Miss Dorothy's Little Boy [A Fantasy]

Miss Dorothy’s “Little Boy”


The lady who lives across the street has been there ever since we moved into the neighborhood ten years ago. The neighbors say she has been divorced since shortly after her son was born, and I recall that her 18-year-old son left the house within a year or so after we moved into the neighborhood. I’ve often wondered what goes on over there and what the place looks like inside. She keeps it up nicely, and she looks pretty good, too. She often works in the yard in shorts and a knit top; she keeps her hair “blonde” and styled short, her legs look good, her buttocks are firm, and her breasts fill out her top very nicely. Needless to say, I try to get a look at her whenever I can and the fantasies start to race. In a way, I have intentionally stayed away because I wasn’t sure what would happen But I kind of felt the vibes; and, it’s not good to play across the street from your house!

Well … the other day, the moons aligned and I was sort of put into a situation that was impossible to avoid. “Miss Dorothy”, as she is known by the neighbors, was outside in her yard as I pulled into my driveway and got out of the car. I looked her way and gave a cordial wave “hello” and she waved back --- pretty standard interaction over the past ten years. I was trying to keep moving so as not to get caught up in a conversation with her when she called my name and asked me if I could help her move something into her house. What was I to do?

I walked across the street and followed her --- she was in jeans and a sweater and looking good --- into her garage. We stood there for a moment, exchanging idle chit chat and, somehow, the topic came up about her car. It is a standard station wagon with wood-grain along the side, a typical family mobile before the minivans and “soccer-mom” SUVs. She told me the year and I told her that I was still in high school back then. “My, you’re just a baby!”, she commented. I guess so but I didn’t think she was that much older than me (I later found out that she is 18 years older than me). Anyhow, there was a round table in there that she wanted to have moved into the house. I picked it up and started into the house with it, noticing that it wasn’t heavy – just cumbersome. When I got into the living room she said it was OK to just put it there so she could clean it. I asked her where it was going and she said, “In Billy’s room”. Billy is her son who no longer lives there. She told me that she was going to turn the room into a spare bedroom or guest room and then she asked me if I wanted to see it. Not knowing how to respond, so I said, “Sure”.

Following her down the hall, I couldn’t help but notice her authoritative but feminine walk and how nice her buttocks --- her ass --- looked in the jeans. She walked past the room and then turned around and gestured for me to go through the door. When I walked in the room, it was if I had stepped back in time 30 years. It was set up like a room typical of a high school boy, complete with sports posters and rock-and-roll groups, the trophies that her son had won in high school, a desk and chair for studying, and a single bed with a Star Wars spread on it. Nothing had changed since her son lived there! There was even a Star Wars bathrobe draped across the desk chair.

As I looked around, I caught Miss Dorothy’s eye and she smiled at me and said, “It’s been so long since my little boy has been in here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat how everything is still the same,” I answered.
Miss Dorothy walked into the room, keeping herself between the door and me. She approached me and took the robe from the chair and held it up – held it up to me, and said, “I’d like to see you wear this – just to help me bring back some memories.”

I took it from her and put it on – it was a little snug, but it was on over my clothes and, after all, her son was 18 and I’ve pushed past 40. Some things are different between those two bodies. I felt kind of stupid standing there in a dated Star Wars bathrobe but I figured she was having fun so why shouldn’t I just try to help her out?

She looked at me and giggled, actually kind of cute, I thought to myself, and then she pulled it closed and tied it around me. “Of course, Billy didn’t wear it over his clothes”, she said.

“Yeah, I guess not”, I said, kind of laughing and wondering how I would make my graceful exit out of this place.

“Go ahead and take your clothes off so I can see what you look like in it”, she said.

“Ah, uh … Miss Dorothy, I’m – ah – not sure that’s a good idea”, I said.

Even though I wanted to be in such an interesting situation with her, I wasn’t quite ready for her to be the one to take the initiative.

Catching me by surprise, Miss Dorothy approached me and put her hands around my waist, pulling my shirt from my pants. I was so caught off guard that I didn’t know what to do. So, I just let her continue. She undid my belt, the top button of my jeans, and she pulled down the zipper. Then, grabbing the bottom of my shirt, she raised up and I instinctively raised my arms so that she could slip the shirt over my head and remove it from my body.

“Now, that’s a good boy”, she said, as she laid my shirt across the bed. Putting her hands on either side of my waist she started to lower my jeans. This was getting a little out of control – or maybe too much for me to handle – so I reached to hold up my jeans.

“C’mon, Miss Dorothy, I think we’ve had enough fun now, don’t you?” I asked.
Miss Dorothy kept her fingers in the waist of my jeans and I could feel her fingertips inside of my underwear. “I can’t imagine you’re shy, are you?” she asked. I could feel her right hand moving behind me and then I felt it in my pants, sliding down and rubbing my butt! “I don’t have to spank you for not listening, do I?” she said.

That caught me so by surprise, her actions and her words, that I forgot about holding my pants up --- which means she took hold of them and lowered them to my ankles in no time! I quickly pulled the robe shut and started tying the wrap around my waist. Miss Dorothy stood back and folded her arms across her chest and then she approached the chair.

“Sit down here and take your pants off – you look funny standing there with them bunched around your ankles,”, she said.

At this point, what did it matter? And, I even felt kind of funny standing there with my jeans down to the floor. The robe was closed and tightly knotted, so I sat down on the chair and leaned forward to take my pants off. Then it hit me. Taking off my pants also meant that I had to take off my shoes. Worse yet, was that as I leaned forward, the robe inched higher and Miss Dorothy was getting a good view of my legs and even my underwear! I slipped off my shoes and then my pants. Miss Dorothy had opened the closet and gotten a hanger. She took my pants from me and hung them on the hanger, then she took my shirt from the bed and hung it, too, on the hanger. She put the hanger in the closet and took my shoes and placed them squarely at the foot of the bed.

“Miss Dorothy, what are you doing?” I asked.

“Stand up. Let me now have a good look at you,” she said.

Not really knowing what was going on, figuring that it would all be over soon, but being concerned that my clothes had been hung in the closet, I stood up.

“Very nice – it’s been such a long time”, Miss Dorothy said. “Turn around for me, but do it slowly, so I can take it all in.”

I wondered “what in the hell”, but turned around for her very slowly, feeling a bit like an idiot as I did. When I had completed one full turn she told me to turn around again, but this time, she told me to stop when I was facing away from her. I stood there wondering what this was all about.

“Spread your feet apart – I want to see how that robe fits”, Miss Dorothy said.

“Huh? What do you … ” I asked.

Miss Dorothy interrupted my bumbling.

“You’re standing there like a soldier at attention. How can I see how the robe looks on you if you’re not relaxed? Just spread your feet apart and relax,” she said.

What was this woman trying to achieve? What had I gotten myself into? How was this whole thing going to end? I shuffled and spread my feet apart and relaxed the best I could.

