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Nurse Jones reveals her immaturity


All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.

From: [email protected]
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
Subject: Nurse Jones reveals her immaturity

From Nurse Jones,
Okay, I'm going to admit it, even to myself:

I'm a closet exhibitionist.

Talk about schizophrenic! (We are NOT!) Last week I was worried that I'm
weird, then I find out I'm an orgasm-counting horny southern transvestite
nurse according to some, and a ghoddess to others.

I can live with that.

And I swore I wouldn't be peeling away any more layers for the ASB regulars
until I was sure I wasn't weird.

And here I am, weird, and peeling anyway. I AM an exhibitionist, I guess.
But then it's just as safe here on ASB as it is at the fitness center.

When it's safe, I like to wear clothing that catches the eye. It's just
never been safe, and I never had the nerve. I have found a place, though.
What's that old saying about the safest place to hide a pebble is on the
beach? Or a leaf in the forest? I go to the fitness center with Jay when my
shift permits it, and I show off. I've got another thong leo, an unmodified
one I can wear in public.
There's one weird guy that's almost always there when we arrive, sitting
on one of the exercycles that look into the aerobics floor where all the
students are jiggling. He wears black socks and no shoes, and works up quite
a sweat on the old exercycle. He should pedal, though, it would look better.
I do the stair machine until he's, um, through, and then I take my shorts
off and do the Nautilus machines. I'm even being an exhibitionist telling
you this, but I'm feeling anonymous today, so here goes:
I wore sheer pantyhose rather than the usual opaque colored tights last
time, and I looked great. I exhibited.
I didn't look as good as when I was just back from San Fran, but pretty
good. I was a lot thinner back then; I had really good muscle definition in
my thighs, although I had dropped to a smaller cup (sorry, fellas, these
things happen. You can find all the pert and/or DD breasts you want on ASB
anyway).
I think exercise makes me gain weight. I get hungry from the workout,
I develop the eating habits of a farm animal, and every time I have to skip
a day of exercise I gain weight. Then I stop exercising altogether while I'm
traveling, and my appetite goes away and I eat less and less. There was some
flickering (near-flaming) discussion about the difficulty of being too thin
or too fat. I can sympathize with both sides. I feel SICK if I try to eat
enough to keep my weight up when I'm not hungry. But once I'm on a roll, I
eat and eat and eat and can't stop. Articles on diet talk a lot about "set
points" where your body wants to be, weightwise, but I don't think I have
one, and I'm almost never the weight I want to be. Usually, I'm just passing
through. Now I'm back up to my old weight (Cheers from the mammary gallery).
So anyway, I'm an exhibitionist. When Jay's around to protect me.
Actually, most of the people there are middle-aged conservatives or yuppie
type professionals, anyway. Except at 5 in the afternoon when the students
show up. No rough types go there, so I'm safe. Except for this guy with the
black socks. I'm modest and proper until he leaves, then off come the
shorts.

So if you think I'm being immodest,
you're right, but let us not forget:

Modesty is a shield from the eyes of the
unclean. And when the unclean are no
more, what is modesty but a fetter and a
burden?

The Prophet, by Kellogg Allbran

On the other hand, what is a prick tease? There's a serious question in
here somewhere. Where does healthy exhibitionism stop and prick teasing
begin?
Anyway, I like the idea that I'm being admired. So off come the shorts
and I give Juno some competition. Juno is not the real name of this woman
who's about six two, pretty good bod, who straps herself into the groin
machine or the pectoral machine and moans so loudly you can hear her over
the music. She louder then the guys on the free weights grunting and
bulging their capillaries. She is pretty imposing, and certainly attracts
attention. Jay says she can crush him to death any time she wants. Now
THERE'S a goddess. And an exhibitionist. She looks tough, and sounds it.
The guy at the desk describes her as a, um, dyke.
[Which raises a question. I've heard lesbians refer to themselves as
dykes and gays refer to themselves as faggots. And blacks refer to
themselves as niggers, which is something a white person doesn't do,
period, I don't care how familiar you think you are. Am I correct in
assuming this is also the case with lesbians? I've led a sheltered life,
and don't know the conventions. I don't care if this woman kick starts her
vibrator and rolls her own tampons, I would NOT refer to her as a dyke if I
were within arm's length, yet a few days ago I got e-mail from a very nice
person who referred to herself, um, that way, and I wondered. Well, I'm
from Indiana. This isn't something I've run into before. Advise please.]
Anyway, I decided to be immodest at the fitness center. I watch the
guys in the mirror, watching me watching them in the mirror. I do get a
thrill out of it, too.
I guess I changed a lot last summer. There's a lot to learn, outside
Indiana. And if ONE MORE PERSON tells me 'welcome to the real world,' well,
just hit the "N" button and relax. I'm allowed to be from Indiana.

"What I Learned on my Summer Vacation"
by

Nurse Jones,
who has discovered a new use for the weight bench in the garage,
who has discovered that exercise is an aphrodesiac,
and that despite what they say, oysters aren't.
(Maybe I put them on too soon... :)


 
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