Category: Minge

Sitting Like a Bloke: The Nurse Demands Equality

December 24, 2014 | By | Add a Comment

the bottom half of a man sitting in a chairBetty is petite and elegant, a fragrant little silver-haired lady in pretty twin sets and neat tweed skirts. She’s naturally ladylike.

The Nurse, on the other hand, is one of those big, gangly, raw boned, coarse haired, ruddy skinned Englishwomen who look better in a hand knitted sweater and horsey slacks than twin setted and pearled. If asked to describe herself, she’d admit she looks rather like a large, unkempt terrier. Only not as friendly.

It takes all kinds. And although The Nurse isn’t ladylike as such, she makes an effort. Forcing her abundant, wiry hair into a Thatcheresque bouffe, she flatters her mannish figure with military-precise tailoring, softening the slightly alarming effect with patterned silk scarves and discreet gold jewellery. She’d like to think she can pass as a lady, although some of the requirements of lady-dom get on her tits something rotten.

Take last night. When Betty asked her to “sit ladylike”,  The Nurse saw red. Tradition dictates sitting in a ladylike fashion means keeping your knees glues together or crossing your legs. Neither of which are particularly comfortable. Whereas men can sit any way they like, including the classic bloke pose: legs splaying wide and – depending on the trouser trend of the time – happily displaying their meat ‘n’ two veg in spectacular high relief.

In a subtle way, women are being physically controlled according to draconian values. To preserve our feminine virtue and appear appropriately modest, we’re still being brought up to sit nicely instead of comfortably. It’s a kind of repression. Equality it isn’t.

The Nurse likes to be comfy. She can’t be bothered with most of society’s norms, although she does a pretty good job of blending in. She has to, given her inability to stop killing people and her steely determination to steer clear of prison – fuck that for a lark. But she should be able to do anything she likes in her own home, behind closed doors. And that includes letting the air circulate around her fanny whenever the need or desire arises.

If The Nurse feels like sitting in the kitchen with her legs wide open, vag in clear view of the whole of Christendom, surely that’s her prerogative. If she fancies a lazy afternoon indoors flapping her flaps to the rhythm of a House music tune – or even throwing shapes with the blasted things – so be it. It’s her home and she can give her beef curtains an airing any time she sees fit. The way she sits doesn’t make her any less of a lady.

On the other hand, The Nurse ruminates, her need to remain safely anonymous and invisible doesn’t dovetail well with bus loads of passengers fainting at the sight of her pale, wrinkly wizard’s sleeves as she gets comfy on the short journey to George Street shops. Perhaps in Kemptown. But Hove? Hm. Probably not.

The solution to the dilemma at home is clear. It’s such fun having a killing partner. The Nurse doesn’t want to offend Betty. So she’ll keep her knees well and truly together when Betty’s there… and let everything hang nice and loose when she’s alone. Not normally one to compromise, The Nurse is rather chuffed with herself.

The Nurse returns, thanks to the Muff Table

February 14, 2013 | By | Add a Comment

70s dancers

The Nurse has had a lovely time the last few months, trollying around Brighton off her face on various mind-bending substances, more or less behaving herself. But now she’s bored shitless.

How could she have contemplated giving up her wicked ways? Looking back, it seems insane.

She ran into The Chief Surgeon in Waitrose on Western Road yesterday. The silly old duffer. But The Nurse has a soft spot for him, since he was the man who introduced her to the whole amateur brain surgery thing in the first place. Of course he managed to stay out of gaol, the sod, but she’s prepared to let it lie. Life’s too short to bear grudges.

Seeing him brought back all sorts of lovely memories of her old guerilla trepanning days. But the thing that tipped The Nurse over the edge was the muff table, found in one of Kemptown’s excellent junk emporia a few hours later.

If you’re old enough to recall the 1970s and ever came across a porn magazine in a back alley behind your house (like The Nurse did) you’ll be unable to forget the sheer size and frightening vigour of muffs back then. In the days when the Brazilian wasn’t even a twinkle in a pervy beautician’s eye, ladygardens grew wild and free. Very wild and very free. And the muff table was absolutely covered in them, a triumph in the art of decoupage decorated with what must have been a hundred cut-out photos of minges, all complete with thick outcrops of wayward, wiry 1970s pubes. Blimey.

The Nurse doesn’t give a stuff about interior decor. It’s for wankers. But she desired the muff table with all her horrible black heart. And it was a snip at just seventy quid plus a crafty blow job out the back.

In fact she’s so delighted she couldn’t resist re-opening her dialogue with you lot, simply to show off.

If you’re ever brave enough to invite yourself over for tea you’ll find The Nurse sitting quietly on the sofa with the muff table in pride of place, her eyes glowing strangely in the dim light, surrounded by surgical instruments. She’ll make you very welcome… in her own special way.

Oh, The Nurse is so glad she’s back. This is going to be such fun.

I Love Americans!

November 7, 2007 | By

I don’t care if my fellow amateur brain surgeons aren’t big fans of America. I am! Having spent some of the most enjoyable months of my life as a post-graduate student at Caltech, living in Altadena, I grew to love both the country and the people. Both so varied, interesting, challenging, rewarding and generous.

I had a great time, met some incredibly generous people and formed some lasting and rewarding relationships. One of my best friends is a Gynaecologist working in L.A. who spends his days inspecting the expensively coiffeured minges of the rich and once-were-famous. Mainly middle aged and elderly ex-daytime T.V. starlets whose names I dare not mention.

He tells me all sorts of stories about the surgical procedures that he performs. Mainly major repairs and overhauls due to over-use, abuse and ageing. People are living much longer these days and the ladies want their vaginas to remain usable well into their 70’s. So my chum charges a small fortune to turn a sausage-wallet that’s as loose as a wizards sleeve with piss-flaps the size of John Wayne’s saddle-bags into something the lady could open beer bottles with. Or so I am told.

I love America!