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Nurse Jones on strip chess
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From: [email protected]
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
Subject: Nurse Jones on strip chess
From Nurse Jones,
This is ONE top that has trouble staying there. I got destroyed at
strip chess this weekend.
SURELY you techno-types have heard of this one. In fact, I think Jay
got the idea from lurking on ASB. I know how to play chess (the basic
rules) but never had much interest in it. I guess there wasn't much status
attached to the chess club when I was in high school. Real Men didn't play
chess in Indiana, and most of my friends only wanted to be seen with Real
Men. And I was susceptible to peer pressure. Boy was I stupid then. There
was this kid who sat behind me in homeroom who was soooo cute, and, well,
I was soooo stupid. I should have tried harder. I did try once and thought
I had been rejected, but as I look back I can see he was just shy. I know
now I could have asked him to teach me chess, or showed him my water
collection or something, and gotten through to him. Instead I went through
a succession of Bubbaheads, used 'em like kleenex and STILL didn't lose my
virginity until after high school.
Anyway, Jay was in his high school chess club. He could easily have
been that kid, in fact, and I ended up with him instead of Jed Clampett, so
I guess I had a moment in there when I wasn't completely stupid. Youth is
wasted on the young.
Nature just makes them beautiful so they can be tolerated until they
acquire some sense.
The POINT is, I found out this weekend that Jay plays chess a lot
better than I do, especially strip chess. In which you get to secretly write
on the bottom of each back-row piece what article of your own clothing is
assigned to it, and a half a shot of vodka in the beverage of your choice is
assigned to each pawn. Jay is bigger, so he used bigger shots, which is
only fair. My game deteriorated pretty quickly anyway. My strategy was to
sacrifice my clothes to go for his pawns in the hope I could get him drunk,
but I ended up drunk and nekkid anyway. Well, 3.5 shots worth and wearing
only two articles of clothing, and not the right two at that. He could have
won pretty early on, I think, but he decided to pick me to pieces.
Actually, most of the fun was in selecting eight pieces of clothing
that would make the game interesting. I wore a black velvet neck ribbon
with a little cameo on it instead of a bra. Jay got it for me, and I almost
never get a chance to wear it. It's a bit kinky/sleazy for the Deep South.
Despite the fact that I was dressed to kill, I ended up looking ridiculous,
wearing a blouse and one shoe.
Maybe you should be allowed to choose what you take off. Or I wonder
what it would be like if you knew what clothing went with which chess piece
for your opponent, but not for your own? Winner gets to be on top, BTW.
Anyway, it gives new meaning to the word "mate."
The colder weather is here now. Fires in the fireplace are so nice, and
Jay is out doing manly things with a chain saw in the woods while I sit here
typing and eating popcorn, to which I am totally addicted. I think I'll
surprise him when he gets back. Jump him from behind. I am a master of the
marital arts. That's marITal, not marTIal, Mr. Moon Knight. I have a black
belt in haiku-do. Ah So.
When the chain saw stops,
Nurse Jones puts on lace panties.
She has a screw loose.
WHICH REMINDS ME! Someone, who shall remain nameless because I forgot
who it was, said I was a horny southern nurse, or words to that effect.
(OWTTE). I resent that! I am NOT southern. Not even close. And BTW, I'm
not even that horny, even if I AM going to surprise him when he gets back.
We've settled down to a perfectly normal sex life since we did all that
weird stuff last Spring, thankyou very much. By normal I _don't_ mean we do
"it" in quite the positions, or with exactly the appliances that Miss
Manners would approve of. I mean we do it a normal number of times per week
(no, not per day, per week, Cynth. I caught that remark about me being an
orgasm-counter. You're absolutely right, I do count. I count Jay's whenever
it's more than one, which is very rarely, but I usually lose track of my
own, just because they're hard to separate). So I'm a certifiable pubic
accountant. Sue me. I won't even go for my matchbook on that one.
AND ANOTHER THING, while I'm at it. Someone said they once thought I
was a female impersonator. You're absolutely right! I've never told
anyone! How did you know!? I've been one since birth. Please don't tell
Jay! I don't think he's ready for it.
There was a radio program on the "Touring Test" (SP?) this morning
that reminded me of that remark. Apparently there is a prize if you can
write a program that will fool enough real people into thinking there is a
real person talking through the computer. It's named after some computer
guy you are probably all familiar with anyway, so why am I telling you
this. What I'm getting at is that as far as you all know, I could be a
computer program. I might not actually BE me. I could be Someone Else. I
really COULD be a female impersonator.
Isn't that a little bit like the question of the authorship of the
Iliad? It was either Homer, or someone else with the same name.... (?)
Actually, I'm a scratch 'n burp redneck from south Alabama an' I jus' been
funnin' yawl. Ptooie.
Ah'll jes' put mah thumbs unner mah suspenners, rock back on mah heels, an'
have a good ol' laff at yawl. Haw, Haw. Ptooie.
Crash.
Ah guess ah shuddin wear mah heels when ah'm laffin'.
Nurse Jones,
Ptooie.
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