The Candy-Striper Uniform

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tagFirst TimeThe Candy-Striper Uniform

"What are you doing in my old candy striper uniform?"
"Because, Mom, I took a volunteer job at the old folk's home to put in my community service hours for graduation. I figured that this uniform might help me get in character for the role."
"I don't understand why you couldn't parlay your love of theater into community hours."
"Because the vice-principal is an old battle axe who resents the fact that I'm eighteen and beautiful and she's fifty-something and frumpy. She rejected my form and recommended this quote 'so you get a serious appreciation that being young and beautiful does not last forever, but even the elderly can be beautiful in spirit' unquote. I had to do something to make it fun."
"You do know that nobody has worn that uniform in almost twenty years. Though I must admit that it is kind of cute. I was wearing that uniform the day that I met your father."
"I just feel better if I look cute."
"You don't look cute. You look hot. Did you take the hem up?"
"I guess that I'm just taller than you," Grace blushed. She hoped that her mother did not realize that she had just fibbed. Yes, Grace was taller than Libby, but she had taken the hem of the uniform skirt up two full inches, figuring that if you have great legs, why not show them off. Not that there was anything wrong with her mother's legs, but a young woman worried less about modesty now than over twenty-five years ago.
Libby frowned slightly. She was no fool. She knew exactly how much taller Grace was than her. Her daughter had blossomed from a gawky lanky adolescent into a gorgeous curvy heartbreaker with fabulous legs. She did not call Grace out on the lie. Libby's mom had been a prude, an attitude that had contributed to Libby being wild in her own youth. The telling of the story about having met Grace's Dad while wearing the candy striper uniform always left out the details as to how quickly it had been removed.
Thinking about that, Libby's frown turned into a grin as she recalled the conveniently located supply closet where Aaron had peeled the apron-like top away, undoing her buttons to bare her breasts, suckling them while his skilful hands had eased the striped garment to the floor. His lips had instantly found her erect aching nipples, but her cunt screamed at her wanting more. Grabbing Aaron's wrist, Libby had tugged his arm down, shoving his fingers right into her wetness, rotating them until they were coated with her abundant juices.
Libby had then raised his arm upward, but instead of offering it to his lips, she tasted herself off Aaron's flesh, groaning so loudly that it was a miracle that no one had heard. Her knees were quaking. Aaron later told her that he had felt an electric current run from her tongue through his fingers all the way through his body and out the tip of his throbbing cock.
She had known right away about the throbbing cock part, pressing her palm against its girth before extracting it from Aaron's scrubs. He had furiously fingered her clit while she stroked his hardness. They both came quickly, their climaxes muffled by their kiss. Libby had tasted her first semen that time, licking it off her own hand, but remained a virgin a while longer. A noise in the hallway had broken the spell, reminding them about the risk of discovery.
They had parted ways then, carefully spacing their departure from the supply closet. Libby had been deflowered later, in Aaron's bed, not the closet, though they returned to that tiny dark space almost every time they worked the same shifts. She was pretty sure that one of their last liaisons had led to Grace's conception. Aaron had left for Iraq before learning that Libby was pregnant. He never returned.
So Libby had fond memories of that candy striper uniform, but good reason to worry about what might happen in the supply closet. At least she had made sure that Grace was on a birth control pill.
Libby also had fond memories of Aaron, not just because of his contribution to her daughter's genes, or the best sex of her life, but because of how he had been the only person to ever call her "Libby the libidinous". She had remained horny all her life but had been discrete enough to never get a reputation as a slut, so none of her many lovers or even steady boyfriends had been as clever as Aaron when it came to teasing her. Or pleasing her, either. Everybody assumed that the reason she had never married, or even lived with a guy, was to protect Grace, or maybe a broken heart after Aaron's death. The reality was she was still searching for a guy who could fulfill her sexually the way that Aaron had.
Seeing Grace in her old uniform brought back "all the feels" as they said these days. It also made Libby want to steal the outfit back, see if it still fit, and try out whether sex in the uniform might bring back the old magic.
She wanted desperately to warn Grace about supply closets, but also did not want to give the little vixen any ideas. Grace was so hot that no doubt someone would try to educate her soon.
