Shady Rest

 

 

            I dreaded going to Shady Rest Nursing Home.  I didn’t particularly like seeing nursing home patients—looking at their wizened old faces and frail bodies reminded me of what I would become.  As usual, four or five old ladies in rockers were strategically perched by the front door so they could see who was coming in and who was leaving.  Despite my reluctance about taking care of the elderly, I nodded politely at them as I swung open the heavy door. 

            The ever-smiling receptionist hailed me as I walked into the foyer.  “Good afternoon, Doctor Anderson, it’s so nice to see you!”  She’s so sweet just looking at her could give a person a cavity, I thought as I stood there while my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the place. 

            “Good afternoon, Theresa” I said, doing my best to return a smile.  “I understand you have a new admission I need to see.”

            “Yes sir, Doctor”, she said obsequiously.  “She’s in room 205.  You might want to talk with the DON before you see her though; I guess your new patient’s a real character!”

            Ah well, I thought as I walked to the nurse’s station, I’d rather deal with someone the staff thought was a ‘real character’ than the run-of-the-mill old lady.  If I’m lucky, this new patient will be real interesting. 

            The DON was a woman who always looked and acted like she hadn’t had enough sleep.  “Doctor Anderson”, she began, “I’m I glad to see you!”  That’s the most enthusiasm I’ve seen since I’ve been coming here.

            “Why?”

            “Your new patient’s why.  She’s running us ragged, barking orders like a goddamned SS trooper—I’ve never seen anybody like her.  For an eighty-one year-old lady, she’s go more get-up-and-go than all my nurses combined!”

            “Sounds interesting,” I said as I made my way to room 205, “by the way”, I asked, “What’s her name?”

            “It’s on the spine of her chart, of course”, the DON said, rolling her eyes.

            “Ah, yes”, I said, “Its good we doctors have you nurses to keep us on track!” 

            My preceptor insisted I call my patients by their names when I first met them. 

I stopped at room 205 and turned the chart so I could see the name.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  It couldn’t be! I thought, but then again, how many Helga Steinkampf’s could there be in the world?  The DON said she was 81 years old…that would be about right…she was seventy when we first met.  A loud voice with a heavy Prussian accent interrupted my musings.

            “Iss zere sumvun outside my door?  If zere ist, kommen Sie herein, bitte schoen!”

I would have recognized that voice anywhere.  I let the door swing open, half-afraid of what I might see.

            “Gott im Himmel!” she shouted, “It’s my little man, all grown up!  Komm, gif Helga a kiss!”  I went to her bedside and leaned over.

            “My dear old professor”, I said, kissing her lightly, “How good it is to see you after all these years!” 

            “Und mein little Davey!  Look at you.  A doktor, now, hmmm?”

            “Yes.  We’ve traded places now, haven’t we, Helga?”

            “Ja!  I vas your doktor of German, und…” she continued, whispering, “your doktor of mussel fuckink, too.  Remember?”

            “Helga!  Who could forget?”  We both laughed.  I got up and shut the door.  I turned with my arms behind my back and surveyed my old lover. 

 

            Of all the women I’d known over the years, Professor Helga Steinkampf was the most memorable.  I had met her on my first day as a freshman at State University.  I remembered it as if it happened yesterday.                   

            I was a nervous, sweaty 19 year-old then, and I had been in a panic, trying to find my second period class.  Disoriented and feeling very unsure, I had ducked into an alcove to re-check my class schedule.  I remembered looking at my watch and seeing that it was 8:57—I only had three minutes to find my class and get there.  But to my relief I saw that the alcove into which I had ducked was right across the hall from where I was supposed to be—Room 205. 

            Even though it was only three minutes before the start of class, I had been the only student in the room.  The only other person there was a stocky, gray-haired woman sitting on the desk with her legs crossed, one high-heeled shoe dangling.

            She had introduced herself, saying, “Guten Tag, Ich bin Professor Steinkampf”, in a heavy Prussian accent.  She offered her hand.

            I remembered how intimidating her manner had been.  I had stumbled over my words, trying to remember my high school German, but ended up apologizing.  And I was even more intimidated when I took her hand.

            She had squeezed my hand with the force of a vise, and said I would learn soon enough.   

            “Am I the only one taking this class?” I had asked, wincing in pain.

            “Jawohl!” the old woman had answered, finally loosening her grip.  “Vun to vun teachink, dats ze best vay to learn!” she had said with gusto.  And having said that, she hopped of the desk and strode to the door.  I remembered seeing a few students running to their second period classes.  Then Professor Steinkampf slammed the door and locked it.

            Then without the slightest segue, she came right to the point.  I remembered her exact words: “I wunder, little man, if, when I vas vawkink to ze door, you noticed how much mussel I haf in my legs, hm?”

            I had.  Her calves were enormous, defined, and vascular.  Her muscles stood out in sharp relief through her thinning skin, and the spike heels she wore made them bulge in a veritable quartet of muscular contractions. 

