I woke up at 7.30, and went to the loo. Still some gas and a bit of not so solid waste, but it was not too bad. I went back to my room (“my room”?! It was Michel’s room) and began reading my book again.

Mrs Ganty showed up.

“How was your night?

— Pretty good given the circumstances. Thanks for the… treatment.

— The enema? You’re welcome. By the way, have you checked your temperature this morning?

— Oh, no, sorry, I forgot.

— Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. On your tummy and lower your pajamas, will you.

— Oh really Mrs Ganty don’t worry I’ll do it myself.

— Daniel, just show me that nice behind of yours and I’ll do it.”

What could I do? I obeyed. Soon my buttocks were parted, I felt the thermometer tip, was told to “bear down”, and it went in. Mrs Ganty’s hand remained on my behind, holding the thermometer in. With her other hand, she began gently rubbing my back… That was quite enjoyable. The warm feeling of Mrs Ganty’s hand on my buttocks, the feeling of the thermometer inside my anus, all these sensations melted and I realized I was becoming hard! I was glad that the position hid my appendage.

Mrs Ganty withdrew the thermometer (38°C! still a bit feverish).

“If diarrhea starts again to the point that it makes it difficult for you to concentrate or rest, I’ll give you another enema. I’ve made you some breakfast.”

I ate with some appetite. Nausea had subsided to some extent, and after a couple of days of not eating much and vomiting what I had eaten, I needed food. Mrs Ganty reminded me of the need to wash my hands carefully before touching anything, especially after I had been to the toilet.

Morning was quite uneventful. Mrs Ganty made me some lunch. I was feeling better, and we had some discussion about my future studies, what I wanted to do in life, and so on.

“I’m sure a nice young man such as yourself must have some success with the young ladies.”

I blushed and looked away, not knowing what to answer.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Perhaps you’re into boys. When I was growing up that was quite not accepted, and I still have reflexes that assume that boys seek girls.

— No, ma’am. It’s just… Well I don’t have much success with girls. Maybe I’m too shy.

— I see. I should not have asked, this was very indiscreet. Apologies.”

After lunch, we talked some more, avoiding the topic of girlfriends, then I took a nap. I began playing with myself. Mrs Ganty’s hands on my behind and my back had troubled me. I did not dare rub myself to ejaculation; I did not want to leave tell-tale traces in the sheets, and I did not have having to clean semen. I hesitated going to fetch some toilet paper, then thought I had better think about something else. I tried thinking of mathematics to get my mind off sex. I fell asleep.

Dinner was early. Mrs Ganty explained that, tired as I was, I should go to bed early.

“Take a shower while I do the dishes, then I’ll get your enema ready.

— My enema?! Madam I don’t think I need one, I’m feeling better and…

— Daniel, of course I won’t force you to have one. But you need rest, and this means not having to deal with bowels. You went to the loo several times today. You don’t want that during the night.

I sighed. She was right. I took a shower and went down to see her.

“I’m ready, ma’am.

— Ready for what?

— Er… my enema, ma’am.

— Right. You see how you should not be ashamed of asking for treatment frankly. Go to your room, I’ll be with you shortly.”

A few minutes later, in came Mrs Ganty carrying the jug with the pipe, and a big towel. The jar of Vaseline had been left on my bedside table along with the thermometer, cotton and alcohol.

“We’ll start by checking your temperature. On your tummy, pajama bottoms pulled down, please.”

Just like this morning, I thought. And just like this morning, she left one hand on my buttocks, thermometer between two fingers, while she ran the other one on my back under my pajama top, and even on my buttocks. And, again, I became hard.

The thermometer withdrew “37.8°C, still a bit feverish.”

She busied herself with cleaning the thermometer. “Put this towel on the bed, pajama bottoms off now.”

I obeyed, and installed myself in the position that she had made me assume for the first enema: on the left side, leg flexed.

“Mmh. I would like to be able to massage your stomach and this is not the most convenient position for this. Would you mind going on your back legs open, feet on the bed?”

Oh dear. Such a position would be so revealing… But I did not see myself explaining that I wanted to stay on the side because of my erection, and draw attention to it. Mrs Ganty was a nurse, she had seen it all. I set up myself as instructed. My penis was actually only half-hard.

“Bring your knees closer to you. There…”

Mrs Ganty’s gloved hand brought the nozzle. “Bear down”… and the nozzle entered. I had a reflex spasm of the anus, which made my penis shake a little, and become a bit harder. Mrs Ganty was apparently paying no attention. I relaxed and half closed my eyes.

“Daniel, this is probably very indiscreet, but… This was phimosis, right?”

Mrs Ganty’s words roused me. She was pointing to my penis with the hand that was not holding the nozzle.

“What?

