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Subject: {ASSM} REPOST: 1940's Gyno Nurse Petite Memoir Interview (MF,
FF, FMF, F solo, F mast, medical fetish, menstrual fetish, historical,
autobiographical, true
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   STANDARD DISCLAIMER: If you're a member of a federal, state or local law
enforcement agency, then please stop reading this story immediately;
seriously, if you're part of the law enforcement community, then I don't
care if you're in the privacy of your own home and want to read it for your
own enjoyment, don't, I'm not giving you permission to do so, go away. 
Your mileage may vary.  Clothing optional past this point.  If you are
under eighteen years of age, then scoot, now!  Photo ID required. 
Seriously, if you're under 18 years of age (21 in most Middle Eastern
countries and some counties in Florida, Georgia and Tennessee), then I
don't care if your daddy did give you permission to surf the web for porn
using his computer, scoot, since you know if your mama caught you trying to
read this shit she'd break her foot off in your ass anyway, so scoot! 
Wearing of a tampon while reading this story may result in your being sent
straight to hell, so proceed further at your own risk.  A MSDS/Material
Safety Data Sheet for this story available from the author on request.  For
your own safety, please remove all body jewelry such as nipple rings,
Prince Alberts, tongue studs and the like before continuing.  Reading this
story while operating heavy machinery may mean you're a moron, please seek
professional help.  Use of a condom while sitting at your computer and
reading it is encouraged to help prevent the spread of computer viruses. 
This story is a work of fiction and is entirely a product of the author's
imagination, though if believing so otherwise helps you get off while
reading it, then go for it, dude.  Please securely replace cap once you're
through reading and thank you!

   ++++++++++++++++++++++

   1940's Gyno Nurse Petite Memoir Interview (F solo, F mast, MF, FF, FMF,
medical fetish, menstrual fetish, historical, autobiographical, true)

   By

   PlanetDweller

   {Author's notes . . .  ; This interview took place several years ago
when I was a volunteer at a local rest home and just happened to run across
a Mrs.  Margaret O'Connor, who had been a gynecological nurse at an OB/GYN
practice on Long Island back in the mid1940's through the mid-1950's.  She
eventually married one of the doctors at the practice and became a
full-time homemaker to her physician husband, they moving to North Carolina
in 1955 where he became a very well-known local physician until his death
in 1994, successfully raised three children, and had one long-term female
lover during the course of her forty-some-year marriage to her
doctor-husband, with his full knowledge and approval.  But her story and
this part of my interview with her, recorded one long summer afternoon in
1997, is not about that lesbian part of her life; rather, it's about
certain physician-directed practices that she was the charge-nurse for at
the gynecological practice she worked for that I found absolutely
fascinating.

   At first I thought she was fibbing to me about them, they seemed so
outlandish at first, I thought she had Alzheimer's or similar but at a
young age of seventy-six her mind was as sharp as the proverbial tack and
was intact but her brittle bones and two poorly repaired broken hips were
not, and further research into the dusty archives of old nursing and
medical journals at the medical library at Duke University convinced me
that she was indeed telling the truth.

   Coincidentally, a couple of years back, Richard Belzer who plays the
"Detective Munch" character on the NBC Network show "Law & Order: Special
Victims Unit" mentioned what this excerpt from my interview with her is the
subject about.  It's a part of the past that the American Medical
Association had just as soon forget about, so I offer this edited
transcript to the world as part of the historical record of medicine in
America, specifically certain physician-directed practices of gynecological
nurses in a time before said practices were outlawed by silent fiat in the
mid-1950's.~~~PlanetDweller}

   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
PD: Tell us a little about your childhood, Margaret . . .
MC: Please call me "Maggie", Planet'.
PD: "Maggie" then; where were you born, where did you grow up, how did
you get into

   nursing?

   MC: I was born in Higgins, Nebraska, in 1921.  My father was a wheat
farmer who died
when I was just six and my younger brother was just one.  My mother

couldn't afford to hire help to work the farm, so she sold out and moved to
Chicago in 1928, where my aunt May, her younger sister, lived with her
husband at that time.  Aunt May was a secretary for the head administrator
at St.  Mary Elizabeth's Hospital just outside of Chicago, in a small town
called Des Plaines.  My mother needed work to support us, so Aunt May got
her a job as what now would be called a Certified Nursing Assistant or
Nurse's Aid, basically a the lowest rung on the nursing totem pole, then
and now, but it was a job.  During the Depression, it kept food on the
table for us.
PD: How did your father die?
MC: My mother never really said exactly how, and it was a closed coffin
at the funeral, I
do remember that.  I know it involved him being on the tractor and the

tractor, one of the huge old steam engine ones, either rolling over on him
or somehow crushing him.
PD: So, your mother was a nurse, that's how you got into nursing?
MC: Yes.  Eventually she took enough night classes and had enough
experience to
become a Registered Nurse, which she did in 1937.  I was sixteen then. I

had helped her study at night, all the while going to high school, so by
the time I graduated in 1938 near the top of my class, I had a good
book-level knowledge of nursing, and between Mother and Aunt May they
helped me get a job as what would be now a Licensed Practical Nurse, since
I knew how to give injections properly, insert catheters, do standard BP
checks, the basics.
PD: This was at St.  Mary Elizabeth's?
MC: Yes, though I did get a better job with more money and shorter hours
at a smaller
but more exclusive hospital, Regency At Lakeshore in Chicago, that was

just off the southern end of Lakeshore Drive back then, and moved into an
apartment with another nurse who worked there not too far from it, over on
Deveraux Street.
PD: Is this where you began your career as a OB/GYN nurse?
MC: No.  Dr.  Pierce, a physician and surgeon had privileges there and
who worked out of
Regency as his main base of surgical procedures, was a well-know

urologist.  He recruited me to go to work for him as his main office nurse
at his practice over on State Street, a twenty minute bus ride from my
apartment, even though I didn't have specific experience as a urological
nurse.  He said no nurse was ever given specific urological training except
by a physician-urologist so he wasn't concerned.  After I earned my own
Registered Nurse credentials, I was making the princely sum of $40 a week
during the Depression, more than a lot of nurses with twice my experience
and qualifications.  This was 1939, mind you, and I was only eighteen.

