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Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
What writer doesn’t have a sexy nurse story? Here’s mine.

Hellooo Nurse!​

by Sonic Purity​

Incurably ill Dean Evans has been left to die in the public hospital system. Transferred to what amounts to the system’s poor excuse for hospice, middle-aged nurse Becky Larson, whom no other patient wants to see, heals him with her love, innate fat sexiness, and eventually something deliciously more.

Author’s note:
This is my most autobiographical story to date. Written in the first half of the 20-teens, it accurately reflects what life can be like with an inflammatory bowel disease—at least for me. Later in the decade, i was thankfully able to get over my excessive sense of entitlement and develop greater gratitude, along with availing myself of new information which continues to help me deal better with the situation, even if the underlying root problem remains incurable. The very start of the story up until Dean is moved to the smaller facility is almost but not 100% my actual life story, as is a majority of the medical material ’til near the end. Everything else from the first mention of the small 20-bed hospital is pure fiction.

There’s lots of fat and fat gain sexiness, so despite the gloom, i believe still worth a read. Hope you give it a chance and hope you enjoy!

Novel (approximately 68,100 words). Originally written 2012-2014.

This story features:
  • Altruistic fat gain
  • Uncontrollable unintentional undesired physical pain, moodiness, suffering
  • Lactation
  • Heteronormative couple
  • SNS: Sexy Nurse Syndrome
  • Light pharma sci-fi (nearer the end)
  • Male feminizing via fattening (nearer the end, and that’s why it qualifies for the Both prefix rather than BBW)

Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.


Beep! Beep! Beep!

The shrill high-pitched tone of the infusion pump was intended to let everyone know that the unit needed attention. In reality, its main function was to yet again awaken Dean Evans from another endless night of restless semi-sleep, as he awaited his demise.

His very severe case of Crohn’s Disease had already cost him everything: his meager fortunes and all his worldly possessions were consumed paying off Abbott Labs, Johnson & Johnson, Pfizer, and other Big Pharma drug lords—all for the privilege of remaining barely alive and not fully functional. As he’d always known, government health insurance was a sad joke, unable to cover much beyond the expensive core of his hospitalization. He was beyond bankrupt: he was destitute.

His disease had no cure in “western” orthodox medicine. “Eastern”/alternative medicines threw up their hands and gave up on him the moment urgent necessity forced him into western orthodox surgery for removal of a significant percentage of his small intestine. All western medicine could do for him was keep cutting out more and more of his intestines, pump him full of insanely expensive, side-effect-laden drugs (now at taxpayer expense as he no longer had any money/valuables/net worth), and let him continue to suffer and die slowly. He was at the point where surgeons agreed that further surgery would be extremely risky, full of complications, and in no way any long-term solution. What remained of his small intestine was highly restricted—nearly totally blocked—such that liquids were all he could have, when he was relatively well. Presently, his situation remained so dire that his digestive system needed a long rest: total disuse. He was being fed solely via intravenously delivered liquid food.

No family was nearby nor able to help from a distance. His love left several years prior, no longer able to take the stress of being with her dying man in his agonizingly slow death spiral.

Dean wasn’t thriving… he had no reason to live. In a sane world, he might have been in the comfort of a hospice setting, or sped to his end in peace and reverie via voluntary euthanasia. This, however, was anything but a sane world: it was the county hospital system.

Up until a few days ago, he’d been in the famous, huge, art deco monolith of a hospital building: the core of the county system. A beautiful, imposing building built for medicine of a bygone era and barely able to function in modern times in its hastily-retrofitted form. Like every other patient, he’d been forced to endure an endless string of nurses from skilled and compassionate to barely functional/barely literate, definitely weighted towards the lower end. Many seemed fresh off the boat from obscure African nations, and for some reason lacked patience for patients. Even with the fresh imports, there were nowhere near enough RNs nor CNAs: everyone was overworked, underpaid, and expected to be perfect all the time.

Dean had given up long ago… now the system had given up on him too. He’d been shunted to a small 20 bed facility. At least as old as the 1930s monolith, it was once a nice small community hospital. Decades after being swallowed up into the county system, it had evolved into basically a holding tank for patients the county system did not know what to do with, and could no longer really help: the Hell version of hospice, in a sense. It did have the advantages of smallness: fewer people coming and going, less noise, a small, finite number of doctors and nurses, even private rooms for each of the few patients!

Good morning, Mr. Evans!” Nurse Jones screeched as she entered his room. A shrill-voiced, falsely cheery, not very bright young 20s woman with long, straight brown hair, she never failed to set Dean’s teeth on edge with her paint-peeling intonations. Competent was the most positive accolade he could give her, and barely even that one.

OhhKayy… IV bag first, so we can stop the beeping…. More delicious, nutritious food for ya!

{Oh yeah, it’s delicious alright…} he thought to himself, {going straight into my veins, bypassing my taste buds}. He could no longer remember the last time he’d been allowed anything via mouth beyond sips of water.

Let’s get you chaaaannnnged….” She pulled off his gown, with difficulty on account of all the tubing and electrodes hooked up to him. “Then we’ll get your sheets changed and you’ll be all ready for another sunny day!

{Die. Die. Die. Die.} he thought to himself, about himself. Though he’d accept her dying as the next-best option.

Ooh!, your vitals don’t look so good today. I’ll call Dr. Farnsworth.

Eventually the pain that was Nurse Jones completed her work and left him in blessed peace and relative quiet.

Lovely… more time to lie in bed and think. Dreams—sleeping or daydreams—were his only refuge from reality, and more or less the only thing to do, given that he hated television and his attempts to watch enough of it to depress him to the point of death had so far failed. Internet for patients wasn’t a thing in this system, and thanks to abject poverty he no longer had viable functional hospital-usable tech in any case. The doctors merely pumped more life-sustaining crap into him to keep him breathing and brain-alive, so they and the rest of the system could tick off another day of successfully saving a life and getting someone, somewhere paid handsomely for so doing.

With no future and no reality worth contemplating, his still-fully-functional mind turned to fantasy. Often, it would be some near-magic cure from some unknown new medical person who suddenly appeared. Perhaps because he was dying and some innate mammalian genetic preservation algorithm kept kicking in to somehow get him to pass his genes along—which under no circumstances had he ever done nor was he going to start doing now—frequently the dreams were sexual in nature. Being fantasy, he or his dream proxy could be healthy and magically hooking up with the type of women he’d always loved: plush, soft, fat women… the fatter the better. And of course with it being his fantasy, they always loved being fat and in some cases getting fatter, and there were no downsides for them nor him to any of this.

