I Feel Your Pain.

My compadre at "Titivil" has trapped his finger in a door!

Let me tell you:

I once caught my finger in a train door.

After a black-nailed sleepless night, and a unremittant day of throbbing, I returned home to my shared house where I relayed my plight to Merial, a newly qualified doctor.

"Oh, you need to go to the hospital to get your nail pierced! "She advised, in her alluring Scottish accent * "That will release the pressure." .

But then she said "Or, I can do it for you now if you want?"

Now, two things:

a) I was in pain, and could not bear the thought of the four-hour wait in casualty with the junkies and the drunks for company.

and

b) Apart from her sultry-yet-authoritive accent, Merial was possibly the most sexual attractive woman I have ever shared a confined space with and we're talking about a very small kitchen here.

"Yes" I heard myself reply only too eagerly, and expected her to go fetch a doctor's bag, although I had never actually seen her with one, I just assumed they were issued with the when they qualified.

Imagine my dismay as she just turned and began to rummage around the adjacent kitchen drawers, searching amongst the accumulated crap until she uttered an "Aha!" and turned towards me holding aloft a paperclip!

"Right!" she enthused, "let me just get the gas on!"

At this she then seemed to sense my apparent dismay, and began to reassure me with a description of the procedure that she had in mind for my finger:

"I'm going to heat the paperclip until it's red hot, and then I'm going to burn a whole through your nail to relieve the pressure!" she purred in her seductive Caledonian brogue.

OK, I know. I should have begun running the moment she produced the paperclip. I should kept running to the nearest phone box and phoned the medical authorities, and then ran some more; but I didn't.

Why not? Like I say, I was in a confined space with the type of lubricious professional female than only James Bond gets to meet. And let's face it, she was offering the only chance of penetration I was ever likely to get to experience with her. And it wasn't just my finger that was throbbing, despite the pain.

"OK!" I stupidly agreed, and placed a trembling digit upon the worktop.
As the paperclip finally glowed a vivid orange she smiled to herself, turned, and approached with the words "Now, this is really going to hurt!"

She grabbed my finger and proceded to push the scorching metal into my fingernail, which began to emit smoke just around the time that I began to feel agonising pain, at which point I had an involuntary spasm and pulled my hand away.

"Oh no!" she cried, ambiguously "I was nearly there!" and appeared to be genuinely disappointed, possibly with my lack of manliness.

"OK," I replied, calming myself, "I'll do it!" and took the cooling paperclip from her beautifully delicate, yet masterful hands.

I reheated the clip, and then, with her leaning over beside me to get a closer view, I found myself grimacing, taking a deep breath, and after pausing for a contemplative second, pushed a burning piece of metal into my own fingernail!

The pain was indescribable, and I let out a sizable "Aaargh!" as the fiery stylus burnt its way through and pierced the blackened nail. Yet then, as the all-consuming agony rapidly accelerated, there was just as suddenly a release, not just of the trapped blood which gushed from my smouldering finger up onto the galley walls, but from the pain itself, accompanied by a shrill scream from my accomplice who threw her hands to her face as the spurt gushed outwards.

The relief was as indescribable as the pain itself. I exhaled, dropped the paperclip, and shook my heamorrhaging hand, as I eased myself back against the cupboard. Merial held her own hand to her chest and said "My! That was exciting!", before asking to inspect the wound, and volunteered to expertly bandage my traumatised limb.

How we laughed as we wiped my emissions from the tiling.

And then, that was it. Me, Merial, a kitchen, and not so black fingernail.

I don't think I got that close to her again until I came home as a stab victim, but that, dear reader, is another bag of plasma!

Oh by the way, my fingernail eventually dropped off, and took an AGE to grow again.

Merial married a balding advertising man.


*Before the invention of the India practioner, all British doctors were Scottish. I think it was the law.