Date: Mon, 19 Apr 2021 22:51:05 +0000
From: butters2020 <butters2020@protonmail.com>
Subject: Petty Officer Pervert: Mike and the Chest Tube

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			   Petty Office Pervert
			     Mike's Chest Tube
				    by
				Butters2020

	It's been a while since I was a Hospital Corpsman in the navy, but
three of the things I learned still stick with me today.  1. Always wear a
seatbelt.  2. Never drink and drive.  3. Nothing tastes better than boy
cum.

	Mike helped reinforce all of those lessons.  He had just turned
fourteen.  I mean just turned.  His dad was deployed to Iraq for the first
Gulf War.  Mike and his friends had gone to the movies and the arcade in
town for his birthday.  Do they still have arcades today?  Anyway, while
Mike was downing sodas and playing video games his Mom was downing Vodka
martinis with some other "war widows" at the NCO club.  When she picked up
Mike after the movies, she was shitfaced.  On the way home she lost control
of the car and ran off the road on base and plowed into a Humvee.

	She was now a patient on the med-surg ward and Mike was in the ICU.
He wasn't really hurt that badly, but he had a couple of broken ribs and a
hemothorax-a collapsed lung with blood in the chest cavity-that required a
chest tube.  That's why he was in the unit.  The chest tube did double
duty: it kept his right lung inflated and also drained blood and other
fluids from his pulmonary cavity into the container next to his bed.
Tubing from the suction device on the wall behind his bed led to a port on
the collection device.  Another tube connected the collection device to
Mike's chest.  He also had a an IV going into his arm.  The end result was
he was confined to bed, even though he was fully conscious.

	I learned all this when I returned from leave.  For the last week
I'd been in Dallas for my sister's wedding and visiting family.  My first
day back at Naval Hospital Camp Lejeune, where Mike had been a patient for
several days, he was assigned to me.  I went into his room to introduce
myself,do my initial assessment, and record the drainage from the chest
tube.

	As I got closer to the bed my eyes told me what a hottie Mike was
with his sandy blond hair that was overdue for a trim.  When his marine dad
returned from deployment, he'd probably have something to say about that.
The sheet was pulled down to his waist, allowing the chest tube to hang
over the side of the bed into the drainage/collection container.  He was
only a week past his fourteenth birthday, so he didn't really have pecs to
speak of, just a pair of pert brown boy nips begging to be nursed.

	That's what my eyes told me.  My nose told me was ripe.  Obviously,
he couldn't use the shower now, what with the chest tube and IV, but damn,
why hadn't anyone given this cutie a bed bath?  I would have been giving
him one every hour if I could.

	While I entered notes in his chart his mom came in.  She was
wearing a bathrobe.  She hadn't yet been discharged from the med-surg ward.
When she leaned over to kiss Mike her nose wrinkled in disgust.  Obviously
she smelled him, too.  He must have noticed the face she made.  I told Mike
I'd be back when they finished visiting and I went to collect a washcloth,
a bottle of no-rinse soap, and and a bottle of lotion.  I filled a green
basin with warm water.

	When Mike's mother left, I carried my supplies into his room and
slid the glass door closed behind me.  Then I pulled the curtain over the
door so no one could see in. I set my supplies down on the bedside table
while Mike eyed me suspiciously.  "What's that?" he said.

	"Soap and water.  You need a bath."

	"That's okay.  I'm good," he said.

	"you reek."  I moved the wheeled table closer to the bed.  I
grabbed his arm and raised it, exposing his armpit.  My dick tingled when I
saw the handful of whispies in his pit.  "Take a whiff."  He didn't, of
course.  I didn't really expect him to.  I just wanted an excuse to check
out his armpit.

	I released his arm.  Before he could react, I pulled the sheet off
him.  He was naked under it.

	"Hey!" he protested.  He couldn't cover himself with his right arm
because the chest tube was in the way, protruding from his rib cage.  He
couldn't cover himself with his left arm without yanking the IV tube that
was going into that arm, though he certainly tried.  His three-inch
uncircumcised dick was a surprise. Most boys were cut in those days.  I
could only imagine how much cleaning I'd need to do under his foreskin.  I
couldn't help grinning at the thought.  His pubes were darker than the hair
on his head, almost black. He had more on the sides of his dick than over
it.  Most of his pubis was still smooth; there was only an inch or so of
hair.  His balls hung low, actually resting against the bed.

