foot orgasms

Tonight - well, not tonight but many nights ago - as I prepared to stitch up a young woman's foot, the patients surrounding us gradually left and with them the hubbub that masked the radio's burble in the corner of the treatment room. As the broadcast voices became intelligible, with some interest I realised a therapist was telling us all about our orgasms. Her rahter matronly tones clanging through the subject in an orderly fashion meant it was somehow hard to ignore. Being in sterile gloves I could not fiddle with the radio, so I just pretended not to be listening. I learned about good techniques for fellatio, the fallacies and elusions of the vaginal orgasm, erectile dysfunction, and so on. When my patient began to giggle I did get up and jogged the radio onto another station with my elbow - only to hit a vein carrying Barry White's dulcet tones. Furhter jogging didn't get me anywhere, and I went back over to the patient, holding my bloodied hands out at a sterile length in front of me. I caught her eye, and she held my gaze for a second, looking severe. 'What?' i asked, becoming aware we were all alone. 'You're not going to knock me out are you?'.