   PD: So, you were banging this Dr.  Pierce, then?  (Giving her a sly
grin, cracking her up)
MC: Oh, Peedy, you are a card!  No, I wasn't his "side dish".  He was
quite happily
married with five kids.  His wife and I became friends, I babysat for

them on a few occasions.  Great kids, can't remember their names now.
PD: So, when did you become this "special" ob/gyn nurse?
MC: Be patient, Darling, let me continue my story.
PD: Sorry.
MC: He encouraged me to take some advanced medical and nursing classes
at Loyola,
which I did and he paid for, everything but my books and transportation

to them.  I never finished my degree in nursing, but that wasn't important
to me.  "The War", the "Big One", "Dubya-Dubya-Two" came along in December
of 1941, and the following year, October of 1942, I volunteered for the
Army Medical Corps.  Of course, nurses were in short supply and large
demand.  Because I had specific training and experience as a urological
nurse, for most of my enlistment I was stationed at a forward firebase
hospital near Uzoal in North Africa.
PD: Sounds exciting.
MC: Well, it was what needed to be done.  I really didn't like the Army
all that much.
PD: Why?
MC: Because, contrary to the myths since then, we were always short of
both supplies
and equipment.  Such basics as bandages, catheters, scalpels, IV

needles, steam sterilizers, even toilet paper, things like were always
being stolen both by the local population and our own troops.  More times
than I want to remember I had to reuse dirty, unsterilized catheters over
and over again for lack of a autoclave, sometimes I even had to reuse
injection and IV needles sometimes without even sodium hypocloride to wash
them out with.  I did the best I could.  They were our boys, and I did the
best I could.
PD: Sounds rough.
MC: It was.  And I had taken a huge pay cut, too.  They had made me a
captain upon my
enlistment, even though I didn't have a four year nursing degree. 

Because of my experience and RN status, they made me a captain.  Still
flabbergasts me that they did.  I was only twenty-one.  But my pay went
from $160 a month to $52 a month.  There were side benefits to the job,
though.  I was, as the saying used to go but would be politically incorrect
to use now, "free, white, and twenty-one".  And there were so many handsome
soldiers coming through our facility.  Yes, I began to enjoy the fruits of
my youth some.
PD: Uh-hummmm, yes, sounds interesting, tell me more.
MC: I was a virgin until then.  A young corporal, a dead ringer for a
young Errol Flynn,
had come into the hospital with a minor gastro-intestinal shrapnel wound

that had nicked his bladder also and infection has set in.  Thank goodness
we had enough penicillin and sulfa in supply right then.  I knew, we all
knew the invasion of Italy would be next, and that it would be bad for our
boys.  I gave him a special "going away present" that I could give only
once.  He was "bought the farm" at Anzio, stepped on a land mine, I think.
His name was Bobby-something, can't remember his last name.  I miss him to
this day.

   PD: Sorry.  Let's talk about your experiences later as on ob/gyn nurse,
okay?  (She shoots

   a total "screw you, I'm in charge of this interview, not you", look)
MC: No, let me finish my story, Peedy.
PD: Okay, continue.
MC: After Bobby introduced me to the wonders of love, let's just say I
wasn't averse to
indulging myself.  Thousands upon thousands of GI's coming through our

hospital, and maybe twenty or thirty female nurses at most at any one time.
It wasn't shooting fish in a barrel, it was picking the best piece of fruit
off of the GI-tree that suited you then.  An Italian soldier, part of the
Italian Army In Exile, Gino was his first name I think, introduced me to
both oral and anal sex, which I loved to do after that.  He was a perfect
lover to show me how to both suck cock and take it in my ass, slow and
patient and gentle and all man.
PD: Maggie!
MC: What's wrong with me saying that, Peedy?  It's the truth.  Every
generation thinks
they discover sex for the first time in the history of manking when they

become adults, when all they're doing is re-discovering what's been around
since time began.

   PD: Just kind of caught me off guard with your explicitness, that's all,
Maggie.  (She

   laughs to the point of nearly guffawing at me)

   MC: Remember back then we didn't have "the pill" like women do now.  Any
little slip
could get you pregnant, and even the condoms then weren't nearly as

reliable as they are now.  Once Gino showed me oral and anal, he was only
five-two but with a package the size of a German sausage, I was hooked. 
Sucked a lot of cocks and took in my ass quite a few times before my
discharge, had plenty of regular sex as well but not as much once I
discovered the other two legs of the sex-stool.
PD: So, we're up to the point of your discharge from the Army?
MC: Close.  Just before V-E Day, I was transferred over to Kent Army
Medical Center
outside of London, where I stayed until my discharge orders finally came

in January of 1946.  I was glad to get out of North Africa.  A hundred
degrees in the shade during the day, below freezing at night, and locals
that would dig up our war dead to steal their uniforms off their bodies
they had just been buried in.  I wouldn't trade my experiences in North
Africa for the world, Peedy, and you couldn't pay me all the money in the
world to re-live it again, either.
PD: So, how did you wind up in Long Island after the war?
MC: At my time at Kent AMC, I was still doing mostly my special
urological nurse
work, though I was also running the nursing cadre there, too.  I had two

English boyfriends who kept me in nylons and I kept them in blowjobs.  One
was married and by then I really didn't care.  Pete was his name; nice guy,
older, three kids and proper English wife.  He had been a banker before the
war and was a highly placed Civil Defence official during.  I gave him my
officer's scotch and cigarette allowances since I don't smoke or drink and
he gave me antique silver and heirloom jewelry and some wonderful English
paintings, including one Turner watercolor I still have.  His come also was
the sweetest I've ever tasted, tasted like nectar.  He was a vegetarian,
and his come tasted like he was.

   PD: (The mike between us as we sit near each other at the small
breakfast nook table
picks up my subconscious tapping of my fingers on the table, which she

notices and comments on)

   MC: Patience, patience, my young friend!  It was then that a Doctor
Jones also was
transferred to Kent to await his discharge too.  He was a

board-certified urologist who also had been in ob/gyn protocol before the
war.  He was married to a former Helen Sprungeon of the Seattle Sprungeons
who had been working on completing her own ob/gyn residency before the war
and was allowed to continue with her studies at the UCLA School Of Medicine
during the war.  I think she was the third or fourth woman ever permitted
to enroll in the medschool there, which for the time was one of the most
progressive and forward-thinking medical schools in the country.  They both
were originally from Queens, and it had been their intention that once she
completed her ob/gyn residency at Field Memorial in Los Angeles, they would
set up shop in New York.

