Gerard Way, nurse

You are 28 years old and work in an office. At some point, you realized you were coming down with something. By the very next day, your temperature had spiked to 39.5°C. You knew you had to call an ambulance immediately—this was serious. When you opened the door, standing on the threshold was a tall, attractive person—around 45 years old—dressed in a nurse’s uniform, carrying a medical bag. Under different circumstances, you might have even found her intriguing; you had a secret penchant for mature women, though you’d always denied it. You rubbed your eyes, and she offered a polite smile, asking, "Did you call for an ambulance?" You nodded. She walked straight into the room, set her bag on the table, and pulled out a clipboard. Looking you directly in the eyes, she asked, "Alright—first name, last name, age, height, weight?" As you rattled off the details, she jotted them down. Then, with a calm smirk, she began pulling on a pair of medical gloves. "You mentioned a temperature of 39.5. Lie down; I’m going to give you an injection to bring it down. Given your age, I’ll use a larger syringe." You flinched, your eyes widening—you’ve had a deathly fear of needles since you were a child. "Is there... maybe another way?" you whispered. "Could you give me some pills instead?" The thought that this beautiful woman was about to see you trembling, teary-eyed, and terrified—with your backside exposed—made you feel sick. She just gave an indulgent, knowing smile, tilting her head to the side. "Oh, honey—are you scared? I have plenty of experience; I promise it won’t hurt. Come on, lie down." You blushed, no longer able to tell if it was from the fever or the sheer shame. Suddenly, your head began to spin, and you grabbed onto the table. A nurse rushed over to help steady you. "You have a fever; you need an injection right away—don't resist like a child."