— Your foreskin has been removed, and your parents are Catholic, so I was asking if the reason was phimosis. Tight foreskin.

— Yes. The doctor and my mother tried to er.. pull it back, but it resisted and was very painful. So they had me cut.

— I see. Poor boy. I’ve seen that happen when I was a nurse and I’ve always thought it too brutal.”

Mrs Ganty gently caressed my penis. I stiffened.

“But it’s still very nice as it is. I don’t want to raise the question of girlfriends again, but I think it likely that a girl would appreciate this.”

I threw caution to the wind. Mrs Ganty had seen everything I had to show, so why not talk about it.

“Well madam, I’ve only had so far one girlfriend so to speak, I mean one with whom I went as far as showing my… my penis. And that was disappointing.”

I half-closed my eyes. It was difficult to talk about this eye-to-eye… with the added circumstance that one of Mrs Ganty’s hands was holding the nozzle in, while the other was rubbing my tummy, and sometimes rubbing against my penis.

“I mean, she had me open my fly, then began rubbing me and it hurt, and anyway we got disturbed.

— I see. Many women complain about not-too-clever men who hurt them during sexual activities, but the converse is sometimes true. And indeed, a circumcised penis may be in need of gentler attention. Not all women are clever, and you would perhaps be better off experimenting with one more versed in the ways of the world.”

Mrs Ganty continued rubbing my tummy while injecting the enema. I liked it when her hand brushed against my penis.

“Seems like we’re done. Go to the toilet, take your time, and wash your bottom afterwards. Tell me when you’re out.”

I was a bit taken back by the order to “wash my bottom”, as if I were a little boy incapable of thinking about it by himself. I nevertheless complied.

When I was done, Mrs Ganty was in her bedroom; I could hear her. I knocked at the door.

“Thank you. Can you wait for me in your bedroom? We need to talk.”

I obeyed, and soon she came.

“Daniel, why not lay back on your bed and relax. How does your tummy feel.

— Well after the enema it feels empty.

— Good.”

She sat on the bed, next to me, and proceeded to rub my tummy, passing her hand under my pajama tops.

“Daniel, you’re a fine young man.”

Her hand went on to my chest as well.

“Do you think you would feel cold if you removed your pajama top? I would like to help you relax.”

I complied. Mrs Ganty rubbed my chest, then asked me to turn onto my stomach. She then proceeded to massage my shoulders, my arm, my back. It felt very good. Both hands were busy.

“Why don’t we remove your pajama bottoms so that I can do your thighs as well. Can you lift yourself a bit?”

And so did it, and I felt my pajama bottoms slip off my behind, then being completely pulled off me. I was now naked. First time really since childhood in front of a woman.

Not only did she do my thighs, she also did my behind. She felt my buttocks with gusto. This was more like being “petted”, as my friends used to say about girls, than about a massage. She then was back to my back. My hips (again, petted). My arms. This was so good.

And, yes, I was becoming hard. Especially when Mrs Ganty was petting my buttocks and the insides of my thighs.

“Why don’t you turn on your back so that I can do the other side?”

Why not indeed. Because I was hard? Oh well. After she had made compliments on it. I rolled on my back.

She delicately touched my penis shaft. “Very nice.”

She proceeded to rub my thighs. “Bring them a bit apart.”

This was lovely. My penis was now rock hard, jetting out of my body. I just wanted Mrs Ganty to take care of it.

Finally, Mrs Ganty’s fingers came upwards… but instead of holding my penis, she started to very gently feel my testicles with her fingertips, then cupped them. Oh, the warmth felt so nice!

Then she smiled at me and gently felt my shaft, and then rubbed a finger on my glans, and on that exposed, pinkish area between the shaft and the corona (an area which, I reasoned later, was probably part of the former inner side of my foreskin).

Another smile.

Then, she kissed my glans, and the rest of my penis, and my testicles as well (which required her to lay between my thighs). Back to my penis.

“See? This has to be treated with kindness, not brutality.”

And then, she began sucking on my glans! I had of course heard friends boasting about “blow jobs”, but this was the first time for me to experience the real thing.

It was just like these things were happening to somebody else, as if I was a mere spectator to the act. I just could not believe it. Mrs Ganty was gently playing with my testicles and my shaft, while she continued licking and sucking.

It was too much. “Ma’am, I’m about to…”

Mrs Ganty went on. I ejaculated.

“Ma’am I’m sorry.”

She turned to look at me, and very visibly swallowed my semen. After she had finished, she said, while rubbing my cheek.

“Daniel, this was very considerate of you to warn me. But once you did, it was my choice to go on, to take it in my mouth, and to swallow it.”

“I think now you will have a good sleep. Put on your pajamas, get a good night’s rest.”

She tucked me in bed.