-------- ASSTR Standard Headers --------
Author: Altan
Title: The Curmudgeon
Keywords: exhib nosex
Date: October 2004
Version: 1.01
-------- End of Standard Headers --------


This story is a work of erotic fiction. If you are not allowed to
read such material, or if such material offends you, please stop
reading now.

This story is copyrighted (C) October 2004 by Altan. Permission
is granted for this story to be reproduced and archived in the
context of the newsgroup(s) to which it is posted by the author.
In addition, the reader is allowed to make copies in electronic
format and on paper for his or her personal use only. For all
other uses, please consult the copyright statement in
http://www.asstr.org/~altan/copyright.html.

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The Curmudgeon (exhib nosex)
by Altan

It started all very inauspiciously with the letter arriving in
her mailbox on a sunny June morning. Annette had returned from
her week-long cruise just the day before, feeling wonderfully
relaxed after the well-earned vacation. The letter bearing the
logo of MedServ, Inc. would be her next assignment.

As usual, the computer-generated form letter did not give many
details. Name Bill Wilder. An address on the other side of town.
Minimal statistics: male, 79 years old, 145 pounds. Curmudgeon.

Curmudgeon?

That is what it said, on the line reserved for comments by
previous nurses. Curmudgeon.

Annette looked at it again, frowning. The comment area was there
for nurses to leave a note to their successor, usually about
habits of the patient to watch out for, or tips on how to handle
them. Never before had she seen one with only a single word in
it. Curmudgeon. Strange.

Still frowning, she put the letter away and collected the next
batch of laundry. Yet all the time she kept thinking about the
strange comment. And what did it mean, exactly? She thought she
knew what the word meant, but kept wondering. By the time she got
back to her computer, she had to look it up.

The dictionary bookmark, www.m-w.com. Curmudgeon. _A crusty,
ill-tempered, and usually old man._ That didn't help much.
Neither did further on-line searching. Recipes at
www.curmudgeon.com, random quotes at www.curmudgeon-online.com,
or even Captain Curmudgeon's Naturist Pages. That one at least
had a funny picture.

OK, so her next assignment was going to be a cranky old man. She
was sure she would be able to handle him.

                              * * *

Annette had left in time, but there had been an accident and the
freeway had slowed to a crawl. In the end she arrived five
minutes late.

Nothing when she rang the bell. She tried again, longer, then
knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" she heard through the closed door.

"Annette Meyers, from MedServ, Inc."

"Who?"

Annette sighed. A lot of her patients didn't like strangers in
their house. It was always a challenge to gain their trust.

"The new nurse, sir. From MedServ, Inc."

The door opened at a crack, restrained by a chain. An old face
appeared in the crack.

"You are late. Show your ID."

She got the plastic ID card from her purse and held it for the
man to see. It wasn't old, and she had taken pains to keep the
same hairstyle. She had heard the stories about patients not
letting the nurse enter the house after a visit to the hair
salon.

The door closed, then opened further.

"Next time, be on time," the main said.

"I'm Annette," she introduced herself, extending her hand. He
ignored it.

"I'm very sorry I was late. There was an accident on the freeway.
It won't happen again."

"No more accidents on the freeway?"

Annette startled. He hadn't struck her as someone to make jokes.
Then she looked at his eyes and realized he wasn't joking at all.

"No more tardiness, sir. I will make sure to be on time."

"Good. Take off your shoes, then get started."

                              * * *

The first few weeks passed by slowly. She called him Mr. Wilder,
he didn't call her anything. She realized he wasn't trying to be
rude, just more focused on himself and not interested in anyone
else. She took care of his medicines, checked his blood pressure,
made his bed, did the other little chores she was there to do. He
had a cleaning lady come in once a week for the heavier household
tasks but she helped him with the day-to-day work.

One day, while cleaning the breakfast table, she didn't realize
Mr. Wilder hadn't finished his coffee. The cup spilled all over
the front of her blouse when she picked it up.

"Shit!" she exclaimed.

Mr. Wilder looked up.

"Can't you even handle a cup of coffee?" he asked. She ignored
the question.

"I need to clean this before the stain sets," she told him. "Can
I please borrow an old shirt of yours? I'll iron it and bring it
back tomorrow."

He just nodded and went back to his crossword puzzle. Annette got
one of his shirts and went to the bathroom to inspect the damage.

"Oh shoot, it's all the way through the bra too," she sighed
after taking off the blouse. "Just my luck."

She took the bra off as well and started rinsing the clothes. The
coffee came off, but bra and blouse were soaking wet.

Annette shrugged as she put on Mr. Wilder's shirt. There wasn't
going to be another bra in the house, so she'd just have to do
without. Her breasts didn't really need any support and she often
went braless outside of work, but hadn't done that before on the
job.

The old man looked up when she came back in the living room.

"Time for your shots," she announced.

He stuck out his arm and looked up at her while she rolled up his
sleeve, but didn't say anything until the shots were done and she
was rolling down his sleeve again.

"Can you hand me my puzzle book please?" he asked. "It fell on
the floor."

She bent over and picked up the book.

"Thank you," he said.

He had never said "please" or "thank you" before. Annette
wondered about this sudden burst of civility.

