Bedroom Conversations

On of my devoted readers, John, does not like the really dirty stuff that so many of you like to read (dripping cum and humiliated husbands and all that) and he wants me to write some nice porn with a little humor. So here is a nice, but not too dirty story, dedicated to John. There will be more really dirty stuff for you guys with filthy minds later.

***

My name is Tom Rogers and I am 46 years old. My wife Peggy and I have been married since my third year of medical school. I am presently a practicing gynecologist at the Collins Clinic in Springfield Missouri. Our two kids, a son and a daughter, are both in college at MU and both are going to become doctors, following in the footsteps of their grandfather and me. We have had a fortunate life and we are very thankful for it.

My marriage to Peggy is a good one. She is a wonderful wife, with only one fault -- an obsessive desire to gossip with several other wives about the personal lives of the members of the club. When I tell her she is overdoing it she says that everybody does it and there's no harm in it.

Each evening in bed she regales me with stories from her luncheon group (6 gals twice a week), her bridge group (four gals once a week) and the gals she sits around the pool with. All they talk about is sex. I suppose I should thank my lucky stars that she's just talking about it -- not doing it!

Peggy has a good life, but she earned it by working as a nurse to get me through medical school and residency, while raising two great kids at the same time. She worked her ass off! Now that the kids are in college, she's entitled to a little relaxation.

Even so, she engages in a lot of ugly gossip. The ringleader, if there is one, is Lois, who is married to the head of pharmacy at the Clinic. She has somehow figured out a way to find out every medicine everyone is taking -- from daughters on birth control pills to husbands on erectile dysfunction tablets. I think she "helps out" her husband in the pharmacy from time to time.

Husbands who need Cialis regularly or just an occasional purple pill are discussed around the luncheon table at the club. Another one of the wives is Trish, whose husband practices Urology at the Clinic, and any guy with erectile dysfunction quickly becomes a topic of regular conversation.

Of course, if that guy's wife is sitting at the table the conversation is very general until the poor gal figures out that if she knows about everybody else's husband, they will find out about hers eventually and then she shares stories about her hubby's pathetic bedroom performance with the other ladies of the club. I can't count the times my wife has chuckled as she tells me about wilting penises magically restored to erect function by the miracles of modern pharmacy.

For the life of me I cannot understand why a professional pharmacist or a practicing urologist would share confidential patient information with his wife. I always try to keep my patients' secrets confidential, but sometimes that's impossible because Peggy is so damn persistent and she already knows half the truth anyway. I guess all the wives extract information from their husbands like dentists extract molars. It happened to me again just last night.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT IN BED

I lay quietly trying to go to sleep until my thoughts were interrupted by a voice in the darkness.

"You're not gonna believe what Trish told me today."

"I'm gonna hear it whether I believe it or not. What did Trish tell you today?"

"You know Don Knox. You've played golf with him at the club."

"The high school football coach?"

"Yeah, that's him. Well Trish says he can't get it up. Imagine a big guy like that! Broad shoulders and strong! Drives the golf ball 250 yards. And he's got a pecker like a strand of spaghetti!"

"And just how did Trish find this out?"

"Her husband told her."

"Her husband told her? No way! Art would never do that! He's a professional urologist who keeps his patients' problems confidential!"

"Well, he didn't actually tell her straight out. Lois found out that Art had prescribed Cialis for Don from the pharmacy records. And Lois told Trish and then Trish asked Art if he had prescribed it for Don and then Art got all flustered and didn't want to talk about it, so it had to be true."

I could only shake my head in awe. Lois again! These damn women! Like a Chicago Cubs double play - Tinker to Evers to Chance -- Lois to Trish to Art and the whole world knows about Don Knox's floppy pecker.

"Sandy Knox is a patient of yours isn't she?"

"Yes she is."

"Did you know that Don couldn't get it up?"

"Well ... I ... well ... Ahhh ... I ..."

"You did! Of course you did! Now I get it! You are always so very sensitive to your patients' problems -- that's why women want you as their gynecologist -- that ... and, of course, your wonderfully soft hands. You were probably doing her annual pelvic and you asked if she had any problems and Sandy must have told you that Don couldn't get it up. And you told her to have him see Art. Is that right?"

Shit! What the hell do you say? This network of gossiping broads had figured out the whole damn thing.