	"You're sitting in a puddle of Ball Soup," I said. I stuck my
finger under his nut sack and swiped up from the base of his balls,
smearing his slimy ball sweat onto my finger.

	"HEY!" he said again.

	I stuck my finger under his nose.  "This is what your mother smells
when she leans over to kiss you.  Is that what you want?  Jesus, man, show
some respect for your mom."  I wiped my finger on his cheek.  He glared at
me and wiped his face.  I put the washcloth in the basin of warm water and
then wrung it out.  "I can't believe no one has offered to bathe you before
today."

	"They have," he admitted.  "I wouldn't let them."

	I lifted his arm again, saving the best for last, and squirted the
no-rinse soap in his pit and gently rubbed it in with the damp cloth.  "Why
not?"

	"Cuz I ain't gonna let no fag feel up my junk."  So, he's one of
those.  Daddy Jarhead raising him to be a macho homophobe.  I'm going to
enjoy this even more than I usually do.  I ran the soapy cloth up and down
his arm, given extra attention to his armpit.  "How long have you had these
sprouts, Mike?"

	"Huh?"

	I grabbed one of the hairs and pulled it.  "These hairs."

	He winced and looked surprised.  "I don't know.  I didn't know I
had any!"

	I laughed.  "You're kidding me.  When I was your age, I checked my
pits every day looking for hair."

	He blushed.  "Um.  I do to.  But not since I've been here."

	"Holy shit.  They really are new, then."

	"Can I see them?"  He was craning his head, trying to get a look.

	I opened the nightstand drawer and found a hand mirror.  I held it
up to his underarm.  He gazed at his half dozen pit hairs in awe.  Out of
the corner of my eye I saw his dick flex once.  "Okay stinky, that's
enough.  I need to finish.  But I'll leave the mirror out so you can admire
your hairy self later."  I set the mirror on the nightstand and dunked the
washcloth in the warm water again.  After wringing it out I squirted more
of the no rinse soap on the cloth and ran it over his chest, avoiding the
chest tube and the bruise over his broken ribs, but definitely not avoiding
his nipples.

	He drew in a sharp breath.  "Relax.  I'm not going to hurt you."  I
lifted his other arm and scrubbed his left pit, noticing it had only a
couple of hairs.  "You're lopsided," I told him and reported the disparity.
"Eight hairs in the right pit.  Only three in this one."  He tried to look.
"No mirror," I said.  "Not till we're done."

	When I finished washing his belly I pushed his dick aside and said,
"You're really funky down here.  I don't know if it's your nuts or your
smegma or both."  He had the decency to blush.  "You do know how to clean
under your foreskin, right?"

	"Yeah, I know," he muttered.  "But it's hard when you have to piss
in a jug from the bed."
	"I'll leave you some betadine wipes.  If you run out, just ask for
more."  I wiped under his balls with the washcloth.  He stared at the
ceiling.  I rinsed the washcloth, wrung it out, and grabbed his sack with
my left hand and wiped it again with the washcloth that I held in my right
hand.

	"Are you almost done?" He said, still looking at the ceiling.

	"Almost," I lied.  I grabbed his dick and peeled back his foreskin.

	"What the fuck, man!" he said.

	"Keep your dick clean of cheese and I won't have to do this next
time," I told him.  But I'd misjudged him.  He hadn't been bathed since
he'd been admitted but he'd done a good job wiping the head of his dick
when he pissed, despite doing it in a jug.  The head of his dick was pink,
almost red, and moist, but nice and clean, begging to be licked.  Sucked.
"I need to wash your penis," I told him.  My own cock was starting to chub
up under my scrubs.

	I reached for the lotion this time, not the no-rinse soap.  Instead
of squirting onto the washcloth, I squeezed out a big dollop directly onto
my palm.  I kept his foreskin retracted with my other hand and rubbed the
lotion onto his exposed cockhead. He continued to stare at the ceiling but
took in a deep breath.

