Thanks to the Tylenol, I felt better by lunchtime and was able to eat a light meal. Having regained a bit of energy, I decided to pay a visit to Mom’s best friend from church, Julie Porter. Julie and her husband Dave lived about a mile from us and at that point had two young children, a 3-year-old boy and a 1-year-old girl. I made an effort to see them every time I was home, in part because Julie had become something of a mentor to me during my college years.

Despite the cool and overcast December weather, I figured it would be good to get some fresh air, so I put on a sweater and headed out on foot. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a mistake, since it started to rain halfway through the trip. After about 20 minutes, I thus found myself soaking wet and shivering at the front door of the Porters’ home.

It was Sarah Russell who answered when I rang the bell. Sarah was the live-in nanny the Porters had hired the previous summer to help them manage their two kids. She had moved up from the Central Valley just after finishing high school to take the job while she attended classes at our local community college. She was planning to apply to my university after her first two years, and I had given her some advice on the application process last time we had seen each other.

Physically, Sarah was a petite woman, probably not more than 5’5” with a slim but shapely figure. She had curly blonde hair with bangs and a sprinkling of freckles on her nose that gave her a juvenile appearance. But that look was deceiving, in that it contrasted starkly with her take-charge personality: she managed the Porter kids, and indeed the entire household, with an impressive efficiency that was both rigorous and endearing. That afternoon she was wearing jeans and a loose-fitting grey sweatshirt, so the forms of her small breasts were barely visible. It struck me that her looks and demeanour both reminded me strangely of my sister Liz when we had been teenagers.

Sarah informed me that Dave and Julie had gone to Southern California with the kids to visit Dave’s family and wouldn’t be back until the weekend. She then extended an invitation I couldn’t refuse.

“Don’t just stand out there in the cold! Come on in and warm up,” she offered. “I’ll make a pot of tea. I want to hear all about your senior year!”

With that, I followed Sarah inside, admiring her round, jean-clad butt from behind as we walked. We stopped first in the hall bathroom, where she handed me a towel to dry my hair, then in the kitchen, where she prepared the tea. Once it was done, we went to the den with our mugs, settled onto the couch and started chatting away. It was amazing how easy it was to talk to her, and for a while I even forgot about my wet clothes. I told her about my advanced econ classes and my leads for an investment analyst job after graduation. From there, we moved on to world politics and even a bit of philosophy.

Eventually, the conversation came around to holiday plans, and I happened to mention being alone at home for a few days until Liz returned from school on Thursday and Mom got back from her business trip on Friday. For her part, Sarah said that she was enjoying having the Porters’ house to herself that week, though she did miss having the kids to take care of.

“Oh, speaking of kids,” Sarah suddenly noted. “Julie wanted to return a couple of old children’s books your mom lent her last month. Come on, let’s get them before I forget.”

We headed into the nursery, which I hadn’t seen since the Porters’ second child was born. In addition to the crib that I remembered, there was now a twin bed in one corner. Sarah explained that the Julie and Dave had decided to move Kyle back into the nursery to free up the third bedroom for her to live in when they hired her.

“They’ve been talking about getting a bigger house with another bedroom but haven’t had the time to look seriously,” she added.

Next to the crib was a wooden changing table. Underneath the changing surface were three drawers and an open shelf. The shelf had an array of lotions, a stack of diapers, some talc, and a box of wipes. What really caught my eye, though, was a small first aid basket in the form of a swan. From what I could see, the basket contained cotton balls, Q-Tips, a bottle of alcohol and a jar of Vaseline, as well as thermometer in a pink plastic case. The sight of it sent a little shiver down my spine, and my heart started racing as I recalled my own experience with that particular thermometer…

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It was the week after high school graduation during my strep infection, when I was running a persistent fever that required regular monitoring. At the time, Julie (I still called her Mrs. Porter then) was pregnant with her first child. When she came over to our house for dinner one evening, Mom offered to show her how to take a rectal temperature, since she would eventually need to learn it for the baby. I thus ended up face-down on my bed, with my briefs pulled down as Mom explained all the aspects of the procedure and took my temperature right there in front of Julie. I had rarely been so embarrassed (yet also strangely aroused) in my life.

A few days after that, Julie was kind enough to drive me to an appointment at Village Pediatrics. Due to the chaperone policy at the practice, she was asked to stay in the room for my exam. Within a few minutes, Nurse Janet had me remove my briefs and lie face down on the exam table, so she could insert a thermometer into my rectum. Having Julie watch the procedure again was humiliating and exciting at the same time, especially since I then remained naked for the rest of the exam.

