When I was 18 and a senior in high school, I broke my ankle, really smashed it up when I totaled my Schwinn going down hill at high speed. Surgery and traction resulted. My nurses in the hospital were motherly and grandmotherly. With my being fairly helpless they had to do a lot for me, but I did not find it especially embarrassing, or exciting.

Then vacation season kicked in, and there were a lot of new faces around the orthopedic ward. One in particular gave me a flood of feelings: fear, embarrassment, humiliation, and a wet- dream level of sexual excitement. Karen, a neighbor who was about ten years older than me at 28, my former baby sitter, and a secret object of my masturbatory fantasies since I reached puberty, was now on the orthopedic floor as a nursing assistant. (She usually worked in maternity, so I assumed I wouldn't see her.) When she gave me my sponge baths she was sensitive to my embarrassment and excitement. She said, "I suppose it doesn't help to tell you that I used to change your diaper?"

Her uniform was always buttoned primly to the top, but as she moved me in bed I could see the thin gold chain around her neck, her breasts strain against the starchy white fabric, smell her soapy perfume, even feel the warmth of her bare arm. I got to look at her beautiful complexion and hair - she looked a lot like the "Breck Girl" from the magazine hair care product ads.

All this culminated when late one afternoon (my first day out of traction) she looked at my chart and frowned. Apparently the pain-killer had slowed down my digestive system. "You're going to need an enema," she said. Then she left me alone with my panic and the flush or embarrassment that made my face burn. A moment later, I heard a conversation outside my door. "Do you want me to take care of the enema in 214?" a male voice said. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard Karen say, "No, I'll do it."

Hours went by: I read my Baseball Digest, I watched the sunset through the window, I jumped at every foot step I heard outside my door. I was finally half asleep when I heard her voice, "Wake up, Michael."

I opened my eyes to see her standing there, stainless steel enema can in her hand, tubing attached. A rubber sheet was draped over her arm, a tube of lubricant protruded from the tiny pocket on the hip of her uniform skirt. She hung the can on the IV stand and, even though the door to my room was shut and the other bed empty, she pulled the curtain surrounding my bed closed. Then she rolled me over to slide the rubber sheet under me and she pulled my Johnny off. "We don't want to get this wet."

I watched her raise the enema nozzle to level of her eyes, as with the other hand she took the tube of lubricant out of her pocket and deftly removed the cap. She applied a strip of jelly to the nozzle much as one would put toothpaste on a toothbrush. She laid the tube, its nozzle glistening with the lubricant, on a folded towel on my night stand. (I remember thinking whether my friends or sister would pop in and end this agonizing ecstasy. Needless to say , I was very erect.) "I want you to relax, Mike, and draw your right leg up to your chest." I obeyed, declining her offer to explain what she was going to do, I knew ! Then I felt her gloved finger sliding into me very slowly, as she placed one soft ungloved hand on my shoulder. Unbelievably I got even harder, it was throbbing and painful now.

Then I felt the finger withdraw very slowly. She reached out for the nozzle and I felt it resting against my opening, she seemed to leave it there for a long time. Then slowly, it seemed like a sixteenth of an inch at a time, it started to slide in. Then I heard that soft click and after a moment felt the flow of very warm water...the pressure building. “Do you know what we call this kind of enema, Mike? 3H: high, hot and a heck of a lot. But just relax, you'll do fine.”

I could feel the pressure growing, like a warm, soft, moving thing had taken over my gut. I was perspiring and she leaned over to wipe my face with a towel, her face close to mine: beautiful eyes and a sweetly concerned expression. She straightened up, looked down into the can and back at me.

Then it happened. As she watched the dam burst! No, I continued to hold the enema; what I am talking about is what seemed like a tidal wave of cum from my cock. I had the most intense, longest, convulsive orgasm of my young life: spurt after spurt. I thought it would never stop. Even Karen seemed amazed. She held my shoulder as it happened, and used a face cloth to clean me up. "This is not that unusual", she said, "especially with young men." It was the first time anyone had called me a man.

She let me hobble to the bathroom after a while to empty out. Later that night she sat by my bed and we talked about the neighborhood and her plans to go to nursing school as soon as she had enough money saved. Had she asked, I would have robbed a bank to help her.

As she sat there, I fantasized that I was a badly injured war hero, and she was my devoted nurse. I knew I was in love. A few days later I was home from the hospital. Shortly after Karen got married and moved away. I never saw her again. Thirty-four years later the scene is still vivid. I'm very interested, but not hopeful, about finding just the right woman to relive it with, and then - perhaps - to reciprocate by helping her with her own fantasy.