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After a car accident, Danny Williamson struggles to heal and find his way back to his passion, the pool. His nurse Sasha might just be the inspiration he needs.
It starts the same as the night before. I’m in the pool, my house, my arena. I’m in lane four, center of the pool, racing my favorite race, the 200 meter freestyle. I’m coming up on the last lap, 25 meters to go. I look to my left, I look to my right, I’m all alone, meters ahead, I’m going to win - again. I’m the best in the pool and I know it, but I dig down deeper. I want to destroy my competition, I want to set a new collegiate record. I draw one last deep breath and lower my head in the water and I keep my arms moving as fast as I can, I won’t be letting up, I won’t be coasting to an easy victory.

All of a sudden, I’m underwater. Deep underwater. I swim up for a breath but I can’t break the surface. I start to panic. I’m flailing my arms and kicking my feet faster and harder. My lungs are burning. My heart is racing. And that’s when something slams into me. I get a glimpse of it on my left side a split second before contact is made, but I can’t identify anything. I’m racked with pain, but at least I can breathe again, though every time I inhale it feels like knives stabbing my chest.

And I’m awake. Alone in the hospital, I hear the machines beeping and a ventilator wheezing. I’m uncomfortable. I remember it all now. Everything. The late night run to pick up some fuel for studying. I remember buying the chips and the soda and the cookies and the candy and the high caffeine energy drinks. I was the only one of my study friends with a car so naturally it was my duty to do the shopping. I don’t remember getting back into my car though. But I remember the pickup hitting me. Plowing into the drivers side, right into me. Glass shattering, airbag deploying and then nothing but black. I found out later the driver was on his way home from a nearby bar, fled the scene and was found the next morning at home trying to sleep off his bender. Somehow he walked away physically unscathed. I, on the other hand, am left with a concussion, collapsed lung, a few cracked ribs, a fractured pelvis, dozens of cuts and bruises and most concerning to me, a broken clavicle. He’s going to jail, but that’s little solace to me, being left wondering when and if I’m ever going to swim again.

A middle aged nurse enters my room, checks my vitals before we start a game that I have a vague recollection we played yesterday.

“Good morning, how are we feeling today?” she asks in her slightly southern accent. In a small college town, everyone sounds like they have a southern drawl to me.

“Hurt” I answer. Sarcastic, I know, but I feel I’m due a little snarkiness in my condition.

“Can you tell me your name, hun?”


“And your last name?”

“Danny Williamson”

Two for two.

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

This one was harder. I knew my history exam was on Thursday so the accident must have been on Wednesday. Feels like two days since then.

“I’m going with Friday. No…Saturday.”

“Sorry kiddo, it’s Sunday, but you’ve been out of it for a while so I think that’s close enough. The doctor will be with you in a couple minutes, hun”.

Gotta love small town medical attention. Close is good enough for me though. My head is foggy but I have my faculties. My body feels broken, not my mind. I have a feeling I just need to pass enough of the cognitive tests to ensure I keep the pain medication flowing. Shit, is it really Sunday already? I must have been out longer than I thought. Sometime over the last couple days I know I woke up, my mom and my sister Bethany were in the room, I guess they drove up to see me.

A doctor walks in and starts examining me without a word. I know my whole left arm and shoulder are in a cast. He shines a light and looks in my eyes then places his freezing stethoscope against my chest and asks for a deep breath. I go as deep as I can without wincing, and then just a little more causing the knives to come back.

“Danny, I’m Dr. Stevens, it looks like you’re through the danger zone. You got banged up pretty good but your lung sounds better, I don’t think surgery will be necessary.”

“Thanks Doc. What about the rest of me?”

“Well, the head is the biggest concern right now. The concussion will heal with rest which won’t be a problem for you because you’ll be here for at least another week or two, so we can monitor that lung. Have to keep you immobilized for a little while too so that pelvis can heal. After that, we’ll get you up and moving, physical therapy and such but you’ll be on crutches for at least the first month. The more rest the better, no sports obviously which also won’t be a problem since that cast will be on for about 4 weeks.”

“What about swimming?” I ask.

The doctor looks at me and looks at my arm and then looks back in my eyes. “Do you know what day it is today Danny?”

