Miss X, Happy Days & Literay ramblings

by Anon 2011

I’ve now had 4 sessions with Miss X and although I’m not in love with her, feelings of lust and infatuation just about sum up my feelings for her; but let me take you back to the beginning.

It was early April when my need for a chiropractor became real and urgent. Miss X came highly recommended by a neighbour, a kindly 75 year old gentleman with a permanent smile and ready quip. He still sees Miss X when the need takes him and I now understand why he wears the look of satisfaction on his face.

I first met Miss X in dire need of relief, virtually crawling into her lair on all fours. After taking my history she asked whether I wore underwear – boxers, Y-fronts, thong? Where’s this going I asked myself but then she explained that she once had a client who, when asked to strip down to his socks, stood before her buck naked. Since then she always ensures that she’s prepared for “commando” types by having ready to hand some flimsy paper theatre type briefs.

I stood before her in my M&S underwear and socks awaiting relief. I was summoned to lie prone on her vertical couch which she then lowered to the horizontal. Armed with a large vat of cream she proceeded to anoint my back and, with deft strokes of slender but strong hands, brought comfort to knotted muscles. The best was yet to come – I was manoeuvred into a position last seen in my youth in the pages of the Kama Sutra. With my right knee firmly adjacent to her groin, I was eased into the optimal position. She then proceeded to join me on the couch, her right breast in my face, arms looping over my back she clutched my left hip. The proximity of an attractive stranger was breathtaking and, whilst my mind raced, she tugged gently at my hip. The vertebrae from sacrum to neck clicked like falling dominoes. I was transported to another place not dissimilar to post orgasmic bliss. Who was this creature whose body was entwined with mine? In my mind we were mating mambas and I was hers completely.

My second and third sessions didn’t disappoint and I was firmly under her spell. And so to my recent fourth visit which I’ll describe in the next instalment…

Wednesday 26 April, my fourth visit to the delectable Miss X. I was by this time much improved and, in boxer shorts and striped socks, proudly stood erect before her. She wore shorts and tight fitting T shirt that day and I approved, eager for what was to come. Much the same as before, we adopted the mating position of strange, out of this world creatures. Again, I was not of this earth as my excitement grew and relief was palpable and immediate.

We talked throughout the process as we’d done from day one. I learned early on in our relationship that she came from Bournemouth but moved to Chester with her partner. She always talked of her partner, although never by name and I pushed green eyed monster thoughts from my mind, determined to enjoy what I had.

After disengaging from our embrace, I was encouraged to engage in daily exercises which she demonstrated with practiced ease. It was only after she said that I was a star pupil and had responded well to treatment that she again referred to her partner, saying “I don’t think I need to see you again on a regular basis, my wife might get jealous!” Mentally, I did a double take on those last words – did she say “wife”? Yes, she did say “wife”. Not that I cared about her preferences – she’s a wonderful woman who relieved my suffering. I thought again – maybe bi-sexual? That’s fine; I once had a relationship with a woman who desperately wanted to have sex with a youthful Madonna. but then, didn’t we all?

So, the question to myself is, why do we become so attached to total strangers in such circumstances? Why do patients become besotted with their nurses/doctors/miscellaneous relievers of pain and distress?

I think back to my eighteenth year. It was a wonderfully hot summer day and I was involved with a woman – girl really – of 16 called Aileen. I didn’t know it at the time but she was the image of Lesley Anne Down, a young actress popular on TV in the early-mid 70s. She was a beauty and I was the envy of my peers. Aileen thought we were engaged and I just went along with that thought because she was happy to do whatever I wanted. She was a lovely obliging person and I was a selfish youth with far too many hormones circulating. It was a Bank Holiday, I think. Aileen wanted us to “do something” together so I took her to Nottingham to watch England play Australia in a Test Match. During the course of the afternoon I became ill with severe abdominal pains, so much so that I had to leave my beloved cricket and return home. Following a cursory examination by my GP I was dispatched to the local hospital. There followed a more thorough examination including a rectal examination – this was a first for me and naïve as I was, I didn’t at the time believe the ageing medic who assured me that this was an essential part of diagnosing my complaint. Following the examination he concluded that my appendix had to be removed post haste.

The next step was “the dry shave” – at that time it was a knee to nipple job and would be “performed by a male nurse, shortly”. I awaited the shave, thankful that it was not to be done by a female. I was in no mood to cope with embarrassment on top of possible “excitement” whilst writhing in agony. The curtains parted and before me stood the most beautiful specimen of womanhood, clad in starched uniform and hat. She was very young and perfectly formed. She explained that her colleague was detained elsewhere so she would do the necessary. I don’t remember her name but I knew I was in love again. She was a cadet nurse apparently. I thought that meant she was something to do with the military and I wondered what she was doing in my local DGH, but didn’t like to ask. I was more concerned with her seeing my youthful equipment. As though reading my thoughts she explained that she was equipped not only with razor but also a bag of ice, apparently an essential piece of kit when dealing with young men’s “bits”. The procedure was performed with no embarrassment on her part and I fought with mine so all was well. I was instructed to hold my member so that she could safely negotiate the tricky bits. My cadet was on duty the following evening and I was now in “post op” recovery. Miss Cadet seemed as pleased to see me as I was to see her and she attended to my every need throughout the evening and sat on my bed chatting for much of the night. Came the time when I needed pain relief, she expertly guided a syringe with analgesia into my right buttock. My love for her grew as did my excitement and, on my discharge one week later, we arranged to meet socially. By a strange twist of fate,  Aileen was admitted to the same hospital with appendicitis on the day of my discharge. She didn’t know that after I visited her bedside, I went on to see Miss Cadet – what a sod! So there it is again – patient falling for one who administers relief. It was not to last though. After a couple of dates the allure had faded and I went back to Aileen in good time to drive her home on discharge from hospital. We resumed where we’d left off until some time later she ditched me for a Portuguese barman and promptly contracted gonorrhoea. I also moved on and began a liaison with her equally attractive sister, Elaine. In fact Elaine was much more fun – unlike her sister, she had no desire to become engaged to marry me – she was already married. Happy days..

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