He used to be shy about touching himself when first admitted to the big hospital many months ago. But once he realized he wasn’t going to make it out and that this was the end days of his life, he didn’t hold back. One or two of the many nurses at the big hospital had been taken by surprise and sought reassignment for the day, yet others ignored his penile tumescence or found it cute or even promising for his will to live. At least he could still use a pee bottle and didn’t need a catheter!

You OK Mr. Evans?” Nurse Jones screeched on her way past his room.

“Fine” he replied softly. “Just dreaming.”

Great day for that!” she chirped, “Nice sunny daydreams!

{I’d like to “sunny” your daydreams!} he kept locked in the privacy of his mind. At least neither she nor anyone like her was never in his dreams, given that in addition to being more strident than the average car alarm, she was stick thin and curve-free. His average-sized midlife moobs/pecs were about the same size as what for her passed as breasts. She didn’t look like she could feed a baby fly, much less a baby human. {Ooh! Cannot go there!} he chided himself when he momentarily imagined her reproducing.

“Hi Dr. Farnsworth. It’s Denish Jones over in Angel 20. Mr. Evan’s red blood count is way down… Pressure? Um, 125 over 85… Pulse was 95 and weak, though I think something’s with the monitor because it keeps going up as I take it.… Do we need to make preparations?… You will?… Great. Thanks Dr. Farnsworth!

That afternoon, Dr. Farnsworth checked in on Dean. True, he wasn’t thriving, but 97/70 and a strong, regular pulse of 65 were a lot better. He put in a requisition for calibration of the monitor.

The good news was this facility was too small to justify paying CNAs as well as RNs, so the RNs did everything and thus there were fewer people to miscommunicate and have to greet and remember their names each day. The bad news was that it meant seeing Nurse Jones (and others like her on other days) more often.

Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.

End Is Near​

Dr. Jameson, head of Angel 20, let out a deep sigh. “Yes, I suppose. I’d really hoped that he’d turn around, so we’d have at least one more person come out of here alive before the place is shuttered.” In his mind he could hear his long-deceased grandfather, former head of this facility when it was Mercy Peace Hospital, bellowing at him for his failure to keep the mission alive of bringing people back to health. Now near retirement himself, he’d decided the closing of Angel 20 due to cost-cutting was as good a time as any to leave the medical field.

It was the daily scheduling meeting with head nurse Melissa Garcia. She wrote in the name Becky for assignment to Mr. Evans’ room.

Rebekka Larsen RN, in what we’re told are the prime years of a person’s life—middle age—had more nursing experience than Melissa herself and nearly more than all the other nurses combined. Skilled, professional, and highly personable, there was a time when it seemed obvious that she’d be in charge. But then things changed: patients disliked seeing her, some to a high degree. Management started passing her over for promotions.

The final nail in her career coffin was the day the third patient in a row died after having her as their nurse several days in a row. Naturally there was a major inquiry into any possibly wrongdoing on her part. None was found, for the simple reason that she’d done absolutely nothing wrong. The only common point in the cases besides her was each patient registering a strong dislike for her during the days leading up to each of their deaths. It seemed to be a matter of the patients disliking her so much that they’d get themselves into a death spiral to get away from her.

She had an idea what was going on: the ones who died were all terminally ill men whom she knew found her highly unattractive. This she knew from overhearing conversations as she passed in the hall, discussions with her peers, and occasionally from demented yet brutally truthfully honest rantings from failing minds.

This turn of events led to her being assigned to Angel 20 and earning the nickname “The Closer”—never ever said to her face nor within her hearing, yet common knowledge amongst the rest of the staff.

Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.

A Reason​

Yes!… Yes!… More! (Pant) Mooaar!… Ohhh I love it! Grab me! Squeeze me! Make me bounce all over! Ahhh yeah! Oh you feel so big inside me! So much better since I go so wonderfully fat! And I’m gonna get fatter… for you… for me… for us!

Dean was having a very nice fantasy dream. In it, he in the form of a younger, handsomer healthy man with dark hair named Max was sharing sex with an insatiable supersized BBW goddess, who’d apparently gained from plump to her current magnificently large size once Max entered her life and captured her heart. Just exactly the sort of beautiful lovemaking he’d always dreamed might be possible—unreality to him—which Dean needed to imagine with his whole being to make it through another day.

A knock on the door awoke him and instantly erased most of the dream from his conscious mind.

“Good morning” a low-pitched, smooth soothing female voice softly intoned.

Dean thought for sure he was still dreaming, or hallucinating, once the body connected to the voice revealed itself. There in the doorway stood a blonde bombshell! Standing about 1.7 m tall, she had that blonde blue-eyed Scandinavian milk maid look going on: fair-skinned, curvy, buxom. But better: she was fat. Not the supersized goddess of his dream, yet a BBW all around, with soft fat buns and hips and belly in addition to big wobbly breasts… and appearing very, very real. He had to open-mouthed stare at her as she sauntered over to his bedside in an extremely sexy manner.

“Did I wake you?” she asked in the same soft, soothing tone.

“I… I don’t know” he responded. “I must still be dreaming. You’re not like the other nurses.”

She felt more than saw his visual intensity as she got to work changing his IV bags and tubing. “Oh, how’s that?”

“You’re gorgeous!

Becky couldn’t recall having been called anything of the sort for well over a decade. She felt his forehead, which was burning hot. “That’s very sweet of you.” Her voice sounded polite yet dismissive. She figured he must be seriously hallucinating and not seeing properly.

He seemed to be having difficulty focusing his eyes, confirming this theory.

“I’m Becky. I’ll be your nurse today.”

“All day?”

“All day. That OK by you?”


“Let’s get you some water to sip. Then I’ll take your vitals and be on my way, so you can get back to sleep and that nice dream you seemed to be having.”

“Thank you but I’d rather be awake now… because you’re real.”

She smiled her friendly, wide smile, revealing the nice teeth behind her very lightly glossed lips. {Too bad he’s hallucinating} she thought.

