The Physical Therapist "Okay, two o'clock Wednesday with Jill. Please come fifteen minutes early the first time so we can get your paperwork in order." The voice at the other end of the line belonged to someone -- Carmen? Carrie? -- at the scheduling desk at an outpatient rehabilitation center I was going to go to for physical therapy. The owner of the voice greeted me when I came at 1:50 on Wednesday, five minutes late. "Hello, Mr. Breathnach," she said, pronouncing it wrong, as most everyone does; "how are you?" Instead of burdening her with the obvious fact that if I were fine I wouldn't be there for a physical therapy appointment, I merely said I was okay, and started in on my paperwork. "Fine," she said when we were done. "Jill will be out shortly." Shortly turned out to be fifteen minutes, and Jill turned out to be Jill Johnson. I followed her into one of the rooms and she closed the door. It would be called an examination room if it were in a doctor's office -- a small room with a table for the patient to sit on, a chair for the therapist, a sink for washing up, and cabinets and drawers full of equipment. She told me to sit on the table; she took the chair; and she started asking me questions. Looking at her now while talking to her, I realized how attractive she was. Clear blue eyes; a small, pert mouth; medium-length blonde hair; a slightly jutting chin; and probably the best figure I'd ever seen. And clothes to accentuate it. She interviewed me about how I get about (on crutches) and the like, and I tried to pay attention instead of staring and fantasizing. Then she had me move my legs in various directions while she measured how far they went. That was a little difficult -- having this breathtakingly beautiful woman touching my legs in a private room without my whimpering -- but I managed to control myself. She gave me some specific exercises to work on at home, and said she she'll see me next time -- our session was over. "And hopefully next time I'll take you on the floor" -- where all the exercise equipment was. I just wanted to take her on the floor. ----- My two o'clock on Wednesday was a Liam Breathnach, and he turned out to be a twenty-six-year-old man on crutches, six-foot-one, with multiple fractures in both feet, and atrophied muscles in his legs. His orthopaedist had set him to us for several weeks of therapy. He came late, a lousy start, and I went through the usual examination. But I caught him staring at me, and he seemed a little distracted. Now, I'm not ugly, far from it, but neither am I stunning. I have a big chin, for one thing. And I don't wear a lot of make-up, and certainly not tight clothes or anything sexy. So it doesn't often happen that people stare or whistle at me. Yet this patient was clearly uncomfortable alone with me. So I decided to take a look at him, with a slightly less-than-clinical eye. He was, as I said, six-one, and nicely built; if not for his injuries and subsequent atrophy, he'd probably be a good amateur athlete of some sort. Probably worked out a few times a week before his accident. His looks, too, were far better than average, with a nice, chiseled chin and dark, dark eyes made even darker by his dark hair. Suddenly I started wanting him, too. But that had happened before with patients, and nothing ever came of it. Too much is on the line -- my license to practice, for example -- to fool around with a patient. So we finished the appointment, and I promised him more activity the next time. He got out of there like the building was on fire, although I suppose it was just himself. ----- "Next time" came after a week of dreams featuring Jill. I came on time, even five minutes early. And, at two o'clock exactly, Jill came out to escort me in. This time we went out to the floor, as promised, where she had me sit on a table with my foot -- first one foot, then the other -- on a BAPS board, essentially a flat board with a ball attached to its underside. I had to try to use my ankle to get the edges of the board to touch the floor. It's not as easy as it sounds. Or it wasn't for me, at least. Having the woman of my dreams hold my knee the whole time didn't help matters any. Having thoroughly embarrassed myself on the BAPS board, I was glad to follow her to the parallel bars. Unlike a gymnast's parallel bars, these are pretty sturdy, and are perhaps waist-high. They're meant for walking between while holding on to either side. But I wasn't to walk that day. Instead, she got what's called a rocker board. This is just a rectangular board that rocks back and forth like a see-saw. She had me stand on it and rock forward and backward, to exercise my ankles, while she stood right in front of me. After about one rock back and forth, she decided that I wasn't doing it right. "Your ankles, not your hips. Keep your hips still and just move your ankles." And she put her hands on my hips to hold them in place. So there I was, rocking forward and back, forward and back, standing right in front of this fabulously beautiful and sexy woman, who actually had her hands on my hips. Forward and back, forward and back, and I had the beginnings of an erection. But I couldn't stop the exercise without an excuse, so I tried to think of something else. There I was, trying to concentrate on the anatomy of the muscles in my feet, and most of my mind was thinking about the beautiful Jill. Forward and back, forward and back, and, yes, I was getting hard. I couldn't hide my hardness because my hands were on the bars and I wasn't allowed to bend my legs. So I stood there -- forward and back, forward and back, in and out, closer to her and then back, and by now I had a true erection. She was looking down at my feet, so I couldn't imagine that she didn't notice it, but she said nothing, letting my continue the exercise, continue the movement toward her and away, toward her and away, getting harder and harder. Then I saw that she was breathing shallowly. Apparently, I wasn't the only one turned