A Visit to the School Nurse

“Mr. Taylor?”

I looked up from my thoroughly confusing Algebra book and saw Mr. Adams steely eyes boring in to me.

“Yes, sir?” I squeaked. The rest of the class giggled. Not that mine was the only pubescent voice in the room that cracked unexpectedly between a boy’s soprano and the baritone of impending manhood, but for some reason it was always funny when it happened to someone else.

“I have a note here demanding your presence in the nurse’s office,” Mr. Adams said accusingly.

“Oh,” I said, not without a little relief. “Now?”

“Now,” he mimicked the crack in my voice perfectly. “And be quick about it. And, Taylor…”

“Yes, sir?”

“This in no way excuses you from the assignment. Get whatever this is about done with and get your butt back here PDQ. You capiche?”

“Yes, sir,” catching the drift if not the precise meaning.

My relief at escaping Adam’s algebra class only lasted a moment or two. What the heck was this about? I had only been going to this school for about a week and barely knew where the nurse’s office was. Why did she want to see me?

The nurse herself I had never seen and could only imagine what kind of fat, slovenly matron would be employed by the public school system. Boy was I surprised when I finally found the nurse’s office and opened the door.

“You must be Randy. Come in, I’ve been expecting you.”

Standing before me was every 13 year old boy’s vision of perfect, lustful womanhood. Tall. Slender. Sandy hair falling about her shoulders. Her white blouse swelling with promise. Gorgeous. The skirt of her uniform ended teasingly midway down her thighs.

“I’m Miss Aniston. I’m filling in for Nurse Schultz for a few days.” That was fine with me.

“Your mother called this morning and said you went to a party this weekend. Is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I had no idea where this was going.

“Well, it turns out someone at the party may have been exposed to hepatitis. Now, there is nothing to be worried about, but hepatitis can be very infectious. It’s best not to take any chances. Your mother asked if I would look you over and make sure everything is ok.”

My dad was in the army, so the alternative was to be “looked over” by some gruff, pissed-to-be-treating-a-teenager, military doctor. Having Miss Ansiton take a look seemed pretty cool.

She pulled the curtain back from a little alcove in which there was an examination table, a small padded bench and an old-timey doctor’s scale.

“Go in here and take off your clothes. I’ll be in to see you in just a minute.”

The “take off your clothes” sort of chilled the coolness of the situation. But before I could object she pulled the curtain closed and left me on my own.

How much did “take off your clothes” imply? I hadn’t let even my mom see me naked since I started getting hair in places other than on my head. Surely Miss Aniston didn’t mean everything. I took off my shirt and shoes, then unbuckled my belt. My little virgin pecker was becoming uncomforably swollen. I unzipped my fly and pushed my jeans down. I was still standing there with my jeans around my ankles when Miss Aniston came back through the curtain carrying a small tray.

Without even looking at me, she said, “Underpants too, please Randy.”

Holy cow. This couldn’t be right. Ten minutes ago I was in a room full of kids trying to figure out how many X’s were in Y and now here I was about expose all my glory to a perfect (and I do mean Perfect) stranger. Was it even legal to be totally naked in a public school?

She had her back to me while she fiddled with something on the tray. It’s now or never, I thought. I shoved my undies down and quickly grabbed them and held them up in front of my ever-expanding cock.

“Ready? Good,” she said, turning to face me. “Step up on the scales so I can get your height and weight. I’ll take those.”

She took my underpants from me and dropped them on top of the pile of my clothes.

I stood on the scale, turned slightly away from her, slumping forward to shield her from view of my crotch. Miss Aniston didn’t seem to notice my nudity, let alone my growing member. She moved the weights back and forth until they balanced and wrote down the total on a clipboard. Then she pulled the little measuring stick up to get my height.

“Stand up straight, Randy.”

She gently pressed the small of my back to get me to stop slumping. The touch of her hand was enough to jerk me and my pecker to full attention. Please, God, don’t let her see.

“That’s fine. Now, I need you to take a seat on the table.”

I quickly hopped up on the table, keeping my hands crossed in front of me covering my excitement. She reached for my right arm and pulled it away from my crotch. The vermillion head of my fully erect penis peeped up from between my clenched thighs.

Miss Aniston never missed a beat.

“I just want to check your pulse. Don’t be nervous, Randy.”

“My. Your heart is pumping a little fast, isn’t it? Well, that’s understandable. Lie down on the table now. On your stomach, please.”