   PD: So, it was with Dr.s Mr.  And Mrs.  Jones that you became a special
ob/gyn nurse?
MC: I wish you would quit calling it a "special" ob/gyn nurse, Peedy. 
What I did back
then was very routine and common practice, had been for decades.  I just

did it more than a lot of nurses because of the nature of the Dr.'s Jones'
practice.
PD: I don't understand.
MC: Let me finish this part of the story.  Things will make more sense
then.
PD: Okee.
MC: Dr.  Jones, the male one, Phil, came to like me.  Yes, I blew him a
few times but he
showed me a letter from Dr.  Jones Mrs., Helen, in her own handwriting

saying that as long as he was careful not to pick up any diseases he could
selectively do so.  I gave him some anal, which he had never had a chance
to do before and loved, and had "normal sex" with him a couple of times,
too.  He was a great guy, a true gentleman, but an average lover.  Mrs. 
Jones also had a lover, a female RN whom she worked with, that he knew and
approved of.  I was fascinated by that, I admit it.  I had heard of
lesbians, of course, but really didn't know what they did or how they did
it.  I wrote to her point-blank and asked her about.  She replied with
honesty and frankness and explicitness.  I was fascinated.
PD: So, you became his lover and her lover too?
MC: (Just shaking her head at me, takes a deep breath, then continues)
He told me as
soon as he got his discharge, he was heading out to Valley Vale, a small

community on Long Island just off a stop not far out from the city on the
Long Island Railway, to set up shop as a urologist and when his wife came
out to join him later, they'd have a joint practice together.  It was their
intention to become infertility specialists.
PD: Why?
MC: Why what?
PD: Why did they want to become infertility specialists?
MC: Because he, they, had concluded that once the war was over, with all
the GI's
returning home that there would be this huge baby boom and with that, a

huge number of frustrated couples that would be having trouble conceiving.
Helen, Dr.  Mrs.  Jones, had been doing as much research into the cutting
edges of infertility treatments as she could during her ob/gyn residency
and as her faculty sponsor would let her.  Keep in mind this was a time
when mailing, sending or even just receiving, sex information through the
mail could get you arrested, even if you were a physician.  Hard to believe
but very true.  I know it must seem like the dark ages back then to you
now, compared with the knowledge and freedom we have now, but it was a
different time back then.

   PD: So, there came a time when you moved to Long Island and began
working for the

   Dr.s Jones'?

   MC: Yes.  He made me an offer to become their sole employee at first,
chief nurse,
receptionist, bookkeeper, cook, bottle washer.  They had borrowed a

little money from their families to set up shop with, but it wasn't much. I
went from making captain's pay to $120 a month, still less than I was
making before the war, but that all changed fairly quickly.
PD: So, Maggie, any regrets about volunteering for the war?
MC: None.  I know I helped saved the lives of hundreds if not thousands
of our boys.
That's all the mattered to me, then or now.  As I was saying, he got his

discharge in November of 1945, and I got mine in January of 1946.  The Army
sent me all the way out to Ft.  Bliss for my formal discharge.  I stopped
in Chicago to spend a week with my mother before going on to Long Island.
Aunt May had died during the time I was gone.  She left many nice pieces of
furniture and some family heirloom china and silver to me.  I already had
two trunks full of nice things from my friend Pete that a couple of
"friends" in the Quartermaster Corps had allowed me to ship back home,
despite the usual prohibition to most GI's of doing so.  Dr.  Mr.  Jones,
Phil, had warned me that the place we were all going to move into at first
was a tiny three-bedroom house, so I put all but one trunk and three
suitcases full of my things into bonded storage, kissed my mother good-bye
and left for Long Island and my new life.

   PD: Did you have any idea you would be doing what you ended up doing,
Maggie?
MC: Well, yes, and no.  As I mentioned earlier, clinical female
masturbation had been
used for decades by the medical establishment to treat a wide variety of

various "female problems", men excluded (we both laugh at that joke), from
post-coital pain to dyspareunia to . . .  "
PD: Maggie, what's "dyspareunia"?
MC: It's a catch-all term of sorts, but mostly then and now was taken to
express a
condition described in layman's terms as "pelvic congestion", which you

can take to mean bad PMS-type pain, indeterminate sometimes localized
sometimes general pelvic pain not related to infection or other chronic
medical condition or to menstruation, a feeling of heaviness and
bloatedness all the time, and even heightened libido and desire, which
wasn't considered necessarily a good thing by the "male" medical
establishment back then, would all come under that umbrella term.

   PD: So, you would clinically masturbate women patients to relieve their
"dyspareunia"?
MC: Yes, that and for post-coital pain, for some myometrial conditions,
and even for

   dysmenorhea ...

   PD: (I think I shot her another "speak English, please" polite look at
this one)
MC: . . .  which is painful menstruation, and even for vulvodynia which
was almost
unheard of and undiagnosed then because few physicians really paid much

attention to what we women said, but we, the Dr.s Jones', were way ahead of
their time.
PD: What's?
MC: Vulvodynia is a non-specific, non-agentable, non-infectious
condition of the female
genitals, specifically the outer labia but also going into the vaginal

canal, where the patient experiences a wide variety of unpleasant
sensations, including but not limited to extreme burning sensations,
extreme itching, random stabbings of non-specific pain, soreness to the
touch sometimes, sometimes a non-infectious-related discharge that no one
knows the origin of, but mostly, just a lot of burning and itch and pain.
PD: Sounds wicked.
MC: It is.
PD: So, clinical masturbation was used to treat that as well?
MC: When all other topical and internal treatments failed, yes.  But I'm
getting ahead of

   myself.  Would you like to hear more of the story?
PD: By all means, Maggie, please.
MC: Dr.  Mrs.  Jones, Helen, didn't come out until the following June.
With her expressed
permission, Dr.  Mr.  Jones, Phil, and I became regular lovers for that

time period.  It was understood by all that if I became pregnant, he would
give me an abortion, despite the fact it was a felony to do so back then. I
didn't get pregnant.  We were careful, and I gave him lots more oral and
anal sex than vaginal, except when I wanted a good old-fashioned screw. 
Like I said, his cock was average, and he was an average lover at best. 
Most of our time was spent getting their office ready and when that was
complete, our first ad announcing formation of their practice in the local
paper in March brought in a total of fortry-seven phone calls, of which
twenty-nine booked appointments.  We were on our way.  Their, the Dr.s'
assessment about the demand for their services, if anything had been too
conservative.  Dr.  Phil had to "bootleg" a bit, since he wasn't officially
FACOG certified but tried to stay within the spirit of the AMA's
regulations.  He was a physician after all, could do anything he basically
wanted with patients.
PD: So, please describe some of your typical cases.
MC: Let me finish up about how things eventually wound up.  When Dr. 
Mrs.  Jones
finally came out to Long Island, my physical relationship with Dr.  Mr.

