Perverts 'R' Us

Letters From Grandma's Attic

By Grade School Nurse ( M/Fdom+/b+, enem, voy, ir, nosex )

With input from former patients.

Sunday, April 9, 1961

Fredericksburg, Virginia

Dear Nurse Lohmann,

Happy New Year! Many thanks for the wonderful suggestions in your letter of last week. Nothing could have gotten me out of bed this morning except grandma's coming over with her black leather nurse's bag.

Jolene chickened out and stayed in bed so I called next door and Linda and Larry came over with great big grins on their faces asking just who they can thank their great good fortune for. I explained how grandma loves an audience just as much as the twins hate one and there's always got to be another woman in the room not only for physical and moral support but especially cause the boys hate it so much. But I don't know which they hate most, Linda's presence or Larry's.

True, Linda actually helps with the hands-on, but one man or older boy in the room on these occasions is one too many for their boyish pride considering the state of dishabille of their hinder parts. Old Mr. Miller's presence behind the curtain in the upstairs bedroom next door on the other side is another very welcome ornament which we simply cannot do without; it enrages the twins so much.

He stopped coming over, except occasionally when he ended up in the wheelchair, but you can't imagine his agility at getting right there at the window in double-time when he hears a 'pump' session is in the offing. Larry misses him so and offered to wheel him over, but he said he'd rather not bear the cold this time and that they would have a ringside seat of his "appreciation" from next door through the window.

Grandma is so good about respecting his special needs when he stays home. Like she always makes sure the right-hand twin (that's Jeb) is positioned bare ass foremost in between her and the crown of his bawling head. That way old Alvin can set a bead straight through his binoculars onto the butt end of the thermometer sticking out of Jeb's ass and rotate easily back and forth to his roaring buck-toothed mouth and tear-stained face.

Fred will be happy to know that I'm scribbling this with one eye on the action. Grandma has just pulled the thermometer out of Judd's mouth and fixing to insert the other one somewhere else (or "where the sun don't shine" as Alvin Miller says). She's spreading his rump cheeks now with her left hand. Larry is caressing his hair and whispering in his ear but that just makes him roar all the louder. Linda is holding the jar of Vaseline.

Grandma is mouthing, "Just wait, Alvin" to our pop-eyed old man next door who wants her to reposition Judd so his ass is facing the window. He'll just have to wait until she gets to the other side. Wish you were here directing the operations.

Our love to Fred and tell him to start planning that trip to the Southland.

Love to you both,

Clayton and Jolene Curtiss

Saturday, May 6, 1961

Brainerd, Minnesota

Dear Gerry,

It was so good to hear from you! Remember you? We've been wondering for years what happened to you since we saw you last. You're the handsomest of many handsome voyeurs we've collected over the years and I'll never forget that day I 'discovered' you hiding in Mr. Jackson's supply room down the hall from my office. I knew you were there all along 'cause I saw you slinking down the stairs from the second floor after you found yourself locked in at the front door when I was locking up.

The Shaeffer twins were already bawling away on their daddy and uncle's laps in the hall outside my office and Roy was tormenting them about: just how long it was since their mama gave them their last enema? Did their sisters help her when she did? Did their brothers get to watch? Was there an old man in the neighborhood who always came around, 'cause they would let him know in advance when it would happen? How many neighbor men would they have over at a time to watch? Or their wives to help?

I knew you weren't going to leave that first time I pretended to kick you out. You could tell from the look on my face I wasn't serious. Or you were in doubt. You sure lost those doubts real quick, though. I always suspected Mr. Jackson would welcome company behind the screen when he was pretending to sweep the hallways, so I guess he tipped you off about what was going to happen but he wasn't sure he could let you watch. Shame on him. He should have known by then that when it comes to nurses and boys the more watchers the merrier. Guess he was just too polite to ask.

It was only the second or third after school session for the Schaeffers. The evening in the hallway at the PTA when Fred asked Mr. Schaeffer if his wife ever gave the twins enemas he thought he was going to keel over with shock. He was already intrigued when Fred introduced me to him as the school nurse and couldn't take his eyes off me. Once Fred popped the question he couldn't shut up.