Grace took after her mother in more than just looks. She noticed the far away look in Libby's eyes. Grace had learned at a tender age that this meant Libby was thinking back to Aaron, the father Grace never knew except from pictures and stories.
She figured that was a good time to make her escape, still wearing the candy striper uniform.
When she arrived at the Old Folks Home, she expected that the fifty and frumpy volunteer co-ordinator might send her home to change, but the poor woman was so overwhelmed that she signed Grace in, gave her a name badge and pointed her towards the ambulatory ward with barely a glance.
Once there, Grace was similarly ignored by the ward nurse, who was busily counting out pills into individualized cups.
"Go find Justin, he'll do your orientation. Tell him I want you to start by entertaining Old Mr. Brown."
Justin turned out to be a short, fat, young man with blooms of acne adorning his round face. Grace figured that he would react to her provocative attire for sure, except he too was pre-occupied.
"Orientation?" he snorted, face nose deep in a pile of laundry. "Nurse Batshit must be joking. But Old Mr. Brown is in bed 404F across the hall. He needs help out of bed and you need to hold his arm so he doesn't stumble. Take him to the sun room and park him there. Then go clean up the vomit in 410 – you'll find a mop and bucket in the janitor's closet. Hopefully, you can leave old Mr. Brown with one or two of the other critters. They like to try to play cards, even though half of them can't remember the rules. You need to keep an ear open for the inevitable tossing of cards on the floor or the overturning of the table. Then we guide them back to their rooms. Helps if they stay in the sun room a while while we change bedding."
Grace hoped that she could send enough time with Old Mr. Brown that someone else would do the mopping up. Though she was curious – she had once over heard her Mom telling Aunty Mimi about how Libby had lost her virginity in a supply closet.
'Was that anything like the janitor's closet?' Grace wondered. The thought made her nipples tingle, something that had been happening a lot lately. They had been hard and aching all morning, ever since she had disinterred the candy striper outfit from the trunk in the attic. Putting on her sexiest bra – the red lacy push-up number she had secretly bought from the sleazy store in the mall – had kept them excited. Her pussy had moistened when she slipped into the outfit. Thinking about the janitor's closet made her thighs wet and her clit tingle. She wondered whether she could sneak off to the janitor's closet to jill one off, but first, she needed to attend to Old Mr. Brown.
Room 404 was a dreary institutional space crammed with six beds which was probably designed for four. Bed F was nearest the windows on her right – she pegged it as a prime spot, close to the sun, a view of nature, and furthest from the door.
As she rounded the curtain separating that space from the ward, she expected to see a feeble centenarian.
Old Mr. Brown was not feeble. He was sitting upright in the single arm chair by his bed, well dressed in a flannel shirt and the same sort of pants Grace's grandfather wore – 'old man pants' she always mentally labelled then – the sort that went up almost to the middle of his chest. That chest however was not shrunken like Grace would assume to be the case for the truly ancient. Old Mr. Brown also wore a shiny pair of wing tips, not institutional slippers.
He also did not look 100 years old, though Grace lacked any real reference, since Libby's father was a robust sixty-five year old. Old Mr. Brown had wispy white hair that exposed a lot of pink skin, unlike Grandpa's thick salt and pepper locks, so clearly, Old Mr. Brown was considerably older than seventy, but Grace was no slouch in math, and knew that thirty-five years was a big gap.
"Hi, I'm Grace," she flashed her brightest grin, "and you must be…"
She paused, the nickname 'Old Man Brown' frozen on the tip of her tongue.
He chuckled. "That's okay, I know they call me Old Man Brown."
Grace noted that his eyes were alert and travelled slowly up the length of her bare legs. She felt him check out her youthful bosom, glad of the enhancement provided by the underwire engineering, before his gaze settled just above the hem of the candy striper skirt. She felt a fresh surge of juices coating her inner thighs. She wondered whether she was near enough for him to smell her scent. This thought came as a surprise to Grace, who had not expected that she would react so strongly to a man not only old enough to be her grandfather, but older than her actual grandfather.
Without conscious thought, Grace stepped closer. When she realized what she had done, she blushed and tried to cover up the mixture of confusion and excitement.
"They call you Old Mister Brown, not 'Old Man'. What would you like ME to call you?"
