#112 – No Rest for the Wicked

I thought a sleep study’s supposed to improve a patient’s bedtime issues.  Yet I suspect the one I endured two nights ago will only worsen mine.

My doctor suggested the exercise because the anti-snoring contraption I purchased hasn’t worked, and I feel fatigued lately even after a full night’s sleep.  When I asked him to explain the procedure, he told me I’d stay overnight at a clinic, with multiple electrodes recording my brain waves and vital signs while an attendant watched over me.

My trusty pecker assumed the lone attendant a gorgeous, blond nymphomaniac who’ll pounce on us as soon as the lights go out.   That Little Richard would jump to such conclusions didn’t surprise me at all, since he’d been weaned on contraband issues of Penthouse magazine.  Inexplicably, he’s still convinced every “Forum” letter tells the unvarnished truth.

Since I arrived early for my sleep study, I decided to kill time by bringing Little Richard’s fantasy to life, figuratively.  I drafted a Forum-style letter depicting his version of our impending sexcapades.  Naturally, I opened with the tried and true: “I never thought this would happen to me.”  After briefly setting the scene, I described the blond bombshell’s tender ministrations:

As Nurse Vanessa bent over, her blouse parted and exposed her golden globes.  I stared longingly, while Vanessa began slathering me with electrode gel.  I hadn’t realized wires would attach to my chest, and the sight and feel of this goddess gently messaging my nipples began to arouse me.  Of course, I felt embarrassed when my ten inches of manhood noticeably uncoiled beneath the hospital gown; but Vanessa didn’t retreat from the sight.  Instead, she coated her hand with gel, lifted the gown, and slowly stroked…

You can probably guess how the story ended, and in what graphic detail.  Suffice it to say, I may’ve worn the electrodes, but only Nurse Vanessa got juiced that evening.

Unsurprisingly, the reality of my sleep study did not mirror the fantasy.  I can’t speak to my attendant’s sexual proclivities, but I certainly can attest to the facts that she was neither blond nor gorgeous.  Just the opposite, the lackluster brunette exhibited the physical qualities which ordinarily prompt one guy at bar to say to another: “Pal, I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick!”

As I now realize, I never should’ve written the fake Forum article.  At minimum, I should’ve discarded it before heading home.  Under no circumstances should I have left it in my pants pocket … where my wife might stumble upon it after dinner last night.

I’m not certain Sophia completely believed my explanation, or my innocence.  Until I’m sure, I expect to pass each night like the last: wide awake, worrying what the suspicious woman with the loaded gun in her nightstand might do, should my eyes close for even a moment.





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