THE NYMPHO NURSE

After I had spent an initial two weeks with you and began to regain my senses in the wake of the intoxicating infatuation, I called Dr. Polyphemous Pangloss to inquire about your background. He said he knew you, but not nearly as well as several doctors and an increasing number of male nurses who were beginning to know you. Apparently, you had dropped a rung among the elite as a result of your erotic escapades.

Pangloss told me you were a gold digger. The doctors mined you. They left their deposits rather than finding any, then abandoned you for less excavated caves. When you turned your attention to me, you obviously mistook copper for gold. Nevertheless, you convinced me that I had struck it rich.

You discovered a productive vein. I took you out of your dingy two-bedroom apartment and bought a house in one of Brownsville's nicest neighborhoods. Your boys not only had their own rooms, but they had a father figure who made them forget they had a father. From golf to guitars, I taught them the fundamentals and they blossomed on their own. When they are older, they will recognize who made them men.

You may not have hit the lottery with me, but in the long run I proved a bigger prize financially than the Friday night bingo jackpot. But when it came to satisfying my cravings, you weren't the cornucopia of cunt you had been at the hospital. From surviving intravenously on sperm and requiring a catheter to drain you of excess cum, you scornfully claimed that you had cured yourself of sex and didn't need any of my medicine.

To my chagrin, you suffered a relapse. You turned to cheating. I thought I had rehabilitated you, but some cases are terminal and you were incapable of being an honest woman.