His vitals followed a mirror image of what Nurse Jones documented: going from indicative of high stress down to low, peaceful numbers the longer she stayed—closer to what Dr. Farnsworth saw, but with an even slower, more tranquil breathing rate. This is not at all what she expected; usually the numbers went up towards a stressful state the longer she stayed with a patient, as Denish found with him earlier.

“All good right now?”

He nodded.

“Perfect. I’ll be taking care of some things for awhile. I’ll check back in on you now and then, but quietly, so you can sleep and regain your strength.”

“But I’ll miss you!”

Nobody’d said that to her in years! “Oh, I think you’ll come around to thinking you’ve seen more of me than you want.”

{She has no idea} he thought to himself.

“I’ll be sure to wake you up in time to say goodbye if you sleep all the way until 4, which for most of us is darn near impossible here. You really do need your sleep Mr. Evans, so you can get well.”

“There’s no such thing as my getting well. As you know, given that I’m here.”

Usually she didn’t mind patients being fatalistic. This time it felt like a gut punch: it really hurt! “Well why don’t you dream about healing? The mind’s powerful, you know.”

“I’ve done guided imagery.”

Very good! Don’t you think you might as well use it so you can get better and get outta here?”

“It’s not that simple when I can’t eat food and have no worldly possessions and no one who cares about me.”

“Tell you what… dream about all those things… about each of them working out. Dream as deeply as you can. In the upcoming days when you’re awake, we’ll talk.”

With what little strength he had, Dean did his minuscule rendition of microscopically bolting up in bed. “Really?

“Sure.” She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Now get to it!”

Whether he was dreaming deeply or not, he certainly remained asleep until mid afternoon. Perfect timing—time for a vitals check, and as he’d freshly awoken, she’d not need to disturb his slumber.

“Do you need to use the bedpan?” she asked at the conclusion of the vitals check.

He wished he could be kissing and/or fondling her wide, soft naked bottom rather than her wiping his small, boring one. “Yes please.”

“Ooh!” she exclaimed as his shoulder suddenly bumped her.

“Sorry! Leg cramp as I lifted up off the pan. You OK?”

“Fine. You alright?”

“Yes. Leg cramp’s gone, and I didn’t really feel the impact.”

“That’s ’cause you hit my boob. Didn’t hurt, just startled me.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely.” She emptied the bedpan in the toilet and flushed, continuing the conversation on the way back. “Occupational hazard since they’ve gotten bigger like this. One or the other or both usually bump or rub across something during the course of the day.”

Spasms of lust shooting through him made the vital signs monitor go wild.

“Mr. Evans? Are you sure you’re alright?” She touched his forehead then without thinking held his closest hand in hers. His breathing remained noisy yet stabilized along with his other vitals. “Talk to me?”

“All day and all night.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Becky, Mrs. Samuels needs her IV changed.”

“Thanks Denish. I’ll be right there.” She turned back to Dean, “You gonna be all right while I go take care of Mrs. Samuels?”

“As long as you come back” he replied wistfully.

She patted his arm. “I’ll check back with you as soon as I’m done.

When she did, he was already back asleep, vitals stable and strong. She took the opportunity to go fill out some paperwork.

“As promised, I’m here to say goodbye until next time.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since she swished back into the room. “You’re not my nurse tomorrow?”

“Don’t know. They haven’t made assignments yet.”

“Do they take requests?”

“Not usually, but I can ask.”

“I request that you be my nurse as much as possible.”

“You sure? Most people prefer Denish, Mandy, or Melissa.”

“I don’t! I prefer you, Nurse Becky… please.”

“OK, I’ll tell them, and we’ll see what happens.”

Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.


“Let’s put Mandy in with Mr. Evans” said Dr. Jameson.

“Didn’t he request Becky?” Head Nurse Melissa asked.

“Allegedly. Though she herself reported that he was running a fever. He was probably confusing her with someone else.”

Mandy wasn’t shrill. She was, however, yet another stick-like young thing who did nothing for Dean’s will to live. Especially her acting like she didn’t want to touch him, even through examination gloves. His numbers ran low rather than high: low as in body nearly shutting down low.

“Dr. Jameson!” Mandy called out as she trotted down the hall.


“Mr. Evans is 60 over 40 with a weak pulse!”

Becky overheard this and charged up the hall to his room.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Evans” she said as she poked through a storage closet, her back to him. “How’s it going today?”

“Better now!” Seeing her delicious fat butt and side outlines of one or the other of her breasts as she turned when going through the closet raised his blood pressure right up to a nice, healthy level. “Are you taking over for Mandy?”

“No. Just getting some spare linen out.”

He slumped back down deeper into the bed. The pulse monitor alarm tripped. She headed over to investigate.

“Am I dead yet?” he asked out of his stupor.

“No, silly… you knocked the sensor off.” She replaced it and reset the alarm. Once again, his numbers trended towards healthy and stable, especially as she held and caressed his hand with hers once the sensor was back in place. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually like me.”

“You don’t know better. I do actually like you—quite a bit!”

“Mr. Evans!” Dr. Jameson called out as he entered the room, “How’re we doing today?”

Becky wanted to stay but knew she had to get back to her assigned rooms forthwith.

The afterglow of her presence kept him stable and communicative during Dr. Jameson’s brief visit.

“What’s all this?” Dean asked Nurse Melissa, whom he’d met briefly one other time.

“Your monitoring equipment doesn’t seem to be working correctly and they’re too deeply backlogged to fix it any time soon, so we’re switching it out with Room 5.”

“That’s the one where Mr. Crupson died yesterday, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She was both surprised and somewhat pleased that he apparently was aware about the goings-on in the hospital, though she wished he could focus on his own healing and living. “All sterilized and checked, and ready to help keep you alive.”

“Who’s my nurse today?”


“Oh OK. Thanks.” He again dropped back down into the refuge of the bed. Nurse Melissa was his distant second choice behind Nurse Becky. Her voice was OK, though not the mellifluous wonderfulness of Becky’s. If not middle age she was at least close, and definitely knew what she was doing as well as having a reasonable bedside manner. Still, she was bony and hard… not what he wanted touching and poking him in his final days on earth.

“This makes no sense!” Dr. Jameson exclaimed, staring at Mr. Evans’s chart in his office. “His numbers are up, then down, then over here, then over there… don’t any of our monitors work any more?”

A week had passed since Dean first met Nurse Becky. She’d been his nurse one other day, but other than that, others had attended him. He wasn’t doing well.

