Rated G
Warnings: None, it's silly stuff

Notes: for Ms. A. Jude who makes me cry and laugh! She's the cure for PMS! Bottle her up. For Lucy, too, who's in love with Blair's curls. Go, Alyjude!
Head to Toe--All My Problems Gone!
Testimony to Follow in Detail!

The following is an unpaid (and unasked for) Advertisement for the Society to Prevent Cruelty to Sentinel-Slashers Association (SPCA).

Will all you certifiable members of the Sentinel Slash sisterhood--please stand up? Don't be afraid to admit it--I'm here to help you. Indeed I am. (Ask me for my very personal testimony, privately.)

I am not insane. My psychologist has told me this quite often. My psychologist is certified (*ahem*) by the illustrious Rainier University and has a long waiting list to see him in his very private office at Cascade General. He is Dr. Blair Sandburg, head doctor extraordinaire.

Fellow slashers, this doctor is different! His office is not lit with harsh lighting or those wavering fluorescents, but the dimness is gently parted by scented candles. Soft romantic music (Bach after coitus type) plays from hidden speakers. And oh, he serves Food, what's yummy for your tummy is yummy for your Bean, too. He knows women like to nosh.

My head doc is quite eccentric, so don't be afraid when the gentleman slowly begins to strip and peel away all those layers to his 3-piece. The button down become buttons off. He will join you on the patient's couch, reclining with you. Oh, he is now as lovingly nude as his Maker and his Mother made him.

Oh, how my everyday problems just seem to vanish when my appointment to see Doctor Blair comes around. (It's too personal here to describe all my troubles).

He lays his silken russet curls across my breast, caresses my tummy with his perfect hand, and whispery soft asks, "Oh, Susan, (you may insert your name here, at this point) what's wrong? You must tell me everything. I will lie here with you forever, like this, until you feel safe enough to continue."

His blue eyes--the eyes of a fallen angel caressed me.....Uh, humph, well that's another story, He will document you fully sane, ladies.

Now, my proctologist is Doctor Jim. Dr. Jim came highly recommended to me. His other clients...um...patients of course do not wish their real names to be made public, for *husband* or *boyfriend* reasons.

Dr. Jim knows my end from the beginning to the end. He in fact knows the end of this ending. Dr. Ellison gradudated from the same delectable school of sex..oh, I mean, Rainier, as my other fave doc. Doctor Jim does not have an office, the man delights in housecalls.

The first thing he does is give you an extremely physical physical. From your top to your bottom, front and back, sides, edges, and curves, this man has uncanny sight. Don't be shocked if he begins to sniff you, either. He loves underarms and parts of your body that normally stay clothed in business hours.

Doc Jim tells me one of his turn ons, ooops, mark that out, one of his special ways of searching out hidden problems is to Smell You All Over.

Next he'll cock his head to the side--no stethoscope needed to listen to your heart as it races, nearly jumping ba-da-ba-da out of your chest when he grazes those large callouses across um....

Doc Jim will search and examine every room of your uh, home, while on call. No room or access way will go unnoticed. Your leaky plumbing is carefully licked ...dried...aw shucks, every hole, oh gosh, every body cavity is plugged...oh um, um, yeah, do it, Jim, do it....

//Wait a minute, here.//

So you see I'm uncertifiable from my top to my bottom. Doc Blair's hands and Doc Jim's er..fill, er, fulfill all my needs, um...wants...um..they treat me...oh heck, they know how to treat me...

Now Doc Jim's phone number is unlisted, but ladies if you've been rear-ended he can fix you up. I will give out his number and he'll set up a date...oh...an appointment for a discreet visit when your hus...I mean, you'll be quite alone. Please remember to pull the drapes and shades, because Doc Jim is very sensitive to bright lights.

Now, sisters, nighty night, sleep tight. Doc Jim has gone back to the loft to examine oh...to bed...uh, well Doc Blair lives there too. They'll check the locks, set the timer for the coffee maker. (Oh what a long day they both have tomorrow, so many women to see and devour, uh, to look at.)

Now, Doc Jim takes Doc Blair's hand, whispers some little sweet thingie in his ear which makes Doc Blair chortle with glee. Doc Blair runs like a streaker towards the top of the stairs, his clothes flying in crossword puzzle directions, his boxers parachuting into the dead center of Jim's nose.

"We-ll," says Doc Jim to himself, "it's time to give the final exam of the day. Hot damn! I just love Endings."

His head jerks toward the corner of the loft, and spies something or someone there. Jim's frown turns into a Christmas wreath of smiles. He winks, and whispers in that throaty voice, "Ah, I wondered when you were going to show up! Never miss a night, do you? Well, make yourself at home, raid the fridge, and if you get chilled, come on up----if you're too shy for that, just cuddle up to the screen, starting with 852 Prospect, then there's a whole list of Senslash links we've compiled for your perusal...

This completes the unpaid, unwelcome...um...free ad...Get in touch with me at susgreer@webtv.net for hourly, daily, evening only rates for either/both doctor. I gladly pay their fees.

They're miracle workers! From your Head to your Bottom!