I stood there and I could sense Miss Dorothy coming close to me. The robe wasn’t full length and it came to just above my knees. I felt her behind me and then I felt her tugging at the bottom of the robe and commenting on how nice it
looked – and I noticed that she was on her knees as she tugged on the robe. As she was doing this, her hand would brush up against my thighs and I would squirm at her touch, but she kept one hand on my hip to keep me from moving too far away. Then she smoothed over the robe from my lower back and her hand ran across my buttocks. She did this twice which meant she rubbed her hand over the left side and the right side.

“Oh, you’re such a handsome young man,” she said, and then I felt her fingertips – of both hands – one on the back of each leg – running up the backs of my thighs. I stood there a moment too long as I felt the robe rising with her touch and her fingertips working in circles just below my underwear. Then, she let her fingers slide under the elastic – just a little – to about the first knuckle …

“Miss Dorothy, please, I think … ” I was protesting and tried to step away as she was stroking my thighs. But she took her hands and wrapped her arms around the front of my thighs, pulling me tight to her, and her fingertips continued to stroke the backs of my thighs. Her touch was, nonetheless, stimulating and I felt myself becoming aroused even in this strange situation.

“We’ll have none of that shyness,” she said. And, with her hands still under the robe, she reached up, placed her hands on my hips, and turned me quarter- round to face her. She stood up and then sat on the edge of the bed. Placing one hand on my hip she pulled me closer to her and then she started to fumble with the knot that I had tied in the robe’s sash. I went to step back and she placed her left arm around my waist and her right hand --- I felt it in between the fold of the robe, above the sash and her hand made contact with the bare flesh of my chest.

“My, my, such a shy little boy,” she said – and when she said that – her fingertips were rubbing the left nipple on my chest and I could feel it becoming erect. I could also feel pressure in my underwear as my penis, although not to full erection, was beginning to harden and press against the fabric. She eased her grip around my waist and lowered her left hand to rub across my buttocks, to the edge of the robe, and then under it! She rested her hand on my left cheek and then went lower, slipping her fingers under the elastic of my underwear -–but this time – putting her hand inside so that her whole hand rested on my cheek and her fingertips were just between my buttocks. While her right hand was rubbing wide circles on my chest, and occasionally returning to stroke my nipples and keep them hard, her left hand was stroking and kneading the flesh of my cheek. As much as I wondered what was going on and I knew I should get out fast, it was feeling too good and becoming too intriguing for me to force an end to it all.

“Miss Dorothy, that is feeling really good, but is … ” I relaxed and began to say.

She stopped me mid-sentence and said, “Well, of course it does if you’d only relax. Now let me see how my little boy looks,” and with that she took her hands from inside the robe. Now she had stopped stroking my chest and buttocks and I wished I hadn’t said anything! But, before I knew it, she had managed to undo the knot I had tied in the sash and I was standing there before her with the front of the robe gaping open. She was quick to respond and was able to stop my hand from grabbing the robe to pull it closed. In fact, she had her hands around both of my hands and placed them at my sides.

“Now, now, little boy, you’re being shy again,” she said. “I just want to see what kind of underpants you’re wearing,” and with that she pulled the gown wide open!

“Oh, I see you like briefs, too? Billy used to always wear briefs; in fact, he didn’t wear pajamas, he just wore his underpants to bed --- Fruit of the Loom,” Miss Dorothy said. As she was speaking, she ran her fingertips slightly inside the waistband of my “underpants”. Looking down, I could see her eyes focus on the bulge that was forming in my “underpants”. As she pulled the elastic forward from my body, she said, "It seems that these would get awfully tight.” Then, releasing her grip on my “underpants”, the elastic snapped back against my waist; she stood up and pulled back the covers to the bed. I couldn’t believe it --- baseball players on the sheets!

I watched all of this as I stood there in just the robe - my underwear (or “underpants” as she called them) clad body exposed as it gaped open. It was only going to get worse as Miss Dorothy pulled the robe from my shoulders. I brought my hands up to my waist to try and stop her but --- much to my surprise --- she smacked my wrists and before I knew it, the robe was off and gathered at my feet.

“OK, Miss Dorothy, this is fun and all but don’t you think we’ve played enough?” I asked.

Miss Dorothy looked up from the floor where she had knelt down to get the robe. She lightly grabbed both of my ankles and then started running her fingertips up the inside of my legs.

“Play? We’re not playing … we’re pretending that you’re Billy, or a boy just like him, and I think we’re having lots of fun, don’t you?” she responded.

By now, her fingertips had passed the inside of my thighs and she stroked them across the front and was now moving them up my chest. Her fingertips brushed lightly over my nipples and then she moved her hands up along either side of my neck and held my face in her hands. The robe bunched around my feet on the floor, Miss Dorothy held my face in her hands and pushed me back towards the bed until the mattress caught the back of my knees and I lost my balance.

“Now just lie down and take your little nappy nap”, Miss Dorothy told me as she steadied me into a reclined position on the bed.

I began to protest and raise up on my elbows, but Miss Dorothy ran her hands down to my chest and steadily pushed me back until my head was on the pillow and Babe Ruth was hitting a home run (on the pillowcase that matched the sheets) right towards me. Keeping one hand on my chest, she leaned over and turned off the light on the nightstand and then she ran both hands down my chest, along the side of my underwear, and across the tops of my thighs until she reached my knees. Then, she reached under my knees and raised both of my legs to the bed so that I was now completely lying on the bed --- of course, in just my underwear! Her light touch --- even under the strange circumstances --- had caused the beginnings of an erection that I felt pushing against my underwear. Miss Dorothy sat on the bed next to me, her thigh making contact with mine, and she took one hand and put it on my chest, using her fingertips to lightly stroke from my shoulders to the top of my underwear and back up again, as well as run circles over my nipples causing them to harden.

“Billy used to like it when I did this before he went to sleep,” she said. With her other hand, she reached to the ankle of one leg, ran her fingertips lightly up the outside of that leg, lingered making circles across the top of the thigh, and then took her fingertips and ran them along my inner thigh up and down from the leg of my underwear to my knee – before going all the way back down to my ankle. Then, she did the other leg. She did that 4 or 5 times and by now, I had achieved a full- blown erection! My nipples were erect, I squirmed at her touch, and my erection throbbed against my underwear. With the hand that was now at the foot of the bed, Miss Dorothy grabbed hold of the sheet and blanket and brought them up my legs but stopped just below my underwear. She took her hand and, for the first time, ran it right up the center – that is to say – right over my now erect penis and over my stomach to join her other hand that was working very closely to my nipple on the one side.

“I see, like Billy, that your little “zizi” (French for “penis”) responds very nicely to my touch, doesn’t it?” Miss Dorothy said, as she leaned forward and looked me in the eye, both hands now focusing their touch on my chest and nipples.

