Daily Sexy Musing: Doctors And Nurses

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Some sexy fantasies are so common that we don’t scrutinize them anymore. It’s not just because porn, chick flicks, and erotica/romance novels, some of which I wrote, often utilize them to get peoples’ blood flowing in all the right directions, either. They’re so prevalent that we assume the appeal is inherent. We don’t really give it much thought beyond that.

Chief among those kinds of fantasies involve doctors and nurses. Talk to most straight men and they’ll perk up a bit when describing a sexy nurse. Talk to most straight women and they’ll get a little excited when describing a tall, handsome, deep-voiced doctor. Whether it involves a stripper costume or George Clooney, there’s a great deal of sexiness associated with those in the medical field.

A sexy nurse and a sexy doctor aren’t just people who make wearing a stethoscope sexy. These are people who help us when we’re at our most vulnerable. When we’re sick, all the strength and reliance that carries us through the day takes a hit. We have to rely on someone else to help us. That’s rarely a good feeling, but doctors and nurses do more than most to help make us better.

They don’t just heal us. They care for us in an intimate way. They understand the workings of the human body and how to treat it. There’s something inherently sensual about that. Looking like George Clooney helps, but just being someone will comfort and heal your wounded body is enough to inspire any number of fantasies.

This Daily Sexy Musing isn’t just a tribute to the George Clooneys or Dr. House’s of our collective fantasy. It’s a deeper insight into the thoughts and desires that inspire such fantasies in the first place. Being sick is awful, but the fact it can inspire such a common fantasy is a testament to just how sexy doctors and nurses can be.

I feel awful. Everything aches. My body is failing me. Nothing I do helps. I’m so weak and frail. It’s like I’m withering from the inside out. Neither strength nor will is enough. I need help. I need your healing touch.

You brave my wounded presence.

You endure my distressed disposition.

You share your strength with me.

You use your special knowledge, wisdom, and skill.

From where I lay, you are an angel. You come to me in my time of need, not needing prayer or sacrifice. The cries of the sick are your siren’s song. You comfort the weak and console wounded. I place great trust in you and that trust is rewarded.

Over time, my strength returns to me. Thanks to your special expertise, I am healed. My spirit regains its fire. The body that failed me is working once more. However, you did something special to me when you healed it. Specifically, you left an indelible mark on my heart.

You’re still my angel.

You’re still my renewed spirit.

You’re still the strength that I regained.

In you, I see more than one who heals the sick. I am in awe, both of your skill and how you choose to use it. Around the weak, you share your strength. You confront the illness, rather than recoil from it. I gave you such power over me, trusting you to use it to make me whole. You used that power wisely. My awe only grows.

To my healer, I am eternally grateful.

To the one behind the medicine, you mean more to me than your knowledge.

Whatever uniform you wear or tools you use, I see a gift and a spirit that makes any soul beautiful. Like any beauty, I am drawn to it. Unlike most beauty, I owe it my life. From my weakest to my strongest, I give myself to you. Once again, I trust in your healing touch.

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