Addicted to physiotherapy

She led me to a cubical as I watched her long golden silky hair at the back. I sat down while she drew the curtain to preserve some privacy. I realised I was a lucky guy.

She was not only neat and clean, but also angelic looking; she had unique charisma, so calm and cool yet she was friendly and soft spoken. There wasn’t any part of her body features that was outstanding from others; however, her overall image was more than seductive. My wish came true.

I regretted being shabbily dressed. Answering her questions made me look dumb too, for I hadn’t noticed about the problems though I had aches all these while. She was so gentle checking for pains, examining my knees while I tried to concentrate to feel for any pain that might occur. Though it was difficult, I tried not to look at her in order to show her respect, especially when she was bending down.

I was disappointed to know that I couldn’t go back weekly for gym training. She was more appealing than the half day off I would get but I tried to use this as an excuse to go back, which failed. Shark. I could have talked more, into her personal life, her job and others, probably that would pull us closer.

My head seemed to swing left and right upon recapping of her pleasant looks. I wondered how many more people would be injured over the years – I just wished to break my legs in order to see her more often.

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