He chuckled again, this time almost a cackle. His eyes shifted from Grace's loins to her chest. She knew her nipples must be prominent even through the layers of fabric, they ached so much.
"What I'd love is for you to call me Grandpa, since you look so much like the granddaughter I never had, but always wished I did. However, that might ruffle feathers around here – especially that creepy kid Justin. So how about we try calling me Ralph and see if Brunhilda or Matilda objects."
"Who are they?"
"I call the nurse Brunhilda because she's so bossy, and Matilda is what I call that frump out front."
'Okay, Ralph, let's try that. And you can call me…"
"Grace. I can read your name tag. I'm not blind you know."
Grace almost replied, 'I can tell', but caught the words before they left her tongue. In the process though, her jaw did open a bit, and her tongue flicked across her teeth. She noticed that Ralph watched that intently, and a shudder flowed through his ancient bones.
"Let's get you out to the sunroom and see what games we can find to play."
If she stayed busy with Ralph Brown, maybe she could avoid vomit patrol.
Grace bent forward to take Ralph's arm and steady him as he stood from the chair. He shook off the help, but Grace noticed that his eyes held steady as the fleshy valley of her tits was exposed to his gaze. His tongue wet his lips. A shiver ran down Grace's spine and exploded against the warmth of her belly.
If you had asked Grace when she raised the hem on the candy striper skirt what sort of guy she was doing it for, she would have pictured a man about Justin's age – a substitute for the father she had never met, at roughly the age he had been when Aaron had met Libby. Her sexual excitement in the presence of a guy older than her grandfather shocked and confused her. But Justin WAS creepy, whereas Ralph Brown seemed to be sweet and funny, and sexy in a strange way.
"This IS the ambulatory ward – that means we can walk. So, I thank you for making sure that I could stand on my own safely, but I am not that unsteady."
The edge in his voice sent another wave through Grace's core. This was a man used to being in command.
"I…ummm… do need that cane though." His hand slid past Grace's hip, close enough that she felt the warmth, to grasp the gnarled wood aid leaning against the edge of the mattress behind her. Another shiver ran through her young body. Instead of instinctively retreating from the touch, her hip leaned in, chasing more contact. Her chest thrust forward. She felt more liquid drench her loins. Her nipples were so hard they screamed for release.
Ralph Brown chuckled as his eyes frankly drank in the sight. He stood so close together that the heat wrapped around both of them as a unit.
"I think you better take my arm as we walk though, or Brunhilda might think I'm not doing a good job. I need a positive evaluation to graduate."
"You aren't out of high school yet? You look old enough."
Grace blushed. 'Old enough for what?' the little voice in her brain asked.
"I turned eighteen in April," is what she said. "Is that old enough?"
Ralph just chuckled in response. He slid his arm inside Grace's, his forearm brushing her flank and pressing firmly on the side of her boob as he grasped her arm just above the wrist. Again, Grace found her body leaning into the contact, her hip brushing against his. She also bounced on her toes, rubbing herself against his sleeve. The friction of the various layers of fabric tickled her flesh. Her entire inner being was vibrating in a way she had never experienced before.
As they walked down the hallway, Grace noticed Justin busy helping another resident. The young man stared openly at Grace walking along with her side tightly pressed against Ralph Brown. She knew that her nipples must be popping against the fabric. As she thrust her chest out further, Justin's reptilian tongue flicked across his lips. That made Grace uneasy, but Old Mr. Brown, perhaps sensing her discomfort, chimed in.
"She needs to hold tight so I don't fall," Ralph cackled.
Justin blushed.
As Grace paused, her gaze passed over the crotch of Ralph's pants. Despite his age, and the baggy cut of the trousers, there was an obvious woodie in Old Mr. Brown's pants. Grace giggled, thinking that Justin must have one too, so that, at least in the candy stripes, she had the power to excite men of all ages.
Grace grinned, pleased by her newfound power. She made sure that Justin was still watching as she stopped, swivelled lightly, hip still pressed against Ralph. Her nipple brushed Ralph's arm. She glanced at Justin, enjoying his obvious discomfort as she touched Ralph on the shoulder and said to Justin, "All the better to guide him to the sunroom."
