
material away. Her tits popped out, and I gave thanks that she wasn't
even wearing a bra tonight. She tucked the white fabric to the side
of each breast, where it stayed. Her globes were fantastic, and I
watched as her nipples puckered, then distended under my gaze. 

My hand instinctively went up to hold one. She closed her eyes for
a moment as my hand made contact. I squeezed. Then she spoke. "No
soap tonight, Mikey. Have to give you a 'no-soap bath' tonight." 

"Why?" I mumbled. I had gotten used to the slippery feel of her soapy
hand on my dick. I wanted it again. I was about to protest when she
spoke. 

"Because then I couldn't do this." She bent down and kissed the head
of my throbbing penis. As she did, her hanging tits dragged across
my stomach. I could feel the hard points scratching against my torso
as she positioned herself over me. 

"Oh," I said brightly. "That will be OK, nurse Carole Anne." Her
mouth sunk lower down on me. I squeezed her tit, then reached for
the one further away. Now I was cupping the other breast, and using
my forearm to scrape against the closer one. Even though I only had
one good limb, I was feeling both of her breasts with it, and it was
wonderful. 

She bent down further, taking the full length of my cock into her
mouth. She began to make little moaning sounds as the head of my dick
bounced against the back of her throat. She moved her head up and
down, and gently massaged my testicles with her hand. I'd been hoping
for another hand job. I hadn't expected this. 

She moved her head up high enough that she retained just the head
of my penis between her lips. Her hand moved in to encircle me. She
pumped. Her twinkling eyes met mine, and she said "I hope you've found
the medical service here acceptable, sir. And I hope you WON'T tell
any of your friends." 

"I promise," I said. I would have said anything she wanted to hear.
She licked my dick head with her tongue, causing excruciating sensations
of pleasure. Her hand kept pumping me. I kept grabbing at her tits. 

She moved her head away from me, and her body down, until her tits
were hanging directly over my upright shaft. She lessened, rather
than released her grip on me, holding just her index finger and thumb
around me in a circle like a rubber ring. The finger-circle went up
and down. Up and down. But now her gorgeous jugs were hanging around
the sides of my dick, and I could feel the soft tit flesh rubbing
against me with every stroke. As she moved her body both back and
forth and side to side I could feel the tips of her tits scraping
against my upper thighs, then returning to engulf my dick, then scraping
against my groin. It wasn't long before I was ready. 

"Mission control," I said, weakly. 

"Ready, commander," she cooed. She slipped one of her hands under
my ass, and began to prod my asshole with her finger tip. She pushed
it in up to her first knuckle. I bucked up, trying to give her better
access. I had never felt this before, and it was incredibly pleasurable.
She positioned her breasts directly over my dick, and swung gently
back and forth letting them bounce against my pulsating penis. 

"Oh, I'm coming," I said. "Oh, here I go." 

Her pumping increased, her tits swung freely, slapping against me,
her finger pushed further into me. I shot my first load directly onto
her chest, where it would dribble back down the slopes of her tits.
It wouldn't be alone. The second shot went directly onto her left
tit, and as though I had aimed it, the third spasm found her right. 

With the majority of my spunk out of the way, she moved down and
replaced her mouth around my organ. I was still coming, but with much
less volume. I could feel her sucking the life out of me as her tongue
danced all around and over the tip of my dick. I reached up and squeezed
her tit, ending up with a hand full of my own goo in the process.
I didn't care. It felt like lotion, and I spread it all over her hanging
breasts. She continued to suck me. 

At last I was spent, and I took my hand away from her. She released
me, and removed her finger from my anus. She took the washcloth and
cleaned me up, including my hands, and then washed her own chest off.
She rebuttoned her uniform, and then finished the rest of the job
she had supposedly come in to do an hour earlier. She left the room,
and I didn't see her again for some time. I thought about using the
nurses' call button, but I knew I shouldn't push it if there wasn't
a real reason for the call. I planned to use it only if she didn't
come back in by 9:00. 

I must have drifted off, because it was nearly midnight when I awoke
to a gentle shaking. "Mike. Mike." It was her. "I'm going off duty,
and I just wanted to say goodbye." 

I reached up and rubbed my bleary eyes. My angel of mercy was leaving.
Tomorrow so would I. 

She said, "I hope you know how sorry I was, now." 

"I do," I said. 

"And I'm going to miss you," she said gently. "I've never had a patient
quite like you." 

"Well, I'm beginning to think this accident was the best thing that
ever happened to me," I said to her. She smiled.
 

Then she bent down and kissed me gently on the lips. It was a long
kiss, gentle, not passionate. One of her hands came up and caressed
my face as she broke it off. "Goodbye, my horny skier," she said softly. 

I never saw her again. 




MIKE HUNT has more stories than you can, uh, shake a stick at. Each
one is based on a real life experience, though names and places
are changed to protect disgusting adulterers (like this dirty
nurse) and other low-lifes (like me.) If you would like more
stories from MIKE HUNT, e-mail Bannerboy1@aol.com. Fans and
flames to M1KE HUNT@aol.com. Note the 2nd character in M1KE
is a "one" (1) not an "eye" (I). 

If you want fewer stories from MIKE HUNT, just send me an e-mail.
Be polite.  It shows manners.  I was going to say go fuck yourself.
But it gave me an idea for a story...

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