"Well, he's mentally ill. Why would you have any thing to do with him?"
- a quoted statement by two different people in my life about me to two different girlfriends of mine at different times over dinner -
One girlfriend runs out into the night crying and saying "there's nothing wrong with him."
Another girlfriend thinks it rude that it is mentioned at the dinner table and I fuck her silly a few more times until I move on to the next girlfriends.
So, I am at the nurse appointment after a medical test some years later and the nurse asks:
"How many partners have you been with?"
"I don't know: hundreds?"
"We only go up to 50+."
"OK. 50+. Will that include you, nurse?"
"Why yes: your mentally ill aura is too much for me to withstand."
"Bend over the desk and turn on some porn, nurse. It's time for my sponge bath!"
"Gladly! They don't call you 'Jimmy Two Heads' for nothin'!" nurse Hatchet exclaims in a delightful whinny tone of voice while pulling up her white, nurse skirt and bending over the desk when the doctor enters the exam office.
"Nurse Hatchet! What are you doing!? Umm ... Umm ... Never mind ... I see now," the 27 year old resident doctor states as her eyes wander across my manliness with pants around my ankles.
The six-foot-woman-doctor removes her khakis and white panties with pink polka dots on lace hems to her ankles bending over the desk along side Nurse Hatchet and I comply with medical orders sticking my clean, cut, experienced, penis head into each of the specimen's four orifices from behind them.
Cream of some young guy splatters the faces of the specimens hungry for more filled orifices, kneeling and swapping spit-cum when I am done with them after about two strokes per orifice.
I see a urologist who snips my seminal vesicle which feels like chilies passing from the day before so that Nurse Hatchet and the doctor's whose name I don't catch become pregnant in a fluke 2% chance that my seminal vesicle grows back, which it does.
So: I have two rug rats running around Nurse Hatchet and the six foot woman doctor's ankles playing "beep-beep' with matchbox cars on floors in Belize where there are tropical breezes and snorkel expeditions up vaginal shaped canals with either or both of my partners and other specimens of female persuasion who long for "Jimmy Two Heads."
- a quoted statement by two different people in my life about me to two different girlfriends of mine at different times over dinner -
One girlfriend runs out into the night crying and saying "there's nothing wrong with him."
Another girlfriend thinks it rude that it is mentioned at the dinner table and I fuck her silly a few more times until I move on to the next girlfriends.
So, I am at the nurse appointment after a medical test some years later and the nurse asks:
"How many partners have you been with?"
"I don't know: hundreds?"
"We only go up to 50+."
"OK. 50+. Will that include you, nurse?"
"Why yes: your mentally ill aura is too much for me to withstand."
"Bend over the desk and turn on some porn, nurse. It's time for my sponge bath!"
"Gladly! They don't call you 'Jimmy Two Heads' for nothin'!" nurse Hatchet exclaims in a delightful whinny tone of voice while pulling up her white, nurse skirt and bending over the desk when the doctor enters the exam office.
"Nurse Hatchet! What are you doing!? Umm ... Umm ... Never mind ... I see now," the 27 year old resident doctor states as her eyes wander across my manliness with pants around my ankles.
The six-foot-woman-doctor removes her khakis and white panties with pink polka dots on lace hems to her ankles bending over the desk along side Nurse Hatchet and I comply with medical orders sticking my clean, cut, experienced, penis head into each of the specimen's four orifices from behind them.
Cream of some young guy splatters the faces of the specimens hungry for more filled orifices, kneeling and swapping spit-cum when I am done with them after about two strokes per orifice.
I see a urologist who snips my seminal vesicle which feels like chilies passing from the day before so that Nurse Hatchet and the doctor's whose name I don't catch become pregnant in a fluke 2% chance that my seminal vesicle grows back, which it does.
So: I have two rug rats running around Nurse Hatchet and the six foot woman doctor's ankles playing "beep-beep' with matchbox cars on floors in Belize where there are tropical breezes and snorkel expeditions up vaginal shaped canals with either or both of my partners and other specimens of female persuasion who long for "Jimmy Two Heads."
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