“Well … Miss Dorothy … ” I stammered, “It’s because … ”

Before I could finish my sentence, Miss Dorothy leaned further forward and lightly kissed me on the lips, one of her hands sliding down my stomach and coming to rest on my underwear --- I could feel her fingers encircling my penis.

“Shhhhh”, she whispered, “Just lie back and let me help you get to sleep for a nice little nappy nap.”

As her hand wrapped around my hard-on, I had to wonder whether this is how things progressed with Billy, too? At this point, it didn’t matter. I was in a very interesting, but strange, predicament. I was wrapped up in this age-play scenario, lying in just my underwear in the bedroom of an adolescent boy, while his mother (18 years older than me) had me under her control and – literally – “in her grip”! She leaned into me and used her left hand to lightly stroke up my stomach, across my nipples, and then through my hair – and back down again, while her right hand kneaded my hard-on through my underwear. I reached the point where I started to involuntarily move my hips in response. Miss Dorothy would occasionally run her hand down to my scrotum and caress my testicles, insuring that my legs were also kept apart. My penis was so hard that it was poking out of the top of my underwear; all of a sudden – in one of her strokes along my penis- I felt the top of my underwear being lowered as she made her downward stroke.

She lowered my underpants to expose my penis and then I felt her hand – bare flesh against bare flesh – completely encircle my penis as she said, “All boys need this once in a while, don’t you think?” She stroked up and down and fondled my testicles. “But, ooooh, so hairy … ”, she said, as she ran her fingers through
my pubic hair. She continued to fondle me and stroke me for a while longer and then she allowed my penis to rest on my belly ---- she patted it and, as she stood from the bed, said, “Lie still and relax and I’ll be back … ”

As she left the room, I realized that I was still lying there with my underwear lowered below my erect penis so I reached down and pulled it back up to cover myself. I also reached down for the covers, wondering what in the hell I was doing here, and pulled them up over my chest. I could hear Miss Dorothy down the hall opening and closing doors and drawers and I also heard water running. When it stopped, I heard Miss Dorothy coming back towards the room. I looked up as she walked in and I noted that she had some towels of different sizes draped over her arm and she was carrying a large bowl of water. She had something in her hand but I couldn’t quite make out what it was.

She bent over and put the bowl of water on the floor next to the bed, laid the towels on the bed next to me, and then I saw what was in her hand --- a razor and some shaving cream! She put them on the night stand next to the bed.
As she was pulling the covers to the foot of the bed, she said, “Now, we’ll get you all nice and clean”, and I was again lying in front of her in just my underwear. But – not for long! Before I knew it, she had her hands under the top of my underwear and had it pulled down to my knees before I could object – and then my underwear was off! She was quick to take one of the small towels (a wash cloth) and immerse it in the bowl of water, and then she put it over my groin – tucking it in tight between my legs and down to my buttocks. It was very warm, and it did feel good, so I just lay there wondering how this next event would play out.

After a few seconds, Miss Dorothy placed her hand squarely on top of the towel, on top of my penis, and rubbed up and down, left and right, in a cleansing motion. Removing the wash cloth from covering my penis, she rubbed between my legs and then in between my buttocks as far as she could reach. Although my penis had begun to soften, it was now starting to harden. Miss Dorothy dropped the wash cloth in the bowel of water and then she got a very large towel and opened it up.

“Raise your hips for me so I can get this under you. We certainly don’t want to make any mess,” Miss Dorothy told me.

I raised my hips and Miss Dorothy put the towel under my hips, leaving plenty on either side of me, and above my waist to my knees.

Miss Dorothy walked over to the chest of drawers at the far end of the room, and when she returned, I saw that she had a battery-powered razor (like in the barber shop) in her hand. She was going to shave me! I had prepared myself to endure a little “trimming”, but she was going to shave me – bare! I sat up on the bed.

“Miss Dorothy! Please, this was fun but it really is time to stop!” I begged of her.

She stepped toward me and put her hand on my shoulder. She looked at me sternly, but lovingly, in the eyes.

“I looked after Billy all those years. I bathed him and tucked him into bed every night, just like this. And when he grew hair, I kept it trimmed for him. Now just lie back and let me prepare you,” she said.

Miss Dorothy pushed on my shoulder as I lay back on the bed. I recall that Billy was of fair complexion with sandy blonde hair, but I am a full-grown man, with dark hair, and chest hair, and hair on my legs, and a rather good amount of pubic hair (although I keep it somewhat trimmed and under control). Again, my penis had softened and I was lying there before Miss Dorothy, but not for long, as I heard the razor humming and felt it against my skin. She ran it from top to bottom, both sides, and around my penis – and then I felt her hand around my penis – as she ran the razor around the base of it. This also caused me to get hard in her hand! She pressed my penis back against my body and I felt her running the razor along the bottom of the shaft, and then on my testicles, and in between my buttocks. When she finished, she shut off the razor and put it back in the chest of drawers.

Miss Dorothy again prepared the wash cloth with warm water. As she was shaving me with the electric razor, she used her hand to keep brushing the shaved pubic hair away from the area and on to the larger towel under me. Now, she would use the wash cloth to further cleanse the area. I could feel a noticeable difference, and I hoped that she was finished but, not so. She made her hands very wet and then used them to make what remained of my pubic hair wet. She took the shaving cream and spread it over my pubic area, penis, testicles, and between my buttocks. She stroked my penis a few times when she applied the shaving cream to it and it remained hard.

I heard Miss Dorothy moving the razor in the bowel of water, and then I felt her making very deliberate strokes across my pubic area, cleaning the razor in the water after several strokes before returning. I got nervous when she held my penis up and ran the razor along its length. Then, she had my testicles in her hand and she was using the razor to shave them. She worked the razor between my buttocks before telling me to spread my legs and raise my knees.

I could’ve played dumb, but I knew what she was trying to do and I knew that there was no way I was going to resist it. I spread my legs and raised my knees, and this gave Miss Dorothy full access to the area between my buttocks. She shaved there, and she even shaved across my butt – AND THEN – she spread my buttocks and she shaved around my anus! It caught me by surprise but it also had a bit of a good feeling to it and I knew that my penis hardened when she did it.

When she was finished, she returned to the bowl to get the wash cloth to wash me. She used it all over my shaved areas, top to bottom, washing my penis and working her fingers between my buttocks and pushing against my anus. Then she dropped the washcloth between my legs.

“Raise up again so I can get this towel from under you,” Miss Dorothy told me.

I raised my hips, and Miss Dorothy very steadily and carefully removed the towel from under my hips and then folded it inward before dropping it on the floor. She ran her fingers over the top of what she had left of my pubic hair, down along my penis and then my thighs until she got to my underwear. She pulled my underwear up over my exposed pubic area.

She bent over to pick up the towel and get the bowel of water, the razor, and the shaving cream. As she did, I took notice of how nice her ass looked in jeans.

She turned to look at me and said, “I would usually do this before Billy’s bath but, since I didn’t bathe you, we had to make do, right?”

I really didn’t know quite how to answer, only being curious as to what was left of my pubic hair.