"I ... well ... Ahhh ... well ..." I mumbled.

"So you've known about this for over two months?"

"Well ... Ahhh ... I ... I ... "

"Tom, why didn't you tell me about it?" Peggy said harshly.

"Because it was none of your damn business and because telling you is like publishing it in the Springfield News Leader!"

"Has Sandy talked to you since Don started taking Cialis?"

I didn't answer.

"She has hasn't she? Is the Cialis working? Is Don fucking her again?"

It was no use! These damn gossips! Peggy would just tell them at lunch tomorrow what I had said or what I had refused to say or ... shit! If Sandy were there she'd probably confirm it.

I nodded my head weakly, frustrated. Even in the dark Peggy could feel my head move.

"There! You see? It's a story with a happy ending. We've asked Margie not to miss lunch tomorrow because her husband Jim takes Cialis just like Don and he fucks like a stud. The gals want to know how good the drug is in case their husbands get pecker drop."

"Pecker drop?"

"Yeah, pecker drop - that's what the gals call it. Sounds a lot better than erectile dysfunction, don't you think? Good night dear."

"Good night dear."

FRIDAY NIGHT IN BED

I lay in the darkness resting, about to go to sleep.

"We had lunch with Sandy today. Don is fucking her more than ever before and his dick's like a steel rod. She's so grateful to you for telling her to have Don consult Art."

"Well ... I ... guess that's a happy ending ... but ... but ... "

"But what?"

"But don't you think Don might be sensitive about all the ladies at the club talking about his ... his ...?"

"His pecker? No! Because Don won't know we're talking about his pecker! He doesn't need to know."

"But the ladies at the club DO need to know about his pecker! Right?"

"Right! It doesn't hurt anybody. Besides I haven't told you the latest about Sharon. She's started having pain when her hubby fucks her deep."

"Pain? Where?"

"Left lower quadrant."

"Dyspareunia."

"Yeah. Remember what the med students always said? Dyspareunia is better than no pareunia at all. I told her to get an appointment to see you."

I thought about next week's schedule. Sharon's name would be at the top of the list for Monday. Well, here was another secret I was gonna have to try to keep from my loving wife.

"Good-night dear."

"Good-night dear."

MONDAY NIGHT IN BED

I was almost asleep.

"You saw Sharon this morning?"

"Darling, you know I don't like to talk about my patients."

"Sharon said she saw you. She was poolside this afternoon at the club."

"Okay, I saw her."

"What did you find?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"She said you did a pelvic."

"Well, what did you expect me to do -- look in her ears? I'm a gynecologist and she has dyspareunia."

"Was she tender when you examined her?"

"Peggy for God's sake will you shut up and go to sleep?"

"I don't know why you talk to me that way. I'm your wife. I love you."

Now she was sulking. But not for long.

"Was she tender down there."

Jesus! 'Down there' she said. And Peggy was an experienced nurse. That's the way the girls at the club talk I guess. Down there! Down where? I almost said. Argentina? I took a private vow of silence.

"She was, wasn't she?"

I said nothing.

"On the left -- the left lower quadrant? Where she hurt when her hubby fucked her deep."

I said nothing.

"Was the smear positive for GC?"

I exploded! "Damn it Peggy you know that Sharon hasn't been playing around. How could you suggest such a thing?"

"You did a smear and culture, though. You're always very thorough. That's another reason the girls trust you. And if the smear had been positive you wouldn't have exploded like you just did. If it were positive, you'd have been very quiet because you would have been worrying about the results of that culture. So the smear was negative like you expected."

How does she do this? I could hear the laughter at lunch the tomorrow. "And girls," Peggy would say, "the GC smear was negative, so we know Sharon hasn't been playing around."

Shit! They all do it. The other guys are not telling their wives any more than I'm telling Peggy and yet somehow the girls always seem to find out everything.

I didn't say anything.

"It wasn't cancer was it?"

"For God's sake Peggy. Sharon doesn't have cancer. She just has ... just has ... "

It was a trap. Peggy had led me into a trap. She knew there was no chance of cancer and now I had told her that I had made the diagnosis by pelvic examination and the smear was negative and it was "just" something.

With her experience she could put the puzzle together now. Fast diagnosis by pelvic exam of "just" something causing dyspareunia meant Sharon had easy to treat uterine fibroids. The thought was still in my head when Peggy said it.