Jones officially ended that day, except for the once-a-month maybe twice or
so blowjob that he had become spoiled on and which she didn't want to do,
thought it was unwifely and unfeminine for herself to do to her husband. 
That was a common attitude for many women of that day.  I know she thought
me a bit of a tart if not a slight whore for not just doing it but
admitting to actually enjoy giving them, let alone my occasional penchant
for anal sex, but she never spoke negatively about it to my face, and in
fact she and I became friends, fast friends.  Yes, one Sunday in late
August of that year, 1946, Phil had made an appointment to have an
interview with the membership committee for the nearby prestigious Black
Woods Country Club, which he was immediately accepted into a week or so
later, and gave Helen and I total privacy for the day.
PD: Yes, I'm listening, getting a little hard-on actually.
MC: (She laughs approvingly at my joke) Keep in mind that I had been
"just" Dr.  Phil's
nurse for the time until then.  I hadn't done any clinical female

masturbation techniques on our patients, not at all.  Helen wanted to make
sure they had the proper clinical and documentation protocols in place
before I began doing so.  So, the premise of that Sunday was that she would
teach me how to clinically masturbate female patients, using proper,
detached clinical form and technique, and then after that they would begin
incorporating that more into their treatment modalities, especially for
infertile couples.
PD: Pardon me, but hu?
MC: Yes.  It was Dr.  Mrs.'s belief that "pelvic congestion",
dyspareunia could be a cause
of infertility in women, when all other reasons had been ruled out. 

Actually, I had seen Dr.  Phil clinically masturbate maybe a handful of
women patients during the couple of months the practice had been going, but
I didn't do any, he didn't show me how to do so clinically, and I was just
doing as I was told to do, as is and was the job of a nurse, any nurse.

   PD: So, you and Mrs.  Doctor were at your shared home in Long Island on
this Sunday,
and the premise was she was going to teach you the proper techniques of

clinical female masturbation.
MC: Yes.
PD: Were you excited?
MC: Yes, I have to admit I was.  I was hoping that this "training
session" would lead into
something more with her.  Something maybe not romantic but at least

sexual.  Remember, I knew about her lesbianism or bisexuality, she had
written me letters telling me bits of what she did with her female lover
that she had to leave behind in California once she moved east to be with
her husband.
PD: Did it?
MC: Did it what?
PD: Lead to something more.
MC: You know it did, Peedy (she and I softly laughing).  In her bedroom,
she had me
strip to the waist and pulled out two old-style Oster massagers, the

kind with the big electric motors and those flexible spring-type series of
metal bands that held the oscillating motor to the back of your hand in
place, the vibrations being transmitted through the hand proper to the area
being massaged.  She said when doing what we then simply called "clinical
massage" it was important to relax the patient first, so most of the time
unless she or her husband indicated not to as a contraindication, the
patient would be relaxed with a massage to the face, neck, chest, and
breasts.
PD: Uh-hu?
MC: When she touched my breasts with her hands pulsing with those
massagers, there
was a look of pure lust in her eyes but she kept her composure at first

at least.  She massaged my face, neck, upper chest and then played with my
breasts for a while, working my nipples expertly.  Yes, I became excited. I
had been hoping she would introduce me to lesbianism.
PD: And you weren't disappointed.
MC: Peedy!
PD: Maggie!  (Laughing, we trading touches of arms sitting near each
other)
MC: I was on my period right then but she said that clinical massage was
a treatment for
dysmenorhea too and I needed to become comfortable clinically touching

female patients during their periods and "normally" and the best way to do
that was to learn from experiencing.  I took off my skirt and sanitary
panties, then my sanitary belt and pad.  She examined my pad in detail
before I laid down on the bed.  She asked me if had any cramping or passed
any large clots during my period.  I told her no, not usually, some
mid-cycle cramping but little during my actual period.  She felt of my
soiled pad, examined my menstrual fluid on it.  She told me that my flow
indicated to her that my reproductive system was normal and healthy and I
shouldn't have any problems getting pregnant, once I found a husband to
marry.  Then she began her genital massaging of me, but not before getting
a medical shaving kit from under the bed and a pan of water from the
bathroom and giving me my first pudendal shave, explaining that the wire
coils of the massager would grab and yank pubic hair out by the roots if
not careful and the easiest thing to do was simply shave the "affected"
area.

   Putting a cloth Chux clinical towel underneath my tail as I lay back on
the bed before she shaved me and then finished up, she still clothed, she
touched me both clinically and unclinically.  Those old Oster massagers
made such a racket, let me tell you.  One of them massaging my breasts, her
other Oster-powered hand touched my clit and I had a revelation.
PD: "Revelation"?
MC: That I wanted her to become my lover, and I also wanted her husband
to me my
lover too, more than he had been.  I wanted us to become what you would

now call a permanent threesome.  I wanted to have his child, and wanted to
be her lover.  I wanted to be with both of them, always.
PD: Did that happen?
MC: No.  Well, yes, a little, but no, it really didn't.  I also had the
revelation that I loved
the touch of a woman and would never do without it again.  She would be

in clinical mode one minute, telling me exactly how and why to stay on a
patient's clitoris for maximum efficient use of clinical time for maximum
orgasmic results, and then the next minute be giving me this "I want you so
badly!" look as her fingers would slip inside me, the massager giving me
sensations I never knew I could feel before.
PD: Sounds hot!
MC: Yes, it was.  I thought I fell in love, was falling in love with
her, but I wasn't.  I found
out over time that the feelings I was feeling for her then was a common

manifestation even when a patient was heterosexual, feelings for the nurse
who was treating her.

   PD: Maggie, why didn't things work out between you three?  I mean,
sounds like they

   didn't.

   MC: I don't want to talk about it, that, anymore, Peedy.  I will say
that, like I mentioned
before, that during the time I was with them as their head nurse, I did

give him monthly blowjobs when Helen was on her on own period and wouldn't
let him touch her, and she and I would end up usually in bed as lovers a
couple of times per month, usually once during her period when she wanted
sex but didn't want to give her husband any and then another time or two,
no particular pattern.  All that ended up doing was making me frustrated,
because the two of them more or less dictated to me when we, they
individually, would have sex with me.
PD: But you mentioned the three of you having sex together?
MC: I don't want to talk about it.
PD: Okay.  Please continue about your clinical masturbatory practices,
Maggie.
MC: Oh, that reminds me, here, here are my notes I've been working on
for you; is this
okay?  I'm getting a little tired now, Peedy.  Why don't you take these

home, read them, and then I'll see you tomorrow for a while, you can ask me
some follow up questions.  Okay?
PD: Okay, sure, Maggie (me kissing her on the cheek as a friend)
{Author's notes . . .  the following are edited verbatim transcripts

from some recollections of some of her clinical cases and miscellaneous
thoughts that she handwrote in a spiralbound notebook for me.  Her thoughts
tend to jump around a bit, so please bear with me.}

   +++++++++++++++

   After Dr.  Helen Jones finished my impromptu training in how to use
clinical massage to treat a wide variety of what were then euphemistically
called "female conditions" under her and her doctor-husband's direction,
almost ninety-some-percent of work within their infertility specialized
practice became clinical massage.