Going over the chart with Dr. Jameson, Head Nurse Melissa barely shook her head. “We’ve tried two other units in his room—from 5 and 9—same result. Both the one from 5 and from 9 worked fine before we moved them.”

“Sensors?” Dr. Jameson was not ready to let another person die on his watch, despite the apparent intent and reputation of Angel 20.

“Tried that: new ones, as well as ones from 5 and 9 which went with each unit. No change.”

Something is wrong! Let’s go get Denish and Becky and figure out what it is.”

“Let’s look at the historical data” Dr. Jameson said to the impromptu gathering of the 3 day shift nurses for that day. “Morning of the 17th., he’s elevated… who had him then?”

“Denish” replied Melissa, reviewing the schedule.

“Anything unusual that you recall?” Dr. Jameson asked Denish.

“No sir.”

“You followed all protocols?”

“Yes sir. I could see the numbers going up, so I verified the sensors and re-checked: they kept going up until they hit a high plateau, which are the second set of data points.” She pointed to them on the sheet.

Day by day, they went over the readings and who took them. A clear pattern emerged.

“So every day you took them”–he looked at Denish–“his numbers ran high and unstable. When Mandy took them, they tended to run dangerously low, other than last Friday when they were high as with Denish. And yours are all over the map, Melissa. Any idea why?”

“None whatsoever. I tried everything I could think of!”

“Maybe we all have to ask Becky. The days she was in there, his readings were stable and in quite a good range… almost like he was getting better.” He turned to her, “Is there something we’ve all forgotten about taking vitals that you remember?”

“No, not that. I think it may be SNS.”

The others burst out laughing. SNS stood for Sexy Nurse Syndrome, the observed phenomenon whereby a patient improves when attended by someone they find attractive.

“Seriously! He says nice things about me every time I’m in there. Assign me to him for a week and let’s see what happens.”

“You sure you’re not doing something differently?”

“Not unless you’ve all forgotten how to take vitals, which I truly doubt! Especially since we’re not seeing this issue with any of the rest.”

The IV infusion pump in Room 7 had been going off for awhile, and now the foot and calf circulation unit in Room 1 joined in.

“Very good. Thank you all. Let’s get back to it!” He touched Becky’s forearm and indicated she should stay a moment.

“Your theory’s logical and the only one so far which makes any sense, but I don’t see it.”

“Are you trying to tell me that no one could find me sexy? I find that rather offensive.” Her nostrils flared.

“I didn’t mean it that way. It would just be…… unusual. Others have complained about having you as their nurse, after all.”

“Alright, try this:” Very much like Dean’s vitals with Denish as his nurse, Becky’s rage was ramping up, not down. “Tell him I’ve been reassigned to General and that Denish will be his nurse every day going forward and I guarantee you’ll have a dead man by morning. Is that what you want? She’s his closer… not me.”

She nearly stomped away.

Whatever other faults he may have, Dr. Jameson was a man of science. Being also a compassionate human being, he chose to test the theory by assigning Becky to Dean’s Room 8 for a full week, rather than the possibly more destructive and final test she proposed in anger.

Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.


“Good morning Mr. Evans” Becky purred.

His face lit up and he sat up in bed. “Good morning Nurse Becky!” He eyed her up and down and all over. “Are you my nurse today?”

She smiled and bent over to bring her face closer to his, unintentionally also giving him an excellent view of her cleavage. “All week long.”

His growing hard-on pushed up the bed sheet prominently. “How many other rooms are you covering?”

“Well, we’re down to just 8 of you at the moment, so I’ve got you and Ms. Mok next door in Room 7. You’ll be seeing and hearing a lot of me.”

He smiled and knocked his knuckles together happily, to her surprise.

“OK if I take my break in here, Mr. Evans?”


She pulled up a visitor’s chair next to his bed, next to him.

“To what do I owe this great new honor?” he asked.

He may be very ill, but the man sure still could flirt! A flit of blush swept through her then away. “I like to get to know my patients better. So much of the time we’re all rushing around, barely saying hello before we jab and poke and prod you and make you turn every which way so we can change the sheets. So I guess you could call it public relations. And that you seem like an interesting fellow.”

Their break-time conversation extended into resumption of work: they kept on chatting as she changed the bedding, emptied the urine bottle, and helped him with the bedpan. Things grew a little awkward as she helped him change his gown: at one point the process exposed his raging hard-on. She blushed but pretended not to notice. He felt embarrassed and did not bring it up.

Outside of this moment of awkwardness and a couple of visits next door to Room 7, the conversation kept flowing.

“I’ll be happy to tell you all about it, but I’m scheduled for lunch now.”

“Can you have it in here?”

“I can, but won’t the food smells bother you?”

“Not any more than usual when they waft in from outside. Your talking with me might help keep my mind off of my inability to eat food and how soon I’m going to die.”

“In that case, I’ll be right back.”

They conversed through lunch, into the afternoon, through her afternoon break, and all the way until her shift ended, other than a cumulative half hour in chunks of a few minutes here and there when she took care of Ms. Mok.

They hit it off quite well. Both were sad once the day shift ended. She inquired into doing a double shift, but she’d worked too many hours in the pay period to allow it.

“Gotta go, Mr. Evans.”

He grabbed her hand with surprising strength. “Promise me you’ll come back tomorrow?”

“I promise. See you tomorrow at 8 AM! Be nice to Nurse Jenny!”

“I will. Goodnight Nurse Becky.”

The remainder of the week went pretty much the same way: she spent nearly as much time as possible with him in his room, without neglecting her other patient or on a few days, patients, nor other duties in terms of documentation and the like.

They kept talking and talking… learning about each other, sharing their lives. He learned amongst many other things that she grew up in Solvang, California (a second-generation native Californian) and that it was an actual Danish settlement and not a fabricated tourist trap. Of the many things about him she learned, what stood out in her mind the most was his imaginative nature, creativity, and freethinking.

The more they talked, the more they bonded. The more they bonded, the more they wanted to be together. Yet even with all they shared, so much remained unspoken—such as almost anything to do with romance, other than each briefly establishing that the other had no love in their life and had not had one for some time.

Dr. Jameson pulled Becky aside after the end-of-week review meeting. “I owe you an apology, Ms. Larsen. After months of Mr. Evans having been in General and now his two weeks here, nothing anyone did brought about ongoing improvement until we assigned you to his room all week this week.”

