The camp nurse

I held a towel on my neck waiting for the blood to stop. I had messed up badly. Amanda, Lynn, and Cass: each woman controlling me in some form: emotionally, mentally and physically. I couldn’t control my body. My mind literally couldn’t say no to any willing female. My cock was about to get me killed.

The barn door was open to the midday heat, but the visitor still knocked.

I looked up, exhausted. I don’t think I could’ve handled another horny counselor. My neck was slashed, my knees were scrapped, my abs still burned from exertion. My balls couldn’t keep up with cum production.

Luckily it was the middle aged camp nurse. Mid-fifties, blonde dyed hair cut short, big bosom.

I hadn’t had much interaction with her. She was a local doctor who was called in when there was an incident. She was in that morning to check on prescription levels: these campers had so many allergies.

She smiled politely, “Cass told me you have a cut I should look at.”

I lifted the bloody towel. She hissed through her teeth and grimaced. Not great bedside manner.

“That bad?”

“Let’s hope you don’t need stitches.”

She walked over and set a kit down next to me. She went to work cleaning my slashes with stinging solution. She nonchalantly asked, “Looks like you have fingermarks on your throat too. Was someone attacking you?”

“Something like that.”

“Would you like to report it to the police?”

Cass in the back of a cop car, vowing to end my life no matter how long it takes. No thank you.

“No,” I said. “And I know this is awkward but I saw blood on my penis earlier. Do you mind examining that as well?”

When she finished bandaging my neck, she had me stand up and pull down my pants. First a visual examination, then she grabbed it gently and turned it. Finally she took a wipe and cleaned it. The blood came off. It wasn’t mine.

She kept looking at my penis, pushing back pubic hair. “No visual signs of an STD, but if you’d like I can take some samples and send it to the lab. I also recommend using a condom every time.”

“I need to do better.”

“You’re young. You don’t want one summer to derail the rest of your life.”

I shook my head, “I think it already has. I came out for freedom, instead I started a train wreck.”

While we talked she drew a small vial of blood, and stuck a q-tip up my pee hole. I didn’t flinched. Just a consequence of my action. Sin is always punished.

“What day is it?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“I haven’t been to church since camp started. Do you go to church?”

“I do.”

“Do you mind if I join you tomorrow? I think I need some guidance.”

She smiled, “I’ll pick you up. Don’t forget no matter how bad you think you’ve been, God will forgive you.”

How many women have I committed sin with in the last eight weeks?

I wasn’t Catholic. I didn’t need to confess. I just needed love that wasn’t based on one part of my body.

“Thank you,” I said to the nurse.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Stay out of trouble.”

The sun would be setting on Camp Orgee soon and trouble knew where to find me.