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Nurse Gladys Thurston of the Cavendish School was surprised when George Atwood arrived at her home with a formal note from Miss Pearson. "Miss Thurston, I know this may come as a surprise, but I believe you will have an indescribable experience and if you're fortunate, more than one. Ask young Mr. Atwood if he's thought about tasting your quim."

Surprise was an understatement. Shocked, stunned. Nurse Thurston read the note again and then read it a third time.

Then she looked at Mr. Atwood. He was a handsome, well-built young man. "Do you know what's in the note?"

"Not word-for-word, ma'am, but I know generally what it says," he smiled.

"This is all new to me, Mr. Atwood. I can't make a decision like this on the spot. Can you come back, perhaps next Friday?"

"Yes ma'am. I understand ma'am. I'll be here next Friday."

Like many other female teachers, nurses, administrators of schools, Nurse Gladys Thurston never married. She was fifty-five and her life was dedicated to the health of the girls at the Cavendish School.

Miss Thurston was not unattractive, but had never encouraged men who might court her. She was petite. However, if she wore a dress which emphasized her breasts, which she never did, an observer would find that they were much larger than you'd expect on such a small woman.

Of course, George Atwood was not interested in Miss Thurston breasts.

This wasn't a fait accompli. The Cavendish nurse tossed and turned every night; the very idea that this boy thought he could walk into her office with a letter from the headmistress of the Wilkinson School and expect her to let him do the unspeakable. The nerve!!!!

On the other hand, Miss Pearson was an honorable woman. What was an ‘indescribable experience?" She'd never had any experience, and now to be presented with this kind of opportunity. . .

She rolled over and hugged her pillow. "I just can't. I can't let that boy see my, what did she call it? If he didn't have that letter from Miss Pearson, I would have ordered him out of my office and called the police.

An hour later, she rolled over again, what would it feel like?

By Friday, she'd come to the realization that as disgusting as the idea might be, it was a once in a lifetime opportunity for a woman like her.

That morning she'd put on her finest undergarments. Her knickers were lacy and racy black. The flared skirt on her dress gave Mr. Atwood easy access.

And it was access she gave him. He was under her skirt, helping her take off her cotton stockings, and then when she stood up, helped her out of those knickers. Nurse Thurston sat back down with George Atwood under her skirt and between her legs. With Headmistress Pearson's guidance and encouragement, he'd become very accomplished.

Over the next hour, the nurse at the Cavendish School had the most incredible experience of her life. Sounds came out of her mouth that she'd never made before. "Mr. Atwood, ooooh, oooh, Mr. Atwood. Oooooooh, ooooooh, oooooooh my!!!!!"

That one hour became two, then three. Eighteen-year-old George Atwood never tired, but eventually Nurse Thurston had enough.

After he left, she stayed in bed all day Saturday, reveling in those numerous orgasms. She didn't call them orgasms; she wouldn't know the term.

Miss Thurston was pleased that she had not neglected to make sure that Mr. Atwood knew he was welcome back any time. She preferred Fridays. It gave her time to recuperate before she had to be in her nurses' office Monday.

When the headmistress of the Wilkinson School and the nurse of the Cavendish School met for lunch, they tried not to discuss Mr. Atwood. It was inevitable:

NURSE THURSTON: Thank you for sending Mr. Atwood to me.

MISS PEARSON: I don't think that's a conversation two ladies should be discussing, but you're welcome. She smiled.

They ate quietly for a while.

MISS PEARSON: He is marvelous, isn't he?

NURSE THURSTON: I never thought I could feel like that. I knew the "q" word because I have two older brothers. How about you?

MISS PEARSON: Over the past few years, I've confiscated trashy novels and the likes from under the boys' beds. The language would shock a priest.

NURSE THURSTON: I'm sure it shocked you, and I'm sure it would shock me.

Headmistress Pearson took that as a hint and hand delivered a number of those disgusting, salacious, scandalous novels to the nurse at the Cavendish School. She need not worry, every week or so, there were always more to be found under the boys' beds or mattresses.

It wasn't long before Miss Thurston was reading them in bed with her nightgown up to her waist and her hand inside her knickers.

A week later, she did something she'd never done: she went to bed without wearing knickers.

She left her post at school early the following Friday. In anticipation of Mr. Atwood's arrival, she read a few passages; a few of her favorites, and most repulsive passages. Her knickers were off, and her dress hiked up.

She moaned and thrust her hips as she spasmed from an orgasm. By the time George Atwood arrived her quim was dripping.

George Atwood didn't know anything about foreplay; neither did either woman. All he knew was what Miss Pearson taught him. "Mr. Atwood, using your tongue right there will make me so happy." He knew she meant her little button. In less than a minute, as his tongue played with it, the nurse had another orgasm, then shortly thereafter another.

The next time he saw Nurse Thurston, "The headmistress told me that you know how to make me happy."

Young Mr. Atwood was amazed that his tongue could make Nurse Thurston react like that. He did it again and then again. She was moaning loudly, her hips in motion. "Ooooooooooh, ooooooooooh, Mr. Atwood, ooooooooh, oooooooh, Mr. Atwood."

He thought she'd had enough. He started to get out from under her dress. "No, please, Mr. Atwood. One more time, please. Make me happy one more time." One more time became numerous more times. Mr. Atwood had the stamina you might expect of a boy of eighteen.

Nurse Thurston stayed in bed most of the day Saturday. In modern terms we'd say she was high or in orgasmic heaven. She wouldn't know those words; all she knew was that she was happy. One of the last things she remembered was George Atwood saying was, "thank you Miss Thurston; see you next Friday."

Next Friday could not come soon enough.

In the interim, she met Miss Pearson for lunch again.

NURSE THURSTON: Those books were, I can't even describe how filthy they are. There ought to be a law.

MISS PEARSON: I could not agree more. I don't know who publishes such trash. I can tell you there's no limit to how many they publish. Every week I find something scandalous under some boy's bed.

NURSE THURSTON: (whispering). Let me tell you something I discovered. (Leaning across the table) If I read a passage before he arrives; it makes me anxious to see him. I think he enjoys my well you know, even more. He makes me so happy.

MISS PEARSON: I'll have to try that. Happy, that's a good word for what he does to me.

Just yesterday, Headmistress Pearson found a novel under a boy's mattress. It gave a vivid description of a woman's lover doing what George Atwood did to her. "Eat my quim, Mr. Harrison, you eat it so good. Tell me my quim is delicious. Tell me you want to keep eating my tasty quim."

The morning of Mr. Atwood's arrival, Jane Pearson read that passage to herself numerous times. She'd never thought of it as eating; it was tasting. However, once Mr. Atwood's tongue had made her happy, involuntarily she used almost the same words as the novel's character: "Eat my quim, Mr. Atwood, you're so good to my quim. Tell me my quim is delicious. Tell me you want to keep eating my tasty quim."

George Atwood didn't say anything. He was too busy. Yes, he thought her quim was delicious; so was Nurse Thurston's. And yes, he was going to keep eating her tasty quim.

TO BE CONTINUED

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