“Do you have anything to do this afternoon?” she asked me.

I should have made something up, but the first words that came out of my mouth were honesty.

“No, not really,” I said.

“That’s good. So, you can take your nappy nap here before you go home,” she answered.

“Uh, no. I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I said.

“I’ll have none of that!” she said. “Now you just lie there for a minute, and I’ll be back to tuck you in for nappy nap.” There I lay – freshly shaved in my underwear in the bed of an adolescent. Could this get any more bizarre?

Miss Dorothy returned rather quickly and approached me in the bed, pulling up the covers to above my shoulders. She went to the windows and pulled the curtains tight so it was very dark in the room. I could still see her as she came to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. She ran her hand over my face and through my hair. I felt her other hand under the covers and running across the top of my thigh and then up my stomach to across my nipples.

“This used to help Billy get to sleep. Close your eyes and relax,” she said as she kept up her “massage”. I was hesitant to close my eyes, but I decided to play along with her game. After my eyes had been closed for may be ten seconds, Miss Dorothy moved the hand that was running through my hair down to let her fingertips rub along my nipples; the hand that was rubbing across my nipples moved lower to now begin rubbing my penis through my underwear. Indeed, it was relaxing and I drifted off to sleep.

*** *** ***

When I awoke, everything was very quiet in the house. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew it was still daylight because I could see some light through the curtains. It took me a moment to remember where I was – and what had happened! I ran my hand down my stomach and into my underwear. There was only a light patch of hair around the base of my penis. My testicles were smooth. I reached lower between my buttocks and touched my anus – smooth! I felt across my buttocks – smooth! I’ve been turned into an adolescent. Miss Dorothy has made me Billy! I sat up in the bed and remembered that Miss Dorothy had hung my clothes in the closet. Just as I stood up and walked to the closet, the door opened.

Miss Dorothy was standing there, but she was no longer in jeans. She was wearing a short robe – above her knees. She looked “fresh”, as if she had just showered, and as she walked in the room, I could smell her and it was the smell of “just out of the shower”.

“You didn’t sleep as long as I thought you would. Where are you going?” she asked,

“It’s time for me to go home now, Miss Dorothy,” I answered.

“Not quite yet,” she said, as she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “I always wanted to make sure Billy had a good nappy nap,” she said.

“OK, but, I also have to go to the bathroom,” I said.

“That’s no problem at all,” Miss Dorothy said, as she extended her hand and took my hand in hers, leading me to the door.

We walked out the door, hand-in-hand, and that gave me an opportunity to get a bit of a look inside of her robe, enough to notice that she wasn’t wearing a bra. The way her robe closed, it was apparent that her breasts were full and firm, not bad for a woman in her mid 50s. As I had seen when she was working in the yard, she had nicely toned legs, too.

When we got to the bathroom, Miss Dorothy still held on to my hand and led me into the bathroom. She let go of my hand and I was waiting for her to leave but, instead, she stepped to the side so I could walk past her to the toilet.

“Thanks, Miss Dorothy, I’ll be fine now,” I told her.

“Do you have to go poo-poo or pee-pee?” she asked?

I was embarrassed. “Uh, just pee-pee,” I said, feeling like a little boy and not even an adolescent.

“Well, lower your underpants, and I will help you,” she said, “just like I did for Billy.”

WHAT? Was this lady serious?

“Whenever Billy had to go pee-pee at home, I’d always help him to make sure he wasn’t having any problems. You know, little boys can have problems, too,” she said. “And, if he had to go poo-poo, I’d make sure he didn’t strain and that he was cleaned up properly afterwards, and we never had any problems,” she said.

“I’ll be fine, Miss Dorothy, really I will,” I said, trying to get out of this situation while also trying to be courteous and kind.

“I’m not going to have to yank your underpants down and spank you, am I?” Miss Dorothy said, sort of jokingly, but more firm and serious than anything else.

She moved closer to me so that I had to move closer to the toilet. I had resigned myself to cooperating, thanking that it just might bring things to a close and I’d be out of there. I reached forward to raise the toilet seat, but Miss Dorothy grabbed my wrist and pulled it away.

“Billy would sit whether he had to go pee-pee or poo-poo. It’s easier that way, more relaxing, and allows the bladder to empty easier,” she said.

“Whatever,” I thought to myself, and then it dawned on me why I’d have to lower my underpants. Miss Dorothy was ahead of me and, as I got into position for sitting on the toilet, she reached forward and steadily pulled my underpants to my knees. I quickly moved my ass to sitting on the toilet in an effort to hide my penis from poking out at her (not that she hadn’t seen it before).

“See? Aren’t you far more comfortable as you sit there and just let it flow?” Miss Dorothy asked.

She actually had a point. It was more comfortable and more relaxing. Now the problem was that I couldn’t go with her standing there!

“Focus, focus – I know it’s tough to go when somebody is watching,” Miss Dorothy said. She went to the sink and turned on the water.

“Sometimes hearing the running water helps,” she said.

I sat there a little longer, and I could feel it wanting to come out but it just wouldn’t. Miss Dorothy stepped forward and started rubbing my shoulders and then letting both hands drift down over my chest so that her fingertips would graze across my nipples.

This also helps a little bit; it creates a sensation in the loins that will help you to go. She was right, it did create a sensation in the loins, but whether it would help me to go was still unknown.

“Lean back,” she said, as she pushed my shoulders to the back of the toilet. Her hands moved down my chest and stomach to my legs and between my thighs. “Spread your legs and put your feet flat on the floor,” she said, as she used her hands to move my legs apart. The next thing I knew, she had her hand over my penis, pulling on it from base to tip, as if she was trying to stretch it. She would occasionally stop and then I’d feel her fingertip at the opening to my penis. For some reason, I didn’t get hard but I could feel the need to urinate increasing, and then, it was time. I didn’t want to say anything and get distracted so the urge would go away, but I also didn’t want to urinate on Miss Dorothy’s hand.

The flow started and Miss Dorothy felt wetness at the tip of my penis. I thought when I started to urinate that she’d let go of my penis, but not so. She held on to it and directed the urine into the toilet.

“Very good, that’s a nice flow,” she said. “Stay focused and don’t stop until you are finished.”

I did as she instructed and, amazingly, it was a nice steady flow and not the series of starts and stops that I had experienced while standing up. When I was finished, it was just one “push” and that was it. Now I didn’t know what to do – sitting on the toilet with Miss Dorothy’s hand around my penis. But, she knew what to do.

She had toilet tissue in one hand and she placed it over the head of my penis.

“Stand up so I can clean you,” she said.

“All these years, Miss Dorothy, I’ll be fine,” I said.

“That’s what you think,” she said, slightly pulling on my penis so I’d stand.

I stood up, underwear to my knees and my penis still in Miss Dorothy’s hand. She let go of my penis and dropped the tissue in the toilet.

