C-Suite Letters: Prescribing Puss-criptions
Dear C|Suite: About a few weeks ago, I was in the bathroom with my now ex-girlfriend. She was showering—naked. I was thinking about partaking in this morning ritual of getting clean after getting dirty in the sheets; we fuck before breakfast to work up an apatite. I finished taking a dump when something really interesting happened: inspecting a piece of toilet paper I had just wiped my damp ass with, I noticed a lot of blood.
The room was hot and steamy, and the air pungent with the notes of fecal matter—similar to the wafting of hot Indian cooking within the small confines of a 1-bedroom apartment.
While I didn’t remember the dump to be particularly painful, my concern grew like how my penis did, whilst looking at my now ex-girlfriend's silhouette through the glass shower door. Surprised to see me sitting on the toilet when she came out of the shower, my now ex-girlfriend scowled as if she had just smelled death for the first time.
“Oh my God, you took a shit while I was in here... the whole time?” My hot naked ex-girlfriend said to me. She rubbed a dry towel all over her wet naked body, still with a facial expression of disgust. I stared at her tight asshole—there was no blood coming out of her ass; which I found interesting, because we had just finished doing anal for the first time.
"Yeah, I took a shit, babe. Just a bloody stool," I told her, gazing at her naked flesh. "Should be fine".
Two weeks had passed, and I'd had a bloody stool ever since that day I took a hot and steamy dump in front of my ex-girlfriend. I was beginning to worry that my bloody shits were a sign of Colon cancer, or that my asshole couldn't handle the Boeing type of dumps I had been taking recently from my new diet of IHOP, Denny's and Buffalo Wild Wings (Breakfast, brunch and dinner).
It was starting to affect my sex life; as cool as my now ex-girlfriend is (she did let me do anal), she gets really pissed off when I leave blood on the sheets like a teen girl on the rag. I was starting to think I should see a proctologist.
The one night must have been the last straw; my girlfriend broke up with me. She said it wasn't because of my bleeding asshole, but I saw the writing on the wall...and the blood again on the sheets. Since I had a lot of time on my hands now, I finally arranged to see a doctor.
The next day at work, I ran into Misty, our sassy receptionist. Misty is a smoke-show, not to mention she is unusually busty for an Asian woman. C-cup at the very least. Maybe even a D. Hard to tell if you don't feel them. As I passed by her desk, she bent over to pick up a fallen piece of paper; gazing at her voluptuous breasts, I remembered that her roommate was a newly established doctor. They had met because Misty had a bad case of prolonged Diarrhea one day at the office, which led to an anal fissure.
To this day, I am not sure if that was a lie, because rumor around the office is that Misty loves anal on the first date: She is Christian, and doesn't want to lose her 'V-card' yet before marriage. Bill in the mail room also said that at last years Christmas party, Misty let him 'slide it in raw for a quick one'. Let's just say, people thought she had eggnog running down her ass, leg and thighs all night.
Anyway, Misty referred me to her doctor roommate and I went to her office soon thereafter, to talk about my bloody shits. It was love at first sight when I saw Dr. Melinda Debonaire: A Tall and leggy blonde who looked like she could suck a golf ball through a garden hose. It was the type of heart pounding love in where you get that old-fashion romantic feeling: That you would do anything to put it in raw, and cum instantly.
She must've been six feet tall. I assumed, at first, that a dumb model had walked into the room. She asked me, "Is this the nude photo shoot?" I already had my pants down.
"No" I replied, "but don't let me stop you from getting naked!" I obviously then realized that it was Dr. Debonaire, the one Misty had referred me too. I was shocked; instantly began visualizing all the ways we could bang in her office and how to put those tear-away disposable exam papers to good use.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Debonaire. So Brad, what seems to be the problem today?" She asked, her luscious hair covering her tight fucking breasts, which were covered in her scrubs, which were about to be covered with my shit and cum.
"I've been having bloody shits for a few weeks now, it really hurts when I shit...and now my back is beginning to hurt as well, probably from keeling over all the time...from taking all those hard champagne shits..." As I listed all of my symptoms, she began to seductively bite her pen. She was a chewer all right. I spaced out a bit, imagining it wasn't her pen she was chewing on, but my rock hard penis.
"Brad?" She said, her mouth open in order to say words.
"Oh sorry, I spaced out. What were you saying?" Spacing out, most likely due to the remaining blood flowing from my brain to my boner.
"Could you please turn around? I need to inspect your anal cavity" She asked. Drop my pants? Turn around? Inspect my asshole? Why don't you just ask me not to get a boner why don't you!
She began to put some clean latex gloves on, the same material condoms are made out of. It was going to be real tough not to get an even bigger, wicked, twisted stiffy. "Does that hurt? She asked, prodding and plunging her two fingers into my swollen and bloody colon. It sure did!
"Yes," I said.
After staring and analyzing my anal mucosa for a while, she told me I could sit back down. I was relieved to have won the "Don't spontaneously jizz all over the floor" contest. I began to wonder what my prize would be. Maybe a velvety Blow job? Reverse cow girl on the exam table? I also wondered what was wrong with my asshole.
"It looks like you've suffered an anal fissure. They are very hard to detect. Most are only the size of a paper cut, and tend to clear themselves up, however, it appears you have suffered from prolonged pain due to a spasming of the anal sphincter." she declared, authoritatively whist still remaining sexy. "What about my back pain," I asked, "Is that from all the anal spasms?"
She then slowly lowered her eye glasses, "No. That's because those big balls of yours need to be drained..."
Before I knew it Dr. Debonaire and I were engaged with one another on her exam table; she was prescribing me her pusscription: Dosing my cock with her natural and organic womanly lube. Her sweet slender slit, sliding up and down over my swollen salamander of a boner. A swollen cock and a swollen asshole, I could only focus on one of them.
Like a true gentlemen, I told her when I was about to shoot. And like a true professional, she didn't let me blow inside. Classy. That's what scrubs are for!
It is amazing, to this day, how my shit and cum can bring two souls together;sexual healing.
C-Suite is a men's magazine founded by Frank Cervi. It combines urban/office life-style articles with soft-core pornographic pictorials. In recent years, C-Suite introduced the 'letters' column in which readers send in borderline ridiculous sexcapades, resulting often in explicit and unnecessary detail.