She came to my private hospital room, in mid-afternoon, as it turned out, to commiserate with me.
Yes, it really was a commiseration. The doctors said I was now as fit as a fiddle but they insisted that I stay in hospital for what might be quite a long time to make absolutely sure that there would be no relapse.
So I was a prisoner in a hospital room - and I never felt better. All my vital organs - without exception - were working perfectly. One of them began predictably to stir immediately she came through the door.
It was just after I'd been told I must stay longer in hospital that she came to visit me.
She was divine.
She was dressed in cream - that a cat would have loved to lick - with a splash of colour here and there, mainly pink. She wore a short skirt, not too short, just above the knees, that showed off her "to-die-for" lovely legs. Her top was discreet but she had lovely full, firm breasts and the blouse was just revealing enough to suggest that the nipples were saying a fond little hello to me.
She was wearing the cutest little hat - cream, of course - from which her lovely hair - light brown, verging on blonde - a shade that I loved - flounced out cheekily.
Her shoes - if you had a fetish for shoes, you would have gone crazy for hers. Again, cream and they sort of hugged her neat-and-tidy little feet. They completed and emphasised the beauty of every part of her beautiful body, but with a ladylike discretion that her breathtaking loveliness enabled her easily to afford.
She was wearing - again cream - stockings. I was, from the start, prepared to bet that they were stockings and not pantyhose, with probably little pink garters at the top of her thighs.
Yes, she was divine. She was "class" - upper class - but that warm and friendly class that, when you find it, is the ultimate in feminine loveliness.
She gave me a peck on the cheek when she came in and sat, crossing her legs very properly, on the visitor's chair beside my bed.
I told her the good news first: that I was so fit that the doctor said I was "dangerous."
"Oh, that's wonderful news, Jimmy."
That's what she nearly always called me: Jimmy. Sometimes she said "darling" but I think I preferred the music of her "Jimmy" and the way her lips pursed as she said it, as though it were a prelude to a kiss. When she was really, truly affectionate to me or talking about me, she called me "Yimmy."
That's just what she did now. She uncrossed her legs and leant over to kiss me.
That same vital organ that had already begun to stir now did so much more robustly.
Then I told her the bad news: that I had to stay longer in hospital.
"Oh no, Yimmy, oh no, no!" she cried.
She stood this time, leaned over me and kissed me again, in a way that brought on a feverish response in my only vital organ that now at all mattered.
She must have noticed. She could always read my mind like a simple book written with a vocabulary of less than a hundred words. But she didn't even need to read my mind this time. A bulge in the single thin hospital bedsheet that covered me said it all.
"Oh, Yimmy, Yimmy, Yimmy, that's terrible news. I so much wanted you to come home right away."
She reached over and took my hand in both of hers. She looked lovingly into my eyes.
"We must do something to cheer you up - to cheer us up. What can we do?"
Then she thought of something.
When she had sat back on her chair, she had not crossed her legs.
Now slowly and seductively she began to move her knees apart.
"Yimmy, darling Yimmy..." she breathed and blew me a kiss.
No one can really imagine the desire that I felt in those moments. As she moved her legs more widely apart, I could see her lovely thighs and, yes, I was right: she was wearing stockings with little pink garters at the top. Between the top of her stockings and the cutest little panties you have ever seen, was a strip of bare flesh.
It drove me wild - as no doubt, she knew it would.
The panties were thongs - cream of course - with just a triangle in front to cover her pubic hair. They had little pink bows on either side and I could see just a few strands of the hair I loved peeking out saucily from behind the bows.
I looked up and she was watching me, smiling, her lively, blue-grey eyes sparkling.
She did not need to ask how I felt. My appreciation was written in capital letters all over my face.
And elsewhere....
Now she took the crotch of her cute little panties in her left hand and drew the triangle aside.
"My God!" I thought, "I can't stand it. I'm going to burst."
My vital organ was stiff as a ramrod and as big, it seemed, as a barge pole. There was only one place I wanted to put it and that was....
