This weekend I learned about Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving is about getting together with family (or friends works, if your family are really far away, or just annoying).
Thanksgiving is about eating too much food and being thankful when you don't vomit.
Thanksgiving is about sharing erotic fiction.
One of these things seemed out of place. I'd never seen the Tanners reading erotic fiction on Full House. I must have missed the episode where Rudy Huxtable asked what a 'swollen member' was.
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| Oh. Heeheehee. |
But then again, what the hell would I know? I'm from New Zealand. We don't give thanks for a goddamn thing. So when the hosts of my forthcoming Thanksgiving Potluck Erotica dinner party told me that everyone was writing an erotic short story, I did the obvious thing: chugged a can of hot coffee, cracked my knuckles and got to work.
Much to my eternal happiness, I won the competition for 'Best Erotic Story', beating out such luminary works as the Grinch who fucked Christmas, a treatise on midget dicks, a high seas romp with a Paul Jennings style facial twist at the end, and a saucy song about birds. There was also an unusual number of stories about either Harry Potter or Jesus. In fact, if I am given the opportunity to defend my crown next year, it's probably a good strategic move to start from a 'Harry Potter and Jesus accidentally get locked in the sauna together' scenario and then just see what happens.
The crown of 'Best Erotic Storyteller 2010' is an accolade I accept with an unusual mixture of pride and shame. That same pride/shame combo compels me to share it with you, the internet. And if you are by any chance my Granny, I'm so sorry.
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| Doctor Suggestive recommends not reading the following story if you wear a pacemaker or are Bigmrjosh's granny. |
Giving Thanks
The bright lights played off the white corridors of the hospital. At this time of the early evening visiting hours were over. The hospital was quiet, but for room 613.
“How long has it been, Cindy?”
“Almost three months, Doctor Parker. Too long.”
“Well, your progress in physical therapy has been remarkable.” Dr Parker replied. “That car really messed you up. I mean, in ten years at this hospital I’ve never seen a spine bend that way. For a while there I worried you might never walk again.”
“But here I am.” Cindy pulled aside the thin blue curtain behind which she had finally shed tatty hospital gown for good. She had exchanged that less-than-flattering outfit for a tan skirt tight enough to showcase her therapeutically physical legs. On top she had chosen a shimmering green blouse. Since it was a special occasion she hadn’t seen the need to do up all of the buttons.
Doctor Parker was wearing a doctor’s coat. That much was probably apparent. Underneath he wore a pair of business slacks and a shirt. Presumably. This is erotic fiction. Anything can happen.
“Anyway, Doctor, I’ve waited a long time to thank you,” Cindy said as she sashayed across the room. “I really want to show you my gratitude.”
Doctor Parker swallowed audibly. “Cindy, ethically I shouldn’t-”
“Ssh,” Cindy said, placing a slender finger against his lips. “’Shouldn’t’ starts with ‘ssh’.”
All of Dr. Parker’s ethical dilemmas were washed away by the undeniable beauty and elegant power of Cindy’s words. Three months of repressed lust and need poured between them. He pulled her to him and crushed her lips against his. Cindy ran her hands through Parker’s thick brown hair. It felt good, like straw. Like good straw. It didn’t smell like straw, that’d be weird, and gross. In fact, it smelt like apples. And apples, like cheesecake, convertibles and a good episode of Gray’s Anatomy, got Cindy hot.
“ Oh, Cindy.”
“Oh, Dr Parker.”
“Please, call me Dave.”
“I’d really prefer to stick with Dr Parker, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Okay, works for me.”
“Oh, Dr Parker!”
“Oh, Cindy!”
“Take my temperature, Dr Parker!”
“I think a rigorous treatment is in order!”
“Oh, Dr Parker!”
With urgent fingers, Cindy pulled Dr Parkers coat away from his shoulders. Dr Parker moved in to kiss her neck, her beautifully scarred neck. Cindy moaned with pleasure, and a little bit of pain because the scar tissue was still tender.
Now her fingers were working at the buttons of his shirt and his fingers were working at the buttons of her shirt and then their hands got tangled and it turned into a kind of romantic Jackie Chan shirt button slap fight.
They each took off their own shirts.
Even after her grisly accident, Cindy was still an 83 percent beautiful woman. She hid the fact that she had 1/5 less breast now than before the accident with an excessively frilly bra she had imported from Japan. The smiling pink mushrooms that adorned it screamed ‘do me’. Not literally though. Again, that would be weird.
She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Parker did the same with his pants.
Now there were only thin layers of fabric standing between doctor, patient and a totally erotic sexy sexfest. So they took those off too.
Oh yeah.
Cindy liked the way Dr Parker was staring at her body; it was like the way a bull stares at a china shop in that both looks said ‘soon you will be fucked.’
Their bodies came together again. “Oh Cindy, I’ve wanted you for so long,” Dr Parker moaned. “Normally my hot female patients give it up within two weeks of arriving here.”
“That’s not sexy for me. I’m going to pretend you didn’t say it.”
“Oh, Cindy!”
“Oh, Dr Parker!”
The moment they had both yearned for was upon them. Cindy’s bed was there, empty and beckoning to them. For long months it had cradled her frail, damaged body. Now the hydraulics that allowed easy raising of the top and the bottom ends would allow them to do some totally freaky shit.
Dr Parker hoisted Cindy into the air to carry her over to the bed. And that was the moment when Cindy’s sixth vertebrae slipped out of place.
“Oh, Dr Parker, I can’t feel my legs!” she wailed.
“Good sign. I haven’t even put it in yet!”
“No, I really can’t feel them. I think you broke my spine!”
That brought Parker to a halt. “Oh,” he said. “You’re going to need a doctor.”
SPECIAL FEATURES: Now if you didn't already, read back through it with a really British accent. This is called the 'Fergus Version'. It was in no uncertain terms his smooth and sexy reading of my story that helped propel me to victory on the night, ably assisted by his pedophile mustache. Good show, Fergus!
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| I say. That was some sexy shit, eh chaps? |
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