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elfsYesterday, I got to be a Stunt Bottom Training Patient.
Back when I was doing BDSM regularly, back before COVID-19 when there was a lively BDSM community in Seattle, I enjoyed playing the role of “stunt bottom”; whenever there was a new person who wanted to learn to top, someone would attach themselves to them as a mentor. The community was quite good, on the whole, about warning newbies away from bad mentors. But once one was found, if the newbie wanted to top, who would they practice on?
Enter Elf, the stunt bottom. I endured bad floggings, wraps over shoulders and around waists, the occasionally over-delivered sting of the cane, because I was eager to show off and I really enjoyed helping people get into one of my favorite hobbies.
While I’m at the hospital, I’ve been trying hard to be a good patient. I’ve taking daily walks and publicly exercised (the equipment for angled push-ups is in the middle hallway with the “rehabilitation equipment”– and my gods, there are so many people in this hospital right now for gout. Fucking gout. I thought that was some kind of 19th century thing), so the nurses assume I’m sorta robust, at least physically, and emotionally too when I have some more say over my body. But I’ve also worked hard to preserve our respective dignities, to not flash anyone with my personal bits.
Which means that I’m now the Training Patient. It’s like being a stunt bottom, but for cute nurses fresh out of school.
Yesterday, one of the nurses came with her trainee. Now, they’re not that worried that I’m going to develop bedsores because I am self-mobile and self-motivated to get out of bed and move around, but because I am the Training Patient, this nurse decided I was the right person on which to practice placing a bedsore bandage.
A bedsore bandage is a heart-shaped band-aid with a mild adhesive, and it goes on your butt. So they had me stand up within the range of my tubes, opened the back of my gown, and I could hear the senior nurse saying, “Okay, after you take off the adhesive, you place it, with the point down, right here, just above the end of the tailbone. Start in the middle and leave some slack. Right, so now you have room to work it into the middle.”
Of course I can feel all this going on back there. It’s not anything but hands putting sticky padding on my buttocks. But I had make fun of the whole process: “Just like in the insurance commercial with the duck.”
“The what?” the senior nurse said.
“That insurance commericial. The one with the duck. You know.” I pitched my voice with a much sharper buzz. “Asscrack!”.
She just lost it. She laughed so hard she had to stand up and lean against the bed railing for a minute to collect herself.
They finished up and headed out.
Back when I was doing BDSM regularly, back before COVID-19 when there was a lively BDSM community in Seattle, I enjoyed playing the role of “stunt bottom”; whenever there was a new person who wanted to learn to top, someone would attach themselves to them as a mentor. The community was quite good, on the whole, about warning newbies away from bad mentors. But once one was found, if the newbie wanted to top, who would they practice on?
Enter Elf, the stunt bottom. I endured bad floggings, wraps over shoulders and around waists, the occasionally over-delivered sting of the cane, because I was eager to show off and I really enjoyed helping people get into one of my favorite hobbies.
While I’m at the hospital, I’ve been trying hard to be a good patient. I’ve taking daily walks and publicly exercised (the equipment for angled push-ups is in the middle hallway with the “rehabilitation equipment”– and my gods, there are so many people in this hospital right now for gout. Fucking gout. I thought that was some kind of 19th century thing), so the nurses assume I’m sorta robust, at least physically, and emotionally too when I have some more say over my body. But I’ve also worked hard to preserve our respective dignities, to not flash anyone with my personal bits.
Which means that I’m now the Training Patient. It’s like being a stunt bottom, but for cute nurses fresh out of school.
Yesterday, one of the nurses came with her trainee. Now, they’re not that worried that I’m going to develop bedsores because I am self-mobile and self-motivated to get out of bed and move around, but because I am the Training Patient, this nurse decided I was the right person on which to practice placing a bedsore bandage.
A bedsore bandage is a heart-shaped band-aid with a mild adhesive, and it goes on your butt. So they had me stand up within the range of my tubes, opened the back of my gown, and I could hear the senior nurse saying, “Okay, after you take off the adhesive, you place it, with the point down, right here, just above the end of the tailbone. Start in the middle and leave some slack. Right, so now you have room to work it into the middle.”
Of course I can feel all this going on back there. It’s not anything but hands putting sticky padding on my buttocks. But I had make fun of the whole process: “Just like in the insurance commercial with the duck.”
“The what?” the senior nurse said.
“That insurance commericial. The one with the duck. You know.” I pitched my voice with a much sharper buzz. “Asscrack!”.
She just lost it. She laughed so hard she had to stand up and lean against the bed railing for a minute to collect herself.
They finished up and headed out.