She smiled and dipped a shallow nod.

“Five-fold improvement in one week is nothing short of dramatic!” he enthused. “SNS is the only known explanation which fits the data. I never thought a patient’s thoughts and feelings regarding those serving him could have this high degree of efficacy. Thank you for standing your ground and making me see the light and reconsider.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Jameson. Thank you for acknowledging me. Whatever others may think of the purpose and goals of Angel 20, I continue to believe that all of us are here to heal.”

He smiled and gave her a pat-on-the-back quick hug, imagining his grandfather looking down approvingly.

Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.

Doubling Up​

“Happy Monday, Mr. Evans!”

“Hi Nurse Becky! Did you have a good weekend?”

“It was OK. Got some shopping done, did the laundry… exciting stuff.” She rolled her eyes. “Got some bad news for ya, though.”

“What?” He seemed genuinely upset despite her teasing half smile, as reflected in his pulse rate skyrocketing. “You’re not going to be my nurse this week?”

“Worse: you’re stuck with me all week long for two shifts! We’re down to only 5 patients now. You’re my only patient all day every day from 8 AM ’til midnight. I’ll probably be with you almost the entire time, other than data entry and the occasional staff meeting.”

His explosive tears at first confused her, until she mentally processed his huge smile. “Hug please!” he cried, reaching out his arms.

She gladly obliged, a few tears of joy of her own escaping her eyes without warning.

Other than the sheet changing, bedpan and urine bottle wrangling, and similar nursing duties, it felt a lot more like a platonic honeymoon than nursing work. With no other patients to mind, she could focus her undivided attention on her charge and he enjoyed the pleasure of her nearly-continuous company. They fell into discussing current events, operation of the county hospital system, life in his previous electronics technician career, and more.

One particular conversation grew a little intense.

“Seriously… why is it that I’m lucky enough for you to be covering me exclusively? Denish and Melissa are both covering two patients during the day, aren’t they? Unless Mandy has one or more.”

“Mandy’s doing overnight now, with Paulette.”

“What about Bertha?”

“She received a transfer to Harbor. That’s actually better for her, because she lives nearby there.”

“Are Taylor and Hannah still here?”

“For now, yes, though once our next patient leaves and we’re down to 4, Hannah will leave.”

“Why aren’t there new patients coming in?”

Becky let out a deep sigh. “They’re closing this facility. It’s no longer needed nor cost-effective, especially given the new General building which is nearing completion. You’re the last new admission to Angel 20, Mr. Evans.”

“But what does this mean? What if I don’t die before they close this place? Where do I go?! And what about you?!

“Shhh… shhh… deep, slow breaths, Mr. Evans… the way you do so well.” She rubbed his arm lovingly. “Don’t you worry about it. I’m taking care of you and looking out for your interests. Your job is to keep healing the way you’ve been, so we can continue spending time together having fun. It’ll work out.”

“But my disease!

She brought her face into his, almost nose-to-nose. “It’ll work out, okay? We’ll figure things out as we go along.” She rubbed noses with him and giggled momentarily. “Keep doing whatever you’ve been doing which has allowed us to take you off the antibiotics. Keep doing your exercises and building up your strength.”

“Does that include continuing to stare at your figure, so that I continue to have something to believe in?”

She didn’t think she’d heard him correctly, but decided not to double-check. “If staring at my figure is somehow helping you heal, then by all means yes, stare away! It will be kind of you to reel me back in if you notice that my swelling ego is going to my head and causing me to float away like a big balloon.”

Both of them laughed.

“You still didn’t answer my question about why I get to enjoy you exclusively when the other nurses have to handle more than one patient.”

“Not everybody likes what you apparently like. Most patients want to stare at anything other than me and my figure. They want Denish or Mandy or Taylor or Hannah: young, slender, pretty things. You’ve probably heard what the others call me behind my back.”

“Behind your back? No!… What?”

“The Closer. I close the deal. Which is to say, terminally ill patients apparently dislike my presence so much that they curl up and die—literally.”

“No way! You’re the pretty one!”

She smiled as her eyes started to water. “That’s not the general opinion. That’s also why they wouldn’t assign me to you after you requested it, until I showed them the pattern that you got better when I was your nurse. They thought my presence would kill you, too!”

No no no! You give me a reason to live!

“Settle….” She rubbed noses with him again. “We—you and me—knew that from almost the beginning. They eventually figured it out, so now we’re together. But the answer to your question is that there’s no one else in here who feels as you do towards me, therefore you get me… and everybody’s happy and hopefully no one’s dying.”

“Isn’t the point of Angel 20 to be a low-end hospice place for people like me to die?”

No.” She had to think of a plausible answer fast. “It is a place where some of the most seriously ill patients are—were—sent, to receive a higher level of care in a quieter, smaller setting… a more intimate setting, if you will. Our goal is to heal everyone, but since those who come here tend to have some of the most difficult and confounding illnesses our system confronts, oftentimes it takes longer. Sometimes it doesn’t work out. And yes, occasionally we get patients for whom nothing more can be done, so partially you’re correct that some of what we do is hospice, but not all of it! You’re not in that category.”

“You don’t think the inability to eat food is a problem?”

“Oh, it’s a problem all right. But maybe not the insurmountable, permanent problem you seem to think it is. So let’s talk about happier things and get you back to healing. Keep dreaming and believing that you’ll be able to eat again so your body can heal that way. In the meantime you’re here with me with the IV food which is keeping you alive and helping make you stronger nutritionally.”

Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.

Full Moon Effect​

The arrangement of Nurse Becky exclusively covering Dean for two shifts each weekday paid off handsomely: he showed steady albeit gradual and slight improvement nearly every day. Weeknights were OK, both because he slept through them other than the one 2 AM vitals check, and because Nurse Paulette always awoke him gently and spoke softly.

Weekends were no fun, and he tended to deteriorate over their course. Noting this, Becky arranged with Dr. Jameson to try a little experiment.

Not minutes after Nurse Mandy finished taking his early afternoon vitals and emptying his urine bottle, Dean heard a knock on the door.

“Happy Saturday, Mr. Evans!”