After the appointment, I spent the afternoon at the Porters’ home. Julie had just bought the baby thermometer that I was now looking at. And since the doctor’s office had given instructions to monitor my temperature, it wasn’t long before I ended up being its inaugural patient at the hands of Julie. That incident ended up being a quasi-erotic experience that had left us both with a shared secret and a deep sense of complicity…

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Sarah’s voice woke me from my reverie.

“Oh, there they are,” she said with satisfaction as she found the books. “I’ll leave them on the table by the front door, so you don’t forget them when you leave.”

We headed back to the den and resumed our conversation. By then, though, the Tylenol I had taken earlier had started to wear off, and I was getting the chills and feeling woozy. The fact that my clothes were still damp from the walk in the rain probably didn’t help. My face must have lost a few shades of colour, since Sarah noticed that something was wrong and asked if everything was OK. I told her about having gone to the doctor earlier that day.

“Apparently, it’s a mild sinus infection,” I explained. “They just prescribed Tylenol, so it doesn’t seem to be too serious.”

I omitted details of my visit to Village Pediatrics, of course, but the memory of the exam caused a faint stirring inside my briefs.

“Hmmm, well, I hope they’re right,” Sarah responded sceptically, “because you look deathly pale.” She proceeded to give me a friendly but stern admonition. “You really should have known better than to walk over here in the rain when you’re sick!”

Reverting back to a lighter tone, she then added, “By the way, that reminds me… I still haven’t found a new doctor since I moved here. I should probably see someone for an intermittent cough I’ve been having for the past week. Can you make a recommendation?”

I told her that Liz had been going to a “women’s health” doctor since we were 16, though I couldn’t remember her name.

“Oh, no problem. I’ll just ask Liz next time I see her,” she responded. “And how about you? Do you have a general practitioner that you go to?”

I could feel my cheeks redden a bit and hesitated a moment before saying, “Um… Yeah… her name is Doctor Walker”.

“Oh… That’s funny… You mean Preeti Walker? At Village Pediatrics?”

I nodded meekly, starting to feel vaguely embarrassed.

“What a coincidence! That’s where Julie takes the kids. I brought them there for their check-ups in September, and again last month when Kyle was sick. So, is that where you went this morning?”

“Um, yeah…” I explained. “But Doctor Walker is off today, so I just saw one of the nurses, Janet Taylor.”

Sarah made a comment about how the kids both loved Janet. Then she paused for a moment and asked, almost as an afterthought, “Why do you still go to a pediatrician?”

Trying to stay cool so as not to betray my complicated emotions, I explained as casually as possible that I hadn’t been sick since starting college, so had never bothered to change doctors. Fortunately, Sarah seemed satisfied with my response. However, she did repeat that I didn’t look well. She reached over and placed her hand on my forehead.

“You feel like you’re running a temperature,” she said.

“Oh, um, yeah… I think Janet said I had a little fever when I went in for my appointment,” I responded, still trying to project an air of casual indifference.

“Oh?” Sarah asked, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. “How high is a ‘little’?”

“I wasn’t really paying attention… I think she said 101 and something.”

“Hmmm. Well, 101 ‘and something’ is more than just a mild fever,” she observed reprovingly. “Didn’t Janet seem concerned about it, or say anything?”

I finally ended up divulging that Janet had indeed instructed me to monitor my temperature and to call back if it spiked or didn’t go down.

Sarah frowned and gave me a slightly condescending look as if to say, “You’re such a baby”. She got up and headed down the hall. My heart started pounding as I watched her disappear into the bathroom.

She came back into the den a few moments later holding a glass thermometer, which she was vigorously shaking down. It was obviously an oral model because it had a long slender tip. Once she was satisfied with the level of mercury, she handed it to me.

“Here. Take your temperature now,” she instructed. “I’ll go make another pot of tea.”

After Sarah left for the kitchen, I toyed with the thermometer, trying to decide what to do. I dreaded the idea of putting it in my mouth but didn’t want to appear silly for my childish aversion. I finally braced myself and placed the instrument gingerly under my tongue. But it felt extremely intrusive, and I could have sworn it tasted of alcohol, so I removed it after a few seconds. I then debated putting it under my arm but decided it would look strange to remove my sweater and shirt there in the den, especially since I didn’t really know Sarah all that well. So, in the end, I just placed the thermometer on the coffee table and sat back on the couch.