            I had been too afraid to deny it.  “Yes, Professor”, I remember answering, dry-throated.  And then I had said, “Seeing them made my heart sing and my dick throb!” 

            That was all she needed.  With that, she had slipped off her jacket.  She had worn a sleeveless white silk blouse underneath, as I recall, and when her jacket hit the floor, she said “Vell, little man, yoost look at mein arms!”  Her upper arms were as big as her calves, and her forearms were covered with veins as thick as nightcrawlers.  I remembering I had felt like I was about to faint and sat down hard on the floor.  She towered over me as if she were a figure from Norse mythology.

            By that time, I had the unmistakable sense she wanted me to admire her muscles, and I begged her, “Flex your muscles for me, Professor, won’t you, please?” and took out dick, feeling it lengthen in my hand.

            Professor Steinkampf had knelt on the floor and said, “Jawohl, my little man, sure as shootin’ I vill!” and had held her upper arm under my nose, bending her elbow.  As her biceps began to bulge, stretching the wrinkles out of her old skin, she had pushed her stone-hard muscle in my face.  “Kiss my mussel!” she had commanded.  “Lick it, bite it!” she had hissed. 

            Clearly, I had had no choice and I had done as I was bidden.  Even though this woman had been at least seventy years old at the time, her biceps was rock-hard.  I had tentatively explored the trembling muscle with my tongue, but that hadn’t satisfied the old Professor.

            “Open your mouth vide and bite mein mussel!” Frau Steinkampf had hissed.  I had bitten as hard as I could, but there had been no give in her rock-hard arm.  In her excitement, she had pushed her flexed biceps hard into mouth, forcing it open.  I had been in a sexual hammerlock; expanding muscle filling my mouth, forcing my jaws wider with every moment. 

            And I had felt the familiar surging in my loins and yelled, “Professor Steinkampf, I’m gonna come!”

            She wasn’t going to let me have an orgasm without sharing it with her.  Professor Steinkampf did not need assertiveness training.  She yelled, “Not wissout me, you vont!” and before I knew it, she had hitched up her skirt and put my stiff dick in inside her, and hardest, strongest pussy muscles I’d ever felt began to milk my young dick. 

            Wrapping her iron-band arms around me, she had whispered, “Now, little man, I vant you to tink about vat I said about vun to vun teachink.”

            With every second, her bear-hug had tightened.  I knew I was going to pass out.  The last thing I remember her saying was, “Don’t you agree it’s the very best vay to learn, hm?”   

 

*   *   *

 

            “Hey! Hey!”  Helga was clapping her hands.  “Vat are you zinkink about?”

            “I was just remembering that first day.”

            “Ja, und zat vas just ze first lesson.  Do you remember the second lesson?  I made you fuck my mussel…remember?”

            Indeed I did. 

 

*   *   *

           

            Helga had seen me staring at her arm, and had invited me to feel it.  I remembered being amazed how a woman of that age could have biceps hard as iron.  What was more, her arm had been so big I couldn’t get both hands around it.

            “Vait a minit”, she had said suddenly, and walked to the door.  With a click, it was locked. 

            I couldn’t believe what had happened next.  She had asked if I would like to fuck her muscle.  I hadn’t understood how that might be done, and had asked her.  Instead of explaining, she had shown me. 

            She pushed me to my knees and sat down beside me.  “Like this” she had said, bending her elbow.  Her softball-sized biceps had risen up, stretching the wrinkles from her skin.  “Now, little man” she had said, pointing to the crook in her arm, “stick your little viener here—that is, if its hart enuff!”

            In less than five seconds, I had my dick (which was already as hard as a broomstick) out of my pants.  I tried to push it between her bulging biceps and her forearm.  It was like trying to fuck a clenched fist.  “Professor” I had cried, “it’s too tight!”

            “Come on, vimp!” the old woman had yelled.  “Get a real steifung!  Be a man!”

            Her taunts had given me strength.  With all my might, I pushed my hardon where I didn’t think it would ever go.  All at once, it sank to the hilt. 

            “AHHHH!” Professor Steinkampf had screamed.  “That’s my big boy!  Now fuck it, fuck it again and again!”  Her pale blue eyes had rolled back in her head.

            The feel of that iron-hard biceps along the length of my dick was beyond imagining.  Who would have thought that a muscle could be fucked?

            Then Helga had looked me in the eye.  “Now, my little man”, she had whispered.  “I’f got a big surprise for you.”  With that, she put her middle finger in her mouth, coating it with her saliva.  Before I knew what was happening, she had reached behind me and plunged her finger in my asshole.  I gasped with pain…and pleasure!

            She had known exactly what she was doing.  With the tip of her finger, she pushed rhythmically on my prostate.  I remembered feeling as if hot lava was going to come out my asshole.

