Chapter 6: Sunday and Things we Know

“My name is Sherlock Holmes. It is my business to know what other people do not know.”

Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle

Hal

The door opened, and another woman walked in, wearing an abbreviated nurse’s uniform. Everyone but me knew her, waving “Hi, Barbie!”

With my greater rapport with Gerri, I felt a strong bond between Gerri and Barbie.

Given the customs of this august company, I decided to give her a thorough physical examination before, as I was sure, I’d explore her mind. She had a nice mane of black curly hair, blue eyes, light skin, and fine red makeup touches with flaming lips. I’d say she was of medium height, noticeably busty without being as pronounced as Elizabeth or Carol, and had her skirt floating over the tops of her white stockings, the red and black theme continued in her garters. Her shoes were sexy heels that I really doubted would work for floor nursing. A blue cape topped the outfit, falling to mid-calf.

She came up to me. “Deduction worthy of Sherlock Holmes, sir, suggests to me that you are Hal – in addition to being told that you’d be the only new person here. Would you prefer to have me as a stereotype sexy nurse on your lap, to start, or should I change into my lab coat and come back for a discussion of neuropharmacology?”

I like this kind of mental tennis, and served back. “Are the two topics mutually exclusive? Can you not kiss and then talk about the oxytocin it released?

“Holmes, eh? Am I to be your Watson? It occurs to me that if the Baker Street Irregulars have that particular problem, you might recommend laxatives?”

“Oh, I like that, Hal. I like that a lot. Shall we perform sapiosexual acts together?” By now, Joan, Elizabeth, and Carol were in hysterics. Gerri and Angus were red-faced trying to be decorous.

Barbie slid onto my lap, with a deft hip maneuver that captured my free hand under my skirt. She paused, looking deeply into my eyes, in a searching way, and then giggling and giving me a number of eyelash bats.

My hand gave me a flashback. When I was 16 or so, I had a friend who was a nurse of 23. It was first and foremost an intellectual friendship. Marilyn then took on what might be a big-sisterly role of guiding me with my peers, but she was also a big sister that was interested in incest, or sibling revelry.

One evening, we had been talking in her car, after dinner. We had exchanged a few kisses, and I indeed remembered her as one of the greatest kissers whom I’ve ever encountered. It was winter, and she was wearing a skirt.

Quite sincerely, I asked, “Aren’t you cold with legs just in stockings?”

“Oh no. I’m quite warm. Why don’t you slide your hand under my skirt to check?”

So, I slid my hand under her skirt and found she was indeed warm. While I was checking the temperature of her thighs, bare over her hose, she must have been uncomfortable, since she wiggled and even pressed her groin against my hand.

Having confirmed her story, I tried to be a gentleman, and withdrew my hand. Only later did I remember her eyes rolling to the heavens, for I had missed a rather blatant invitation.

Elizabeth managed to stop laughing. “Aside from playing Nurse Boobs or Nurse Legs, Barbie is actually our main authority on medicine and mental health. Now, for sexual role-playing, the nurse outfit works.

“Actually, she is a neurologist, who started her academics very early. She also has a Master’s in Public Health, and a PhD in the neurology of sexuality. Remember, neurologists also know a lot of psychiatry. Among us, we agree that she also has a mistress’ in pubic health. I see she’s done one of her favorite positions, so you should indeed sample the demonstration of her pubes.

“Sometimes, we think she’s Dr. Watson but I am Sherlock Holmes.

Barbie giggled. “And sometimes, that seems unfortunately true.”

“Holmes and Watson are on a camping trip. In the middle of the night Holmes wakes up and gives Dr. Watson a nudge. “Watson” he says, “look up in the sky and tell me what you see.”

“I see millions of stars, Holmes,” says Watson.

“And what do you conclude from that, Watson?”

Watson thinks for a moment. “Well,” he says, “astronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and potentially billions of planets. Astrologically, I observe that Saturn is in Leo. Horologically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I see that God is all-powerful, and we are small and insignificant. Uh, what does it tell you, Holmes?”

“Watson, you idiot! Someone has stolen our tent!”

Thomas Cathcart

Elizabeth

“Seriously, she’s yet another woman who can give deep insight into public policy, but gets passed over.” Looking again, I realized that Barbie was older than I first had assumed, given her trim body and quick, graceful movements.

“You, Joan, and Barbie also need to talk on Gerri’s growth through the techniques that you’ve used. Barbie has given her medication and psychotherapeutic support, but hasn’t found her ready yet for full therapy. That appears to have changed.”

Gerri

“Yes, Elizabeth. Barbie, obviously, we have to give you details, but I’m far more grounded than a few days ago. I feel myself not just healing, but growing.”

Barbie whispered, “Listen carefully, but don’t forget my lonely pubes. You will have to slide my panties aside.” I moved my hand, carefully and happily. “Oh, goodie! I feel you growing!”

“Hal, this is a good time to give you some background about myself, as Elizabeth asked earlier for me to do. It will be easier with Barbie here.

“I am, as the saying goes, of good family. They sent me off to Miss Porter’s School for my high school years, where I was fairly quiet, but refused to participate in the debutante process. It’s strong in theater and arts, and encouraged my growing interest in fashion design.

“Next, I went to Smith College, studying costuming and fashion. I briefly considered Lesbian Until Graduation (LUG), but decided that I liked fucking far too much.”

She fluttered her eyelashes in a way that I sensed pleasantly surprised the others. She wasn’t just looking good, but glowing. She wasn’t just subservient, but flirtatious, although she had become more so when she put on the French maid outfit.

“Fucking? Let’s not forget the ... spanking and the oral sex, that’s it. Oral is fun for me both with men and women, giving and receiving. I can cum from giving.

“Sadly, few of you have seen me in full rut, enjoying sex. I think that’s going to change.

“After graduating there, I went to Pratt in New York, and got a MFA in fashion. With my references, shows, and family, I soon was able to get active in a New York fashion house. In retrospect, it was good that my body type is wrong for a runway model, although I can do some lingerie and bikini. My point is that I wasn’t diverted into modeling. One useful area where I got close to modeling was some on-the-job work in fashion photography.

“Still, fashion industry partying gets pretty wild. Some of the models are extremely disciplined, and that often gets them even better jobs. Others, however, will do anything for a fine job, and there’s a certain tendency, among the buyers, etc., to assume that all women are sexually available.

“Don’t get me wrong. I was happy to be available when there was mutual attraction. Unfortunately, I went to a party held by some very rich people, whose younger children were connected to the industry but also felt very entitled. Those people also were connected in a different sense of the word. The older generations did not want a lot of public visibility.

“You probably know that the Mob, for want of a better term, thinks of themselves as Men of Honor. I learned that some really are, within their code, and I respect them.

“Honor has left a lot of the younger ones. At this party, my drink was drugged. I woke up to find myself tied down, obviously having been sexually used.

“It was crazy. Asked nicely, I wasn’t at all beyond pulling a train and loving it. I wasn’t necessarily squicked by artistic bondage, and really was getting interested in the Japanese artistic style of shibari, or their lesser, more lifestyle idea of kinbaku.

“But what was this? Sloppy knots holding me to a fairly crude bed in what could be a warehouse? Absolutely no erotically elegant clothing? I was wearing a single stocking.