	I rubbed my slippery fingers over the mushroom shaped head of his
dick.  It didn't take long for him to get hard.  I mean HARD.  I could have
easily taken his pulse just from holding his throbbing boycock.

	"I don't think you were honest with me, Mike," I said.  He still
looked at the ceiling, breathing hard.  "You told me you didn't want some
fag feeling you up, but Jesus, I barely touched you and your hard as a
rock.  I think you're the one who's a fag."

	"I am not!" he said, never breaking his gaze with the tiled
ceiling.  "I ain't busted a nut in a week and you're fucking jacking me
off."

	"Keep telling yourself that if if makes you feel straight." I slid
my slimy hand up and down his four-and-a-half-inch boner, rubbing it over
his cock head.  He whimpered.  "Damn, Mike, my cock never gets this hard
when I jack off and all I'm doing is washing it.  But then, I'm not a
homo."

	"Neither am I!' he insisted.

	I gave his dick a squeeze and he moaned.  "You know, most people
say the worst part about being in the hospital is the food," I said, still
stroking him.  With my other hand I caressed his nuts which weren't hanging
as low as they had been a few minutes ago.  "But they're wrong.  The worst
part is the lack of privacy.  You never know when someone will walk in to
take your blood pressure or give you a pill.  You can't do the things you
usually do every day."  I increased the pace, jacking him a little faster.
The pace of his breathing also increased.  "Sometimes more than once a day.
Because you might be interrupted.  But no one is gonna come in now.  Not
during a bed bath."

	I let go of his dick and he finally stopped looking at the ceiling.
He looked at me and the look was imploring.  A look of need.  He tried to
reach for his cock, but just as he couldn't cover himself up before, the
short length of the IV tubing prevented his left arm from reaching his
dick.  When he tried, it threatened to pull the IV catheter out of his arm.
I could see the pain it caused him.  He tried to grab his throbbing dick
with his right hand, not caring that I could see him, but it meant pushing
against the thick tube coming out of his chest which hurt worse than
yanking the IV tube.

	His dick throbbed and twitched, and he looked at me helplessly.
"Yes?  Is there something I can do for you?"

	"Please," he whispered.

	"Sorry," I said.  "I'm not some fag here to feel you up.  I'm not a
homo like you.  I'm just here to give you a sponge bath."  I grabbed the
washcloth and wiped it over his sparse pubes.  Then I paused and leaned
over, studying that beautiful boy dick.  "Oops.  I think I missed a spot."
I spit on his cock and rubbed my saliva over the head.

 	"Oh god," he said, closing his eyes.

	"Don't you dare, cum, faggot," I said, rubbing his nuts.  "If
you're as straight as you say you are you won't shoot just because a guy is
washing your dick."

	"Jesus," he moaned.

	"Or cleaning your ass," I said.  Some of the lotion has leaked down
his dick and over his balls.  I scooped it up onto the finger of my other
hand and slowly slid it into his anus.  "Don't do it.  Don't cum."

	"I can't help it!" he groaned, and his cock exploded, shooting a
geyser of jizz out of his cock.  It hit me in the face.  I aimed the next
one at my open mouth and let the next two land on his belly.  I gave him a
minute to come down form his orgasm then let go of his still twitching
dick.

	"What the hell, Mike!" I said.  "Tell me again how you're not gay!
Where do you come off, squirted your cum on my face!"  He opened his eyes
and when he saw his jizz on my lips and cheeks he started stammering an
apology.  I licked his goo off my lips and reached for his chart.  This
kind of faggotry has to go into your chart."

	"No!  Please!  I didn't mean to!  I couldn't help it!  You made me
do it!"

	I lowered my pen.  "Well.  I guess we could work something out.
Since you got to cum.  I supposed if you make me cum, I could forget to
write it down.  Since you're a fag and all, you won't mind, will you?  Just
cuz you can't reach your dick doesn't mean you can't reach mine."

	He noticed the bulge in my scrubs for the for the first time and
smiled.  "That seems fair.  But only if you give me another bath tomorrow."