Sarah reappeared a few minutes later with the teapot. After she picked up the thermometer and read it, a slight frown crossed her face.

“This has barely registered, Luke,” she noted. Her tone was matter of fact, but there was once again a slight hint of consternation. “Are you sure you kept it under your tongue?”

Blushing and desperate to come up with a reasonable excuse for not managing to take my own temperature, I ended up concocting a rather pathetic story about having a gag reflex.

“Oh, I’m sorry…. I didn’t realise,” Sarah immediately responded. “You should have said something when I gave you the thermometer!”

There was a short silence, during which she seemed to be thinking. In those few seconds, her demeanour changed subtly. I couldn’t really put my finger on it, but there was a strange new look in her eyes, and the faint outline of a smile appeared on her face.

“So… In that case….”, she resumed her questioning, “how did Janet take your temperature this morning at the doctor’s office?”

Feeling the blood rush to my face again, I looked down and mumbled something vague about it being just a “regular” temperature.

The smile on Sarah’s face seemed to morph into a smirk as the reality of what happened during my exam became clear to her.

“She took it in your bottom, didn’t she?” she finally asked.

I felt truly mortified and didn’t know what to say. It was certainly embarrassing that this woman three years my junior had correctly deduced that I got my temperature taken rectally like a toddler at the doctor’s office (a pediatrics practice, no less!). At the same time, I was weirdly excited by this turn of the conversation and could feel more stirring in my loins. I didn’t want to appear eager to acknowledge my puerile desires, though, lest she consider me somehow perverted, so didn’t say anything. Of course, my lack of response served to confirm her theory.

“Well, rectal temperatures are more accurate,” Sarah added, “especially if you can’t hold a thermometer under your tongue.” Her voice then took on a slightly exasperated tone. “Honestly, Luke, you should have just told me! There’s no reason to be ashamed!”

She took hold of my hand and helped me to stand up.

“Come with me,” she instructed. Her tone was still friendly, but there was more authority to it now. “The baby thermometer is in the nursery.”

To say I was stunned at this turn of events would be an understatement. The nanny working for my mom’s best friend had just decided that she would take my temperature herself, as if I were one of her small charges. And her reference to the “baby” thermometer left no doubt that she intended to do it the same way that Janet had done earlier at Village Pediatrics. It’s hard to imagine anything more humiliating. But of course, by not objecting, I was effectively complicit in her decision. Indeed, my heart was racing as Sarah led me by the hand down the hall and into the nursery.

“We’ll do it on Kyle’s bed,” she announced, pointing to the twin bed in the corner. “Your clothes are still damp, so you should take them off before we begin.”

The idea of having to undress in front of a woman so much younger than me was unsettling, to put it mildly. At the same time, it was true that I was uncomfortable in my wet clothes. Indeed, the moisture seemed to have even penetrated as far as my briefs. So, I didn’t have the will to resist her instructions and began to peel off the various layers, starting with my sweater.

As I disrobed, Sarah turned to the changing table and retrieved several objects from the first aid basket. The first, of course, was the plastic case containing the “baby” thermometer. She removed the top, pulled out the stubby-tipped instrument and set it down on the surface of the changing table. She then picked up a cotton ball and opened the bottle of alcohol. After moistening the ball, she slowly and methodically cleaned the glass rod from end to end. Once it was disinfected, she shook it down with snapping motions of her hand and held it up to verify the column of mercury. Finally, she opened the jar of Vaseline and sank the tip of into it. When it came out, it had a large dollop of jelly covering the last half inch.

By then, I had undressed, though I had decided to leave my briefs on for modesty. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her actions with a combination of anticipation and trepidation, my hands resting in front of my crotch in a feeble attempt to hide evidence of my erection.

Sarah turned back around, holding the lubricated thermometer in front of her. The nipples of her small breasts were noticeable for the first time that day as they pressed out through the thick fabric of her sweatshirt. A faint smile crept back onto her face as she saw me.

“It’s time to take Baby Luke’s temperature,” she said in a sing-song voice, as if to tease me. “Now, be a good boy and lie down on your tummy for me!”

I couldn’t believe she was talking to me so condescendingly, especially after the in-depth conversation we had just had in the den. But at the same time, her words and tone were strangely appealing. So, I just complied and within a few seconds was face down on the twin bed waiting expectantly for the procedure.