   My first patient was a new English war bride, can't remember her name,
but I do remember her face and body.  Her GI husband had married her in
1943 while stationed in England.  Lots of English women did that, for lots
of reasons.  Some married GI's hoping to be brought to America, some were
hoping their husbands would be killed in action and they could get their GI
pension, some because they actually loved them.  It was never my place to
speculate on motivations why.  It was my place to treat my employers'
patients as best I could.

   Oh, that's right, her name was "Maggie", just like mine, how could I
forget that?

   She had only been to a doctor once in her life before, when she was a
child.  She had never been touched clinically before, never had a routine
gynecological exam in her life.  I think she was twenty-four or five.  She
had come to Dr.  Jones' practice because she and her husband had been
trying to get pregnant since they first got married, with no luck of
course.

   Her first gynecological exam by Dr.  Mrs.  Jones made her very upset.  I
had to give her a shot to calm her down enough so the doctor could finish
her exam.

   In the room with me, this was a week later, she was calm.  She didn't
want to take off her bra at first but I explained why, I thought Helen had
given her the spiel during her first visit but I gave it to her again
anyway.  I removed her bra for her and then massaged her breasts with Oster
massager-clad hands.  She relaxed.  I pulled on her nipples some with the
massagers going, she smiled.  I cupped each breast with both vibrating
hands and she relaxed more.  I had her finish undressing and put on a gown
and lie down on the exam table, feet in the stirrups.  Using a standard
exam drape that stretched across the table along her waistline she should
couldn't see exactly what I was doing, this was standard gynecological
protocol for decades until very recently, I took the massager off of my
right hand as I stood next to the exam table and began massaging her with
clitoris and vagina with my left hand which still had a massager on it. 
She relaxed more.  I massaged her breasts more with my bare right hand as
the Oster did its work atop my left hand on her pudenda, her legs wide open
in the stirrups.  She orgasmed within ten minutes, the first time she had
ever had one in her life.  I massager her for the full twenty minutes
called for by Dr.  Mrs.  Jones, my patient Maggie having two more orgasms
during that time.  For the next three months, she became a twice-a-week
patient of mine, and during the fourth month, she being "late" the third
month, it was confirmed that she had indeed become pregnant, after trying
as hard to become pregnant as she could with her husband for the past three
years.

   It was patients like Patient Maggie that soon spread word about Drs. 
Mr. & Mrs.  Jones far and wife to the communities all up and down Long
Island and into New York City proper.

   I need to stress that clinical massage was only one aspect of the
treatment protocols for infertility that Helen and Phil used.  Let me
discuss this a little further.

   Typically, when a couple would first come in, the doctors would see them
as a couple, Dr.s seeing them couple-to-couple.  The very first question
they would always ask was: "do both of you really want to have children
right now?" A blunt question, almost rude, but necessary to ask.  If the
answer was "yes", then they would ask the following question, and I'm
serious that they would ask it this way, asking the wife always first:
"please describe how you and your husband have intercourse, in exact
detail." This would offend many couples, but it's surprising the number of
couples that didn't know that the man's penis needed to go all the way
inside the wife's vagina during intercourse and stay there through his
orgasm and for a few moments afterwards.  This was the 1940's and early
1950's and many people, even married couples, were much more ignorant
sexually than a lot of ten year olds are now.

   They would give them a diary to keep a record of all things sexual,
times they had intercourse, times they had oral or anal sex, times each one
masturbated either alone or together, the start and stop dates of her
periods, any douches she used and when, any medications they were taking,
things like that.  Then they would interview them alone, separately, with
Dr.  Mrs.  Jones interviewing the wife and Dr.  Mr.  Jones the husband.  It
would be then that issues negatively affecting the marriage would often
come out, such as one partner confessing they really didn't want to have
children right then but that the other partner was really pressuring them
to cooperate and have some.  A lot of times, it was as much clinical
psychotherapy as it was infertility treatments.

   If at that point there were no issues that needed resolving first such
as issues of sexual education or one partner secretly sabotaging the
couple's efforts to become pregnant by use of tried-and-true birth control
methods which often didn't work but often did such as Lysol douches after
sex or secretly using an illegal vaginal diaphragm barrier, then the couple
would be given a complete, and I do mean "complete", physical exam.  This
entire process would take several visits usually.

   On occasion I would be asked by Dr.  Mrs.  Jones to serve as a "model"
so she could show her patient my genitalia up close.  I didn't mind. 
Especially if a patient had vaginismus or otherwise had a vagina with
constriction "problems" meaning it was hard if not impossible for her
husband to actually penetrate inside her vagina with his penis, Dr.  Mrs.
would demonstrate the use of "clinical dilators" or a series of
non-vibrating dildos of different sizes, from pinkie-finger size to "full
size" on me, and the doctor would leave the exam room and I would do
normally a clinical massage followed by further hands-on instructions to
the patient with the set of dilators which we would give them for her to
use at home.

   The physical exams for husband and wife would be a typical thorough
exam, with some special twists added.  Almost without exception, Helen
would examine the wife, Phil the husband, and I would often assist with
both exams.  She would check for any signs of vaginal trauma, vaginal
bruising, vaginal adhesions, to make sure intercourse could be accomplished
fully, a more detailed exam than a typical gynecological "grope".  Of
course she would do swabs and check for syphilis and gonorrhea, the two
main sexually transmitted diseases of those days then.  She would massage a
patient's breasts and nipples, looking for "sexual flush" response, or have
me do it under her direction.  She then would place a bare finger inside
the patient's vagina and keep it there for a while, not moving it, until
she felt the patient become lubricated, and make a note of how long it
took. She would often have a patient masturbate to orgasm under her
watchful eye, unless a patient objected to doing that for religious or
moral reasons.  She would then check for vaginal "pH" or
acidity/alkalinity, she believing that an important factor in a lot of
cases of infertility, the wife's vagina needing to be slightly acid and the
husband's sperm slightly alkali for maximum possibility of becoming
pregnant, a too-acid vaginal mucosa definitely being a problem too with a
surprising number of infertile couples.

   For the husband, Dr.  Mr.  Jones would do a "finger wag" and massage the
patient's prostate until he obtained the necessary involuntary ejaculatory
response, at which point he would collect a sample of the patient's semen
and I would "do a count" to make sure there was enough volume of sperm,
that the sperm had motility required to make it to the fallopian tube and
make his wife pregnant, and that there weren't many deformed sperm.  I
would also check for sperm acidity/alkalinity.  He would then clinically
masturbate the patient for a moment or two to make sure the foreskin was
loose and flexible.  He then would have the patient look at a collection of
what would be called now "hard core pornography" while sitting there nude
in front of him in the exam room, to make sure the patient exhibited an
erectile response to nude female images, i.e., to make sure the patient
wasn't homosexual by nature.  Crude method, yes, but it was cutting-edge
for its time.

