Analogy Rehab

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Ebony

Maybe life is like pushing a dead car over a hill. It takes a lot of effort to get there, but eventually you get over the crest, and you can relax and enjoy the ride down the other side. That is, assuming that the brakes work and things don’t get out of control. You should really keep track of those things. I guess I wasn’t keeping track. Things were coasting along very nicely, I thought, and then my wife decided she wanted to ride in someone else’s car. My life limped to the side of the road as she drove away with him. They make each other happy, so there is that. Maybe life is like a stone rolling down a hill. It takes some effort to get it going, but then gravity pulls it along until it stops. My stone hadn’t stopped, I guess, but it wasn’t really rolling, and there was moss growing on it. I needed to clean it off and give it a push just to see if there was any hill left. I started by joining a gym. I wasn’t entirely out of shape, but I certainly wasn’t in good shape. I was fairly pleased with how quickly it all came back. I was doing three days a week of strength training and three days a week of aerobics, and both my strength and stamina seemed to be improving weekly. I was only disappointed by one aspect of the gym. Jumping back to my first analogy, I had my eyes open for a passenger. There were plenty of women there, especially in the aerobics class that I attended, but none of them were quite what I was looking for. Maybe life is like a heavy dumbbell, flung aside by a careless lifter, rolling until someone else’s ankle stops it. That’s a terrible analogy, even if it was somebody else’s weight, and my ankle. The sounds that I felt up my leg as the bones broke were terrible as well. The rehabilitation process started out as pure torture, and pressed on into self-induced agony. It took six weeks for the bones to mend, and a couple months of basic therapy before I could trade out the crutches for a cane. I met Tanya when I moved into advanced physical therapy. She was the doctor in charge of the therapy clinic, but she decided to take my case personally. Working with her to improve my ankle was nearly agony. She was everything that I would have wanted in a woman. She was a few years younger than me, and very pretty. She worked out to stay in shape because the physical side of her job demanded it. She was very smart, with PHD’s in both medical science and therapy. She was eternally happy and optimistic, and her enthusiasm touched all of her patients. By my own ethics, she was also untouchable. I can imagine that all of the traits that made her attractive to me made her attractive to every red blooded male that she met. I am sure that most of her adult patients had hit on her at least once. I refused to be like that. As a therapist, she deserved a great deal of respect and I treated her with honor. Not that my inner demons didn’t make themselves known. My baser side was sure that she was flirting with me at every turn. I would arrive early for my appointments, and I would see how she was with other patients. Her hand would linger on my shoulder much longer than she did for other patients. She would flip her hair out of her eyes and she would lick her lips more often when she talked to me that with others. The most porno hikayeler unnerving thing she did involved the machine that I used. I have never seen anything like it anywhere else. You sit in it, and strap your feet into pedals, almost like a reclined bike. The exercise motion is more like a flutter kick for swimming. A little gauge shows how much force you are getting through your ankle to your toes. A little dial allows you to set the resistance. I have seen her strap other patients into the machine. When she adjusts their resistance, and checks the gauge, she squats to the side by their hips, and leans in to see. For me, she moves behind me, squatting with her hands on my shoulders, leaning forward with her face right next to mine. I can feel the warmth of her cheek next to mine, and smell her sensual scent. God forbid she make an adjustment on the machine! Her arm slides between my body and my arm as she reaches in from behind me to adjust the dial. Her arm will fall to rest on my ribs as she watches the gauge. I am sure she is merely using her hand to monitor my breathing, but her touch feels more like a caress, at least to my imagination. My imagination insisted that her advances were intentional. My ethics countered that it was incidental. The battle between the two was more agonizing than the physical therapy. I was both relieved and disappointed when my insurance ran out. To my horror and delight, Tanya suggested an elegant solution. By working as a volunteer at the hospital/clinic where her offices are, I had full access to the rehab facility after hours to continue on my own. I saw her fairly regularly, but she was no longer there to invade my personal space. Maybe life is like a brisk walk along the trails in an unfamiliar park. At every fork in the trail, you know each path will go somewhere interesting, but you can only see so far. Sometimes both paths look promising. How do I begin to describe Megan? First off, she is dreadfully young, fast approaching the category of ‘too young for me’. She is not pretty, but she is enticingly unique. She is very tom-boyish, almost to the point of being butch, which is a plus in her job as a security guard. She is also a highly skilled flirt. Most people wouldn’t believe that. As a volunteer, one of my jobs is to escort people who need access to the clinic offices after regular hours. They have to check in at security, where Megan is the face of authority and professionalism. The only time she changes is when we are alone. She can say more with a smirk and a flash of her eyes than most people can say with words. She always suggests that it’s time for me to vary my workout, with her guidance of course. Without ever saying so, she conveys that working out with her would require a certain lack of clothing. Many times she has suggested that she has interesting training gear in a suitcase in her closet that I simply must try! Of course, I smile, and play along for a bit. My ethics jump in again and I realize that she is a co-worker. It would be just as improper to accept her advances as it would be to make advances on Tanya. Not that the lustful dreams of my inner demons cared. They demanded that I turn left, or right, and stop taking the straight and seks hikayeleri narrow path. Maybe life is like water droplets on a window in the mist. Bit by