From: [email protected]
Subject: Nurse Jones: The Morning After
Date: 13 Feb 93 05:33:16 GMT
From Nurse Jones,
[If you read my last post about our evening on the porch in the rain,
then you will recognize this as the sequel. Or epilog? Aftermath,
maybe.]
After standing out in the rain for a while we went in and took a
shower together and Neets looked depressed again, so after a brief
consultation with Jay (actually a lot of fierce whispering during
which I threatened to wear my flannel nightie for a month if he didn't
let them come in) I went and took her and Tom by the hand and dragged
them out of the guest bedroom and into our room. Our bed is enormous;
but even so, four is a tight squeeze.
I announced there would be no hanky panky, turned out the lights, and
got in between Jay and Neets.
Which is where I belong.
Jay says I should tell you about my weird sleeping habits. Well,
really, I'm not *that* weird. So big deal, I wear sox. That's not so
weird, is it?
I mean, *except* for the sox I sleep as nature intended, pretty much.
Who am I kidding. I don't do *anything* as nature intended. What I
mean is, it's not like I don't have a choice. I do actually *own*
things I could wear in bed if I wanted to. Pyjamas. Stuff like that. I
have them somewhere. In a box or something. And of course I always
keep my flannel nightie nearby. In case of fire.
Anyway, what's so weird about sox? Okay, so they're too big for me and
kind of sloppy and fall down around my ankles and Jay says I look
ridiculous walking around in them with the toes trailing behind me. I
suppose by themselves with nothing else they do look a little funny,
but I have cold feet. There's nothing funny about that. Especially
considering where I put them sometimes. And I'd hate to tell you what
*he* thinks I should sleep in, the pervert.
Besides, he knew *all* about this when we got married. I mean really,
it's not like we never had premarital sox.
Ba-dump.
Sorry, sorry.
It just slipped out.
-*-
So anyway, that morning I woke up for the first time in a bed with
four people in it.
Actually I didn't just wake up. I woke everybody up when I screeched.
A little quiet pre-dawn horsing around was going on under the covers
and I started giggling and Jay geesed me and I screeched and started
laughing so hard Neets shushed me but Tom woke up anyway and said,
"Jesus, what was that?" and Neets says, "That's just Margaret. She's
feeling hysterical again," and I said, "I am not, he's feeling mine,"
and Neets started laughing too, and Tom put his head under his pillow
and said, "Oh God, she's still doing it." So I tickled Neets and she
erupted and took half the covers with her and Jay up and takes charge
and says, "Awright, no tickling. You remember what happened the last
time."
That's another story. But I can tell you, a roto-tiller is nothing to
fool around with. At least we fixed the screen door, but the
flagstones on the patio will never look right and the chocolate ice
cream stain is *still* on the ceiling. Neets is beginning to relax
around small engines again, though.
As I say, that's another story. Tom *is* unusually ticklish, though.
Well, it wasn't *my* fault...
I love gardening.
So anyway. Back to bed. We all settled down for a few seconds and then
Neets starts tickling Tom. She's so juvenile. You can't take her
anywhere.
Jay finally has enough: "That does it. Everybody out!"
So Neets and Tom look at each other with raised eyebrows and head for
the other bedroom. I got up, too, but he grabbed my ankle and said,
"Not you."
Oh, he's so masterful.
Actually, he um, knocked my sox off. Well, technically he made me
*take* them off. I guess that's a fair request since *I've* never let
anyone make love to me with their socks on. Well, for me that's a
point of pride -- what with being from Indiana and all. One has to
keep the standards up, you know.
And I apologize in advance if anyone *else* out there is from Indiana,
but really: some of those people think of their tool belt as a
secondary sexual characteristic.
Anyway, that's the story on my sox. Ever since my bunny feet
disintegrated, Jay has called the sox my Freudian slippers. I agree:
definitely the lowest form, but what can you do. He's a man.
Anyway there we were, making love while Tom and Neets rattled around
the kitchen.