   If all things checked out okay, then they would be given specific
instructions on how to maximize their chances of becoming pregnant.  For
the wife, it would be no douches, ever, also she was to wear loose-fitting
panties, no use of tampons, masturbation whenever she wished but no less
than twice a week either clinically at the office or at home, reduction of
eating of red meat to ensure proper vaginal pH, drinking of lots of water
and no caffeine drinks such as coffee or Coca-Colas.  For the husband, they
would try to make him quit smoking if he did since smoking always
negatively affected sperm motility, he could increase his coffee and
caffeine consumption, he was never to masturbate, ever, saving all his
sperm reserves for intercourse, and since almost no couples back then ever
made love during the wife's period, they were to totally abstain for sex
during her period and for seven days afterwards, yes it sounds "Jewish" but
that places first coitus for the month right at her mid-cycle egg release
for maximum chances, and they were to have intercourse strictly with the
husband on top and the wife on bottom, pillows underneath her elevating her
tail high and she staying like for one halfhour after his orgasm so his
sperm would "pool" at her cervix and hopefully make their way "home". 
There were some other miscellaneous things they would have them do but
that's what I remember at the moment.

   These techniques sound so primitive in light of today's medical
knowledge, I know, but this was the late Forties and early Fifties, and
when I left the practice to marry my husband and move to North Carolina,
the success rate for Dr.'s Jones' practice was over twenty-five percent, I
think it was closer to 29%, an astonishing rate of success that even more
modern infertility treatment protocols don't usually equal.

   I have to admit that an endless stream of women patients to clinically
masturbate got pretty boring pretty soon, but by the time I quit to get
married I was making about $115 a week, a truly astonishing salary for that
day.  I would have masturbated female horses for that kind of money!  Of
course, Phil and Helen were making money by the wheelbarrow full, and they
earned every penny, they just were treating me fairly, considering how
integral to the practice I was.

   I've been trying to think of a couple of interesting cases to write
about, and not many come to mind.  I mean, once you clinically massage one
female patient, you pretty much have done the same to all, the procedure is
the same at least.

   There was this one case.  Ruth, who had been a patient of ours, she
having seemingly become infertile after having had two children but it
turned out to be a bad case of fibroids which necessitated an eventual
hysterectomy, brought her twelve-yearold daughter Penny in for me to
"educate" her about her coming menarche and selectively about sex and such.
Again, not meaning to sound like a broken record, but this was a different
time and place, and many mothers were very uncomfortable about discussing
"the facts of life" with their own daughters even to the point where many
never discussed a ten or eleven or twelve year-old's coming menarche with
them.  At least Ruth had the courage to send her daughter to Dr.  Helen and
myself.  I think Ruth was a friend of Helen's, maybe a lover to her but at
least a friend I think.

   First visit, I sat down with Penny in Phil's office and we read some
pamphlets about menstruation, the old "What Every Young Girl Should Know"
series by Kotex I believe, and we also read some of Phil's marriage and sex
manuals from his tagre that were full of line drawings of sex and sex
organs and a few photos but not many.  She seemed interested but not
excited.

   Second visit, per Dr.  Mrs.  Jones' request but not order, I took her to
an exam room where I showed her how, with me as a "model", to properly use
a Kotex and belt, had her undress and used a Miss Deb belt and napkin set
on her on, how to insert a Tampax when she got older of course, inserting
it in my own vagina while I let her watch up close, and then with my own
naked self as model showed her how I masturbated with my fingers and then
had her do the same to herself.  I did not touch her that way, had her do
herself only.

   This was the only time this was ever requested of me by the doctors, and
to this day I find it odd.  All of our patients were adult women, wives.  I
can only recall a handful of women patients eighteen or nineteen, and they
were all married women.

   It did get to the point where I was secretly enjoying clinically
touching my patients in a lot of cases, even though the canons of medical
ethics tell you that you're never supposed to let that happen, you're
supposed to shut your feelings off and be "professional" only, keep
everything as non-emotional and sterile as possible.  Of course, by then
Phil and Helen had moved into their new mansion and I had moved into a nice
rental house not too far from the office with my female lover who was also
a clinical nurse and worked for the Jones' practice with me and was dating
men occasionally though I was still giving Phil monthly blowjobs and Helen
and I were also still lovers each month too.

   When a woman patient is very attractive and you're bisexual if not
lesbian, as long as you don't break the canons of medical ethics and
express attraction towards them while they're a patient, waiting for their
treatment cycle to end before possibly telling them of your attraction to
them, doesn't it do more harm than good to you personally to deny your
feelings to your own self, even if those feelings are never openly
expressed to the other person?

   That brings me to Zelda.  I will tell you about this case.  Zelda and
her older husband by twenty-some years had been married for ten years, she
was thirty-one, and had been trying for all that time to have kids.  The
problem was his, not hers, his sperm having no life at all, very few of
them and no vital motility at all, but he wouldn't hear of it, didn't want
to admit that was why they couldn't get pregnant, so he kept sending her
back repeatedly for more clinical massage treatments.

   She was tall, long and leggy with a head full of hair that smelled like
gardenias always, not sure what kind of shampoo she used.  I was attracted
to her from day one.  After about two months, knowing the specifics of her
and her husband's case, after I had clinically massaged her to her usual
two or three orgasms, desire got the better of me and I kissed her fully on
the lips.  She kissed me back.  I gave her oral and she gave some in
return. We could have made love right then and there all day but my
schedule was full.  She told me she loved me and wanted me but her husband
was so jealous and possessive that she knew he often had private detectives
follow her around but she still wanted me so badly so could cry.  I told
her not to worry, that I really liked her a lot too and would figure
something out.

   That afternoon after work, I went to both Helen and Phil and told them
what had happened, what I had done, halfway expecting to be fired but they
were surprisingly sympathetic.  This was around 1951, after we had been
working together as a team for about four years or so.  Helen told me she
was surprised that it hadn't happened to me before now.  Then, much to my
shock, they admitted that both of them occasionally "dabbled" with patients
after a patient's treatment cycle was through.  I didn't and don't see how.
I knew them too well and just had a hard time believing it, but they
insisted that it was true, and it was okay for me to have occasional
dalliances with patients as long as they were longer-term patients I knew
well and knew would be probably amenable to the first pass I would make at
them.  Could have knocked me over with the proverbial sledgehammer at all
this.

   For the next six months or so, Zelda would keep her twice weekly
appointments for her "infertility treatments" and she I would just go at
each other like animals for the hour-long "clinical massage" sessions
behind closed exam room doors.  Damn, I loved that woman, even more than
Jean, my female lover whom I lived with at that time.  Then one day, Zelda
simply didn't show up and I never heard from her again.  Her phone number
had been changed to an unlisted one.  Her house when I would ride by always
looked dark and unoccupied.  I'm not sure what happened to this day, but I
suspect her jealous husband may have figured out what was going on and put
a stop to it.