"Uterine fibroids! Of course!" Peggy almost shouted, triumphantly. "I thought so. That's what I told the girls it would likely be. Tomorrow at lunch I'll confirm the diagnosis. You're probably gonna resect her by laparoscopic surgery? Right? Most cases can be done that way. That's the simplest way -- just a little tube. That's what I told the girls. Sharon is gonna be so relieved that she doesn't need big surgery."

What the hell do you say? When all the professional husbands hear this story from their wives, every one of them will think I just went home and told my wife the whole damn thing. I was innocent! But what the hell good does it do to say so. I immediately decided not to blame any of the other guys for the stories that they "told" their wives. Truth extracted like impacted molars! Sharon would know everything before her follow-up visit!

"Good-night dear."

"Good-night dear."

THURSDAY NIGHT IN BED

It was pitch black. I was almost asleep. Then Peggy jolted me awake.

"Grace called me today and we had a long talk."

Jesus! What was this? Grace was our daughter, who was in her third year of pre-med at MU.

"Is there any problem?" I asked, suddenly wide-awake and frightened.

"Yes. She has an important decision to make. We discussed it."

A decision? An important decision? Oh shit! What the hell could this be? A failed course? Low grades? Or, heaven forbid, a missed period? My God! An important decision! What the hell was it?

"What kind of decision?" I asked, cautiously. I was scared!

"She's trying to decide if she should shave her pubic hair."

"Shave her ... Jesus Peggy! What the hell is that all about?" I was wide-awake now and it was hard not to shout.

"Some of the gals in Sigma Kappa are shaving their pubic hair."

"What the hell for?" I asked, afraid of what the answer was gonna be.

"Because a lot of guys like them shaved."

"Jesus Peggy! You gotta talk to that girl. She's just a Junior for God's sake!"

"I was a Junior the first time you pulled my pants down - in the parking lot of the Sigma Kappa house. Remember?"

"That was different! I was in Medical School then."

"And just how does your being in medical school make it different?"

I was losing my temper. "It was obviously different. You had more common sense than our daughter has and better judgment too. "

Peggy laughed out loud at that. "If I had had any common sense at all, I'd a never let you get into my pants. You were so gentle and so loving that a year later I was married and pregnant and working as a nurse at night -- at night dammit - to buy your damn medical books. That's how much common sense and judgment I had. I ended up working my ass off!"

This talk about medical students was scaring me. "Grace is not dating a medical student is she? I don't want her to even go near a medical student."

"What's wrong with medical students? YOU were a medical student."

"Yeah and I got in your pants and I don't want some medical student getting into Grace's pants -- shaved pussy or no shaved pussy!"

"You don't have to talk dirty!"

"I'm not talking dirty! You need to have a talk with that girl!"

"We talk all the time."

"Well not enough, obviously. What else did she want to know?"

"She wanted to know how you felt about shaved pussies."

"Me? How I felt? Why me for God's sake?"

"I told her how you feel."

"You told her how I feel? How the hell do you know how I feel? We've never talked about shaved pussies - ever!" I was shouting now.

"Yeah, but I know how you feel. I'm your wife, dear. I understand you. I know how you think. I know how you feel about a lot of things that we've never talked about."

This was ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous! And ... and a little bit scary! She can't know what I'm thinking! Can she? No way!

I got aggressive. "All right Miss Know-it-all! How do I feel about shaved pussies?"

"Shaved pussies turn you off -- big time."

Shit! I thought. She's right! Just thinking about a shaved pussy is a turn-off. How the hell does she know that? This is scary! I better calm down and find out how Peggy knows that. She's getting inside my head! What the hell else does she know about me?

I spoke softly, "You're right dear. But tell me, please. How the hell did you know that?"

"Because I understand how your mind works. You're my husband. It's my job to know how you think."

"You know how I think?"

"Of course! I know how you think."

"You see a shaved pussy every Tuesday and Thursday morning -- your OR days. It's the first thing you see when you walk into the OR at seven AM with your freshly scrubbed and dripping hands up in the air waiting for the circulating nurse to hand you a towel and help you put on a gown. Your mind is fully occupied with the surgical procedure that you are getting ready to perform on the gal who is asleep and being draped on the operating table. And she's got her pussy shaved as part of her pre-op prep."

