Julie M was the neighbor girl who lived directly next to me when I three to four and a half years old. I still remember her whole name because she was a very memorable young lady! She had dark hair, and was always dressed in a knee high skirt with white socks and shiny black buckle shoes. I believe Julie was around eight to ten years old. She wasn’t necessarily my babysitter as much as she was in charge of helping with my wellbeing when I was outdoors playing, so she ‘kind of’ sat me. She was the girl who taught me how to play doctor / nurse. I’m sure wherever she is today, she’s likely one or the other.
I recall playing in my yard when Julie would come over, take me by the hand and declare a medical emergency for me by exclaiming, “I believe you may have a fever.”
Julie’s father had an old rickety single car garage directly behind their newer built early 60s garage. That old building was Julie’s clinic, and I her only patient. I was saved from ‘the fever’ many a times in that old dilapidated leaning building.
She would drag me to her back yard and instruct me sit on an old tire under a large tree in her outdoor ‘waiting room’. She would then enter the structure only to almost immediately exit through the small side door to announce my name and say, “the Doctor will see you now.” Nurse Julie would then lead me inside where she would ask me to step up onto an antique farm scale and say, “now to get your weight.” The dust would filter through the sun rays of the old spider webbed dusty windows as she would grind the green corroded brass weights back and forth until the arm balanced. She would then lock down the arm and pretend to record her findings in an old make-do Farmer’s Almanac magazine “chart”.
After my weigh-in, Julie would instruct me to “go stand by the exam table.” It was little more than a wooden plank suspended between two cement blocks on the dirt floor. With much aplomb she would undo my snap and pull down my zipper and pants while saying, “I need to get a temp on you.” I would then lay face down on the jacket covered “exam table” where she would wiggle down my underpants with a jacking motion like a jack does when changing a car tire.
I remember the thermometer with it’s long red stripe attached to a red bulbous end like a small lollipop. I believe it was likely salvaged from an outside weather thermometer.
Among the various things her dad kept in our “clinic” was a metal can containing mechanic’s axle bearing grease, so proper lubrication was never an issue. Removing it from my bottom post temp was however an issue; that stuff is extremely sticky. (Mom had to wonder what that was at my bath time). The smell of garage grease can still arouse me. After the lid was pried off, I would notice the pockmarks with little frosting peaks in that thick honey colored goo from past thermometer applications. As she would push the glass rod in and out, it would make a slight but satisfying sucking and popping sound. Julie would then enthusiastically exclaim, “that should be about right!” She would then blindly slide it back and forth in my butt crack with a slight downward pressure that eventually always found it’s target. I guess she wasn’t familiar with the thumb and index finger spread technique at that time. She would dip it in and out of me. She would swirl and trace the inside my anus with the glass instrument. After several minutes of this amazing torture, she would remove it, walk it to the dirty window like a church candle boy to take it’s reading and then declare an inaccuracy. She would then pretend to shake it down and reinsert it to my throbbing and likely winking behind. I could feel it from my butthole all the way up into my throat. It’s strange how nerves are connected.
Temperature taking was a full contact sport for Julie. She put everything she was into those moments. My temp was taken four to six times per session. Sometimes she would remove it from me, hike up her skirt, pull down her panties and insert the thermometer into herself while saying, “let’s see here,” like she was just making sure it was working properly. She never allowed me to take her temp as I recall. I was likely too heavy-handed at that stage of my life. I didn’t have ‘the touch’ of an “older woman” like Julie. That, and SHE was clearly the BOSS.
After our usual temp taking marathon she would instruct me to sit at the edge of the table. There she would poke, fondle, tickle and inspect the rest of my tender bits. We would both become concerned when my penis would sometimes become rigid. She would flick it with her finger which naturally only made it harder, not softer. I’m sure Nurse Julie could have given any little boy a stiff little wiener whenever she chose to. She had talent, and she knew it!
My family eventually left that neighborhood to move back to the opposite side of our state. I have very fond memories of Julie M. She had a firm hand in my piecing together the lifelong strange sub-genre of a RT fetish and as a medfet illustrator.
“It’s only kinky the first time.”