Matron Beverly and Timothy

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All the characters are consenting adults over the age of 18.

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I first laid eyes on Timothy, post-op. My heart went out to him the moment I saw him.

The kid had been in a car accident with some idiot friends who neglected to stop at a red light. Fortunately for him he was a backseat passenger, wearing a seatbelt, and was not sitting behind the driver. His two friends died at the scene but Timmy survived.

The kid got lucky but god he was a mess. Battered and bruised he was pretty much covered in bandages. He had a broken arm and a badly broken leg, bruised ribs, and his face was all puffed and scratched from broken glass.

A few days later he was moved to my ward and installed in a private room where he became my patient. His wealthy parents could afford the best; he was to get the best room and the best care, and the best care was me.

The poor broken kid was going to be my responsibility for quite some time… several months at least, depending on his spine and how his seriously mangled leg healed. In all my thirty years as a nurse, I’ve seen my share of broken bodies but right from the start I felt there was something different about Timmy.

Looking down at the unconscious boy I recall thinking how young he looked. His chart said he was eighteen but I’d have guessed much younger… about as old as my grandson who had just turned sixteen. He was boyish-looking… slim and trim… not big like men get as they mature.

He’s still got some growing to do before he’s done, I thought to myself. With a bit of luck, he’ll get through this and get to grow up.

Timothy had a mop of thick chestnut brown hair and from what I could make out, hidden behind his cuts and bruises, a handsome youthful face that I was sure had never seen a razor… It really was heartbreaking to see such a young man reduced to this.

He was in what the doctors call an induced coma – peeing into a catheter, IV liquids for nourishment, and hooked up to an ECG machine that tracked his vital signs. The young fellow didn’t need any nursing care when he was hooked up to these machines, but despite that, I found myself inexplicably drawn to his side.

In my rare spare time, I’d sit by his side in the visitor chair, having my coffee break or eating my lunch which was very unprofessional. As a matron, I had a lot to do and silly visits to unconscious patients was totally non-essential care.

I recall looking down at his bruised and battered face and thinking a young fellow like him should be out in the sun riding his pushbike or playing with his friends, not lying in bed covered in bandages and tubes. He looked so small and pathetic I was almost drawn to tears.

I’m a professional person and proud of my calling. And I’m bloody good at it as well. In three decades of service, I’ve never had an inappropriate relationship with any patient. Not once. Never even thought about it. But there was something about this particular teenager that filled me with sympathy. Good nurses are like good mothers I suppose, and I have often had affection for my patients. But Timothy… goodness… my feelings quickly grew so much more intense.

I found myself looking in on him every hour or so.

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It was late, after 10pm and my shift was over. It had been a big day. I was tired and should have been heading home, but like a moth to a flame, I found I couldn’t leave without seeing Timmy just once more.

I let myself in and closed the door behind me. The first of my transgressions. There’s rarely a reason to close the door of a patient’s room, especially so late at night, but the normally bustling ward was all but empty at that time of night and I was sure nobody saw me.

His room was dark except for the dim green light coming from the monitor behind his bed. It showed his heartbeat – a gentle up-down bump that flowed across the screen with a confident little ‘bip… bip… bip…’ much like my heart beating in my ears, ‘thump, thump, thump’.

I knew I shouldn’t be there. If I’d found one of my younger nurses in a patient’s room like this there’d have been disciplinary action. Yet here I was, breaking my own rules for some reason I couldn’t really comprehend.

Standing over him, I watched him sleeping.

He was quite handsome. The tube up his nose was gone now as were the bandages. He had a nasty scratch below his eye but the bruising was much less severe. There was no doubting he was a very good-looking young man.

The recuperative powers of youth are a marvel, I thought to myself.

On an impulse, I ran my hand through his hair and was shaken by an involuntary shiver that tingled down my spine. It was so dense and luxurious…

“Oh… oh dear…”

I was totally unprepared for my reaction. My heart started pounding and my legs suddenly felt weak.

I remember thinking that if I was a male nurse and got caught touching an unconscious almanbahis female patient, they’d fire me on the spot… and probably call the police. Pull yourself together you stupid old woman.