            And she had been my coach, yelling, “Gut!  Gut!  Gut!”  With a sense of timing that could only have come from years of experience, she had yelled, “Now, little man, keep fucking mein iron-hard mussel!  Come all over mein arm!  Come…NOW!”

            After my orgasm, Helga had sung a German lullaby as I drowsed in her iron-hard German arms there on her classroom floor at State University.  The last thing I remembered hearing before I went to sleep was her saying, “Little man, I tink you are beginnink to like zis vun to vun teachink, ja?”

 

*   *   *

 

            “Vas zat ze first time anyone had stuck zere finker in your asshole?”

            “Yes, Helga, you were the first.”

            “Do you remember ven you came to dinner ze first time?”

            “Of course.  You looked fantastic, as I recall.”

            “Vas I verink my little black dress?”     

            “Yes.  I was speechless when you came to the door!”

            “Ah shure, I remember twirling around like a model.”

            “You were nothing but muscle from head to toe.  I remember taking a mental inventory, Helga.  You had mountainous traps; delts the size of grapefruit halves; broad, deep chest; arms that belonged on a longshoreman; a waist that couldn’t have been over 24 inches around; a high, solid ass; thighs like tree trunks; and diamond-shaped calves I knew I couldn’t get both hands around—all balanced carefully on black patent leather stiletto heels.” 

            “Zat vas ze night I told you about why I had mussels, vasn’t it?”

            “Yes, you explained you were part of an experiment.”

            Ja, I vas.  Durink ze var, ze scientists ver vorried zat ze men vould all be killed, und ze girls vould haf to fight.  Zo, zey started gifink steroids to vimmen, und zen zay made us all lift veights, every day, until ve got real bik and stronk mussels.”

            “And I was suddenly afraid, wasn’t I?”

            “Ja!  I sink you saw my tattoo and though maybe I vas some Nazi or somsink!”

            “And I tried to run out, but you blocked the doorway!”

            “Ja, and I said, ‘You vudn’t vant to disappoint Helga, vould you, little man?’”

            “Yes, and I was afraid.”

            “I know you vere, and zats why I tolt you zat whatever I might have done in the past, I vas nussink more zan an olt mussel-bount professor of German—nussink more, nussink less…unless, of course, you take into consideration my fondness for young college boys!”  The old woman laughed at the memory.

             “And then you picked me up and carried me upstairs, while Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries played on the Bose!” 

            “Jawohl!  What a night zat vas, no?” 

            “Yes, my dear professor.  And there were many nights and days after that, weren’t there?”

            “It vas wunderbar, Davey, my little man, wunderbar...”  Her voice trailed off.

            “What’s the matter, Helga?”

            “I vas just vunderink…’

            “About what?”

            “If you vud like to see my mussels again.”

            “Now?”

            “Now!”  And with that, she whipped off the sheet.  It had been eleven years since I had seen Helga naked.  During that time, she had lost most of what I now knew was subcutaneous fat.  Every muscle in her body had been unveiled by the passage of time.  She looked like an illustration from Gray’s Anatomy. 

            And as if on cue, she began to flex; biceps, triceps, chest, stomach, legs, calves, and back up again.  And as dispassionate as I tried to be, my dick responded to the symphony of eighty-one year-old German muscle lying before me on the bed—I was as hard as a broomstick—a fact that did not escape the attention of my old professor.

            “Vat’s zis?” she asked, grabbing my crotch.

            “Helga, I’m your doctor now, I really shouldn’t…”

            “Davey, I vas your professor back zen, and I really shouldn’t haf done vat I did, either.  But I did, and look how much fun we had!”

            “But that was different!”

            “How so?”

            “Well, I’m a physician, and I’m here because I’m supposed to make you feel better.”

            “Vat better vay to make an old voman feel better zan to fuck her old brains out?”

 

*   *   *

 

            “Her logic was airtight, regardless of the fact that what she proposed flew in the face of medical/ethical considerations.  And so, I accepted what I believed to be the inevitable.  I visited your aunt Helga, or should I say ‘fucked her brains out’, three times a week from that day until she died in her sleep ten months later.” 

            “I’m sure mein Tante’s final days vere better because of you, Dave.”

            “I’m sure of it, honey.”

            “Do other doctors go to their patient’s funerals?”

            “Some do, why?”

            “Oh, I was just vunderink.  Anyvay, I’m glad you vent to mein Tante Helga’s funeral, Dave.  If you hadn’t, ve vudn’t haf met!”

            “You know, Heidi, when I saw you at her funeral, I knew you were related.”

            “How?”

            “You have the same biceps”, I said, feeling my wife’s huge arm, “and you have calves like hers”, I said, feeling her leg.  My wife smiled.  “And when we were introduced…”

            “Yes”, she said, moving closer, feeling my stiffening dick.

            “When we were introduced, and you looked at me with those blue Prussian eyes, I thought to myself, ‘I’ll bet she has her Aunt Helga’s enormous sexual appetite!’”

            “You were right!”