His wife said they got 'their fair share' which opened the floodgates of resentful criticism: how she never noticed how pale the twins always looked; how he never saw boys who got off with so few enemas; how they don't get enemas often enough, which is probably the reason they are so nervous and their grades are dropping; one excuse after another to bring them ever nearer to my clutches. I loved it.

Fred couldn't have been more turned on imagining the after school visits which he hoped for all the world would be a couple of times a week at least. He knew the wife would not come, but his brother-in-law would be in total bliss. I'm sure Mrs. Schaeffer thought I was a flirt when I turned around and strode down the hall toward my office and her husband was burning a laser beam with his eyes into my sumptuous posterior charms all the while.

Peter Schaeffer had Billy standing between his legs and his brother-in-law Stan between his when Charles Jackson gestured you in from the hall. You were grinning sheepishly when Peter got up and I pointed to his chair where you sat down. Jackson was holding onto Billy who was howling and pummeling him with his fists and trying to kick his legs.

One look from me and there was a stop put to that. Peter sat down on the chair next to the glass-doored cabinet and I put a thick white cotton towel over his lap. In a matter of minutes, Billy was face down over his daddy's lap with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. I had just hauled his BVDs down to half mast and was dipping the 'other' one into the jar of Vaseline.

In seconds I was inserting it ever so delicately into the roaring boy's anus to a barrage of applause and whistling. Only you were silent, dumbfounded, sitting on the edge of your chair with a grin from ear to ear and craning your neck with your eyes almost popping out of your head. And to think that you are now a pediatrician with a nurse twice your age who excels in our favorite sport!

Fred and I cannot wait for you visit. Let us know when you and Mrs. Childers can make it.

Love, Hedwig and Fred Lohmann

Monday, May 15, 1961

Q Street, Georgetown, D.C.

Dear Larry & Linda,

God bless you for accepting the modest hospitality of an old man and driving all the way up from Fredericksburg with the delectable twins in unwilling tow. It was a three days straight out of the Venusburg with Venus a nurse and Adonis Jeb and Judd.

I don't have the heart to wash the greasy syringe and thermometers or even the slimy flask. I'm just leaving them right where I begged you to leave them unwashed in the 'twins' room' and often come up here just to sit and venerate them in blissful solitude.

The aroma of Fels Naphtha fills the room and mingles with the clean greasy smell of Vaseline and acts as a backdrop to the gut warming scrapbook of Polaroids of their lovely naked asses stuck with thermometer and syringe and their pitifully bawling faces. I find I spend more time here than anywhere else in the house.

Your young friend from A.P. Hill is too kind to offer to drive all the way up here to pick me up and all the way back down for a few days of pump viewing, but I cannot resist the temptation. I would insist on paying him of course.

Sincerely,

Gunther Werbling

Tuesday, June 13, 1961

Parkersburg, West Virginia

Dear Nurse Lohmann,

Please forgive the intrusion, but this is a voice from the past and unless I'm mistaken, you are still up to your old tricks. That is, I truly hope you are.

Remember me? The nine year old boy who was constantly being yanked out of class by principal Keck and marched to the nurse's office? Well, I know there were so many, but I'm the one with the red hair and lethal right hook and the daddy who was a marine officer at Quantico. Right! Little Reggie Reynolds.

Lord, how I raged and howled and "kicked against the goad" as the Goof Book says and went to bed every night wishing you were dead. Then all of a sudden around the end of the seventh grade, I would have crawled a mile over marbles just to see your lovely right hand holding that thermometer or syringe! And what an irony that that is precisely when Daddy and you lost all interest in that particular pupil. Well, like father like son.

You will be delighted to know that your friend Nurse Proctor paid us a call last weekend and it would be an unpardonable understatement to say that Matthew and Charlie were not happy about it. Dad and his girlfriend drove all the way from Charleston and Dad said he hadn't had such a good time in twenty years.

Eunice Proctor asked to be remembered to you and promised to pay Matt and Charles some "very unwelcome visits" on a fairly regular basis. She will, of course, coordinate her visits with Dad's chances to get away. I think he's going to ditch his girlfriend in favor of Eunice, who for obvious reasons "lights his fire" in ways she cannot.

Please remember me to Fred and tell him I forgave him a long time ago for the many hours of pleasure he had at my expense when you had me right where you wanted me.

