Last week I had the occasion to meet a very cute nurse. You might ask yourself, how can I meet hot medical professionals? Here’s the breakdown.
Contract food poisoning or some other illness that requires medical attention. For simplicity, I chose the tuna sub from Subway. I ate very fresh.
Once you’re sure you need medical attention, make yourself presentable. I donned my flannel pajamas, slippers, and a sweatshirt. My illness of choice ensured I had no energy for hygiene or showering. Such presentation is key.
Simply getting the illness isn’t enough - you need to quickly escalate it to emergency levels if you want to meet young hotties. Try dehydration, shock, or in my case, hyperventilation to the point of muscle failure.
Your condition needs to be authentic. My extended hyperventilation afforded me the use of a wheelchair for a grand entrance to the ER. In addition, my hands, deprived of oxygen, froze in claw-like fashion. This stiffness, combined with a loss of blood in my face, gave me the appearance of a lobster experiencing a stroke. Being nearly unable to speak due to a paralyzed face is a small price to pay for being a badass-lobster-stroke-victim.
When you meet the medical professional of your dreams, start casual. While he or she is trying to get oxygen into your deprived body, joke about how you learned your expert breathing techniques doing hot room yoga. If she has to massage your limbs back to life, wonder aloud if you are going to miss your daily workout.
If the event isn’t going as planned, react big. Panic, shock, and/or desperate tears of pain can all be big winners in regaining her attention. Don’t overdo it, however. Constant, desperate attention-seeking behavior is frowned upon.
If all goes well, your hottie has been swayed by your preparation, charm, and witty emergency-room banter. Casually remark that you might need a follow-up consultation later. Could you have her number? If she tries to give you the hospital number, tell her you prefer a more personal medical experience. She’ll get the hint.
Hopefully your experience goes well and you find the nurse or doctor of your dreams. I, unfortunately, neglected to bring my contacts. Being nearly blind without corrective lenses, the blurry object of my affection was unable to determine who I was making eye contact with. Unable to find her again, I fear I may have broken her heart.
If you are out there and read this, blurry nurse with the blue scrubs featuring a pink seam, I have regained the use of my claws. Please see the results of my blood work for my number and call soon!
During the holidays we often get nostalgic. We visit with friends and family and talk about all the memories the season reminds us of. Although it may not be relevant and may have nothing to do with friends and family, I have a story to share. I bet it will be more interesting to hear than when Uncle Ned gets drunk at Christmas and tells his gangrene story.
I was seeing an otherwise wholesome girl when she informs me that she’s contracted an infection in her special area. Being new to the city, I figure it is time to start the search for a local doctor. I find a well-recommended family practitioner just a few miles from my apartment and make an appointment.
Fun with Science!
The office reception area looks new. I sign in using a fancy wireless touchpad and flirt with the cute receptionists while I’m waiting for the doctor. Nothing about the experience so far suggests anything out of the ordinary… until the nurse calls me back and I see how tiny the office is. The entire practice consists of the waiting room, the area behind the counter, and a walk-in closet on the side that doubles as the examination room.
I sit on one of those beds with the disposable paper and wait. As I’m watching the various people move about the office it dawns on me that “family practice” is literal in this particular instance. The father is the doctor, his wife is the nurse, and his two collegiate daughters are the receptionists and assistants.
Normally this wouldn’t be a concern, but throughout the entire examination no one feels the need to shut the examination room door. Oh well, I’m not bashful.
Doc: So what are we here today for?
Ken: A girl I was seeing says she thinks she has an infection. I thought I’d look into it, see what my situation is.
Doc: How long have you been with this girl?
Ken: Probably about a week.
Doc: And how often have you had intercourse?’
Ken: Eight times in two days?
I guarantee that mother and daughters heard every word of the examination. I even made eye-contact a few times while I’m delivering the details of my personal life. It might have been awkward for him, knowing that earlier I was fraternizing with his daughters, but it certainly didn’t bother me. And I don’t know what he would have to worry about anyway; the results came back negative. Unless the man doubts the accuracy of his own work, he knows I’m clean.
Maybe when I go back for my yearly physical I’ll ask the cuter girl out. Dinner with the parents can’t be any more awkward than knowing they have access to your blood-test results.
Let me paint the scene leading up to “the incident”.
We are in our living room and it is 3:20pm on a Saturday. We’re watching TV. The roomie gets up to use the bathroom when the following conversation occurs:
Her: “Kenneth! There is porn playing on your computer!”
Me: “Really? How embarrassing.”
We’re about to get pretty personal with each other. This post marks the portion of the blog where whoring my stories out to family and friends for blog traffic might get a little awkward.
I started seeing an older woman and asked her over one night to “watch a movie.” Based on appearances, this woman was as normal as any other. I had no reason to think that this evening would lead to anything less than a good time. She arrives carrying an old wooden box under her arm. The box was the size of a chessboard, but much deeper. At first I’m curious about what is inside but soon I’ve forgotten about it and we’re watching the movie.
Eventually we reach the point of the evening where the TV is no longer the focus and she asks if I want to move to the bedroom. I agree and she picks up the box and brings it with her into my room. I ask again about the box. She replies, “just wait, you’ll see”. The box goes on the floor near the bed and once again I’m distracted.
You'll feel a slight tingle...
Now the ball is rolling. Things are getting pretty heavy when she finally stops and asks if I want to see what’s in the box. When an attractive woman is in your bed, I’m fairly certain sure that you never turn down her offer to see anything. I would love to see what is in the box.
She then asks if I have a spare lamp she can use. Uh, sure.
She drags a lamp across the room and begins unscrewing the bulb. Then she opens the mystery box. Inside is an ancient device that appears to be from the 1920s. I’ve seen enough World War 2 torture scenes to know that this is no run of the mill sex toy. I might be in real trouble. She starts screwing in connectors and clamping wires before turning the lamp back on. A hum starts to fill the room, along with the smell of fear and burning ozone.
Remember, we’re talking about a very beautiful woman. True, she was a woman who uses antique electroshock therapy devices as a form of sexual expression, but I still have faith in her even as the electrified prongs hit my bare, exposed, and naive chest. I truly believed, even while the stream of pure electricity was shooting through my nipple and down my body before grounding itself on my belt buckle, that somehow she held in her hands a magical pleasure device would forever top any sexual fantasy I could ever dream of.
But it wasn’t. It shocked the fuck out of me.
In case you were curious, I’ve found a picture of a similar device on ebay: Vintage Device eBay Listing
I never invited her over for a movie again.
Today I accidentally posted a personal ad in the “m4m”, or “men for men” section. Not only is this section of Craigslist the wrong demographic, but the ad that I picked from my collection was a hilarious choice to screw up. (more…)