It was Nurse Becky! On her day off, in street clothes, and to Dean, looking hotter than Hades. Simple cotton pants and a t-shirt could not possibly be called dressy, yet being much more form-fitting than her nurse’s uniform—especially on the bottom—they made her mid-body assets quite obvious. His eyes couldn’t choose between watching her breasts bounce, with their more-than-usually visible cleavage and top surfaces, or her bounding belly and wiggly soft hips.

“Nurse Becky! What are you doing here today?”

“I just happened to be passing by. Thought I’d check in on how my favorite patient is doing.” Which quite literally is what she was up to: tracking changes to his vitals between his usual weekend afternoon reading not knowing she’d appear, and now with her unexpected presence. As she predicted, all the readings as well as his visible appearance showed a surge of excitement. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all! I thought you’d be sick of me and relish two full days off.”

“Oh, I’m not sick of you at all! Angel 20 is another matter. Nice place as hospitals go, but I think we all know that hospitals tend not to be places people choose to be.”

“Can you stay awhile… please?”

“Only about an hour.”

He looked sad and his pulse jittered a bit.

“Believe me, I’d love to stay longer. But during the week all I do is drive home, crash into bed, then clean up and get going in the morning to get back over here. Which is fine, but leaves me no time for shopping or laundry or paying bills or any of that. So I really do need to take off later. Oh, I saw a hilarious bumper sticker on the way over….”

They shared another joyous hour and 1/2 together, during which time Dean couldn’t help staring at her body as if seeing it for the first time… especially her fat belly, wide hips, and thick butt, normally concealed by the looseness of her uniform. Becky noticed this but couldn’t admit to herself that what she thought might be happening—his finding her very attractive—really was happening.

They said their goodbyes and she took her leave, promising him she’d be back on duty no later than 8 AM Monday.

Amongst the other things she did on her weekends, Becky tended to eat like a mad woman. She had no regrets about working the double shift, though she wished she felt better about taking off for some real meals and that there were more worthy eateries close by. She didn’t and there weren’t, so by the time Saturday morning rolled around, she tended to be ravenous.

No question that she was active, out and about doing shopping and laundry and whatnot. Yet there was still plenty of weekend time for naps or sitting and resting, often with some tasty fast food she’d picked up while out and about, or else something homemade and filling, like a hearty pasta meal with plenty of garlic bread.

All together, the net result of the double-shift change was additions to her curves. Nothing dramatic nor extreme, nevertheless for herself living in her body and at least one other person outside it, obvious.

Wednesday of the week following her Saturday visit was two days before the full moon. In his healthier years, Dean thought he’d noticed a pattern whereby people tended to get a bit more wild a couple days before and after the full and new moon phases. Not one who believed in such things, he figured his mind was merely pattern-matching selected events filtered through his internal biases and that there wasn’t anything real about this imagined pattern. Given what he noticed of his own behavior extremes over the years and how he tended to find they correlated with this pattern when he checked the moon phase (not previously knowing where it was in its cycle), he could not completely dismiss his conclusions as being entirely a fabrication of his own mind.

Dean hadn’t seen a calendar with moon phases since entering the hospital system for this final round death spiral. He’d completely lost track of them, and no longer consciously thought about his theory. All he knew is that he’d been feeling more amorous towards Nurse Becky as each day passed, and especially so since her surprise weekend visit and his ability to see more of her figure.

The day started out normally enough, but didn’t remain that way for long.

She tugged at the waist of her scrubs.

“Uncomfortable?” he asked.

“A little bit. Getting fatter and the elastic’s cutting into my belly more. It’s beginning to split into two rolls of fat. Pretty soon I’ll have to address them as North Belly and South Belly.”

Lust coursed through Dean’s veins. “I noticed the buttons on your top seem to be under a touch more strain.”

She blushed in her all-too-obvious fair-skinned way. “Oh yeah. The girls are growing too… again. I meant to order some bigger bras this past weekend, but didn’t get around to it. Not to mention I’m not sure whether they’re going to continue growing nor how fast. They sure don’t seem to be getting any smaller! Which is pretty much true for all of me.”

His vitals and the rest of him went crazy as he struggled to contain his desire.

“Are you alright today, Mr. Evans?” Nurse Becky asked.

“As alright as someone in my position can be” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Your blood pressure’s up, along with your pulse, and your breathing’s shallower. Anything going on that you know of?”

“Yeah” he said as his pulse rate crept higher. “It’s so hard!”

“What is?”

“Keeping it stuffed inside.”

“Keeping what stuffed inside?”

“My feelings for you. The all-encompassing lust and affection I feel towards you.” His words were breathy and he stared at his favorite body parts of hers, only occasionally checking in with her face. There was no going back.

“I’m gonna die soon Becky… we both know that. This may be my last chance to stare at a super sexy woman up close. I can’t go another day without sharing my true feelings with you, even if it means you run away and leave me to die that much sooner.”

She didn’t need a thermometer to know his temperature had shot up—the sweat beads developing on his forehead were more than sufficient.

“You’re beautiful, Becky. I hope you know that in your heart. The only way I can imagine you being any kind of ‘closer’ is if patients choose to die with you as their final vision, believing they’ll see you again in a few moments when they arrive in heaven, given that you appear to be an angel somehow here on earth.”

Compliments tended to be few and far between in Becky’s life, especially given that her rigorous work schedule left little time to interact with anyone outside of work. The intensity of these shook her up.

“I don’t believe in any of that, and if I did, I’d be headed to Hell, because every cell in my body lusts after your succulent fat body! I dream at night of being healthy and that you’re my lover. We’re naked and you let me caress, squeeze, and fondle you all over. You let me explore your bountiful soft flesh… your hips and belly and butt and especially your breasts. And in my dream you like it—you enjoy my explorations! Sometimes we make love…. I give myself to you any way you want me. You just… you just… smile and open up and invite me inside you, telling me how you want me to make love with you!”

She felt his forehead: he was warm but not feverish; it was unlikely he was hallucinating. Herself on the other hand, she couldn’t be so sure. All she knew was his heartfelt admission was punching her lust and romance buttons as fast and hard as she used to punch her daddy’s mechanical typewriter keys as a little girl. As with the old typewriter, she felt her mechanism jamming up inside, in the sense of swirly lusty passion confusion.

Tears joined sweat as sources of moisture on his face. “I want you so badly, Becky… but I can’t have you… not even for a day!” The quiet tears exploded into child-like crying through an adult male voice. “I’m sick and I can’t ever ever get better! Only you keep me alive, but being near you and unable to touch you intimately kills me!

