finger fucking

no, nursemyra is not yet back at the gimcrack but I have managed to locate an internet connection that supports my blog so I can now share the experience of being fingerfucked.

this is my umpteenth visit to a particular town in SE Asia and each time I have been tracked down by a 15 year old boy determined to conduct a love affair with an unexpected part of my anatomy. materialising when I am suitably margarita-ed in a hot and sweaty bar, one hand selling postcards and tiger balm, he likes to slide his index finger between my arm and torso with a disturbingly familiar in and out motion. occasionally there’s an innovative twirl and a bit of side to side action.

I’ve tried the “hey what are you doing?” approach and swatting his hand away but three sips later he’s penetrating me again. it’s a most peculiar sensation (try doing it to a stranger if you want to be committed to the gimcrack or any of its sister institutions).

of course, nursemyra’s armpits are particularly desirable in this climate, juiced up and slick with pheromonal perspiration, smooth folds that initially resist then suck in tightly when nudged with a firm and determined tool.

it’s one of life’s cruel ironies that I have seven more days alone in the Honey Moon suite at the Phuoc My Lai hotel with no intern of suitable years to fully investigate the charms of my armpit.

going, going…….

the time is drawing near…..

nursemyra will be padlocking the gimcrack gates very very shortly. every year around this time I pack some rubber gloves with my favourite appliances and head off to perform  surgery in warmer climes.

my patients here have all been euthanised pacified with appropriate medications and staff are under strict instructions to monitor banana alcohol intake, especially at happy hour.

a good nurse knows when it’s time to recharge her batteries. of course, I’ll miss chatting with each and every one of you but rest assured when I’m wrist deep in mai tais intricate surgery I’ll be memorising the gory details for your edification on my return.

(of course you can still write to me at my email address)

nursemyra’s advice

the welsh vs. the canadians

most readers by now are familiar with Mrs E, the patient who does not recognise her own reflection and complains her nemesis copies her movements, wears her clothes and never answers when spoken to.

most of the time she seems relatively normal apart from this idiosyncracy. the mirror was removed a couple of weeks ago which had a calming effect but last night Mrs. E conjured up a scenario that far surpassed the antics of her reflected doppelganger.

she reported the welsh and the canadians were fighting it out in her bathroom while their wives were talking on the phone in her toaster. the camels stayed in the fire stairs but were armed with sabres so no one could escape that way. she really didn’t get a wink of sleep.

I know. it’s so insanely wild that you must think I make this stuff up. but a patient in the grip of a psychosis will tell you the most extraordinary things and to them it’s very very real. several years ago a gorgeous young woman told me during a schizophrenic episode that she believed she was Moses.

so the mental health crisis team came down and collected Mrs E. she’s going for a little holiday to the psych ward of that real bigger hospital up the road and hopefully will return to us with all her demons under control.

in the meantime I’ve got some carnage upstairs to attend to. apparently the canadians were a nasty bunch. they pissed all over the welsh then broke the ninth commandment by having phone sex with their wives

but it’s better than being moses