“Hmmm, that’s very yellow,” she said, looking into the toilet. She put her hands on either side of my face. “Either infection moving in or you’re dehydrated,” she told me. “Do you feel OK?” she asked.

“Yes, I feel fine,” I answered.

Miss Dorothy flushed the toilet. “That was always a sign with Billy,” Miss Dorothy said. “I’d start pumping in the Gatorade right away and monitor his temperature.”

“OK – well I’ll take that as good advice,” I said.

“Stand there while a get the wash cloth,” she said.

At this point, I was in “follow” mode, so I just stood there. She got a wash cloth and wet it under the sink. Then she came to me and took my penis in her hand and washed it with the wash cloth, as well as either side and my testicles. What she did next really surprised me.

“Turn around and lean forward,” Miss Dorothy told me.

I didn’t know what was happening so that’s what I did. I felt one of her hands spread my buttocks and the other hand, with the washcloth, go between my buttocks, up and down, and then apply a bit of pressure to my anus.

“Miss Dorothy! What’s that for?” I exclaimed, as she caught me by surprise.

“Cleanliness. Sometimes we ‘leak’ from the anal sphincter. Now, no mess on our underwear, front or back,” she said, sort of giggling as she said it. “Stay there, like that,” she said.

She went back to the sink and dropped the wash cloth in it. She opened the wall cabinet and I saw her pull out a container – turns out it had powder in it. She applied some to her hands and came back to me.

“Reach back and hold your butt apart,” she said.

I kind of knew what was going to happen and, surely enough, she was putting powder on and between my buttocks.

“OK, turn around,” she said.

I would rather have avoided this, but what was I to do? So, I turned around. Miss Dorothy had gotten some more powder and she put it in my pelvic area and between my legs, and along the length of my penis.

“Don’t you feel like that was a better experience?” Miss Dorothy asked.

Well, it was labor intensive and not terribly easy to do unless at home but, yes, it was “better”, and I told her so.

“NOW, you can pull up your underwear,” she said, and she went to wash her hands as I pulled up my underwear.

I started out of the bathroom, but Miss Dorothy had finished washing her hands and she was able to take me by the hand and lead me back to the bedroom. The moving around that she had done had loosened her robe a bit and I was able to see more of her breasts, confirming that they were firm and full.

As we walked into the bedroom, I expected that Miss Dorothy would drop my hand and we’d be done with our little afternoon escapade. She led me over to the bed.

“Sit down here and let me check on you,” she said. She held my hand in a position such that sitting on the side of the bed was the only thing to do. I didn’t know what she meant by “check on you”.

Miss Dorothy went to the chest of drawers and when she turned back to me I saw that she had a digital thermometer in her hand.

“Open up, let’s make sure you’re not running a fever,” she said.

“Miss Dorothy, really, I’m fine,” I said.

Miss Dorothy came a little closer to me and put her hand on my shoulder, with a stern grip and looking me squarely in the eyes.

“I can’t let you leave here until I know that you’re going to be OK. Open up and let me take your temperature,” she said.

So, I thought to myself, it was no big deal and I opened my mouth and Miss Dorothy put the digital thermometer under my tongue. I closed my mouth around it, thinking to myself how this has really a bizarre afternoon. Miss Dorothy stood back, and there I sat – in just my underwear, shaved underneath by her, and having my temperature taken while we both waited it out. What could be going through her mind?

As I sat there, it seemed like an eternity, and I thought the digital thermometers registered in thirty seconds; maybe she had an older model. After a while, maybe a minute or so, the thermometer beeped and Miss Dorothy stepped forward and retrieved the thermometer from my mouth. She looked at the digital screen and frowned.

“It can’t be right,” she said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“It says your temperature is 97.9 degrees,” she answered.

“So? I feel OK. Who cares what the number is?” I asked.

“I care. Your temperature should be at least 98.6 degrees, maybe higher since it’s later in the day, and even higher if you’re getting sick,” she said.

“Well, I feel fine,” I said, and I stood up, ready to leave.

“No, not yet,” Miss Dorothy said, as she approached me and put her hand on my shoulder to have me sit back on the edge of the bed.

“I want to check it again,” she said. “Lie back on the bed,” and she pushed my shoulders back so that I would lie on the bed. “Open up.”

Whatever. I was almost curious where this was headed as I lay back on the bed and, again, opened my mouth to receive the digital thermometer.

“Lie still, and don’t take that thermometer out of your mouth even if it beeps,” Miss Dorothy said as she was walking out of the room.

In a way, I was kind of glad that she had left the room, but I still felt weird lying there on the baseball sheets in just my underwear having my temperature taken by a woman 18 years my senior.

Miss Dorothy walked back into the room as the thermometer was beeping. She approached me and sat a glass of something red-colored on the nightstand.

“Gatorade to charge you up,” she said. “Keep the thermometer in your mouth just a bit longer. You know, I was a nurse.”

I think I recalled hearing something about Miss Dorothy being a nurse and some rich doctor swept her off her feet, used her for raising a family, and then he dumped her for some younger trophy-wife. Somehow, I wasn’t sure whether I felt better about being in this predicament with her because she was a nurse or did it really matter?

Miss Dorothy stood next to me on the bed and leaned over, putting her hands on either side of my face and then my neck. She ran them down my sides. Although I don’t think it was her intention, it felt sensual and my penis began to become erect and I could feel it pressing against my underwear. Her hands worked to the inside of my thighs and she kept them there. I looked in her direction and I saw that her robe had opened slightly and I had a clear view of her breasts. They were as I had imagined and she must have been tanning in her private back yard, because there were no tan lines. I looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught, but there was also the impact that it had on my hardening penis that was now fully erect.

Miss Dorothy ran her hands up my chest, and then one hand returned to rest on my erection through my underwear.

“Billy had the same response when he was lying in his underwear and I was checking him over,” Miss Dorothy said. “It’s perfectly normal and it’s perfectly alright.”

Miss Dorothy took the thermometer from my mouth and looked at it.

“I just don’t understand,” she said, “it’s 97.9 degrees again.”

“I guess that’s what my temperature is sometime,” I said.

“There’s only one way to make sure,” she said. “Be still and we’ll find out.”

I was perplexed. What did she mean by that?

I lay there wondering what was going on, watching Miss Dorothy return to the chest of drawers and place the digital thermometer on top of it. She reached into the top drawer and I didn’t see what she had in her hand until she turned around to walk back to me lying on the bed. She placed it on the nightstand next to the bed – a jar of Vaseline®️ and what I recalled to be a thermometer case, red on the bottom and clear on the top. At the same time, I also recalled what Vaseline®️ would be used for and my brain spun back to the earlier days of my youth, especially when I was seven years old and in the hospital to have my tonsils removed – protocol being that pediatric patients younger than 13 had their temperatures taken rectally. Rectally! RECTALLY! Was Miss Dorothy preparing to take my rectal temperature? I don’t think so!

