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Nurse Jones on blushing
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Subject: Nurse Jones on blushing
From Nurse Jones,
Three things to report:
(1)
Jay and I did it (It) last weekend. I don't know if I can write about it
yet, but it worked. Anyway, I made him a woman, as planned. Dressed him up,
made him my slave for the evening, took him out after dark to a local park
for a stroll, and made him do nice things to me when we got back. I'll
write about it later, after I've had time to think. Details at six, as they
say.
I think he's going to let me off the hook now. I don't have to be a
top any more, but he still owes me a few weeks if I ever want to try topping
again. We never even came close to finishing Column Two.
(2)
In Which: Nurse Jones has a terrible week.
First I get a speeding ticket. I'm late for work, careening down the highway
with the rear view mirror adjusted so I have a better view of myself; I
half finish my makeup and there's this siren practically in the car with me
that sounds like some kind of life-threatening video game. My heart tries to
escape from my thoracic cavity while I put my mirror back up and there are
blue lights practically hovering over my rear bumper. Jesus. Idiot, idiot,
idiot.
I turn bright red when I'm embarrased. I mean like a tomato. And I
completely lose control of my mouth. So there I am with one eye done and
trying to hide the makeup that is spread around on the passenger seat.
"Sorry officer, was I speeding?" I bat my eyelash at him.
Distinctly not impressed, he explains my position to me.
"Jesus officer I didn't know there were that many miles IN an hour."
"There's no need for that kind of language, ma'm." Deadpan. "I'll need
your driver's licence and proof of insurance, please."
The word 'Jesus' is "that kind of language?" I cleverly deduce that
I've got a mutant fundamentalist in aviator glasses.
Oops. I change from red to purple.
Ahem. "Certainly officer," I quip.
$77.00, and half an hour late for work.
I need one of those bumper stickers that says I support my local state
trooper or someting. I have this theory that my car protects me from
tickets. It's an old Volkswagen beetle. Bond-o is the primary color and it
looks like it couldn't possibly break any limits at all, except possibly an
expiration limit. Maybe I need a new theory.
(3)
Then yesterday at the fitness center, I did it again. I always put on my
exercise outfit at work, under my uniform; if the nipple rings weren't
enough, being plucked clean Down There definitely would be terminally
embarrasing in the changing room.
So there Jay and I were, standing in the middle of this huge weight lifting
area, and Jay takes off his sweats, strips down to his t-shirt and shorts,
and I figure why not take off my uniform since I have my leo on underneath.
Well, okay, I admit I'm a bit of an exhibitionist, and I have acquired a
sort of taste for the thrill/embarrasment that goes with it. But I HAD my
leo on underneath, and honestly, you have to believe this, I was just
thinking about how I would look in the thong, not about the actual act of
taking off my clothing in the middle of a roomfull of men. This is a
violation of basic midwestern dogma, by the way, taking off your clothing in
a room full of men, even if you are fully dressed underneath.
Anyway, I drop the dress around my ankles and start unbuttoning my
blouse and over a few seconds the weights stop clanking and I notice the
room is very quiet. I can hear the disc jockey talking on the radio all of a
sudden. I look around. Again I turn tomato red. I shouldn't do this. They
didn't go totally silent BEFORE when I wore the thong, even with the sheer
pantyhose, which I was wearing again yesterday. Maybe they figured that this
time she would take it all off. Instead, this time, embarrasment got the
better of me. Tomato red again. Bend over, gather up uniform, try to look
totally cool and relaxed, like I turn this color all the time. It's really
embarrasing when everybody can tell you're really embarrased. And I thought
I was so cool.
So I get on one of the stair machnes (which Jay tells me I look really
good on; my bum does interesting things in a thong, he says, when I climb
stairs) and people are walking by nodding and smiling at me and I'm thinking
how friendly everybody is, and it could have been worse, and then I see
myself in the mirror and I'm still wearing my nurse's cap. I immediately
turned red, ran nonchalantly into the changing room, and did my deep
breathing exercises until I achieved a new level of unconsciousness, which I
badly needed.
I felt like my mother's cat, Caesar. He's sooo cool, he just walks
around the house looking like he owns the place. If you try to get him to do
anything, he just looks at you with this expression that says "Put it in
writing, and I'll get back to you." And then once he ran full speed into the
sliding glass door and knocked himself silly, so he looks around to see if
anyone was watching and then gets up and walks off sideways with this
dignified stagger: "I meant that, I meant that."
I may never go to the fitness center again. At least not until I've had
a chance to practice my exhibitionism in private. In the midwest, we
sometimes spend many years trying to achieve enlightenment through the
practice of deep personal embarrasment.
Nurse Jones,
somewhere on the eight fold path
my karma ran over my dogma.
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