You know, it's funny about orgasms. Jay can time his. He says he waits
until I've had my first two (insofar as these things can be separated
enough to be counted. Maybe I should call them episodes rather than
orgasms. Anyway, I have to rest in between...) and then he times
himself to come with my next one. He says that I give some pretty
clear indications as to when that is happening, so I make it pretty
easy for him to do that. He just holds back until the time comes. He's
pretty good at that. I asked him how he does it, and he says he just
holds back. He says it takes a lot of concentration to relax just
enough to put on the brakes.
Incidentally, this is something that puzzles me, the delaying/stopping
of orgasms. Jay says there is no way on earth he could stop an orgasm
by force. By controlling it with strength, that is. There's no way to
"clamp down" and stop it. Trying that would just make it happen
faster, he says. Relaxation is the only way.
He's the only male I've ever discussed this sort of thing with, so I
don't have a big sample. Is this true of all men? I have to kind of
turn my back and let them sneak up on me. I can't force one to happen
by trying, but Jay says he can. Not out of the blue, you understand,
but he says he could come very very quickly if he let himself.
Sorry to digress, but that morning with Jay while Neets and Tom
were... fixing breakfast (?) just reminded me of this. The point is
that I have a trick that I can do too, that kind of knocks his sox off
now and then. Sometimes while he's concentrating so hard on not having
an orgasm I just decide to *make* him have one. I can clamp down and
squeeze and almost, well, pull it out of him. That's not really what
happens, but it's something like that and if I time it right he can't
stop me from pushing him over the edge, even when he has the brakes
on.
It gives me a real sense of power when he knows I am tampering with
his brakes and he still can't stop. The wonderful thing about that
particular morning was that I sort of concealed my own orgasm from him
until the last minute and then did my trick *while* I was climaxing.
It was one of those orgasms you remember for a long time. Mostly they
run together, but this was one of those that made an impression.
At least we managed to end up with the wet spot on *his* side for a
change.
Oop. Jay is always admonishing me to be more precise in my use of
language. Let's say the dry spot was on *my* side for a change.
It was a weird morning. I mean, the four of us have never had group
sex or anything gross like that, but we have a pretty close
relationship and Neets and I have kind of fooled around in front of
Tom and Jay a little bit (okay, maybe more than a little bit), but
that's as far as it ever went. It's not like we are perverts or
anything. Anyway, group sex is right out: I've calculated that we
would need some more organs, anyway. And we have far to many elbows...
It's just that I had never had sex with Jay with anyone else in the
same house before and I thought it would bother me, but it didn't. I
didn't even try to be quiet about it.
Once my breathing had returned to normal I realized we weren't the
only noisy ones. We could hear Neets and Tom giggling and shushing
each other out in the kitchen. They imagined they were being quiet.
When Jay and I finally emerged from our shower, the coffee was ready
and they were already scraping the burned bits off the toast. I asked
if there was any butter and they collapsed laughing on the floor and
pointing at me like I was Rodney Dangerfield or something.
I was afraid to ask. God only knows what they had been doing.
Neets turns on the tube and we sit there like squeaky clean freshly-
showered red-faced zombies (I go all flushed and red after) waiting
for the coffee to take effect while we watch an even more red- faced
televangelist on channel 27 in between the ads for an exercise video
called "Buns of Steel."
He's pacing up and down in a $400 suit and fiberglass-reinforced hair
telling us about the dangers of fornication and alcohol and drug abuse
and how it leads to moral decay and the collapse of family values and
disease and corruption and generally sinful behaviour. He got down on
his knees right there in our kitchen and begged the four of us to re-
examine our values and take a good close look at where we are going
and what we are doing with our lives.
I'm telling you, there's nothing like a Sunday-morning lecture on good
old-fashioned christian values to make you sit back and reevaluate
your life -- to make you want to get right up and do something to
change your ways.
Giving up television would be a really big step for me. Maybe we can
get a TV with a remote.
Jay finally took charge and got up and changed the channel to
something for a more mature audience...
"Gilligan! Drop that cocoanut and come down from there!"
(Bonk!)
"Ow!"
Oh, he's so masterful... (Jay, not Gilligan).
I want you to know, if it had been Jimmy Swaggart I would have made
Jay change the channel back. Now that's *real* entertainment.
Nurse (save me a dry spot) Jones,
wondering if
televangelists
do more than
lay people...?
On to the next posting
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