He had a girlfriend studying elsewhere but she frequently came up to stay with us for the weekend. He must have had the same sense of sexual pleasure as me because he always seemed to arrange things so I saw his girlfriend in underwear or naked. On one occasion, they were both in my room about mid-day – they were in dressing gowns. For some reason she playfully switched off my radio which annoyed me so A suggested she should be punished – he parted her dressing gown and asked her to open her legs – I got a lovely view of her cunt which was the first time a woman had let me look at it closely. My own girlfriend (V, later my wife) was only letting me finger her at the time and only through the side of her panty gusset – which she held away for me. I noted every hair and fold of H's cunt and studied the narrow slit. The view was etched in my memory and gave me wanking material for quite some time. We kept in touch and were invited to each other's weddings. After that, every. I was now a free man, and didn’t know what to do. Seeing as I was still technically their patient I used a shower and borrowed a green ‘scrubs’ shirt to go under my borrowed hunting jacket I was still wearing. I figured I’d have to replace it and the trousers seeing the action they’d had in the last month. My blue jeans were filthy and even I could smell them. I’d washed them during our hot week but they had suffered after that time. For some reason I’d kept my wallet and my keys in my jeans – part of my OCD I suppose – and once showered and signed off with some medical advice I begged a lift to the nearest Asda Wallmart and bought myself a new outfit. The checkout girl did look at me a bit old fashioned, and checked my debit card with care. Seeing how suspicious I looked in one of their mirrors I dug out my driving licence and showed her my picture. ‘It’s a very long story honey,’ I said, and she appeared satisfied that I wasn’t a tramp that had stolen it, she gave me a carrier.
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