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“Secret Sex, A Book Alive Online,” written and lived by John Scott G.
Chapter 2: Open Wide and Say Ahhh.
Sex is fun, recovery is not. Unless your doctor orders you to get lots of bed rest and gives you a big wink while saying it. Which didn’t happen to me, but I’m just saying.
For much of the time I was in the hospital, several relatives described my situation as “being under the weather.” A bit of an underestimation, I’d say, although it kind of balanced out those who said “The kid’s had it.”
Being involved with hospitals as a child often means never wanting to return to them as an adult. Even now, as what we call “a grown man,” the memories have left me feeling uneasy about dealing with healthcare professionals. Other kids dressed up as monsters and ghouls for Halloween; if I wanted to be truly scary, I dressed as a nurse. Wait, I meant doctor. Well, there was that one time that a nurse made me put on some of her clothes.
We’re getting off-topic here. The point is that the sight of people in the healthcare industry just gives me the willies. Someone in a hospital uniform makes my stomach tighten up and my throat turn into a forgotten patch of the Serengeti Desert.
Unless… Well, there have been exceptions. At my middle school, the nurse dressed in street clothes. Often rather stylish clothes, which was great because she was very attractive. This meant that the phrase “going to the nurse’s office” took on a whole new meaning for several of us guys.
Name Game
We started out calling this activity “extracurricular health class participation” but the acronym EHCP was awkward. “Ehk-puh” just didn’t have the right ring to it. There were a bunch of other suggestions. One of my friend Josh’s favorites was “nurse care fun play visit” but NCFPV (“nick-fup-vuh”) just didn’t seem to work. So we tried a few more ideas. UNT: unneeded nurse trip. FANT: fake a nurse trip. PEWHP: playaround excitement with healthcare professional. (That was a great one but “pee-whip” created some confusion when others were eavesdropping.) Then there was DOC: demonstration of care. And FUNT: fake unneeded nurse trip. We finally ended up with NOPE: nurse’s office play encounter.
The name was only important when we were talking in a location where we might be overheard by the teachers. Or hall monitors. Or non-hip students, most girls, and all of the religiosity-freaks. Otherwise, we could just speak freely. (BTW, they weren’t called religiosity-freaks back then; they were Godknobs. Go figure.)
Faking It
Our first order of business was to come up with symptoms that would get us sent to the nurse’s office. That part is actually easy the first time, but you have to be careful not to overdo it or your mom gets a phone call from the Boy’s Vice Principal. Plus, the plan had to change a bit after one or two visits. Meanwhile, we began plotting out the best symptoms to fake. “Best” meaning those that would result in the most physical involvement with the nurse.
“She felt my wrist,” one said guy about his visit. “She put her hand on my forehead,” said another. “She made me unbutton my shirt,” said a third, and so on. It was my turn. “What did she do to you?”
Well. I didn’t have the heart to tell them but let me tell you.
My Visit to the Nurse’s Office
By casually mentioning some of the symptoms and situations encountered with my childhood bout with that very weird disease, I could get sent to the nurse’s office quite a lot. If this sounds like a method for legally skipping class, it was. But it also turned out to be very educational. For example, until my sessions with the nurse, there was virtually nothing I knew about lingerie.
Are you aware of how many kinds of panties there are? Briefs, bikinis, thongs and hipsters. String bikinis, string thongs, double string bikinis, double string thongs. Side-tie thongs, side-tie bikinis, triangle string thongs. With contrasting color insets or lining or both or none. Opaque or sheer. And we’re not talking fabric types yet. There’s cotton, Lycra, marl, microfiber, spandex. Panne, pique, polyamide, polyester, Embroidered, scallop, eyelet, jacquard. Well sure, some those probably hadn’t been invented yet. And some may not even be fabric, but you get the point.
Without exaggerating, I believe I saw every single one of those styles, some in several different colors. For a middle school boy, this is not a complaint, as you can well imagine. The education could have gone on and on. In fact, that semester seemed very brief. Pun intended.
The nurse (let’s not use names but her initials were Nancy Johnston) was a bit of a show-off once she determined there was nothing wrong with me other than raging hormones. “Do you like the way this skirt looks?” she would ask me just after taking my pulse. “Yes, Nurse Nancy,” I would reply. Which was not the name she wanted to be called. Which meant I needed to be punished.
“That’s not how Mistress Chantal is to be addressed,” she said with a kind of half-smirk on her face. “Take off your shirt.” I did so. “Stand up while I get your pants off.” I did so. “Open wide and say ahhh.” I did so.
She put a tongue depressor in my mouth, stepped back to assess her victim, and then went to work. She moved slowly, sensually, in an undulation that I later learned could be called bump-and-grind. “Do you like how this skirt slides up my legs?” I nodded. “Answer me.”
“Yeff, Miffstrff Chantle,” I said.
“Hmm, we can do better than that.” She removed the tongue depressor. “Keep your mouth open.” I did so. She reached over and took a lollipop from a glass bowl on the desk, peeled off the cellophane wrapper, and put it in my mouth. Then she began a more interesting act of peeling.
She continued swaying her body in front of me, but was tantalizingly just out of reach. Not that I knew exactly what to touch if she had been closer. Or how to touch her. Should I be fast, slow, firm, gentle? Maybe a combination would be best, but in what order? Quite frankly, I was hoping for some instruction.
Very slowly, she unbuttoned her blouse. (Inner monologue of 14-year-old boy: She! Unbuttoned! Her! Blouse!) Leaving the top on but deliciously open, she kept gently swinging her body as if dancing to music only she could hear. She stepped forward and lightly brushed her hands across my neck, ears, head, and face.
“Um. . . .”
“Not yet,” she said, smiling. She took a step back and ran her fingers through her hair. Then she took off her top. (She! Took! Off! Her! Top!) Never has a woman had a more fascinated audience for such a performance.
Once again, she played with her hair, then brought her hands down by sliding them over her body from the nape of her neck to her hips, then moved them around behind her waist. Seconds later came the unmistakable sound of a zipper. She turned to the side and slowly wiggled out of her skirt, which she let slide down her legs. The fabric made a soft whrrrr against her stockings. (Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!)
Keeping her left leg straight, she stepped out of the skirt with her right leg and then transferred her weight to it so she could kick her skirt up in the air with her left foot. It was at that moment that I began to appreciate the design of certain styles of women’s shoes.
Are you aware of how many kinds of high heels there are? Pumps, platforms, peep toes, boots, ankle straps, stilettos, wedges, t-straps, slingbacks. . .This list could continue for quite some time.
What? Oh, right. Nurse Nancy. Oops, wrong name. Mistress Chantal. Man, things are just a bit too distracting at the moment.
So okay: Skirt, off. Blouse, off. But she kept on her bra and panties. “Next time, perhaps you’ll be a good boy and you will be rewarded.” Somehow, she just knew there would be a next time. And thanks to my health records and wildly unfulfilled desires, she was right.
• To read the next chapter or pick up where you left off, visit the main index at: https://enewschannels.com/tag/secret-sex/ — or visit the Table of Contents for “Secret Sex” at: http://johnscottg.com/secret_CHAPTERS.htm
“Secret Sex, A Book Alive Online,” written and lived by John Scott G, is Copr. © 2011 by JSG, all rights reserved under U.S. and international copyright conventions. Commercial use in any form is forbidden without express written permission of the author. Originally published on eNewsChannels.com with permission. Credits: Cover art by Phil Hatten. Author Photos by Meredith Day, Phil Hatten, JSG, Nicholas G, Art Sayecki, and Brian Forest.