   Jean knew of my more or less required but always consensual times with
Phil and Helen.  I tried to get her to join us, knowing that both Dr.  &
Mrs.  Dr.  would enjoy having her there, but Jean was just too
straight-laced for any three-way action with either of them, Phil and his
wife Helen never being with me simultaneously as a triad, well, not
usually, and I knew that both of them would love to have an extra female
present to play with during our infrequent but regular "visits".

   I'm racking my brain but just can't think of any other interesting
experiences to mention here.

   ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

   {Author's note . .  o.  at this point, after reading the above that
night, I visited with Maggie the following day, at which point I resume and
conclude our interview.  She died a few months after this took place.}

   PD: Maggie, what a revelation your short memoir was, thanks so much
writing it down

   for me.
MC: Of course, Peedy, I was glad to help you in your "research".
PD: Can we talk some more about what you did in treatments?  I don't
know, Maggie, I
just thought that from what you described to me when your first hinted

at this to me some months back, that it would be more, well, "exciting".

   MC: What do you want me to say?  {(she moves in her chair, scooting a
little father away
from the edge of the breakfast nook table and me) I admitted to you in

my writing that I used to get excited a lot of the times when I would treat
some of my female patients, something I've never admitted to anyone before,
ever.  Isn't that enough?

   PD: But Maggie, I told you that eventually that this might wind up as a
magazine article
somewhere, sometime, and I know my readers would want more details than

that.

   MC: (just shakes her head, smiles, takes another sip of her coffee, and
scoots her chair
back towards me a little closer, putting her hand atop mine as I sit

close to her at the table in the greenhouse area) Peedy, my dear boy, isn't
that a paradox of sex, that it's pretty damn routine if not boring if
you're not actually participating in it right then?  Would you like me to
give you an endless stream of boring, repetitious - my mouth sucking on
nameless vaginas of nameless friends and patients, of their mouths kissing
mine and sucking on my breasts, of my fingers plunging deeply into their
eager "canals of love" while murmurs of passion flow freely never to be
remembered again?

   PD: Why, yes, Maggie, I would (she completely cracking up at that
remark, laughing

   hard enough to chortle for a second).

   MC: Yes, I supposed you would, Peedy, but it would bore me to tears. 
Tell you what: I
know you want to know more about what happened with myself and the

Jones'.
PD: Yes, Maggie, if it wouldn't upset you, yes, I am curious.
MC: I've never spoken to a living soul about what happened, but I'll
tell you under one
condition: you wait until I'm dead and gone before ever publishing this.
You change my
name, their names, and you wait until I'm dead and gone.  Shake?  (she

extending her hand, I shaking it)
PD: Deal, and thanks.
MC: This was about 1952.  I had been, we three had been a team since
1946.  I had a
physical relationship with Phil since 1945, and one with Helen since

late 1946.  We three had never been in the same room together while the
other one and I had sex.  It was always she and I or he and I but never the
three of us.  By then I also had a female lover, another nurse who worked
with us at the practice whom I lived with, and I dated some men some other
times as well.
PD: Yes, I remember all that, you mentioning all that.
MC: (fiddling with her coffee some, stirring it unconsciously with her
bare pinkie finger)
One night in April of 1952, I don't remember the exact date or care to,

I do remember it was a Friday night, Helen was on her period, had been for
three days prior, and I went over to their house.  They had their maid fix
us all a nice dinner and then we watched some TV, a real rarity in those
days, I think we watched Sid Ceasar's "Show Of Shows".  Then, Phil and I
went to their bedroom while Helen went to their library to wait until we
were through.  I gave Phil his usual once or twice-monthly blowjob but he
wouldn't come.  Every single time before he usually came within ten minutes
or so, I did and do love sucking cock so, but that night he wouldn't come,
didn't.  He had a real look of lust in his eyes.

   Without a word, he pulled my dress off, almost tore my bra and panties
off, and before I could stop him, greased his cock with Vaseline and had
shoved it into my rear, not that I minded, remember I've always loved anal.
He fucked my rear what I know had to be a good fifteen or twenty minutes
and even though I thought I felt him come his erection didn't go down.  I
flipped around to lie flat and present my tail to him that way when from
nowhere Helen walked into the room, naked except for her sanitary belt and
napkin.  It was our routine when she was on her period that I would blow
Phil and she and I would fool around at a different time separately just
she and I usually that same night but not always, she never touching her
husband sexually while she was on her period.  It was also our agreement
between the three of us since she had moved east and we began sharing our
lives that I would never fuck her husband again despite the fact he and I
had been that kind of lovers during The War, that I would give him blowjobs
only, they reserving that kind of sex for their marital bed only.

   I thought she was going to explode at first, I had broken my word to her
as my dear friend, lover, and employer after all, but there wasn't a trace
of anger on her face.  She made her way to the edge of the bed and just
stood there.  Phil got a little anxious and pulled his cock out of my ass
before she reached over and lightly touched his back with a "it's okay,
Honey, go ahead, fuck Maggie in her ass, it's okay, I want to watch" as she
crawled on the bed with us, but his penis wouldn't cooperate.

   I got a couple of warm, wet washcloths from the bathroom and towels and
cleaned him up as she sat passively next to us.  After I cleaned him up, I
blew him but still nothing.  And again.  And again.  Nothing.

   With a "here, Honey, maybe this'll help", she kissed me fully on the
lips and I her, back.  We had been lovers for years after all.  We began
groping each other, a couple of my fingers playing with her vagina, sliding
her napkin to one side as I did.  She told me later that despite the fact
she had women lovers for years with Phil's consent, this was the first time
he ever had ever seen her with another woman.

   I began sucking on her breasts as she leaned into me with "eat me,
Maggie".  I did.  Throwing one of the towels under her butt, she pulled her
belted napkin off and I dove down on her cunt, eating for all I could.  I
noticed Phil had a full, raging hard-on right then.

   "Want to fuck our girlfriend, my husband?  Then go ahead, you have my
permission, if Maggie here's game", I nodded my head "yes" as I continued
to lap at Helen's clit and bloody lips.

   I pushed my tail high into the air and Phil rammed it home, fucking me
with an intensity that no man before or since ever has.  He was just an
animal.  He grabbed my waist, shoved his cock as deeply as he could into
me. He slapped the sides of my buttocks hard with his open palm, that was
okay, it actually felt good, I actually enjoyed him doing so.  God, his
cock felt so good deep inside me!

