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Nurse Jones: The morning after
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From: [email protected]
Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
Subject: Nurse Jones: The Morning After
>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 beore 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 ou 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...?
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