Due to one of our staff moving, we had a new nurse join our flight team recently. I met her a few times while she was going through her initial orientation, and never really thought twice about her until after she'd completed and begun to fly as an actual crew member.
I'll call her Jena, and she was tall (almost 6 feet), and strongly built, but with womanly curves. It turned out that her husband and she owned a farm, and she did a lot of the physical work since he'd been paralyzed in a tractor accident. However, she wasn't the least bit fat.
My first shift working with her, I learned that if no visitors were around, she preferred to not wear her flight suit until it came time for a call. Instead, she wore workout gear-spandex tank top, sports bra, and biking shorts. Although never overly attracted to other women, the first time I saw her around the base like that, I was smitten. She didn't flaunt her body, or flirt with anyone, but was simply comfortable with herself. She thought nothing of lounging in the easy chair, one leg wrapped around the arm of it, the other straight out on the floor. The first time our pilot saw her doing that, his eyes bugged out and he fumbled his words. Both Jena and I privately laughed about it later, as well as about the bulge he'd tried to hide over the scene. She wasn't embarrassed about it at all, nor proud about her ability, just amused. It came as little surprise to me that she said she'd worked her way through nursing school as a stripper!
We caught one flight that day, and even though she wasn't in uniform, she was still in the aircraft without us having to wait for her at all, completely ready to go. The patient was sick, and care fairly involved, but she was competent and confident, and we completed the mission without incident or even a hint of stress. Once back to the base, she was quickly back out of her flight suit and comfortably sprawled out. The more I was around her, the more attracted I became.
I fantasized about cuddling along side her, my head tucked against her shoulder and her arm around me, out legs intertwined, with me stroking her thigh, stomach, and ribs with my fingertips. Eventually I'd work up to lightly tracing her mound, and teasing my fingertip along the seam of the crotch of her shorts. Her breathing would change, and her nipples would get hard. At that point, I'd change the pressure, cupping her pussy and rubbing my middle finger hard against her slit. Her hand would come up and grasp my pony tail, and she'd pull my head up, so that instead of gazing at her cleavage, I'd be looking at her face, as she called me a nasty slut for getting her turned on. I'd moan at her words, pressing my body closer to hers, and grinding my own pussy against her leg. After her fingers began to caress my hand, I'd slip it inside her shorts and start spreading her wetness around her clit, making her gasp and causing her hips to twitch in pleasure. Eventually, I'd work my finger inside, hooking it hard and rubbing her g-spot.
Over the few months, we worked together often. My lust seemed to grow as I'd admire her toned body, check out her expertly applied makeup, and dream about kissing her glossed lips. As summer turned to fall and the temperature fell, the clothes stayed deliciously tight but changed to cold weather running gear. For some reason, this seemed to emphasize her tits, which during one discussion she had mentioned were an all-natural D.
I did begin playfully flirting with her. Mostly because it's my personality anyways, but with her, I couldn't hold back the serious undertone. It was really amusing to both of us-the tall, statuesque brunette with the dancer's body, and the petite partner upon whom she could (and did several times) rest her breasts on the top of my head. The first times were unintentional-we were putting supplies away, and she simply stepped up behind me to reach over my head. As she did, she pressed up against me slightly, but her breasts were most definitely supported by my head. I stood there frozen, mind completely empty, until she realized our situation and pulled back with an embarrassed laugh. We joked as only women could about the situation, but I was left wet and frustrated.
The next time was at an accident scene. I was standing at the window of a wrecked pickup, strategizing how I was going to place my equipment so I could perform care in the compressed compartment, when she stepped up behind me to study it as well. It wasn't until she asked if I'd be able to place the KingVision (a camera-guided intubation blade) in a way that we could both see the screen that we realized she was doing it again. The firefighters on scene were all business during the call, but sent us far more invitations to visit their unit as a team than any other I'd received to that point!
Eventually, we experienced one of those taxing calls that makes even the toughest men question their decision to stay in our profession. We responded directly to a scene where the EMS crew was inexperienced in the extrication needing to be performed, which meant inept care until we arrived (no reflection on them, except for the "inexperienced" part). After what seemed like forever, we got the patient extricated, but after consulting with command, decided that the patient was too unstable to simply transport via helicopter, and instead went by ground to the closest hospital for further stabilization, then transfer via air. The physician staffing the ER truly was a nightmare who ended up making the whole situation worse, almost killing the patient twice before our command physician spoke directly to him via phone and formally accepted the patient to the trauma center overseeing our operation. Privately to my partner, he instructed us to secure the equipment we needed, and we would stabilize the patient to the best of our ability on the helipad prior to loading the patient and flying to the center.