Sarah came over and sat on the edge of the bed. She set the lubricated thermometer down on a tissue on the nightstand and placed her hands on the waistband of my briefs.

“I can’t very well insert the thermometer into your little bottom with these in the way,” she said, pretending to be annoyed. With that, she gently lifted my hips and pulled the briefs down to expose my butt to the cool air of the room. She had to give them an extra tug to get them past my engorged penis; I hoped she didn’t notice, but she probably did.

She then added, in a slightly mischievous tone, “Next time, I may have to lay you naked across my lap!”

I wasn’t sure how to react to her seemingly casual remark. Although it got my heart racing again, I didn’t want to appear perverted. So, I decided to play it cool and pretend that she was just kidding.

“Oh, promises, promises!” I joked in response, as nonchalantly as I could.

Sarah smiled at my reaction but didn’t otherwise react. She picked up the thermometer again and turned back to face me. With confident precision, she spread my buttocks using two fingers and quickly inserted the cold glass rod deep into my rectum. I gave out an involuntary gasp as I felt myself getting penetrated. She then cupped my buttocks and held the thermometer firmly in place between her fingers. Despite the humiliation of lying there, completely exposed and controlled by a woman so much younger than me, it was strangely comforting.

As if reading my mind, Sarah asked, “There, that’s a lot easier than holding it in your mouth, isn’t it?”

I definitely agreed but didn’t want to seem childish. So, I just mumbled something like “I guess so” in response.

That’s when she made another interesting observation.

“The nice thing about rectal temps is that it’s the caregiver who does all the work,” she said. “All you have to do as the patient is lie there and relax.”

I thought that “relax” wasn’t necessarily the aptest word, given that my heart was still racing and that my erect penis was pressing into the mattress underneath me. Nonetheless, her remark did resonate with me. Thinking back to my childhood, I seemed to have always felt that sentiment but had never actually formulated it coherently in my mind. I began to wonder if it was somehow a factor behind my weird desire as a teenager to have Mom continue to use the rectal thermometer on me.

“Now, just stay still for 5 minutes while it registers,” Sarah instructed.

The minutes ticked by in silence, as I ruminated on what she had said. From time to time, she would move the thermometer, which sent sensations of pleasure coursing through my body. After what I presumed was 5 minutes, she finally removed the instrument from my rectum. There was a soft sucking noise from the melted Vaseline as the tip exited my anus. She wiped the glass with a tissue and held it up to read it.

“You’re definitely running a temperature,” she observed as I remained prone on the bed with my butt still exposed. “It’s no wonder you’re not feeling well. I’m not going to let you go home alone in this condition, especially since you obviously can’t take care of yourself. So, why don’t you get under the covers and rest for a while. I’ll phone Village Pediatrics and see if I can get you in for an appointment tomorrow.”

With that, she got up, set the thermometer down on the top of the changing table and left the room.

I was once again surprised at the assertiveness of such a young woman. But at the same time, it was nice to be able to leave everything to her. I pulled up my briefs and got under the covers. It felt strange to be confined to bed in a children’s nursery and to feel the soft squish of Vaseline in my butt, but at least it was warmer under the blankets. Anyway, I wasn’t feeling well enough to care much.

After about a minute there was the sound of Sarah’s voice coming from the kitchen as she spoke on the phone. I couldn’t make out everything she was saying but at one point heard the number “102.7” followed by a short pause, a little giggle and then “Yes”. There were a few more inaudible words, then she said, “Great. See you then!”

After another couple of minutes, she reappeared in the nursery and confirmed that she had just talked to Lori at Village Pediatrics and scheduled an appointment for 11:30 the next morning with Doctor Walker. After handing me a glass of water and two Tylenol pills, she started picking up my wet clothes from the floor.

“As long as you’re not going anywhere, I might as well wash and dry these,” she said. She then stunned me again with another instruction. “I noticed earlier that your underpants are also damp, so why don’t you give them to me, and I’ll add them to the load.”

Unable to refute her observation, I raised my hips and awkwardly pulled down my briefs, while taking care to remain covered by the blankets. I used my feet to push them off altogether and bring them forward to where I could reach them with my hand. I finally pulled them out and gingerly handed them over.

I could have sworn that Sarah was enjoying my discomfiture. She smiled slightly as she took my briefs, added them to the pile in her arms and told me she’d be back later to check in on me. After swallowing the pills, I drifted off into a fitful nap, wondering what was in store for me.