You would honor us by making the trek to WV and never fear for accommodations. Just look at the enclosed em-bare-ass-ing pics of the boys and I'm sure you're already packed.

Sincerely,

Reg Reynolds

Monday, July 10, 1961

Galveston, Texas

Dear Nurse Lohmann,

May God bless you for sending old Rev. Bullock to us! He is a total delight. It's a wonder to Marybeth and me that the twins have not succeeded in homicide by now. Lord knows they have reasons.

He arrived with a present for them. You won't guess what it is: the exact same Sears & Roebuck red rubber bulb enema syringe his wife used on his twin sons grandsons in Jamaica.

He pulled up with his chauffeur last Sunday in his 1950 Packard Deluxe. He's a dead ringer for Marcus Garvey and like Marcus not given to smiling. In fact the Rev. Clarence Bullock can seldom be seen with a smile on his face except under very special circumstances. His round, burly face lights up in a broad, toothy grin every time he finds himself in the presence of boys, especially twins, with their knickers and drawers hauled down to half mast either for a good spanking with a hardwood hairbrush or a nice hot Fels Naphtha enema.

He can't resist asking them embarrassing questions like when was the last time their mother gave them a "nice hot, soapy enema." Pointing to each in turn, he tells their father that it's infinitely better for her to "put a little fire in the hole in the boy than for the Devil to end up putting the boy in the hole of Hell."

He giggles wickedly as he stutters, "W-When m-mama's doing her job, the boy is t-takin' hot water in at one end and p-puttin' it out at the o-other end." By "other end" I presume he means his eyes.

He did not come unannounced. Independent of your own involvement, Marybeth got a letter from Kingston with a copy of his advertisement published in an underground newspaper in Jamaica:

SENIOR BLACK JAMAICAN MAN OF THE CLOTH SEEKS OPPORTUNITIES FOR THE OBSERVATION OF NURSES AND MOTHERS IN THE NETHER EXAMINATION AND IRRIGATION OF BOYS. TWINS GIVEN PREFERENCE.

Your letter informing us of his imminent arrival stateside, asking if he could pay us an "instructional" visit prompted an immediate invitation.

Rev. Bullock travels with his chauffeur, a Japanese man half his age. Hironobu Kenzan carried the package as they came up the steps of the porch and rang the bell.

We had invited Marybeth's friend, our next door neighbor Mavis Collins and her husband Bert over since we knew once the twins got an idea what was going to happen with the visitors they would fly into a frightful fit of rage which indeed happened. Once they saw the immense form of the Reverend enter, followed by his grinning chauffeur, they took off with Mavis and Bert in hot pursuit.

Soon after introductions were made, Roger was standing tightly squeezed between my legs and Russell between Bert's. The Reverend studied their faces intently, staring at each of them in turn with a strange frown and knitted brow and grunting softly, "Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... Uh huh! ... Uh huh!" They were howling with fear and rage. He nodded toward me and Marybeth and asked in a bass, audible whisper, "Mama's a nurse?"

We nodded assent.

"That's goood! ... That's goood! ..." Suddenly his face lit up with a dazzling grin from ear to ear and he said, "You boys know what nurses do to little boys, eh?" He winked to Bert and me. He raised his eyebrows, started giggling and repeated the question. "You boys know what nurses do to little boys, eh?"

He giggled raucously as he turned to Kenzan, who was holding his hand in front of his mouth and quaking with laughter as well and awaited the full effect of the question. It came in a hail of pummeling fists and stamping feet against me and Bert. It could not have been more delightful: trying to restrain the enraged twins, watching the Reverend and Kenzan's' mounting excitement, relishing the obvious delight the women were experiencing as auditors of the strange drama.

Finally a stern look and rebuke from Marybeth and order was temporarily restored. The Reverend spoke with phony sweetness as he looked at the twins and said, "I've brought your mama a present. It's something I've been wanting to give her for a long, long time. It's for her, but I know she won't keep it for herself. That's because even though it's for your mama it's really for you two."

Roger and Russell study him with happy anticipation mingled with mounting suspicion. Kenzan hands the box to Rev. Bullock who hands it to Roger. Russell struggles with him for control. Together they tear the box open. Inside they see the beautiful old Sears 1935 model, red-rubber enema syringe with the shiny, black hard-rubber nozzle.