I was so grateful to be able to hide my erection from her that I didn’t even consider the embarassment of exposing my bare butt. In a flash I was lying face down on the table. I wiggled around some trying to take some of the pressure off my cock. It wasn’t until I looked over my shoulder and saw her shaking down a thermometer that the vulnerabilty of my position hit me.

“I’m going to take your temperature now, Randy,” she said as she spread some goo along the length of the thermometer.

“But…but… That way?” was all I could stammer out.

“Yes. Don’t worry. It will only take a moment.”

It wasn’t really the amount of time that was concerning me. I could feel my face flush bright red and could only hope that the cheeks she was looking at weren’t the same color. From the coolness of her hand as she touched my butt, I was pretty sure my gluteal cheeks were glowing as brightly as my face.

I could feel her trying to prise my buns apart.

“Relax, Randy. It won’t be that bad.”

She tried to slip her fingers between my clenched cheeks. I was trying to relax. Really, I was. But, come on, this was not a normal situation for a 13 year old kid to find himself in. The harder I tried, the harder my butt muscles clenched.

Without warning, Miss Aniston raised her hand and brought it slapping down on my taut butt. WHAP! I don’t know if the sound or the sting of her swat startled me more. My whole body jerked at the impact. Miss Aniston took immediate advantage of my distraction, easily prying my butt apart with her left hand.

“Now hold still, Randy. I’m just going to slip this… right… in… here.”

The touch of the cold bulb of the thermometer on my puckered anus caused my sphincter to instantly seize up. But it did no good. The bulb penetrated past my anal ring and the well greased glass tube slipped easily up inside of me. One inch. Two inches. Three?

“There now. Just relax. This will take a couple of minutes.” She left her hand on my butt, keeping hold of the thermometer. I swear I could feel her pulse transmitted through the glass to my sensitive rectum. After a minute or two she began gently rotating the tube back and forth between her fingers. Every twist generated an electrical charge from my asshole straight to my engorged cock.

Finally, she said that should be long enough and ever so slowly slid the thermometer out of my anus.

“Very good, Randy. You don’t have a temperature.” Well maybe not back there…

After that humiliation, it was almost a relief when she asked me to sit up and scoot down to the edge of the table. My cock was still rock hard, but at least she couldn’t stick anything up in it. I slouched forward with my arms crossing over my lap.

“Lie back now.” What? “Come on. Lie back and bring your feet up on to either side of your hips.”

Well, that did it. There was no where to hide now. I lay flat on my back with my six-shooter pointing straight for my chin and no way to cover it up. Miss Aniston, ever the professional, pretended not to notice.

From between my legs, I watched her pick up something from the tray she had brought in. It looked like a bullet wrapped in tin foil. She carefully unwrapped it revealing a waxy-looking cylinder.

“This is what is called a suppository, Randy. What I’m going to ask you to do is grab hold of your knees and pull your legs back to your chest. That’s good. A little farther, Randy. You can let your legs spread apart some. That’s the way.”

I now lay with my legs spread wide, pressed to my chest and my asshole exposed to world. I craned my head up and looked at Miss Aniston as she approached my ass with the suppository. She cupped her left hand around my balls (for leverage, I suppose) and touched the tip of the bullet to my anus.

“Now I’m going to slide this up into your rectum, Randy. I’ll go real slow so it won’t hurt.”

And slow she went. Millimeter by millimeter the waxy cylinder slid into me. It wasn’t painful; not in the least. But it was agony. Suddenly, there was a change. The suppository slid in past my sphincter almost by itself. The next thing I felt was Miss Aniston’s finger. The cool, inert waxiness of the suppository was replaced by the warm hard softness of a living finger insinuating its way up my anal passage. Not content just to slide the bullet into me, she was going to shove it all the way in to my rosy red rectum.

Her finger slid into me. One knuckle. Two. Her hand pressed against my perineum, fully extending her finger in my rectum. When she could go no farther, she gently rotated her hand, using the tip of her finger to massage my rectal walls.

And all the while, my testicles were enclosed in the palm of her warm soft hand. Was she really massaging me gently or was that my imagination?

At last, she withdrew her finger.

I couldn’t help but notice the glance she gave my crotch when she straightened up. Was that a tiny smile on her lips as she turned away?

“Your doing just fine, Randy. We are almost done.” I was almost done. I was over done. I was ready to explode.

While Miss Aniston washed her hands, I sat up and tried to catch my breath. Easy big fella, I thought. Almost done. It can’t get any worse than this. Although, of course, “worse” wasn’t exactly the right word because what just happened, while embarrassing, was not exactly horrible. In fact, it definitely had its pleasant side.

