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Hippocratic Heat

Hippocratic Heat
       
     Rosie’s moonlight job at a public mental health clinic finds her on the verge of needing treatment herself. Her patient drives her into sexual insanity.        
She says, “This is your third visit to me this month. We should give you a cot and let you live here.”              
     “I am desperate. No woman will have me.”              
     “The Zoloft makes it difficult for you to achieve orgasm. We’ve tried you on Prozac and Paxil the same problem. I am wits end with you. Let’s cover all the bases. When was the last time you had a prostate exam?”                 
     Her patient says, “Well my you are a pretty young girl. I’d love to have you give me one.”                 
     “Oh, you’re just pushover for sexy young things like me.”                 
     He observes, “Are you married?”                 
     “No. You can see I’m a lovely young lass. I’m well past my nymph years which makes it all the more is tragic. You look surprised.”                 
     “Astonished. You are a coquette with the sass to prove it.”             
     “Oh my, you’re getting frisky. Let’s get back on course. When was the last time you had a colonoscopy?”                 
     “I’ve neglected to get one. I’m such a brat.”              
     “Oh my, you sure are a bad boy. Yes, if you don’t follow your doctors’ orders as the front line enforcer of the rules, I’ll have to spank you.”                 
     “Is warming my buns in your job description?”              
     “I studied feminist theory in college. Now I apply my education to the real world. In fact, I see my profession as a way of putting men in their place. I am sort of an evangelist in this regard. As a psychiatric nurse, my authority gives me great power over my patients. All it takes is a doctor’s signature diagnosing you as hypersexually manic and you’ll find yourself committed. I can set those wheels in motion.”              
     “Then you wouldn’t find out how charming I can be,” he says.              
     She replies, “Such extreme measures on my part are unlikely. But I could have you taken to the quiet room. All that would be needed would be for me to call security and tell them you grabbed me where          
the sun doesn’t shine.”              
     He says, “Being alone in seclusion with you sounds heavenly.”                 
     She says, “Once you’re restrained I’d punish you for sexually harassing me.”                 
     “Why should I be afraid of a dainty little woman like you?”              
     “My fingernails are very sharp and I am prone to cat scratch mania. Your masseuse of whom you sing praises might wonder about the red streaks on your arse. I may look like a dainty little flower. But when I get decked out in leather I’m a psychobabe.”                 
     He says, “You don’t sound like you’re ready for a relationship. Maybe you’re more inclined to give me a dose of psychodrama.”                 
     “Your ejaculation problem is likely based on childhood masturbation with porn. You’ve become so desensitized to sex with a real woman that it takes the risk of sex with a stranger to get you going. I will resensitize your brain to sex with real women.”              
     “If only I could land a cutie.”                 
     “The odds are in your favor when you can get off without looking at girlie magazines in the bathroom. You need to learn your erogenous zones. I taught my campus crush his and will be glad to teach you. Come follow me to the infirmary. There is a comfy bed there that you can relax on.”        
     Rosie’s lips form a ring. “Oh, my God, I’ve given you a hard-on.”        
     “What did you expect?”              
     Rosie says, “My hypothesis is validated.”          
     “So that was a Eureka use of the Lord’s name.”        
     “Definitively! Arousal isn’t a problem for you.”  She giggles and uncovers him.              
     He asks, “Won’t it distract you?”        
     She replies, “It helps me see what I am doing.”          
     “Is my sexual dysfunction due to the SSRIs?”              
     “Partly but it responds well to touch therapy.”            
     “Is this part of my treatment plan?”        
     “I’m not standoffish about touching my patients.”        
     Rosie toggles his turn on switch, lets it go, and grins when it springs back upright.           
     She sings, “Half a pound of tuppenny rice, Half a pound of treacle, That’s the way the money goes.” She tweaks his joystick with “Pop! goes the weasel.” Its bounce gives her the giggles. She squeezes his cock-crown and says, “Ding dong.”          
      He asks, “Who’s there?”          
      “A woman.”          
      “What kind of woman?”          
     “The type your parents warned you about.”          
     “Come right on in.”          
     “Your dingaling is a doorbell.”          
     “You are a credit to your profession.”        
     Rosie replies, “A woman’s touch has brought health and well being as much as her knowledge of medicine. This is the unspoken truth of my vocation.”              
     Rosie tells him, “Rollover Rover.” She grips his derriere cheeks with the sure fingers of an experienced glutist. Rosie says, “I’m your bongo babe.” She raps a beat: “boom ba rhumba mambo bambo shalambo moombo kumba blitz on your sitzfleisch.”           
     She parts his buns like Pangaean continents adrift in eons of oceanic bliss.       
          
* “Pop Goes the Weasel” lyrics 19th century, author unknown, uncertain origin, public domain.
goldenmyst
Written by goldenmyst
Published | Edited 22nd Aug 2020
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