“It’s not the concussion talking Doc, I know today is Sunday. I mean swimming after the cast comes off, can I swim after it’s healed.”

“Of course, swimming is great non-contact exercise and if you need it, probably something your physical therapist will recommend.”

“I mean competitive swimming. Am I going to heal and still be able to compete?”

“Oh right, you’re a swimmer. Your mother was telling me all about it yesterday. She says you’re pretty good too.” A serious look came over Dr. Stevens’ face and I started to panic all over again. “Danny listen, to be honest, that’s more of a question for a sports injury doctor and your trainers. Everyone heals differently but I’ve seen athletes come back from worse. It’s going to take some time though. You’ve suffered some pretty traumatic injuries and stress to your body. Best thing you can do for yourself is just to get some rest and take it slow. You’ve got a long road ahead of you”.

I looked Dr. Stevens in the eye and said thank you. That’s something I learned from my dad before he passed. He always told me no matter what, good times, bad times, you show them what you're made of by looking straight in their eyes. For whatever it was worth, for that second I felt a false sense of courage, like I was going to get through this no matter what. Then, as soon as Dr. Stevens left the room, I broke down crying.

The next few days were a blur. The cloudiness in my head started lifting as I was slowly being weaned off the heavy pain medications. Mom and my sister, Bethany, had driven up from Florida and spent most of their days with me. My friends and teammates from the swim team all showed up in groups of two or three so I wouldn’t get overwhelmed having too many visitors in the room at once and also to spread out their visits to keep me occupied. Sitting and doing nothing all day was pretty boring and as I started feeling better I asked my friends to get me some of my classwork. I was here in college on a half athletic and half academic scholarship, and since I wouldn’t be swimming any time soon I figured I could at least keep up my end on the academic side. Unfortunately, between the concussion and some of my medication, my brain was still fuzzy and my head started hurting after just a few minutes of reading. “Take it slow” Dr. Stevens had said. That became my new mantra.

Besides the obvious, the worst part of being hospitalized is your lack of privacy and absolute loss of all dignity. Doctors and nurses poking and prodding anywhere they want, leaving you uncovered and asking if you’ve farted, pissed or shit lately. I didn’t have to worry about much of that early on because, lucky me, I had a catheter shoved up my dick and wasn’t eating anything anyways. I know the first few days I was hospitalized I was given sponge baths but between the painkillers and actual pain I was in I honestly don’t remember much, and I’m pretty sure I even slept through a couple of them.

The first one I was really awake and alert for was with this cute little nurse, she couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five years old, maybe 5 foot 2, 110 pounds dripping wet. She had a sweet smile, pretty face and her medium length brown hair pulled back tight in a ponytail. Not really knowing what to expect, I assumed she’d wash me with her washcloth in the normal hotspots, hair, armpits, feet and torso and leave the private areas alone. As the bath progressed and I realized she wasn’t shying away from the “swimsuit” areas I nearly had a panic attack, afraid I’d get hard in front of the cutest nurse I’d seen yet. Luckily, I was in way too much pain to actually have any of those feelings. I had to roll onto my side for her to get everything, and I mean everything, clean. By the time it was over, I wasn’t sure if I was more embarrassed about what she’d just done or the fact that my cock was softer than a wet noodle, it felt smaller than a piece of elbow macaroni too.

Over the next few days I lucked out. There was a heavy, seemingly gay, male nurse on the staff named Raymond, and he was assigned to me for all my hygienic needs. I knew there was no way I’d be in danger of getting an erection with him, no matter how intimate he got with me. Although he was completely professional, I figured I needed to get clean, and if he enjoyed himself so be it. By the end of that first week, the little nurse was back. She introduced herself as Sasha, with a barely noticeable Russian accent. We chatted for a minute before she started, she asked me how my week with Raymond had been and teasingly asked if he bathed me as good as she did. I didn’t quite know how to answer that, being unable to respond she eventually broke into a smile and a little chuckle letting me know she was only joking. She got started by wetting and shampooing my hair. Leaning right over me, I couldn’t help but try and look down her pink top. For the first time all week I noticed just how cute and immodest scrubs were and wondered why they made nurses wear them. Her washing my hair felt so relaxing I almost closed my eyes but I was too excited getting the view of all that flesh. I could see right down her top, and even got a view of her black bra covering what looked like a nice pair of medium sized tits. Once she finished my hair I felt it better I closed my eyes, knowing she was going to be moving on to every other part of my body. She was just as professional as Raymond, keeping me covered up while she worked on one part, uncovering as she moved around.