bit, the droplets grow, until finally one breaks free and rolls down the glass. Maybe it was time to get rolling. I worry about what the window’s edge represents. I ended my volunteer shift later than usual. The immediate care clinic had been very busy, while the hospital was very slow. The areas around the various offices and the other departments were nearly deserted. I could tell Megan was bored as I approached the checkpoint. “Time to go get sweaty?” she asked as her eyes flashed. “Better late than never,” I answered politely. “You know,” she leered, “if you’re going to stay this late, you might as well stay until I get off shift. I could show you how to get real sweaty.” “That sounds like fun,” I said, trying to sound friendly. “You know I have a real job to go to in the morning, and it’s nearly my bedtime.” “You’ll sleep better after the workout I’d give you,” she suggested. “You’d be happy with how I’d keep you up!” Her eyes dropped briefly to my crotch, just to make sure I caught her hint. “That sounds delightful,” I answered politely. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” I suggested as I continued on my way to the therapy room. As I walked through the lonely, dark corridors of the clinic, lonely and dark suggestions kept percolating out of my mind. I could just about convince myself that I should take Megan up on her offer just once. I ignored all of those dark thoughts as I changed into shorts and t-shirt and started stretching and warming up. The more I tried to ignore them, the louder they sounded. My workout was just starting to make me breathe hard when I heard the solenoid latch on the office door buzz. As the door swung open, the voices in my head were screaming at me to let her have anything she asked for. Even they were shocked silent when Tanya walked in. She gave me a big smile as she greeted me. “Hi John! How’s my favorite non-patient doing?” “Hi Doctor W___,” I answered back. “I’m doing well. Is that an actual billing category?” She smiled at my attempted humor. “It’s an un-official category for an un-official follow-up.” Her hand gave my knee a push to instruct me to start moving my feet again. “As long as we’re being all un-official, you should call me Tanya.” “Anything you want, Doc,” I answered. She laughed at my jest. Then she moved around to my shoulders to check the reading on the gauge. Her hands were resting on my shoulders for balance, and her cheek was nearly touching mine. “How does it feel?” she asked. Her lips were nearly on my ear. I desperately wanted to tell her how she was making me feel. “There is almost never pain,” I said. “It only hurts if I go faster than a jog, or if I misstep on the stair climber. It always aches, but it’s only bad if I spent too much time on my feet during the day.” “Does it feel like muscle pain or tendon pain?” she asked. To illustrate her question, her fingers slid across the muscles of my upper chest and then probed along my ribs. My heart skipped a beat and I had to remind myself to breathe. “I’m not sure,” I finally managed to answer. “It comes and goes quickly, so it doesn’t feel sex hikayeleri like a muscle cramp or a strained ligament.” Her lips were still right next to my ear. “I’d like you to come with me,” she said, and I nearly died. She added, “And not too quickly, I should hope.” My legs slowed to a stop as I tried to decide if I had heard her right. Maybe my thoughts about the things Megan had said were making me hear things that Tanya wasn’t saying. “This way,” she said as she popped the straps loose at my feet. She walked across the office to a different group of machines. I forced my straying mind back onto the straight and narrow path, and followed her. The machine she had me sit in was a standard leg press machine. She set the weight and had me press up with my legs, and then lower it again. She sat very close to me and leaned over me to make an adjustment on the foot pads. I didn’t really pay attention to what she adjusted. As she leaned into the machine to make the adjustment, she was leaning across my leg. I was acutely aware of her breast resting on my knee. It took every bit of my will power to stop my leg from moving against her to take its measure. She was oblivious to my inner struggle. As she sat back, she left one hand on my inner thigh near my knee. Her hand felt extremely warm on my flesh. “Lift again,” she instructed, and I did. It wasn’t as easy as the first time. She had turned the top of the footpad away. My toes were therefore pointed away, and I had to concentrate on keeping traction with my feet. Her hand stroked my leg to command me and I set the weights down. She leaned forward to adjust the machine, and my imagination just about bowled me over. I imagined that instead of just leaning forward, she swooped forward. Instead of having her breast just pressed against my leg, she slid her cleavage along my leg to press both breasts against me. I had no idea whether or not she adjusted the machine. “Again,” she instructed, and I pressed the weight up. This time, she had the top of the pad turned sharply back. I was able to lift without any problems. I was barely able to speak, as both of her hands caressed my thigh. “That is pulling on the tendons in my arch,” I was able to say. She nodded and I set the weight down. She turned toward me, saying, “It might just be false nerve impulses.” I couldn’t reply. As she turned, her hand on my outer thigh slid over the top of my leg to my inner thigh, and all the way down into the open leg of my shorts to my crotch. She studied my face with a half smile on her own. Her hand remained on my leg, but her fingers caressed along the hem of my underwear. “Tighty whities?” she teased, making fun of my choice in underclothes. I couldn’t stop from blushing. “Only for working out,” I managed to say. “Things need some support,” I explained. She didn’t respond. Her fingers continued to stroke along my leg as I stared into her eyes and tried to see how far she would push. Her eyebrows twitched. “So, I’m trying to figure out why you aren’t taking what I’m offering,” she said. Her tongue barely snuck out to wet her lips, and she waited. My mind couldn’t formulate an answer. There were too many variables, too many risks, and far too many naughty thoughts in my head. My hands knew what to do. One slid onto her hip and the other slid up her arm to her neck, caught her hair, and pulled her into a kiss. She moaned her approval, and my tongue leapt forward to taste her desire. She opened herself to me and she breathed in my desire.

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