   I began using my fingers deep inside Helen and when I felt Phil about to
come, pushed him away for a moment, out of me, and told him "it's time you
two grew up, Phil, fuck your wife, right now, she wants you, badly!!!" and
more or less tossed him into her waiting arms, his cock slipping easily
into her blood-soaked and spattered vagina, they having their first period
sex, ever.  She and I kissed as he fucked her.  He didn't last long.  I
wiped the worst of the blood off his member with one of the washcloths and
finished licking him clean, that exciting both of them to no end.  I stayed
the night.

   The next day, I went home and told Jean that I was going to have to stay
with them at their house for a "research project".  She didn't believe a
word of it, of course, but didn't push the issue, either.

   For the next five or six weeks, we three fucked like bandits every
chance we got, everywhere we could, home or office, didn't matter every way
we could.  I even got Helen to try some anal but she stayed too tense to
enjoy it so Phil happily fucked my ass I don't how many times, in addition
to fucking me "normally" as much as he and I wanted, sometimes using a
condom, sometimes not.  I know, I know.  He never got tired of watching
Helen and myself make love, and we never got tired of making love to each
other, whether he was there to watch "the show" and/or participate with us
or not.  It was like three mutual dams of hormones had been breached.

   Then, the next month, five or six weeks later, my usual
precise-as-clockwork period didn't arrive on time.  Nor the next day.  Nor
the next.  Two weeks later, Helen confirmed it, I was pregnant, with her
husband's child.  There was never any question as to what was next.  She
and Phil gave me an abortion.  It wasn't pretty or pleasant.

   I bled like the proverbial stuck pig for a week after that.  I moved
back into my home where Jean had been patiently waiting for me.  She never
asked a single question.  My blood loss wasn't tapering off like it was
supposed to, if anything it was slightly increasing.  I was using ten or
twenty Kotex per day.  Helen and Phil were getting genuinely concerned I
might have a burst blood vessel somewhere abdominally or perhaps Helen, who
had been the one using the curette, had misjudged and perforated my uterus
and I might have to have emergency surgery to repair the damage.

   Trying one last measure before wanting to intervene surgically, Phil
gave me a shot of a coagulant drug, I can't remember the name now, it was
the kind they used to give women just out of labor who were hemorrhaging to
stop them from bleeding out and dying.  It worked.  Two more shots over the
next two days and then the bleeding stopped and I was fine.  Jean and I
made love, the purest of sweet love, the night I finally stopped, she
professing her undying love for me.  She really meant it.

   Then something happened.  To this day, we're not sure what.  Supposedly,
Phil ordering that series of shots from the pharmacy we always used to
supply the practice's needs called the State Medical Board about him
ordering that, but that didn't then and doesn't make sense now.  I mean, we
used to order those vials of that drug literally by the case and keep them
in the refrigerator in the office.  A practice where two physicians who did
ob/gyn work ordering an anti-hemorrhaging drug shouldn't have raised any
flag at all, never.

   Yet, they both were brought up on charges before the State Medical Board
for performing an illegal abortion.  Basically, the only evidence was the
fact that Helen and Phil had been using a lot of that drug then and that
our pharmacist, whom we had been doing twenty or thirty thousands of
dollars worth of business with annually but no more after this as you might
can imagine, told the medical board that for our patient load, we had been
using too much of this drug, like he would know.

   The charge was a single act of committing a single abortion, but thing
was, despite going through their patient files since day one of the
practice and interviewing a good portion of former patients, at least half,
an investigation that took over a year before it was finally concluded, the
New York Medical Society couldn't prove that Helen and Phil had ever
committed a single act of medical malphaesance, let alone mispheasence or
malpratice let alone the actual crime of doing an abortion.  They were
found innocent, eventually, but the bad press killed their practice, well,
not killed it but hurt their business for a long time, years after that.
PD: Wow.  So, after the abortion, you three never slept together again?
MC: Peedy, I loved them.  I truly loved them both.  I would have been
very happy being
their "concubine" for lack of a better term for the rest of my life,

being with them, being part of both their lives.  But no, I mean yes, after
the abortion and after I moved back home with Jean, I never had any kind of
sex with either Phil or Helen.  We stayed more or less friends, I continued
to work with them until Bob, Dr.  Romanaskowi, became part of the practice
and he and I met and we got married.  I still loved them both, but no, we
never had sex again.
PD: Damn.
MC: Yeah, damn.  During the course of the widely-publicized
investigation, it came ouit
that the medical board had decided to do a dragnet and drag several

otherwise very reputable ob/gyns through the mud with false charges of
performing abortions, all of them infertility specialists by coincidence,
no - I think not - that Helen became pregnant and since business was down
right then anyway, she decided to become a stay-at-home wife and mother and
they brought Bob in right out of med school because they could hire him on
the cheap.  You can verify all of what I've said, Peedy, just do a search
for our names in the New York Times and Daily News' of that era, it was all
over the papers.
PD: Damn, damn.
MC: Yes-sir.  It was also about the same time, during this witch hunt of
infertility
specialists, that Phil and Helen were quietly told, by whom I was never

told, that the AMA now had an unofficial unwritten policy that vulvolar
clinical massage-masturbation was no longer an accepted practice for
anything by any physician or representative or nurse thereof and if they
ever heard of any practice continuing to do so, those involved would be rue
for it, so I and we just quietly stopped doing it.
PD: And all lived happily ever after!
MC: Oh, Peedy!  (playfully slapping at my shoulder) You are a card,
Dear. You're also

   very sweet.
PD: Tape's getting low.  Any final thoughts?
MC: Yes.  I'd like to say that to this day I really believe clinical
massage and female
masturbation can help if not cure a wide variety of female problems, and

definitely helps pelvic congestion which I firmly believe is still a major
cause of undiagnosed and improperly diagnosed female infertility.
PD: Anything about yourself, Maggie?
MC: Yes.  I want to clarify that as much as I loved Helen and Phil, I
married a wonderful
man, Dr.  Bob Romanaskowi, and we had a wonderful marriage and except
for my longterm lover Greta, whom was our charge nurse, I never cheated on

my husband once, not the first time, not that my relationship with Greta
was cheating on my husband which it wasn't since he knew and approved of
it.
PD: Thanks for your time, Maggie, you're a dear.
MC: No, thank you, Peedy, for taking the time to listen to an old woman.
Want your

   blow job now or later?

   PD: (rising up from the chair, giving her a nice big hug and peck on the
cheek) Now,
"you" are "the card", Maggie!  (we both laughing, as the tape recorder

is turned off for the final time).

   +++++++++++++++++++++++++++

   Authors including myself love to hear from their readers, please feel
free to email me directly at: planet_dweller AT yahoo DOT com

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Authors' Support Group, as are volunteer proof readers, copy editors,
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