“Now, Randy, I need you to be really brave for this last part.”

I was shaken from my revery in time to look up and see Miss Aniston checking the dosage on a hypodermic syringe the size of a banana. The needle attached to it was long enough and thick enough to penetrate the walls of a Sherman tank. My lascivious thoughts drained away as quickly as the blood from my penis when she pressed the plunger and stream of the sickly mustard yellow contents of the syringe spat out.

“I’m going to give you a shot of Gamma Globulin. It’s the best thing to protect against hepatitis.”

The look on my face must have expressed exactly the sickness I felt inside.

“Don’t worry, Randy. It will all be over in a minute. And then you can get back to class with your friends. Won’t that be nice?”

She picked up an alcohol soaked cotton ball and wrapped it around the needle.

“This is for your bottom. Do you want to get it standing up or lying on the table?”

There was no answer for that question. I didn’t want to get it at all. I tried to say something but only meaningless sounds came out of my throat.

“Well, maybe there is a better way.” She sat down on the padded bench. Holding the syringe out of the way, she patted her thigh and said, “Why

don’t you lie over my lap?”

I looked at her lap. When she sat, her short skirt had hiked itself up nearly to her crotch. The prospect of my bare skin coming contact with her silky pantyhose enclosed thighs was enough to freeze me up completely. She reached out and gently took my elbow, pulling me to her.

“This will just take a minute. It’s not nearly as bad as it looks.”

I knelt on the bench beside her. She smiled sympathetically. I gulped and took a deep breath, then leaned forward over her lap. She pressed against the back of my thigh to position me a little farther forward so that my butt was directly over her lap. Despite my terror at the impending injection, the eroticism of my position was not lost on me. My penis was regaining its bulk as rapidly as it had lost it. It stabbed into her left thigh with such strength I thought it was going to draw blood.


Oh yeah. Sure.

“Um…Yes, ma’am”.

“Good. Now then, Randy. Just try to relax. This won’t hurt.”

With the memory of the size and heft of the needle and syringe I can’t say I really believed her. When she touched the alcohol soaked cotton ball to my left cheek, I nearly jumped off her lap.

She grabbed my hip with her left hand and pressed down with her arm, locking me in place. She firmly massaged my left buttock with the cotton.

“It won’t hurt nearly as much if you relax, Randy.”

“I’m trying!” but I could feel my butt muscles were locked rigid.

With her left hand, she pulled the skin of my left cheek taut.

“Are you ready, Randy?”

“Y..Y..Yes, ma…”

She didn’t wait for me to finish. The needle plunged down into my butt, the tip penetrating my skin and sinking partly into my clenched buttock muscle. I yelped and jerked, but she was ready for me and easily held me down. I tried desperately to relax, but the harder I tried the tenser I got. I could feel the needle inching its way in, biting its way into my butt. I ground my teeth together, determined not to cry out. At last the needle stopped.

“There now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

What? Is that all? Is she done? That wasn’t so bad. I started to feel a lot better.

“Now this part is going to sting a little.”

Oh no. She hasn’t finished. She hasn’t even started.

I felt the first warmth of the serum injecting into my butt. It wasn’t bad. I could bear this. But then the warmth turned to heat, and the heat to flame, and the flame to agony. My whole left buttock was on fire. And still it came, minute after minute, hour after hour. I groaned. I squeeked. I squeeled. Finally, I gave up all hope of dignity and let myself go into a fully unqualified bawl. She was never going to finish pumping this stuff into me. I had died and gone to

hell and hell was having a red hot poker driven eternally into my butt.

I don’t even remember the needle being withdrawn. Just suddenly, there

she was leaning over me, smiling, saying “All done, Randy. All done.”

I continued to wail as I pulled myself up from her lap. My hand cupped my wounded ass as I knelt on the bench next to her.

I can’t really explain what happened next. The fire in my butt shifted from being absolute agony to something else entirely. The ecstatic flame soaked through the muscles of my butt into my anus and through my rectum and into my prostate. My testicles tightened and suddenly pumping from my rigid penis came shot after shot after shot of … Well, I know what it was now, but at the time I didn’t even know a word for it.

Miss Aniston went from looking sympathetic to looking horrified to looking vastly amused as my hysteria passed into ecstasy. When I was finally safely in control of myself, she got up from the bench and picked up some tissue to clean herself off with.

“There now, Randy. That wasn’t so bad, now was it? You can get dressed and go back to class… As soon as you’ve calmed down a bit.”