Ima female nurse and find it exciting seeing the my male patients private parts. Sometimes i'll head the the restroom right after and finger myself thinking about them. It's a specific kind of thrill, a forbidden one that has everything to do with power and context. I'm supposed to be a clinical, detached professional, a healer in scrubs. But when I'm doing a catheter change or helping a shy, older guy with a bath, there's this electric buzz under my skin.
I see everything... the shy ones who are mortified, the cocky ones who are surprisingly small, the young, fit guys who are surprisingly not. I file it all away in my mental catalog. It's not about attraction, not really. It's about the secret. I'm one of the few people on earth who has seen these men at their most vulnerable, completely exposed. I know their secrets in a way their wives or girlfriends might not.
After I leave the room, my heart is always racing just a little faster. I'll walk calmly down the hall, nodding to doctors, answering pages, but my mind is replaying the image. Then, I'll make a beeline for the staff restroom. I'll lock myself in a stall, my back against the cold door, and my hand will be in my scrubs before I've even fully caught my breath.
I'll think about the shy guy from room 304, how he wouldn't make eye contact but his body had a mind of its own. Or the gruff, tattooed guy from the ER who had a surprisingly gentle-looking dick. I'll get myself off, quick and quiet, biting my lip to stifle any sound. The orgasm is sharp and intense, fueled by the taboo of it all. I'm getting off on a memory of a patient, on the breach of trust, on the fact that I'm in this sterile, professional environment having the dirtiest thoughts imaginable. Afterward, I'll wash my hands, fix my hair, and walk back out onto the floor, the perfect picture of a dedicated nurse. No one ever knows.
I see everything... the shy ones who are mortified, the cocky ones who are surprisingly small, the young, fit guys who are surprisingly not. I file it all away in my mental catalog. It's not about attraction, not really. It's about the secret. I'm one of the few people on earth who has seen these men at their most vulnerable, completely exposed. I know their secrets in a way their wives or girlfriends might not.
After I leave the room, my heart is always racing just a little faster. I'll walk calmly down the hall, nodding to doctors, answering pages, but my mind is replaying the image. Then, I'll make a beeline for the staff restroom. I'll lock myself in a stall, my back against the cold door, and my hand will be in my scrubs before I've even fully caught my breath.
I'll think about the shy guy from room 304, how he wouldn't make eye contact but his body had a mind of its own. Or the gruff, tattooed guy from the ER who had a surprisingly gentle-looking dick. I'll get myself off, quick and quiet, biting my lip to stifle any sound. The orgasm is sharp and intense, fueled by the taboo of it all. I'm getting off on a memory of a patient, on the breach of trust, on the fact that I'm in this sterile, professional environment having the dirtiest thoughts imaginable. Afterward, I'll wash my hands, fix my hair, and walk back out onto the floor, the perfect picture of a dedicated nurse. No one ever knows.
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