on. Finally, she announced, "Okay, you can stop," and took her hands off my hips. ----- The rocker board had been a mistake, I saw. I hadn't thought it through. Touching his knees while he was sitting with the BAPS board was such a turn-on, it was all I could to to resist sliding my hands up his thighs. And now this. He was rocking in and out in front of me, I was already feeling horny, and I had to hold his hips. And he was clearly getting turned on, too: I could see a bulge in his pants that I wanted. Inside of me. Fast. No good, this has to stop, I thought, and I told him to quit rocking. I managed to get away from there without grabbing him. I walked away, to a room, for table exercises, and then realized I hadn't told him to follow. So I turned around. "Are you coming?" I asked, then had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at the unintended pun. So he followed me, and then, while walking to the room, is when I decided to be a little naughty. Nothing overt, nothing I would get reported for, but some unnecessary touching never hurt anyone, did it? And he had such a hot body. ----- I followed her into one of the examination rooms, and the walk across the floor did me good: I managed to calm down a little. She closed the door. "Would you strip from the waist up," she suggested, "so I can listen to your heart and lungs?" I complied, although I didn't know physical therapists did that sort of thing. But, lo and behold, she took a stethoscope out of the drawer as I unbuttoned my shirt. "This is not usual," she said, "but I noticed you were a bit out of breath on the rocker board, so wanted to make sure your heart and lungs sound okay." I didn't tell her that my breathlessness was her doing. She listened to my chest and back with the stethoscope, keeping one hand on my torso practically at all times, which was, well, electrifying. God, how I wanted her. At one point her hand was on my belly, and I wanted to shout "Just slide it down, right down there," but instead must have made some sound, because she glanced at me suddenly and I thgouth I saw a hint of a smile. ----- After the completely unnecessary examination with the stethoscope, I was all heated up again. I wanted this man more than anything in the world, to feel his warmth, to stroke his body, to feel his hardness, to straddle his cock, oh my god, to feel him inside me, his heat, my tightness, oh god, bringing me to oblivion. I started to feel dampness on my thighs: I was truly horny. But I couldn't actually do anything with him that would get me in trouble. I would have to get hold of myself before I went too far. I excused myself, telling him he could put his shirt on, and stepped outside to breathe. When I came back, fortunately, he had dressed. I then had to do table exercises with him: straight leg raises, hip abduction, the usual stuff. I would just have to control myself. Maybe not touching him at all would be best. ----- She stepped out of the room, telling me to dress. I was glad of that -- a few more minutes of that torture, and I would have just taken her right there on the table. By the time she returned, I was no longer quite as turned on, no longer hard, although I was still horny as hell. She started making me do leg exercies. She asked me to lift one leg straight up off the table without bending my knee -- a straight-leg raise, as she called it. No problem, I could do that; she told me to do twenty. For the first few, she stood right by me, not touching me, thankfully. But then she told me I was doing it wrong: "You're moving your pelvis," she gasped. "It has to stay on the table." This time, she didn't touch it. But after I did a couple more leg raises, she told me again, "your pelvis has to stay down," and she put a hand on my hip to keep it on the table. I started getting hard again, feeling her hand on my hip. She was to my left, and holding down my right hip, you see, reaching right over me, and my cock was getting erect again. Every time I raised my leg, her hand went with it a bit, sliding up and down my body, and her wrist was sliding up and down my cock. ----- His leg raises were a rousing success. That was a little joke -- they roused him. I had to hold down his hip, and I couldn't resist: I kept my wrist down so it rubbed his cock. God, but I wanted him badly. I kept him doing leg raises until he was good and hard, then I told him he could stop. Then -- and I'm not proud of this -- I moved my hand to his cock and started rubbing it through his pants. A nice massage for my patient -- hey, mom, did you hear I'm now a massage therapist too? -- and he looked like he was going to come right in his pants, so I pulled away and watched him calm down a bit. But I still wanted him. I went to the door of the room and locked it, then came back. He just stared at me with those beautiful eyes. I jumped on the table, straddling him, and kissed his eyes, his mouth, his face, and he responded in kind, kissing my mouth hard, making me warm, kissing my neck, my jaw, holding me, rubbing his hands over my body, turning me on so badly I needed him so badly I needed him so badly I wanted him inside me NOW. ----- After what seemed like a very short foreplay, she opened my zipper. She started stroking my cock while she pulled her skirt up over her waist and her panties down and off. Then she held me while she took me inside her, sitting on me, going up and down, up and down, fucking my brains out and coming, she was coming and I was coming inside her oh yeah and then she collapsed on me and said one word: "More!" ----- I was so embarrassed, I couldn't believe I had said that. But I wanted him more. I wanted him naked, I wanted him to carress my breasts, to beat up my nipples, I wanted to feel his strong hands all over me, I wanted to see his beautfiul chest again, his abs, I wanted to see his ass. I wanted to fuck him again and again. I was so horny: this had never happened to me before: I think this hot, hot man turned me into a nympho.