Lots of the junior nurses step over that line all the time. These days, with everyone in charge of their own orgasm, young nurses seem to drop their panties for anyone who takes their fancy. I’ve never done anything like that. I grew up in a time when people had moral values. I got married at twenty-two and had three lovely children to a loving husband – just like everyone else did. People back then had simple, predictable lives. These days it’s all gone south. Morals and integrity are dirty words…

But he’s totally out of it, I thought excitedly. I could do anything to him…

So it turns out I’m a hypocrite. I pulled the privacy curtain around his bed and sat down beside the unconscious kid, my butt squished against his hip. I found the edge of the blanket that covered him and pulled it down. Rule number two broken.

Once I started I couldn’t stop. His hospital gown was the sort that crossed over at the front and tied around his middle. My hands seemed to have a mind of their own. I picked up the cord around his waist and pulled the simple slipknot undone… then I delved under… pulling the blue cotton aside…

As my fingers danced over his young hairless pectoral muscles I found I was panting with lust. “Mmmmmm… oh god…”

My nipples hardened, pressing almost painfully into my bra cups, my pelvis began to tingle… my pussy was throbbing… I pulled my uniform up and knuckled my fist between my legs…

“OOoooo mmmmmm…” There goes rules three, four, five, and six…

I know what you’re thinking. I’m a mature fifty-year-old woman. What are you doing behaving like some horny teenager? Well let me tell you, age is no barrier to wanting to feel that special release. All older women can enjoy an orgasm as much as the next person!

I stood up, pulled my skirt up around my middle and sat back down. Spreading my legs as wide as I could I fingered myself under the leg seam of my knickers, right up inside myself…

“Mmmmmm oh yesss…”

I was in the process of pulling his blankets aside so I could get at his cock, when I saw the gorgeous boy was looking at me!

I made a surprised yelping sound and jumped to my feet like a naughty girl with her hand in the cookie jar. He’d woken up at some point and I hadn’t realized…

To my horror, my skirt didn’t fall back in place. My big boobs had sagged down over my belly and were holding up the cloth of my skirt as efficiently as a pair of clothes pegs.

His glazed eyes were looking right at my crotch… my panties were down around my thighs… he was staring right at the inflamed lips of my pussy… spread apart in the middle of my hairy forest of pubic hair…

As quickly as I could I dislodged my skirt and it did finally fall and cover my shame, but the damage had been done.

“Hello Timothy,” I gasped guiltily. I looked down at him with my best motherly smile. “I really must apologize for…”

“Wh… where am I?” he muttered.

“…my unseemly behavior…”

“I… I don’t understand,” he said groggily.

“Everything’s gonna be just fine dear,” I gushed. “You’re in hospital and we’re taking really good care of you. You’re pretty busted up but it’ll all mend just fine and until you’re back on you’re feet, I’m going to look after you.”

He looked up and tried to say something but it came out a raspy croak. I reached for the glass of water and straw that sat on his night table and, holding it to his lips, he sucked eagerly.

“Take it slow dear. Too much will make you sick.”

He released the straw and fell back onto his pillows.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered sleepily and before my eyes, he faded out again. In a minute his breathing was deep and slow again.

He was probably too dazed to know what I was doing, I thought hopefully. Probably won’t even remember I was here…

When I was sure he was sleeping peacefully I ran my fingers through his thick chestnut hair one last time and, before I left, I softly kissed his sleeping lips.

He thought I was beautiful…

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When I arrived the next morning my young charge was properly awake. I searched his face for any signs of recognition. I didn’t notice anything…

“Well hello sleeping beauty,” I said brightly. “How lovely to see you up. I think you’re looking better already.”

“Thank you,” he croaked. “I’m feeling pretty average though…”

“Well you’ve been in the wars dear,” I said as I fussed about. “Do you know where you are?”

“Yes ma’am… I’m in a hospital. I was in a car crash…”

“That’s right,” I said officiously, as though I’d never seen him before. “And we’re going to take real good care of you.”

I picked up the chart from the end of his bed.

“I’m Matron Beverly,” I muttered as I pretended to look over his almanbahis giriş details. “I’ll be what they call your ‘primary carer’. I’ll be the one here most of the time.”

“That… that’ll be great,” he whispered. “Thank you, Matron…”

His piercing deep blue eyes caught me unaware. They were so big and deep that I felt I had to drag myself away or I’d have fallen in…

Pulling myself together I showed him the little control pad that was attached to the bed.