When it came time for her to really get down to business I knew I was in trouble. I was so relaxed, and more than a little turned on from my earlier peep show, there was no way for me to avoid having an erection. I just closed my eyes and hoped she’d be professional and not mention anything. She washed my ass with her warm soapy water, and damn if I didn’t think for a second she lingered just an extra split second rubbing and dare I say squeezing one cheek. I was dead. She gently rolled me over, being extra careful because of my pelvis, and I knew it was over before it started. My cock was already standing at attention before she even removed the towel. With my eyes still closed, I felt the cool air breeze over my exposed crotch, and heard Sasha remark how I was clearly feeling better than earlier in the week. I opened my eyes to see her smirking at me, her cute face right in the line of sight past my hard cock. She must have seen the look of panic on my face so she told me not to worry about it and that it happened all the time. It was actually a good thing, it meant I was healing properly and feeling better. I mumbled an “ok” and closed my eyes again letting this beauty have her way with me, in a cleaning sense, washing my balls and cock, rubbing her warm washcloth over me, hoping to god I didn’t get any more excited than I already was. It was over pretty quickly, and I relaxed once I knew I wouldn’t have to switch hospitals due to the shame of cumming in the pretty nurses washcloth. Still, my heart was racing as she helped me get my gown back on and gave me a little wink as she walked out the door.

It was around that time that they had me getting out of bed, using a walker, getting up and about, helping myself to the bathroom and walking up and down the hospital corridors. One morning Sasha was back on call and asked me how the walking was coming along. I told her slowly but surely, I was making my way up and down the hallways and getting used to having some independence back in my life. She asked me if I wanted to do some walking with her and I eagerly accepted the offer. She helped me up, letting me use her as support until I reached my walker. She had her arm around my waist, giving me physical support with her body and vocally giving me the moral support I needed. I wasn’t sure, but I got the feeling she was being a little more touchy-feely than she needed to be, touching my back and chest, letting her hands linger on my body when it wasn’t really necessary but I enjoyed the affection and conversation as we strolled up and down the hall a few times. She told me she’d moved to the U.S. from Russia with her parents when she was 7, not speaking a word of English. How she at first felt isolated, not speaking the language or knowing American slang and customs, only really finding her footing and her calling when she got to nursing school. I told her about my swimming, how it was the one place I really felt like myself, really felt in control. I had always been smart and gotten good grades but I didn’t relate to my classmates that well until I started swimming. For some reason, the exercise and the competition really centered me and let me feel comfortable in my own body.

By the time we got back to my room and Sasha helped me back into bed I knew we were flirting. I was exhausted as she tucked me in and gave me some pain medication, knowing I’d be sore from the exercise. She told me to sleep well and let her hand brush against my cheek. As she was walking out she turned back to me with a pout on her face. “I just realized that with you up and about I won’t be able to give you any more sponge baths”. And with a wink, she walked out the door.

I’m back in the pool. My arena. Center lane, last lap coming up. I look to my left, no one, to my right, no one. I’m meters ahead of my competition. I dig deep, propelling myself faster, legs kicking harder until I realize I’m once again sinking. The panic sets in as I realize I can’t reach the surface. I know what’s coming, the shock, the pain, and from the corner of my eye I see something headed right at me. But this time it’s Sasha, swimming towards me, and she’s naked. Her body is perfect. She wraps her arms around me and I feel her soft and smooth body pressed against me, her hard, pink nipples poking into my chest. My cock stirs and I know she can feel it pressing against her, between her legs. I hold her tight, pressing against her as our lips meet and I can breathe once again. A calm washes over me as I know she’s here to rescue me.

I woke up in my hospital bed and for the first time since the accident I had what to look forward to.
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