The whole rest of the afternoon, Mr. Wilder was surprisingly
friendly. But the next day, when she returned his shirt, cleaned,
ironed and neatly folded, he was back to his old curmudgeonly
self.

On her way home, Annette kept wondering about the strange
behavior of the day before. Why had he been so friendly? What had
been different? She went over the whole afternoon in her mind.
Nothing had been out of the ordinary until she spilled the
coffee. What happened then?

She had taken her clothes to rinse, put on one of his shirts.
When she came back downstairs, it had been time for his shots.
Did he behave differently then? He had stretched out his arm, she
had bent over to clean the spot for the needle...

Would that be it? When she bent over, could he have had a peek at
her breasts? He might, she always left the top two buttons of a
shirt open.

Was that it?

                              * * *

The next day, Annette started an experiment. She got up an hour
early, showered and had breakfast. Then she carefully went
through her wardrobe, checking all the shirts and blouses,
looking for one that looked decent but wasn't. She finally
settled on a low-cut white blouse. Whenever she wore that to
work, she was careful to combine it with the right bra, because
it was so open. This time, she wouldn't wear anything underneath.

She tried it out in front of the mirror. As long as she stood up
straight, there was no problem. Her breasts were outlined but,
firm as they were, the lack of a bra was hardly noticeable. When
she bent over, however, the fabric of the blouse would fall away
and her whole chest would be visible. Just the thought of
exposing herself like that made her shiver.

Looking at her breast hanging there, she had second thoughts. She
was a professional nurse, after all, not some kind of bimbo. She
could deal with her patients, even the difficult ones. She could
accept the grumpy Mr. Wilder the way he was and just do her job.

Then again, what was there to lose? Sure, she could do her job,
but it would be so much easier if she could do it in a nice
atmosphere. After all, anyone could be in a hurry and forget to
put on a bra, can't they? It had actually happened to her, in
college. She hadn't worn anything revealing, though, and probably
nobody had noticed. Somebody would notice today.

"Oh, what the heck," she mumbled to herself. Straightening up,
she put the other clothes back in the closet, picked up her
purse, and went to work.

The day was an immediate success. Mr. Wilder looked at her when
she came to his door and his eyes seemed to completely penetrate
the fabric of her blouse. She knew he was looking for the outline
of a bra, and not finding any.

"Good morning, Nurse Meyers," he greeted her, then stepped aside
to let her in.

"Good morning, Mr. Wilder," she answered, and stepped inside.

The first time she bent over, she caught him glancing away.

The second time, she had to pick up a pen that had rolled from
his table. She wondered how that happened.

The third time, she dropped a fork when emptying the dishwasher.
She took her time bending over, but kept her eyes on Mr. Wilder.
He was looking at her chest and didn't notice her staring back.
Only when she straightened up again did their eyes meet.

"You did that on purpose," he said.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You're nicer this way."

For a second he was confused, then realized she was talking about
the lack of bra, not the dropped fork.

"Am I? I guess I am."

He thought it over for a moment.

"Am I that bad?" he asked.

"You're a curmudgeon."

"A cranky old man, eh? And now I'm not?"

"You're almost friendly now, saying please and thank you, and not
complaining."

"Oh."

Another few seconds, then he added, "I'm sorry. I know you're
just doing your job, and you're pretty good about it. God knows I
can tell, with all the different nurses I've had over the past
years.

"I shouldn't take out my misery on you. And I won't, anymore. You
won't have to dress like this for me to behave."

"Do you mind?"

"Mind? Hell, no. But I'll stop behaving like a spoiled child."

"Just tell me one thing," she asked. "Why does a peek at my tits
change you so much?"

His face saddened.

"I'm going on eighty," he said. "My wife died five years ago. We
had been married for almost fifty years, and I've never been with
another woman--not during our marriage, and not since. She grew
from young to middle aged to old, and she was the only woman I
would ever see naked.

"Don't misunderstand me, I'm not complaining. The reason I stayed
faithful to her all my life was, that I never believed anyone
else could measure up to her.

"But looking at a young woman's breast, it brings back memories.
Memories of passion, memories of desire, memories of a youth gone
by. It reminds me of all the good things we've had, the games we
played. My wife, she was a bit of an exhibitionist, you know.
Right up to the day she died."

"Ah," was all Annette could respond with, flustered as she was by
the revelation.

"And of course I'm a lecherous old goat who loves adoring a fresh
green leaf."

Annette couldn't help bursting out laughing.

From that day on, she took care selecting her clothes, sometimes
modest, sometimes revealing, always without a bra. Sometimes she
would take off her top halfway through the day and finish the
work topless. Mr. Wilder visibly enjoyed watching her. But he
kept his word and never complained again, whatever the clothes
were she wore.

When it came time for Annette to fill out the form for her
successor, she added one word to the comments.

Lecherous curmudgeon.

                          T H E   E N D

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If you enjoyed this story, please let me know. Constructive
criticism, serious comments etc. are also greatly appreciated. I
can be contacted by Email at altan498@gmail.com. Please use the
word "STORIES" in the subject line of your Email, since messages
not containing that word are automatically filtered as junk mail.

Please check out my Web site at:
    http://www.asstr.org/~altan/
for more of my work.

Altan