He seemed to be spiraling out of control: alarms on the monitor went off every which way.

She panicked. “Dean! Take my hand!” It was more of a command than a request, and in fact more a statement of her intent than anything else: she grabbed his hands in hers as she spoke, not intending for him to respond. “Listen to me! Breathe deep, now.

He did. The crying receded.

In, slowly… hold… slow out… hold.” It was working: the crying ceased. “Good! Keep going.”

“You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

No. Promise me you’ll keep breathing and keep hoping.”


Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.
“Because I have something for you… something no one else but you wants. You promise you won’t check out on me?”


She gently lifted his hands, kissed them, then placed them on her breasts.

He gasped.

“Go ahead, explore… as long as you stay stable. Excited and lusty is OK; upset and wanting to die is not.”

Tentatively, he gave each one a gentle squeeze, then looked back up at her face. She smiled and nodded. His gaze returned to where his hands were, and he squeezed and moved them a little more.

“You like them?”

Like them?! I’ve never been allowed to touch breasts anywhere close to this nice!” he enthused. “Thank you so much!” Tears were coming back.

“Those better be happy tears!” she warned.

He nodded.

“You know what? I have an idea” she said. “If you’ll please let me go have a chat with my colleagues, I think we can make this a whole lot better for both of us. I promise I’ll be right back—and that we’re not done with this yet.”

“I need some private time with Mr. Evans, immediately” Becky told Head Nurse Melissa. “It’s really important we not be interrupted.”

“OK. No problem.” Melissa handed her a Do Not Disturb sign to adhere to the door.

Becky locked the door behind her on the way in, and was greeted with Mr. Evans grinning and his sheet poking up rather obviously in a very expected location. “You really are glad to see me, aren’t you?”

Always. And usually in this way.” He tapped his erection through the top of the sheet.

Back at his bedside, she bent over provocatively, brought her face nearly to the point of touching his, and softly said, “The door’s locked. I made sure no one will disturb us. This shirt’s feeling awfully tight!…. I’d like you to unbutton it… for me.”

She tore her gaze off his delighted grinning face for just a moment to confirm that his vitals were strong, stable, and in an optimal range, which they all were. Some edged slightly high from excitement, otherwise they were the best she’d seen from him.

Once he finished unbuttoning her top, she pulled it off and tossed it on a chair. She didn’t need to ask whether he liked her breasts, though she did need to ask about something else. “The belly too? You like it?”

He put his arms around her sides and gently guided her as close as she could get whilst standing, then kissed her exposed upper belly—North Belly—over and over, lovingly. “I like all your fat body parts” he answered dreamily.

She’d never heard of such a desire. “While I try to wrap my head around that, why don’t you get back to exploring my breasts. No one’s visited them for a very long time.”

He did so, but through her bra, which isn’t what she expected. “Do you want to unhook it or would you prefer I do it?” she asked.

“May I?” he asked with a tone of wonder.

“Please. Front hooks, staring right at ’cha.”

Tight hooks. He had trouble.

“Pull ’em in towards each other, fairly hard.”

“Won’t that hurt you? By squishing your… breasts together?”

“Not unless you intend to keep ’em squeezed tight continuously for over 20 minutes. They’re more resilient than one might think.”

He pulled the hooks firmly towards each other and met with success. Several undone hooks and a gradual release of each side later, her massive mams flowed out and down, completely exposed in their full majesty.

Whoooaaaah!” is all he could say.

She used the pause of admiration to fully remove and toss aside the bra. The mammary motions added further to his marveling.

Back at his bedside, she again leaned over. “Have at ’em.”

He played with them every which way: squeezes, fondles, bounces, squishes, licks, sucks, nipple nibbles. She hadn’t seen a look of awe like his on a human’s face for years. Last time was probably about 5 years prior, seeing her cousin Anne’s infant daughter staring in awe at a mobile above her crib. Come to think of it, she’d only seen gazes of pure wonder like this on infants and young children… until now.

Dean’s world was one of immersion in breast lust. All worldly thoughts, definitely including all his worries, vanished for quite a few minutes. When they started to drift back, he realized that he truly could now die a happy and fulfilled man, having experienced great big soft fat breasts!

She leaned in further so her mams could whack his head from each side and cascade over his face, sending renewed rivers of pleasure flowing through him… and more than a little pleasure through herself as well.

He came up for air after a few minutes of full breast immersion, with a smile which could melt granite.

“Have you ever had breast sex?” she asked.

“No” he shyly responded.

“Would you like to?”

Really? Yes please!”

She moved down and leaned back over the bed as soon as he pulled away the sheet, swaying her upper body so that each of her boobs crashed and bumped into his hard wang like soft, sexy wrecking balls trying to pleasure a lusty skyscraper. “My hands or yours?”

“Mine, please.”

With high delight, he again gently squeezed each breast from the side, squishing them towards each other and engulfing his prong in pure-sex fat softness. He humped away for only a couple of minutes as she watched and smiled, before exploding deep within her squish-enhanced cleavage.

An unexpected giggle escaped her lips as she wiggled her upper body during the start of afterglow.

“How do we do this now? I didn’t arrange for a towel.”

“Just let ’em free when you’re ready. I’ll change whatever needs changing. It’s my job, after all.” She winked, as unexpected to her as it was to him—very much like her giggle.

After cleaning up her own front with a warm, damp washcloth, Becky cleaned up Dean.

“How do I make it up to you?” he asked as she worked.

“Make what up to me?”

“Pleasuring you however you might like, as you did me.”

“There’s no need. You do realize that a lot of women enjoy having someone they love play with their breasts, don’t you? I’m one of those.”

“I’d read that, but didn’t think it was true.”

“Well it is for me.” She sat down, pulling her chair as close to the bed as possible, so he could still reach her jugs of joy. “Probably not just me, though. Something about evolution ensuring that mammalian mothers would successfully nourish their offspring. Pleasure principle, I expect.”

“I wanna be fair, not selfish and greedy. Do you like having orgasms?”

Far too tough a question for Becky, who didn’t tend to think along those lines. She decided to channel his intentions another direction. “You truly wanna make it up to me?”


“Then Get. Well.” She nose-doinked him with her nose to emphasize each word. “Thrive… so we can do this again… and other sexy stuff.”