As they turned the corner, Grace made sure that her butt wiggled slightly, teasing poor Justin. She loved the way that the short hem floated with that motion and wondered about whether her panties might be peeking out, or just teasingly close to appearing. With her lack of interest in Justin, she hoped that it was the latter, but also realized that having the panties peeking out was a power move she might use on future occasions with men she found appealing. Then she realized that the image in her brain had switched from panties peeking out to her bare bottom teasing men's eyes. That thought brought new warmth to her chest, and a fresh smile to her lips. She grasped Ralph's arm tightly, giving it a playful squeeze. He squeezed back.
Grace playfully nudged her hip against Ralph, being cautious not to knock him off balance. He chuckled softly and bumped her a bit harder.
"I'm not made out of glass you know."
'I'd like to know what you ARE made of," the inner voice suggested that Grace reply. Instead she said "We don't want to upset Brunhilda, and that Justin seems like a little narc."
Ralph chuckled a bit louder. "As if you've ever been naughty enough to worry about being narced."
"How do you know what sort of naughty girl hides behind this masquerade? After all, I was conceived in a supply closet, just like that one over there."
"And you think it runs in the family?"
"Or maybe it runs with the candy stripes. They might be magic or something."
"Only one way to know for sure."
Grace stopped right there in the hallway, arm still linked with Ralph's. The heat of his bicep still warmed her flesh as she looked around nervously. The only souls in the hall were a nurse, not Brunhilda, scurrying in the opposite direction, an elderly lady in a wheelchair, whose eyes danced vacantly around from ceiling to floor, and a matronly mom type with arms full of packages, no doubt on her way to visit a parent or grandparent. That woman ducked into a room just as Grace struggled with having her bluff called. She had only intended to flirt with Old Mr. Brown, but something about Ralph made her want to be naughty for real. Or maybe it was just the magic of the candy stripes.
Grace glanced up, down and around the hallway. For some reason, she even looked up at the ceiling. That made her giggle, and look down at the floor, which meant she saw visual confirmation that she had not just imagined that Old Mr. Brown – Ralph – had a throbbing erection in his pants.
She nodded quickly to herself, her upper teeth briefly chewing her lower lip, the same way that she did just before launching herself into a test or trying a new move in gymnastics class.
"Only one way," she said mostly to herself, though she knew that Ralph heard her by the way he chuckled softly.
Grace steered him swiftly across the hall to the closed door, uncertain what she would do if it was locked. That concern however, did a good job of distracting her from the rest of the fears that she might have encountered. Once her hand closed around the knob and it twisted freely, Grace let out a big sigh. Her sense of relief gave way to excitement, not fear. She loved the idea that she was perhaps entering the same room where her mother had been deflowered, and where she had been conceived.
The door opened effortlessly and silently. One last glance confirmed that the hallway remained empty. Grace figured that the feelings rushing through her mind and body must be a lot like those Libby had felt back in the day, except Libby had snuck off with Aaron, a young man about her own age. Grace was with Ralph, a senior citizen old enough to be her grandfather, and a patient whose care she had been assigned to. She realized that the taboo added to her excitement.
Grace did not have long to think about this, though. As soon as the door shut, without even turning on the light in the tiny, cramped room, Ralph shocked her by swivelling quickly, slamming her back up against a wall. She gasped. All the times she had dreamt about the fabled encounter between Aaron and Libby, she had pictured something sweet and slow, not sudden and violent.
"Don't fret, I won't hurt you," Ralph breathed into her ear, "and you don't need to do anything that you don't want to do. It's just that I can smell how much you want it, and it's a long time since I've had a sweet young thing like you."
"Really?" Grace giggled, partially to cover her nervousness, but mostly from excitement. "I imagined that all the volunteers fell for your charm – and your big fat, hard cock."
Grace was quickly becoming friendly with that organ. Without conscious direction, her hand had slid between their bodies and cupped Ralph's hardness a split second after her spine had hit the wall. She did not have much to compare it to, but the manhood throbbing against her palm, straining against Ralph's zipper, seemed enormous.
"Take it out and stroke it," Ralph commanded with authority totally unlike the feeble senior Grace had expected to encounter at the home. None of the young men, barely more than boys, who had awkwardly kissed Grace, had ever been that bold.

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