“These two arrows will lift your bed up and down… and this turns on the TV…”

“Yes ma’am,” he said. “Thank you…”

He was holding it in his right hand. The unbroken one. The other was in a cast…

“And if there’s anything you need you just got to press this button and Matron will come. Can you do that Timothy?”

“Yes… yes… um, Matron.”

“You’ll be feeling some pain and discomfort but we have medication for that.”

“Thank you, Matron,” he said. He was looking at me oddly as if trying to place my face…

“Good boy… that’s very good.”

I bustled about the room doing this and that, pretending I wasn’t a nervous wreck. I threw away some rubbish a nurse or a doctor had left on the side table and refilled his glass with ice water… conscious that his eyes were tracking after me, following my every move.

He remembers my indiscretion, I thought desperately. He’s going to tell his mother… she’ll tell the doctors… there’ll be a hearing of the hospital board…

But then something happened that made everything all right… better than all right…

Something on the floor caught my eye and I got down on my knees to pick it up. Little bits of paper and medical wrapping that I had to pluck out of the carpet.

Beside me to the right was a big mirrored wardrobe door where I caught his reflection. The dear child was propped up on his unbroken arm, leaning out of his bed, and gazing down at my big butt.

This is not my first rodeo folks. I’ve pretty much seen it all over the years. Men often fall for their carers and loads of them like a voluptuous figure like mine and are forever trying to see up my dress or down my top. It doesn’t happen as much as it did when I was younger but it still happens and the attention of this particular young man… well that made me quite flustered.

A few of the older patients tell me I’m like Hattie Jacques, the big busty matron in those stupid Carry-On films and I suppose they’re not too far wrong. My boobs are big like hers and my arse as well… and I’m English so there’s the accent…

I try to look after myself but it gets hard as you get older. I’m five-ten so I’m big enough to get away with carrying a bit of extra pudding but, what with menopause and late-night desserts, I know I’ve got overweight. Maybe not fat exactly but the slim curvy figure of my youth has long gone.

My butt, that Timothy couldn’t seem to stop staring at, has got quite large. Once sweet peachy bottom cheeks have turned into a pair of big round globes that bubble out behind me. I’m not quite at the ‘waddling when I walk’ stage but… well, suffice to say I have to get back on that bloody exercise bike.

Even as he perused my big bum I remember thinking, don’t be so bloody stupid. Young men like Timothy don’t fall for fat old women like me. I could be his grandmother.

But he didn’t seem to be seeing me that way at all. He was looking at my big old lady’s bottom like it was the best thing ever. You can’t imagine how flattered I felt.

He’s probably out of his mind on painkillers, I thought.

With my back to him on the floor, I surreptitiously undid my two top buttons. When I got to my feet, a glance in the mirror showed my uniform gaping open under the weight of my big boobs. My deep white cleavage was like two big white basketballs pressed together… with just a hint of my lacy black bra…

“Dear oh dear, doctors are so messy,” I said, as though unaware I was giving him an eyeful. “We should get them cleaning up. That’d straighten them out quick smart!”

Like the rest of my body, my boobs used to be much more normally shaped. In my early teens I was sexily curvaceous, like a swimwear model. I’d get second glances wherever I went, especially in a bikini. Those days are gone. As I’ve got older everything’s got bigger. My once perfect rack has gotten much too big, sagging under their own weight.

When I turned to face him I was delighted to see Timothy was a boob man. His eyes lit up like headlight, staring open-mouthed as I swayed toward him.

“So… so… you’ll be looking after me?” he asked. He was staring at my tits…

“Yes dear, I’m your nurse,” I said looking down at him lovingly. He still looked like a train wreck but he was well enough to check out this old woman’s body.

On an impulse I sat down on the edge of his bed… just where I’d sat the previous night and put my hand on his forehead as though checking his temperature… a completely unnecessary action, there was an ECG that tracked all his vitals… but he almanbahis giriş closed his eyes and sighed as though I was the Blessed Virgin Mary…

I began to think he’d drifted off to sleep. It wouldn’t be unusual; patients as banged up as him can sleep eighteen hours a day. But when I stopped stroking he opened his big blue eyes and looked at me like a puppy.