“You’d let me do this again… with you?

Yes. This and more, as long as you keep healing.”

“But I don’t even have a home to take you to, much less a bed!”

Don’t worry about it!” Her voice was stern, insistent, and loving, all at once. “Seriously Dean, worry is making you at least as ill as Crohn’s Disease! You’re not in this all by yourself. Other people care about you and want you to regain health and thrive—one of us in part so you’ll keep playing with her fat boobs and flattering her.”

As composure returned to Becky, she noticed the time. “Oh ****!


“I’m late for a meeting!” Fervently, she struggled into her bra and threw her top back on. “It’s just down the hall—daily staff meeting.” The buttons around her belly and bust seemed even more difficult to fasten than they had early this same morning. “I’ll be back soon as it’s over, probably about half an hour. “You heal! Take a nap, meditate, think good thoughts—whatever. We’ll finish our afterglow later… or maybe play some more.”

He marveled yet again as this beautiful woman swayed and swished swiftly out of the room, unlocking the door and leaving it in its normally fully open position.

This rather intense Wednesday turned out to be productive in the long run. Over the ensuing days, Dean stayed true to his word: he focused on healing thoughts and positive over negative thinking, despite it being one of life’s most difficult challenges for him. Becky stayed true to her word: sharing her naked breasts with him became an almost daily event, the exceptions being days when meetings or helping the other nurses with an emergency pulled her away. For her, it was one of the easiest and most pleasurable things she’d ever done as a nurse.

Taking SNS up to this higher level paid off handsomely: Dean continued to improve. His vitals stabilized, some of his strength returned via his exercising (sometimes with her help), and he even gained a little weight, bringing him away from the scary-hairy edge of starvation malnourishment back towards still too thin yet with a tiny safety margin.

She still wasn’t fully comfortable with his lust for her other fat body parts. Even so, going around the closed-door room topless at work for usually at least an hour or two each day and being admired nearly every minute she was there—topless or fully clothed—absolutely reinforced her self-esteem.

Sonic Purity

Apr 9, 2006
Pasadena, California, U.S.A.

Up A Notch​

“Don’t you get tired after two shifts with me?” he asked during their fourth week in this arrangement. “That’s a long workday!”

“It is, but keep in mind: there’s not a whole lot of work taking care of just you! You’re getting stronger every day, and all we’ve got you on now is the IV food during the day, sugar water at night, and saline all the time for hydration. And if you keep improving, we’ll take you off the saline and let you drink water from a cup… maybe even later this week.”

He smiled.

“My actual nursing time with you is probably under two hours over the course of the 16 I’m here. The rest is us keeping each other company, having sexy nurse and patient time, and hopefully working on the mental and emotional sides of healing.”

“Becky, do you have a moment, please?” Dr. Jameson asked as he leaned through the doorway of Room 8.

“Be right back” she said softly to Mr. Evans, squeezing his hand before exiting.

She knew something was up: he had that well-known Dr. Jameson furrowed brow of worry.

“We’re down to our last 4, as you know” he said. “It’s the start of a new fiscal year. We’ve no budget: they expected us to be closing up by now.”

Her eyes grew wide.

“Mainly thanks to your Mr. Evans doing so well, I’ve obtained enough to keep us going another month… but not all of us.”

Her lip started to tremble as she pointed to herself.

“No Becky, you’re fine—mostly, and I’ll explain straightaway. We simply can’t pay for three day, three evening, and two overnight nurses. Best I can do is two day, two evening, and no overnight.”

“But… they need coverage overnight!”

“Exactly. Except there’s no money. Let me explain what I’m thinking so far, then we’ll discuss it and any other options you can come up with. Like me and probably you, Melissa’s going down with the ship. Paulette seems willing as well. Everyone else would just as soon get it over with and leave sooner than later.

“Tentatively, Paulette is willing to cover two in the day, three in the evening. Melissa will take three overnight and one in the day. If you’re willing, you’re exclusively with Mr. Evans, but you have him 24/5 at least. I’m going to jigger the salaries so that each of you gets paid the same, divided equally, from the best I can arrange.”

“What about weekends?”

He sighed. “Haven’t figured that out yet. Mandy can cover 3 for two shifts—day and evening—but no more. Jenny’s considering weekend overnights, but there are family issues on her end and financial issues on mine.

“Legally, nobody can work 24 hours, and I’m not expecting you to literally do that. You and Mr. Evans seem to like each other, so if it’s OK with both of you, we can set up a second bed in his room for you. As far as I’m concerned, you can set your own schedule with him and his needs, though hopefully you’ll be available at least a few hours during day shift for meeting with me and whatever might come up where others may need help. As long as you’re there if he needs you, you and he can sleep for 12 hours for all I care. Whatever you and he are doing is working, and I’d really like at least one final success story out of Angel 20.”

His eyes grew watery. She knew he was thinking of his grandfather and his and his own legacy.

“What about food? Is the policy of not allowing outside-system food to be delivered here suspended?”

“Oh right! Yes, effective immediately—especially since the kitchen’s closing down.”

“How will the other patients eat?”

“They’re not… none of them.” He stared down at the old linoleum floor tiles, trying not to think of all they’d seen over the decades. “Also, if you can work out coverage with Paulette or Melissa, I’m fine if you take off now and then for something out, essential errands, and so forth. This is already getting uncomfortably close to slave labor!”

“Not only do I accept, if you’ll allow me a flexible 6 hours off during daylight hours on a weekend day, I’ll cover Mr. Evans 24/7… weekends too.”

“Thank you, Becky!” He hugged her tightly, dripping tears of relief on her shoulder.

Dean’s head snapped towards the door as Becky swished back into Room 8.

“Question for you.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“You like me, right? I mean… beyond the boobs.”

“Oh, you have no idea how much!”

“Enough that if they roll another bed in here so I can sleep here with you and be your full-time nurse 2/47 that you’d be OK with that?”

Yeah-ah! Great with it! What about you?”

“Well, I already agreed to it with Dr. Jameson, so obviously I don’t mind!” She grinned from ear to ear.

The three remaining nurses and Dr. Jameson acted as the orderlies their facility no longer had to move the now-disused fairly new bed from Room 18 into Room 8. None of the others said anything when Becky made clear that she wanted the beds as close to each other as possible, though each may or may not have thought something.

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