Medical Treatment With A Rainbow Touch

Toronto, June 8th, 2021. Pride month. It’s 2:15 a.m., and I am fully awake. I have barely slept three hours. Sleeping pills have very little effect on me. I decide to sit at my computer and see what the Deviant Art site has to offer. Fuck, these young artists have so much talent in drawing or painting bulging crotches and peachy butts. Whether the portrait is a solo, a duo or a trio, it can be lustful and even filthy; there is no censorship when Art is involved.

I enlarge the pic of two guys wearing a jockstrap in the locker room, a third one is naked in the shower with a huge hard-on, a direct invitation to join him for sucking and fucking under a jet of water. That gets me masturbating. I relish the fact that jockstraps wrap perfectly the balls for a pleasure squeeze and frame nicely the ass for anal fun. As I imagine the three guys sucking and fucking, I jerk off and explode a full load on my hairy chess. To remove the jizz, I get up and go to the kitchen for paper toweling.

I don’t know how come there is some water on the floor, but I slip and fall on my left knee. The pain is awful. I manage to get up and walk to my bed, thinking that if I could do that, my knee is probably just bruised, not broken. To be on the safe side, I pack a few belongings, get dressed (shorts are the easiest to but on), take a cane that I keep in closet, and go to the security desk in the lobby, asking the attendant to call an ambulance.

Three paramedics put me on a stretcher. The one in charge is a lady who speaks a bit of French, my native tongue. The two other ones are adorable young male recruits. In spite of the pain, I can only think how it would be southing to hug and kiss them. While one takes my vital signs, the other asks if holding my hand can help. “Yes, honey, squeeze it please, I want to feel your warmth.” He smiles and does that tenderly, adding a caress.

As soon as I arrive at Emergency, I am quickly registered by the paramedic who caressed my arm. He brings me to a waiting area and I am examined by a handsome Black doctor who sends me to the next room for an x-ray. The result is quick and clear: “Your knee has been badly smashed; we have to operate you first thing after a standard 24-hour fasting period.” Meanwhile, they install a zimmer, a device that keeps my leg straight day and night.

I am not given much info about the operation procedure, just something to the effect that pieces can be tied up together with some kind of metal wire. The anesthetist spends a good twenty minutes with me in the operation room before giving an epidural shot. He is built like a football player, keeps brushing his crotch against my arm, gradually pressing his bulge in my hand, begging for a grab, a squeeze, a rub. Or am I imagining a dream scenario…? No time for an answer, I am put to sleep.

I wake up in the recovery room, feeling numb from the waist down. A male attendant brings me back to my room. His smile acts like a balm on my knee, on my spirit for that matter. During two days, I only have female nurses. When a guy finally shows up, I am so excited. He looks Arab, has dark skin, bright eyes, and a three-day beard; I find him so macho, so hot! In no time, I engage into a conversation.

“I don’t see any rainbow flag on the floor. How come you don’t celebrate Gay Pride?”

“We do it in a general fashion. There is a huge flag in the lobby.”

“Most people think male nurses are gay. You look gay-friendly, if I dare say.”

“Between us, I’m a little more than friendly, if you know what I mean.”

“That makes me feel really good. Do you give massages?”

“It’s not part of my job description. I’ll see what I can do around 10:30 p.m., just before I leave my shift.”

Bashir shows up at 10:20 with a huge smile. He says that is name means “one who brings good news”. Bashir explains that the zimmer has to be well-adjusted. “It should be close to your thighs, to your groin in fact.” In no time, his hand brushes against my balls, flirting with my dick, and triggering a hard-on. He turns around to check that no one is around, then pulls the curtain for privacy, and starts kissing me on the lips. His hairy arms hug me and I quickly get intoxicated by the smell of his virility.

Bashir caresses my cock, raving over the huge pink mushroom. His rod pops out; it is dark and the pubic hair is abundant. We are both circumcised. He lets me suck his pistol and I swear that it is the best “night snack” I’ve been served up to now. “I’m HIV negative, he says, but you don’t have to swallow the juice.” Hell, that’s what I want the most. Not really, in fact, what I would adore is eating his ass, but that seems a complicated and risk proposal. I will settle for the Arabic jizz.

The massage of my cock is done with expert hands, topped by the tongue of a pro porn star. No other guy has ever made me cum so abundantly. I almost thank God or Allah for having had an accident and an operation.