"It's simple, dear," Peggy concluded. "A shaved pussy reminds you of business -- not pleasure."

Jesus! She's right! That's exactly what a shaved pussy reminds me of -- walking into the operating room! Jesus! What else does this woman know about my mind? This is scary!

"Anyway," Peggy continued, "I told Grace that shaved pussies turned you off and I explained why."

"What did Grace say then?"

"She asked me if I thought a medical student would react the same way. And I said I thought ... "

"A medical student? A medical student! Oh my God! Peggy! She's not dating a medical student! Is she? Tell me she's not dating a medical student!"

"Darling, calm down. Don't shout. Just calm down! I don't think you need to worry about who Grace is dating."

"I don't want her dating any medical students!"

"Her brother is a freshman medical student!"

"I don't want her dating medical students!" I repeated.

"She's gonna apply to med school next year, darling - she'll be surrounded by medical students. Anyway you'll be happy to know that she's not gonna shave her pussy. She's gonna keep it nice and hairy -- just like mine."

I lay there quietly for a while, thinking. This conversation had got me wondering and I reached over to see if Peggy's pussy was as hairy as I remembered it. That was the end of the conversation for the night.

FRIDAY NIGHT IN BED

Fridays are always hard days. There is always at least one telephone call at five o'clock - today there had been two. I was exhausted. I dropped off to sleep almost at once and then I heard a voice in the darkness.

"I woke up this morning remembering our conversation last night about Grace and I've been thinking all day about when we were dating."

"Yeah," I said, awake now. "I remember that. I remember it all like it was yesterday."

"You don't remember it as much as I do. And you don't remember the things I remember."

That was puzzling. "Such as?" I said.

"Such as Friday nights," Peggy said sharply.

"Oh no, you're wrong, dear. Our big date was always on Saturday night," I reminded her.

"Uh-huh. And what were you doing on Friday nights?" Peggy's tone was sharp, like she was upset about something.

What the hell was this all about? I wondered. "Well, sometimes I'd study and sometimes I'd go out, and sometimes ..."

"You'd get laid!" Peggy said sharply.

Then I remembered! Gladys! Gladys what's-her-name. She was a Sigma Kappa just like Peggy and I had dated her for a couple of months, usually on Friday night. And ... Oh shit! And I had fucked her - at the same time I was dating Peggy. Is Peggy thinking about that? No way! She couldn't know about Gladys What's-her-name.

Peggy spoke softly, her voice sugar sweet. "Do you remember where we always parked in the Sigma Kappa lot -- in the dark spot under that big oak tree? That's where you first pulled my pants down. And you were so nice and gentle and sweet."

"Ahh ... yeah ... Ahh ... yeah I remember."

"I could see that spot from the window of my room on the third floor of the Sigma Kappa house."

I couldn't figure where my loving wife was going with this conversation but she seemed angry and I couldn't remember what I had done to make her mad. I just lay there in the dark wondering and waiting.

"That's the same spot where you always parked on Friday nights when you fucked Gladys Detweiler!" Peggy said. She was angry now!

Detweiler, yeah Detweiler. That was her last name. Yeah, I always parked in that spot because it was nice and dark.

"Every Friday night I looked out of my window and saw your old Plymouth bouncing up and down when you fucked that bitch in OUR parking spot."

Bouncing up and down -- my Plymouth never did that. She just imagined it!

What did she mean by "OUR" parking spot? I hadn't dated Gladys that long. She never meant anything to me except blowjobs and good pussy. Why was Peggy remembering all this now?

"Well, darling, I only fucked her for a couple of months and ... and I quit fuckin her when we got engaged."

"You quit fuckin her when we got engaged!" Peggy was shouting. "WOW! How loving and considerate you were! You bastard!"

Peggy was pissed. What the hell had I done? I'd fucked Gladys Detweiler for two months twenty-four years ago, that's what I'd done.

"I proposed to you under that tree," I said. "It was on a Saturday night and I gave you the engagement ring you're wearing at this very moment."

That was better. She was calming down now. Peggy reached over and took my hand in hers and gently placed my fingers on the ring.

"It's a little diamond," she said, "but I've never wanted to get a bigger one -- this meant too much to me to change it. I remember you telling me how expensive it was and how you kept it in your pocket because you were afraid to leave it in your room."

I smiled in the darkness. "Yeah, I remember."