As I was sitting up and preparing to get off the bed, Miss Dorothy stepped closer to me so that my legs could not swing over the side of the bed. There was no doubt in my mind this was happening –this, yes, she was going to take my rectal temperature and what was I going to do? I was in a continued state of “how bad can it be” and “curious to see what happens”, so I just stayed alert but let her persist.

“Roll over onto your tummy now,” Miss Dorothy told me, not giving me any clue whatsoever as to what was to come.

I rolled over on to my stomach and, as soon as I did, Miss Dorothy had her fingers inside the top of my underwear and was steadily pulling them down. As an instinctive precaution, I pressed my hips against the bed to prevent my underwear from being lowered and exposing my buttocks.

Miss Dorothy lightly smacked me twice on each buttock, and I flinched and said “Ouch!”, but I still maintained enough pressure to resist my underwear being lowered.

“You know I can’t take your temperature with your underwear up,” she said.

As much as I knew what she wanted to do, I decided to make her work for it.

“Miss Dorothy, I’m fine, and I certainly don’t need for you to take my temperature THAT way!” I said.

I’m sure she was going into her nurse mode, or maybe some other matronly, dominant or controlling mode that she had going on in her head at the moment.

“Rectal temperature is the most accurate way to measure body temperature. Given that there is some question over the digital temperature measurement taken orally, it is only prudent to take your rectal temperature using a mercury-filled thermometer, Miss Dorothy explained.

I think she also used that clinical explanation to distract me, because I had released the pressure of my hips against the bed and Miss Dorothy lowered my underwear to just above my knees. There I lay, buttocks exposed before Miss Dorothy, about to have my temperature taken rectally. Miss Dorothy ran her hand up the back of my thigh and over both of my buttocks.

“Relax, this is no big deal although so many people make a big deal over it,” Miss Dorothy said.

I saw hear lean forward to the nightstand, but still leaning against the bed to ensure that I remained in place, and open the jar of Vaseline®️. She took the thermometer case and pulled the clear top off, slowly removing the thermometer. Somewhere I recalled learning that oral thermometers have elongated bulbs and rectal thermometers have a bit of a stubby bulb – and, I noted that this thermometer had what I heard was a “pear-shaped” bulb. The glass tube had a yellow band and, when Miss Dorothy pulled off the clear top, I saw that the thermometer had a red triangular tip on it. “Red for Rectal”, confirming what I heard many years ago.

Miss Dorothy took the thermometer between her fingers and stuck it into the jar of Vaseline®️, in and out a few times, and twisting it between her fingers. When she took it out, I could see that there was Vaseline®️ along its length, but also accumulated on the bulb. She held it in front of my face so that I could clearly see it was (more than) sufficiently lubricated.

“Lubricant is the key but so many parents and practitioners didn’t understand that back in the day. We have a traumatized generation, like you, created over nothing,” Miss Dorothy said --- as she was using one hand to separate my buttocks and I was now feeling very exposed! I jumped a little bit when I felt the cool Vaseline®️ on the bulb of the thermometer touch my anus. Miss Dorothy stopped until I had again relaxed, and then she steadily slid the thermometer into my anus and I felt her hand against my buttocks. She was right; it was sufficiently lubricated and it slid in with ease. When she had finished inserting it, she let go of it, I no longer felt her hand around it and against my buttocks, nor

did I feel her other hand separating my buttocks. It was a strange sensation, but it didn’t hurt, nor was it uncomfortable. As I lay there for a few more seconds, I actually felt it causing a stirring “up front” that only increased when I constricted my anal sphincter around the thermometer. As I was experimenting with this new feeling, Miss Dorothy told me that it was best to let the thermometer register for four minutes. Then, I felt the thermometer being moved slowly in and out of my anus. Miss Dorothy sat on the edge of the bed and I could feel her body against mine.

“Some boys find this to be a very enjoyable sensation,” she said. She continued to move the thermometer in and out of my anus very slowly. Then, she started twisting it between her fingers. “This is also a feeling that some boys enjoy,” she said. She used the fingers of her other hand to lightly stroke the backs of my thighs and my buttocks. “There’s absolutely no reason why having your temperature taken rectally should cause any trauma,” she said.

Based on what she was doing, I couldn’t agree more, but it was hard to keep my hips from moving in response to what she was doing with the thermometer. Moreso, it was also impossible not to develop an erection and, before long, I knew that I was fully erect and I was rubbing against the bed on the downstroke of responding to Miss Dorothy moving the thermometer around in my anus.

“Billy enjoyed this when I had to take his rectal temperature, but as he got older . . .”

“MOTHER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”, Miss Dorothy was interrupted by what was obviously her daughter storming into the room.



Miss Dorothy stopped moving the thermometer in my anus, but she kept it between her fingers, and she kept her hand across my buttocks. I didn’t know what to do, and I was in no position to move, so I just stayed in place, bare-assed having my temperature taken rectally by Miss Dorothy while her daughter looked on. I looked over my shoulder and got a glimpse of the daughter. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree and I was looking at a very attractive female of about 30 years old, in scrubs, obviously having followed in the footsteps of her mother.

“Oh, Katie! You’re just in time,” Miss Dorothy said.

“What’s going on here, Mother? I thought all of this was over?” Katie said, approaching the bed to stand in front of her mother, and to my side.

“This is the nice young man who lives across the street. He offered to help me move that table into the room,” she answered, pointing to the table that I had moved into the room for her. She was also rubbing her hand over my buttocks.

“That doesn’t explain what’s going on now,” her daughter said.

Miss Dorothy chuckled. “I was just thinking back to when Billy was here, and I asked him to try on Billy’s Star Wars robe, and then I asked him to take his nappy nap here …” she explained.

“... and now you’re taking his rectal temperature?” Katie asked, seeming to be somewhat annoyed and confused at the same time.

Miss Dorothy had started moving the thermometer around in my anus again, and, as much as I was trying to lie still, my hips were moving in response and I had sustained an erection.

“You remember when Billy was here. I always looked after him, just like this,” Miss Dorothy said.

“Yeah, and I remember that he left the day he turned eighteen and he hasn’t returned since,” Katie said.

“He was just a boy, he was confused,” Miss Dorothy said.

“He was a young man and he didn’t like his mother in his pants!” Katie said. “And, I thought you got over it.”

“That’s why it was so nice when this young man offered to help me,” Miss Dorothy replied. “We’ve been having such a nice time.”

Katie squatted down and looked me in the eye.

“Really? Am I to believe that you’re having a good time now? I hardly doubt it,” she said.

As much as this all occurred very quickly, and it was a bit bizarre, I was feeling sorry for Miss Dorothy.

“It’s OK, I’m fine,” I said. “Your mother is concerned that I may be getting ill and she’s been very nice.”

Miss Dorothy spoke up, “That’s right, his urine was dark and he felt warm to the touch, and you know I always took Billy’s temperature when I thought something wasn’t right.”