They both let out a shriek of rage as Roger flings it as hard he can against the far wall and they both attack the big black man and his Japanese chauffeur. Bert and I rush to their defense while each woman grabs a howling twin by the ear and hauls him to a separate corner, where he stands facing the wall and kicking the wainscoting. We resume our seats and once Bert's intentionally audible whispers are heard by the twins they cut their howling and prick up their ears.

He asks Rev. Bullock, "Reverend, would you like the, er, 'exposition' to happen here or upstairs?"

"Oh, Lord, the beauty of it! Decisions, decisions!" He breaks into infectious giggling, "Tee hee hee! ... Tee hee hee! ... Tee hee hee! ... Tee hee hee! ... Tee hee hee! ... Why not both places? ... Tee hee hee! ... Tee hee hee! ... Tee hee hee! ... Tee hee hee! ... Tee hee hee! ... W-What's the hurry? ... I'm sure the twins won't object to a repeat performance, eh boys? ... Tee hee hee! ... Tee hee hee! ... Not that they have any say in the matter, eh, Mr. Bert?"

In minutes Roger is over Marybeth's knee and Russell Mavis's. Rev. Bullock and Kenzan's chairs are facing them at symmetrical 45° angles so their gazes are directed straight at each boy's plump, round buttocks strained against the seat of his knickers.

The knickers are soon hanging around their knees. Each woman grabs hold of the waistband of the boy's BVDs and starts lowering them to half-mast. Rev. Bullock is laughing softly, swaying on the edge of his chair and staring wide eyed at the operation before him. Kenzan is craning his neck and grinning maniacally in the other boy's direction.

Each pair of drawers is lowered in an ambient hush of intense concentration in the room. Soon they are tucked well away from the 'target' area along with the knickers and the two pairs of plump alabaster smooth gardenia white saucy boyish ass cheeks are bare naked to the men's lewd stares and rude whistles and applause. Rev. Clarence Bullock's staring eyes cut like lasers back and forth from each boy's bare naked arse to his roaring face as his strident voice drowns out all others' but theirs.

He claps his hands and stutters, "Ohhhh, L-Lord have mercy! ... L-Lord have mercy! ... L-Lord h-have m-mercy! ... L-Look at the l-lovely b-b-big b-bare n-naked arses on 'em! ... J-Just l-look at the l-lovely b-b-big b-bare n-naked arses on 'em! ... Ohhhh, L-Lord have mercy! ... Ohhhhhh, s-sweet Jesus, j-just l-look at the l-lovely b-b-big b-bare n-naked arses on 'em!"

A knock is heard at the door. I go to answer it. Once again, it's old Miss Frampton from down the block accompanied by two policemen. She's in a frenzy of moral outrage. She yells, "Officer, arrest this man! I demand you arrest this man!"

Officer Kenney is standing a step or two behind her. He winks at me and asks, "Time for the twins' 'dose' again, Chuck? ... Miss Frampton here says you're torturing them in there. Mind if we come in?"

Miss Frampton is left standing on the porch. Officers Kenney and Jefferson step inside. Their eyes widen as they survey the scene and their faces are wreathed in grins from ear to ear.

Seconds later, Kenney is back on the porch. He looks almost calm at Miss Frampton and says in a low voice, "It's okay, Miss. Just time for their 'dose' again. Nothing to worry about. There's been no wrongdoing here."

She leaves in a high dudgeon, yelling, "I'm reporting you, sir! ... You are condoning child abuse here! ... I will get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I do! ... This cannot continue! ... You are derelict in your duty! ... I'm reporting you, sir! ... I will get to the bottom of this!"

Officer Kenney's handsome Irish face beams with amusement as he says, "That's just it, ma'm. They are gettin' to the bottom of it. But it's not the bottom you have in mind."

Moments later a sadly crestfallen Officer Jefferson is sent to wait in the squad car with the assurance that he will be able to watch the "dosing" later. The officers plan to take turns. As for Officer Kenney, he ascends the stairs with mounting excitement behind the howling twins in tow with Marybeth and Mavis, myself and Bert, Rev. Bullock and Kenzan to the twins' third-floor rear bedroom.

I imagine, dear lady, you know what happens there, but will detail it in another letter to you and Fred, with gratitude and admiration.

Yours very truly,

Charles and Marybeth Singleton

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