So I had managed to break my right hand and wrist in a bar fight in Stockholm and found myself in a local hospital, all casted up and immobilized. Stupid, considering I am actually a prize boxer. And it goes to show how important those gloves really are.
Things here were deceptively similar to America, perhaps a bit like Vermont or New Hampshire, with the notable exception of the language, which sounded a little like someone speaking Italian while trying to eat lemons. But everyone would always switch to their spookily excellent English as soon as they realized I didn’t understand a word they were saying. They all sounded like Canadians to me then.
“Hello,” said a cheerful nurse to me at six o’clock in the morning, as I was just waking and trying to remember how I had ended up in this futuristic environment with untreated pine furniture and Baltic Sea views. She was wearing a pair of those large, King Carl Gustav style glasses women seemed to dig around here a lot, and otherwise seemed to be absolute centrefold material, like the majority of Swedish women. Tall, strong, with bright blue eyes and a warm, pleasant voice. And she had that typically Swedish, slightly uppity note when she spoke, as if she really wasn’t going to have anyone challenge her.
“I am from the male health committee,” she continued. “We are committed to ensuring best possible male health at the hospital.” There it was again, that feeling that sometimes, the Swedes could be more American than Americans. They had this uncanny tendency to sound unbelievably fake perky about completely outlandish constructs they were forced to embrace in some professional capacity. “And since you have been bereft of the use of your right hand at the moment, there will be someone looking after you every morning while you are here. Just a nice little massage with the foreskin until you come. As you may know, it is important for men to ejaculate regularly to ensure good prostate health in the long run. So we will make sure of that. You are heterosexual, as I can tell by the way you look at me. May I take a look at your member, please. Ah, yes, it seems I have come at an opportune time…” she quite expertly handled my penis in a way that told me she must have done this thousands of times already. She had indeed come at an opportune time. This was my daily morning boner peak time.
“Oh my,” she said with a look of concern on her pretty face, “this must bother you so much… what a severe circumcision!” She seemed genuinely distressed, and felt cautiously along the shaft with her cool, smooth fingers. “This is so tight,” she said and shook her head, “and the entire glans is bared. I can’t believe some countries allow this. A truly Victorian bit of punishment Dr Kellogg would have approved of! It’s illegal in Sweden, you know.” I actually thought it was kinda badass to have an illegal penis, but didn’t want to give that away just now.
With a sigh, she produced a bottle of skin lotion, sat down on the edge of my bed, and began to apply it to my penis. It was only then I noticed she was wearing white lace stockings and not much else under her short and sleeveless, light blue uniform. “Dress code of the male health committee,” she said with a shrug. By now, she had also started giving me stealthy glances I knew how to interpret – my muscle tone was Playgirl material, and I knew it. Her hands were getting more moist now, not just from the lotion, and she tried to fix her gaze on my penis instead of my upper body. She had the most unbelievable, blond hair; full and long, like a Viking princess.
“It is a really amazing penis, otherwise,” she said as she held it with both hands, one closer to the base, one just below the glans, “I can… barely close my hands around it…” Her nipples were showing clearly through her uniform top. Now she was rubbing lotion around the back of the corona. “The glans looks so big,” she mused, “is that because it is always exposed? How does that feel anyway, to always have that brush up against clothing? I bet that’s why your testicles are so large, all that constant stimulation…!” Then she closed her hands around my testicles and my glans at the same time, which made me come so violently, I nearly blacked out.
When I came to, she was wiping her hands with paper towels and smiled contentedly before she left. She clearly had done this before. What a goddess.
The next morning, she surprised me by sitting cross legged at the end of my bed when I woke up. Maybe I was imagining it, but it seemed like she was touching herself. Her uniform top was open, and revealed a pair of breasts that had just the right heft to immediately make me think of… “tit-job Thursday!” she chirped and moved close enough to deliver on it. “I’ve been talking to my superiors about you, and they agree that, given the circum… stances, you do qualify for some special attention. We think your glans will benefit from some skin contact, being as denuded as it is all the time….” With that, she put one of her erect nipples against the underside of my glans, which gave me an almost electric jolt of sensation; then she took my penis between her amazing breasts and buried the glans between them. “There,” she said, “see how nice that is. We are sure this will do you a lot of psychological good.” It did indeed, and some of it was still trickling down the back of her uniform as she left a little while later.
On Friday, I woke up directly to a warm sensation around my glans, finding her masterfully and gently locked onto my penis with her lips. “I have talked to my superiors again, and we agreed that really, what you need is actual body fluid against your glans. Because you wouldn’t have had that ever since the circumcision. It is very important to give your glans natural enzymes and the salinity of a human body. Besides, I can’t stop thinking about your penis and the way it looks. I could eat it. You know what? Screw illegal. I say let them circumcise them all!” She gave me a look that was so unashamedly horny I nearly laughed. “Let me guess,” I said, “Blowjob Friday?” Instead of responding, she brought me off with a sudden contraction of her lips in a way that made me feel like my brain was being ejaculated.
The male health committee really had a good, varied program, I thought as she left, and the room had stopped spinning. She had wished me a good weekend.
The next morning, I woke from the touch of silky, blond hair in my face. As I opened my eyes, there she was, close enough to kiss. And she did. “I thought you don’t work weekends?” I asked. “Well,” she said, “I figured, Fuck Saturday!”
And so it was.
Some people’s opinion one simply cannot change. Mine, for example.