“And that’s exactly why Billy left! He couldn’t even take a leak in private!” the daughter exclaimed. “And, this rectal temperature thing . . .”

His oral temperature was low; I checked it twice. It couldn’t be right,” Miss Dorothy replied. “You’re a nurse, you know rectal temperature is the most accurate way to measure body temperature, especially when in doubt.”

“So, now what’s going on?” Katie asked.

“I had just inserted the thermometer when you charged in; you know it has to remain in place for four minutes to get the most accurate reading,” Miss Dorothy answered.

“Oh, right, and it needs to be moved around, too?” Katie said.

“Is it wrong to do that if he likes it?” Miss Dorothy replied.

“It’s fuckin’ weird, that’s what it is!” Katie replied.

“Katie! Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap?” Miss Dorothy said, chastising her daughter.

“Don’t start that little girl shit with me, Mother! It didn’t work then, and it doesn’t work now. I don’t know what kind of bond you had with Billy that he tolerated this foolishness, but Dad got me out of here so I didn’t have to put up with it!”

“Calm down, Katie, and give me a hand, I could use your opinion,” Miss Dorothy said, totally discharging her daughter’s rage.

“What kind of help could you use from me?” Katie answered.

“Verify the temperature, see what you think,” Miss Dorothy said as she stopped moving the thermometer inside of me and let go of it. She stood up and stepped back.

“I’m not sure if it will be an accurate reading or not since you were moving it around,” Katie said.

“Then start over again,” Miss Dorothy said.

WHAT? Start over again? I couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Mother, he is fine. There’s no need to take his temperature, especially rectally. This is such bullshit,” Katie said.

“You can do it for your Mother, can’t you?” Miss Dorothy said.

“How about this man,” Katie said, pointing to me, “He has to think you are absolute nuts.”

I felt like I had to speak up for Miss Dorothy. She was really getting hammered by her daughter, and maybe justifiably so, but would it hurt (at this point) if I just continued to play along?

“Your mother is concerned. If she’d prefer that we start over, I’m OK with that,” I said.

“Get me some gloves,” Katie said.

Miss Dorothy went to the chest of drawers and got some exam gloves and handed them to Katie. Katie put the gloves on and she removed the thermometer from my anus, quickly. Without looking at it, she shook it down several times and then I felt her gloved hand separating my buttocks and Katie inserted the thermometer into my anus, quickly and steadily. Once it was inserted, she removed her hand from my buttocks, she had let go of the thermometer, and I now lay there in front of Miss Dorothy and her daughter while the clock ticked down.

“He looks so cute like that, don’t you think?” Miss Dorothy said.

“Yeah, adorable,” her daughter answered, “Just what I like to see – a grown man having his temperature taken rectally.”

“Mother, I’ve got this now, go and clean yourself up,” Katie said.

Miss Dorothy left the room and Katie closed the door.

“I’m sorry you got backed into this corner,” Katie said.

“No problem,” I said. “Maybe I should have been more assertive in stopping it before it got this far, but it all happened so fast.”

“This was a big problem as Billy grew up but, worse, is that it manifests itself every so often when she seizes an opportunity,” Katie explained. “You were actually lured into the spider’s web, so to speak.”

I felt so strange engaging in conversation with the daughter of my neighbor as I lie in front of her with my temperature being taken rectally. Very strange.

“The last time this happened, it was with a college student who was doing some odd chores for her. Word got around campus and I had to get involved to put a stop to it. Fortunately, the student was understanding and graduated that year, and that was the end of it,” Katie continued to explain.

“That could have gotten way out of control,” I said.

“You bet. Mother and I had some serious discussions and she promised to stop, but I see it hasn’t happened,” Katie said.

There was silence for a while and then Katie said, “How are you doing?”

What do you mean?” I asked.

“Only a minute left, but I was wondering what’s going on in your head?” Katie asked.

“I’m not sure; I got to the point of it being bizarre and I just let it play out,” I said.

“That’s how it happens. It’s almost like Stockholm Syndrome,” Katie answered.

“Stockholm Syndrome?” I asked, now becoming very much aware of how awkward this situation was – having an intelligent conversation while I am exposed in front of a woman and my temperature is being taken rectally.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve heard about situations in kidnappings and abductions where the person begins to identify with their captor?”

“Yes, I have,” I said.

“It’s the same thing here; she lures you in and the next thing you know, you are playing along,” Katie explained.

“It wasn’t quite like that,” I said.

“So, how do you explain it?” Katie asked.

I paused, still feeling strange in this new version of the predicament. I decided to ask a question, perhaps to change the subject, and I was curious.

“Why did you agree to start over?” I asked.

“Start over?” Katie replied.

“Yeah – start over, take my temperature,” I said.

Katie kind of giggled. “I wanted to see for myself; my mother was a nurse, so not all of what she says and does is whack-o.”

“I’m perfectly healthy. What do you expect to see?” I said.

“A lower temperature,” Katie said. “But I also wonder about something else.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Did you enjoy it when she was moving the thermometer in and out of your anus?” Katie asked, and she started to move the thermometer in and out of my anus!

“Sure, it feels good,” I said.

As I said this, Katie slid the thermometer from my anus. I looked to my side and saw that she was wiping it with a tissue and holding it up to read it.

“98.7 degrees”, Katie said.

“So?” I asked.

“Well, it’s a little low; a normal rectal temperature is usually 99.6 degrees, one degree higher than oral. But, some people run low,” she explained.

“Do you think something’s wrong or I am getting sick?” I asked.

“No, I think you’re fine,” Katie said.

“Why did your mother make such a big deal over it?” I asked.

“She probably thought there was some error, I’ll give it to her; BUT, it’s really that she has this thing about taking rectal temperature,” Katie explained.

“She likes to do it?” I asked.

“You bet. She likes the vulnerability of the ‘boy’ and I think she may like ‘butt’. If the boy responds well to having his temperature taken, she will introduce him to ‘pleasure’ – as she calls it.” Katie explained.

“Pleasure?” I asked. Now I was perplexed.

“Let me ask you, did you enjoy having her move the thermometer around in your anus?” Katie asked.

I felt a bit embarrassed discussing this. I hesitated.

“I noticed that you were moving your hips when my mother was doing it, and your hips moved in response when I did it, so I think that ‘yes’ is your answer,” Katie said.

“Well, yes, it did feel good,” I said.

“Did you develop an erection?” she asked.

“Should I be embarrassed to admit that I did?” I asked.

“That’s up to you, but if you did, I’m pretty sure my mother was headed in the ‘introduction of pleasure’ direction,” Katie said.

“Do I dare ask what that is?” I cautiously asked.

“Are you curious to find out?” Katie asked.

“And if ‘yes’ is my answer?” I asked.

“Then I will show you what she’d do. I will not have my mother return because I don’t want to encourage this behavior,” Katie said.

“And if ‘no’ is my answer?” I asked.

“I don’t think ‘no’ is your answer,” Katie said. “Just stay like that a moment.”