With my pussy tingling excitedly I ran my fingers through his lovely thick hair, just like I’d done the previous evening. “I’m gonna take real good care of you Timmy dear,” I said huskily.


“Yes sweetheart,” I said softly, looking down at his beautiful busted up face…

“I dreamt about you last night,” he said. “You were sitting beside me right there… stroking my hair just like you are now…”

“That was just a dream dear,” I lied.

“I… I… remember think… thinking how beautiful you were,” he gasped. He was blushing the cutest hue of red, looking at me with such adoration I could’ve wept.

I laughed and squeezed his hand. “Well that’s very sweet, baby, but I’m twenty years away from beautiful. Maybe your eyesight was affected in the crash? Detached retina maybe?”

I may have been pretty once… maybe even beautiful if you liked booby blonde beach girls… but not anymore. Years ago I cut my long blonde hair. It’s shoulder length now and the blond comes out of a bottle. My face isn’t lined or flabby or anything but I’m starting to get a little jowly, a bit plump-cheeked like a grandmother.

Timothy didn’t think I was funny. “Well… I think you’re beautiful,” he insisted firmly. “You… you’re… like an angel…”

“Ha ha… that’s lovely to hear Timothy. I think I’ll talk to the doctor about cutting back your meds…”

Buzzing with happiness like a giggly teen, I squeezed his hand and made to stand up. But the dear boy held on…

“Please don’t go,” he pleaded. “Stay just a little longer. Having you near is making me feel so much better…”

“That’s very sweet Timmy,” I said. And it was; the tingle between my legs was quickly becoming an ache… “I just want to get you well dear.”

When he still didn’t release my hand I sat back down and when I did he pulled my hand close and kissed my knuckles… a long, fervent, eyes closed, kiss… He took me completely unaware. The stirring in my loins was so inappropriate I gasped. He held my palm against his cheek…

“I really have to go dear,” I gasped desperately. “I’ll check in on you soon. Try to get some sleep…”

“Please stay,” he sobbed, “I feel so awful…”

He looked up at me with big puppy-dog eyes, glassy with tears. The poor kid sounded so forlorn my heart just went right out to him. He looked so small and busted up… all bondages and plaster… but there was a large bulge under the blankets near his crotch…

“I… I have other patients baby… other work I need to do…”

“Please… please Matron…”

“I must… I must go Timmy… please let me go…”

Then he did and I jumped to my feet. I’ve been pawed before but it was always lecherous old men that didn’t know what they were doing. This was different… I wanted him to hold me close…

“Will you come back soon?” he begged.

“Soon dear… soon…”

Then I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead and, when he turned his face up to me, a quick kiss on the lips… and just as easy as that I became no better than any of my young slutty colleagues.

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I did have other patients and chores to attend to but even so, I must have checked in on Timothy twenty times or more that day. There were often other people in the room at the same time which was frustrating. Doctors, physiotherapists, dieticians, and his parents stayed for hours. But when there was nobody else around I was there, fussing about, finding all sorts of excuses to touch him.

Fluffing pillows, straightening his bed were all opportunities to brush against him. It was so ridiculous… but he was reciprocating, furtively touching my boobs or putting his hand on my butt… which I pretended not to notice of course.

The situation came to a head late in the afternoon when I came into his room with a steel dish. I put it on the bed and, pulling the blue privacy curtain around the bed, sat down beside him.

He looked at me wide-eyed. “What… what’s in there Matron?”

“Now Timothy,” I began, trying to sound as businesslike as I could. “Doctor has instructed me to take your catheter out.”

He looked at me in horror. “Couldn’t he do it?” he gasped. “Or even any other nurse? Please Matron, I don’t want you seeing my junk!”

“Well that’s just silly,” I said sternly. “I’m the oldest nurse on the floor. Would you really want one of those pretty young girls doing it?”

“I… I… I don’t know how to explain it…”

“Well, then that’s all there is to it young man,” I said. “It’s a little unpleasant but it’s a simple procedure. It will be over before you know it.”

I wanted to sound professional but I was sure he’d be able to hear the tremor in my voice. Before he could object, I reached for the hem of the blanket and sheet that covered his crotch and pulled them down below his knees. The thin catheter tube disappeared up under his hospital gown.

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