One day, sometimes in winter, in January, I decided to get rid of work. Check out the sick leave and get some rest. Moreover, the sick pay is the same as for the working sheet - it’s a sin not to use the few privileges that the state has not taken away from us.

In short, I arrived at the clinic, took the voucher to the therapist and went to the reception. I complained to the doctor about incomprehensible pains in the left side of the chest (like a heart is naughty), my age, 63 years old, is quite suitable for such a diagnosis. I expected that the doctor would prescribe me any procedures, pills, injections, in general - outpatient treatment. But it turned out that quite recently, one might say, the other day, this therapist had an outpatient patient, and also with a heart. But this passenger, apparently, did not mow, because he had just driven off to a place where they did not sell a return ticket. The poor fellow the therapist now had to deal with numerous formal replies on this subject and explain to his hospital authorities why he did not send the patient to hospital treatment.

In view of such circumstances, the question of the direction of my “sick” body to the “hospital” was finally resolved and without turning. To tell you the truth, this option did not suit me very much. Although the hospital ward is not a prison cell, the inpatient treatment does provide some restrictions on freedom of movement.

Of course, I could refuse treatment, but then I won’t see a sick leave.

I had to obey the will of this case and lie down on a hospital bed.

In the therapeutic department of our district hospital, I met my long-time acquaintance. More precisely, his sidekick friend (not in the sense that we grabbed each other for the Kadik). With him, we once plied the seas and oceans on a fishing vessel.

Although he was younger than me in age, he looked much older than his years, and he couldn’t boast of his state of health either. It turned out that he got here a few days ago, right from the workplace. Barely pumped - he admitted during our conversation.

It should be noted that my friend has a very remarkable sense of humor. However, your humble servant, this is also not to take away. On this basis, it can be said, we once came together with him.

In the old days, during long sea crossings, in the breaks between running watches, we betrayed such impromptu for a couple that the crowd just burst out laughing.

The captain once told us - you guys would have to go somewhere on the Petrosian show, you would have more “dough” than on this fishing trip. To which I could not resist responding: "Uncle told me - go to the gynecologist to study, and the wages are good, and your hands will always be warm."

In general, we settled in with a friend in the ward, in which there was another patient (I almost said - the security guard). Hospital work days started according to the local schedule. In the morning and in the evening - a dropper, a measurement of pressure, temperature, visits of the attending physician, pills and other “joys” of hospital life.

In order to somehow dispel hospital boredom, my friend and I got along to make the morning and evening promenade along the corridor of the department. At the same time, as they say, “shake the old days” is to cheer up the local public.

We are walking one evening slowly along the length. My comrade, addressing me, asks: “Tell me, colleague, how do you assess my state of health?” I thoughtfully frowned a pumpkin and answered: “You know, dear colleague, this question is very, very difficult - you have to gather a council. But, as it seems to me, the consultation will most likely decide to disassemble you into organs. ”

Since this dialogue sounded very clearly in a quiet corridor, he could not help but invoke the unwitting listeners to have a cheerful mood.

Meanwhile, we continued in the same spirit and gradually, as they say, gained our viewers.

After visiting the ultrasound, the standard question followed: “What did the ultrasound show?”

Soon we began to notice that by the time of our promenade in the "auditorium" began to see a full house. It was time to start selling tickets - we joked about this.

A few days have passed. The course of treatment of my friend ended (he entered treatment about a week earlier than me). He was discharged. The third occupant of the ward left the same on the eve of the wall of the medical institution (thank God, with his feet). I stayed alone in the ward.

Incredible boredom came. Say a word with no one. In short, the uniform maja began.

In the evening, somehow, I roll on my bed as usual. Waiting for the nurse to come and give me a drip. "Christmas tree" - a device on which the drugs for the dropper are hanging, I prearranged into the ward and put it by the bed.

As usual, at this time, a nurse came into the ward and began to prepare a needle and other accessories for the dropper. She was a woman of 35–38 years old, but well preserved for her age.

I on duty joked that my veins had already become like an addict with experience. Sister laughed and replied that I had not yet seen these addicts. With these words, she leaned to fix something behind my head. With this movement, the floor of her robe slightly opened. There was a naughty question in my head - I wonder what color her panties are? At the same moment, I realized that this question does not make sense, because under the robe flashed naked pussy.

The next thought I did not even have time to form. My hand, as if by itself, without my conscious participation, the true truth, has already sorted out these tender lips and folds. The fingers, by themselves, have already climbed inside. Sister's breathing has become somewhat jerky, intermittent. She let out a barely audible moan. Then she leaned over to my ear and whispered: "Now, my dear." With these words, she slipped out of my arms with catlike grace and hurried to the door.

“Well, just started to live well, and the money ran out!” - I thought, having decided that she was leaving. But I was wrong. Sister pulled out the key to the door of the chamber from her robe pocket and closed it.

Closing the door and turning around, she saw a soldier lying on the back of a patient and standing at attention. Apparently, she liked this picture, because she immediately, like a wild cat, having driven away from the door, with her legs wide apart, jumped straight into a trembling cock.

At the time of the jump, I thought with horror - this is a kapets - or dick in half, or soft-boiled eggs. However, I was afraid of nothing. The girl, probably, from childhood engaged in artistic gymnastics. She strung on a member so accurately and beautifully that he entered it easily and smoothly, like a basketball in a basket, after an accurate throw of a champion basketball player.

She sat on me, clasping my sides with her strong legs. Her pussy tightly hugged her cat, who would purr with pleasure, if there was anything.

Some wild jump began at a frantic pace. My steady soldier was poured by hot streams that oozed from the soft bosom. I involuntarily made counter movements, but I could not keep up with the pace of my girlfriend. Her pelvis, as if a separate part of some strange winding mechanism, often-often moved up and down. Her breasts, a little more than the second size, synchronously bounced in time with the movements. Swollen nipples, like two winter cherries, adorned the crown of this divine creation.

Sister voluptuously moaning, uttered encouraging exclamations. Slipping sounds joined this symphony - love juices burst out at the moment of deep diving. In this ecstasy, I then grabbed her soft and round ass, then caught her jumping breast with my hands.At some point, I felt the lower part of my gut as if numb, and then a hot wave started to rise from it to the tip of my soaked instrument.

Apparently, feeling this approach, the sister stopped her run and tightly pressed her pubis to mine. At that moment, I felt her hot liquid pushing my cock around and at the same time a dense and tight jet of sperm splashed out of me with a victorious salute, mixing inside this beautiful and soft flesh.

Then for some time we lay in exhausted languor. Then the sister got up, gently whispered to me, "I have to go, honey."

I belatedly remembered - what about the dropper?

The sister laughed and answered - "So you, next time, immediately choose - me or a dropper."