This was going to get interesting. Katie laid the thermometer on the nightstand, next to the jar of Vaseline®️, and then opened the jar and put her index finger inside. I saw that it was sufficiently lubricated when she removed it. She sat on the edge of the bed behind me and I felt her hand spread my buttocks and her finger rub between them until she identified my anus. I tightened my buttocks and let out a moan of surprise. Katie lightly smacked my buttocks.

“Be a good boy and let the nurse pleasure you,” Katie said.

I wondered if she was as goofy as her mother. The tip of her finger moved around my anus until I finally relaxed, and then she slowly inserted it, stopping when I tensed up, and inserting it more when I relaxed. When she finally had the length of her finger inserted, she moved the tip of it around until she found that spot – my prostate. WHOA! I clenched my anal sphincter around her finger and pushed back against her hand. With my hips raised, Katie could slip her other hand under me and she wrapped her fingers around my fully erect penis.

“That’s very nice. You’re going to like this,” Katie said.

“I like it already,” I said, as I pushed against her hand with the finger in my anus and then against her hand around my penis. Katie stroked my penis and worked her finger in and out of my anus, occasionally going deep and touching my prostate. I liked it when she was working her finger in-and-out of my anus AND when she had it inserted deep and pressing against my prostate. Her hand around my penis, stroking it, felt wonderful. However, as my arousal increased, it felt best if Katie kept her hand pushed against my buttocks, her finger inserted deeply and teasing my prostate, and my body was pressed against her hand around my penis. I was concerned, however, how this was going to end.

“The sheets, I’m going to make a mess on the sheets!” I said, trying not to distract my level of arousal.

“Go ahead, do it. It’s all part of it. This happens with boys. My mother will wash the sheets,” Katie said.

As much as I didn’t want to expose myself in the front, I couldn’t bring myself to ejaculate on the sheets. “Let me roll over; it will be better,” I said, and I tried to roll over. Katie pushed her hand more into me (and that felt good) and she gripped my penis – having the effect of keeping me from rolling over.

“Do it! Enjoy yourself!” Katie said, as she continued with her hands. And then, she said something that caught me by surprise.

“Fuck it! Fuck my finger! Fuck my hand!”

This caught me by surprise because she was so collected, even though she cursed with her mother. I never thought she’d use those terms so profanely. At this point, though, I was highly aroused and hearing her use that profanity was “dirty talk” in the heat of the moment. I thrust and enjoyed the benefit of her finger pressing against my prostate and her hand around my penis and then I felt it happening.

“Oh yeah! That’s it!” Katie said, in a different tone as if she, too, was having an orgasm. She worked her finger against my prostate and stroked my penis and I began to squirt. I squeezed her finger with my anal sphincter and pressed against her hand as the ejaculate spewed from my penis, across her gloved hand, and on to the baseball sheets. Katie kept her finger pressed against my prostate, and her hand wrapped around my penis, until I had finished spasming in the orgasm. When I was lying still, she slipped her hand from under me, and slowly removed her finger from my anus.

“Now, lie still, and I will be right back,” Katie said. She left the room and closed the door behind her.

I needed a moment to rest, but I wondered what was going to happen next, now that the cast of characters had changed but I was still in a predicament. Katie returned in a moment and I noticed that she had removed the exam gloves and she had a dampened wash cloth in her hand. She wiped across my buttocks and between them, using a finger to work around my anus. It was warm; she must have left the bathroom with it very hot.

“Turn over,” she said.

“Turn over?” I asked.

“Yes. You wanted to turn over before, so now I want you to turn over,” Katie said.

At this point, I wasn’t prepared to show myself. I hesitated. Katie’s hand came down hard on my buttocks.

“Hey! I said. What’s that for?”

“Because you didn’t listen. Turn over!” Katie said.

I turned over and there I was splayed before her. Shaved, powdered, and now having just ejaculated. The tip of my penis was somewhat erect, still moist with ejaculate, and pointing right at her. She used the washcloth to wipe me clean.

“She shaved you, didn’t she?” Katie asked, taking my penis and testicles in her hand and inspecting them – and this causing me to become erect again. Katie continued to run her hand over my penis and she would occasionally stroke it.

“Yes, she did,” I answered.

“She kept Billy looking like he was about thirteen all the time – kind of like she has made you look,” Katie told me.

“And you?” I asked.

“I escaped it when I went to live with my father,” she answered. “She had something special with Billy, but he left the day after he turned eighteen.”

“Why are you stroking me?” I asked.

“Don’t you like it?” Katie answered.

“Yes, of course I like it, but I just don’t understand why,” I said.

“I’m just trying to be nice because of how this whole thing went down with my mother and I really don’t know how else to do that,” Katie said.

“There’s no need to feel bad about it, but I do appreciate your concern,” I said, and Katie continued her stroking.

I reached down and put my hand around her hand that was stroking my penis. She seemed a bit confused.

“I have a question,” I said, feeling bold.

“What’s that?”

“Did anybody keep you shaved or are you shaved now?” I asked.

Katie stepped back, which removed her hand from around my penis, and lowered her scrub pants to her knees, and then her white panties. As much as my question was spontaneous, I also didn’t expect the response that I got.

“This is how it’s been for as long as I can remember,” Katie said, and she took a stance with her legs separated so I could get a good look. It was trimmed on top, not bushy, and a dark brown like her hair. A friend of mine told me one time, “Only their hairdresser and gynecologist know for sure.” It only spread out a little bit and it was completely shaven along and below her labia. As I was wondering about the area beyond her labia, Katie turned around, bent over slightly, and separated her buttocks. There was no hair beyond her labia or around her anus.

“I see that you like this?” Katie said.

“Yes, very nice,” I answered – and then I realized that I was stroking my penis.

“I am so sorry,” I said.

Katie giggled. “Let’s call it even.” She reached down and pulled up her panties and her scrub pants.

I immediately stopped stroking my penis and sat up on the bed. Katie had opened the closet door and removed my clothes from the closet. My underwear and socks were on the chair next to the bed, and my shoes were under the chair.

“Get dressed. When you are dressed, I want you to exit the house through the kitchen door and then go through the gate in the fence. I will keep Mother occupied in the basement,” Katie told me. She walked toward me and kissed me on the forehead.

As she was walking out the bedroom door she said, “This can just be a little secret between us.”

I got dressed as quickly as I could and, before going out the bedroom door, took a last look behind me. The bedroom of an adolescent boy, with a rectal thermometer and a jar of Vaseline®️ on the nightstand, and a bed fitted with baseball sheets with fresh ejaculate stains. I just didn’t know what to think about all of this. I quickly exited the house and the yard, returning quickly to my house

*** *** ***

The next day, I received a call from an employer that had been considering hiring me. The following day, I got on an airplane and returned only briefly during the next six months until finally relocating for that job. Needless to say, I never saw Miss Dorothy – or her daughter – again, but I have had some interesting memories.

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