relief-work
LESBIAN SEX STORIES

Relief Work

Relief Work

by claire_west
20 min read
4.46 (5700 views)
adultfiction

My Darling Lilly

Today is your 7th birthday and I should be with you but I am not. I am here in Germany, fighting and hoping the war will end soon so that I can come home to you and your Mum, my beloved Gillian. You wont understand all this now but perhaps in years to come you will, and forgive me for not being there to share your special day.

As we have fought our way from Normandy to Germany we have seen, everywhere, columns of people, dispossessed, hungry, homeless, fleeing from the fighting or their own authorities, desperate to find a safe haven. Thousandssaw upon thousands walking, following the leader of the line who probably has no idea where he is going. It breaks my heart and I curse the politicians who sit in their comfortable offices and condemn ordinary people to such misery.

(This is an extract from a letter that was sent from a post a few miles from Berlin and was written by my great grandfather, Eric, to my grandmother, Lilly. Eric was killed two days later.)

~

I discovered the letter when we were clearing out my grandmother's home after she died. It was the inspiration of my life. I determined to do all I could for those nameless, but countless people he had seen or, if not for them, then for their modern equivalents. I studied Logistics at university and, by the time I was 26 I was working on my first overseas posting.

~

Mel looked at me over the remnants of our coffee and croissant breakfast.

"Look, love, I cant do this anymore."

"This what?"

"Sitting around here at home, waiting for you to come home, scared for you."

Mel was a paramedic and we had met when I was training to be one too. I gave it up to be a relief worker and, consequently, spent a lot of time in far-flung, benighted places, trying to bring some help to the refugees in flight from terrorists, mad despots, war zones and natural disasters. My job was to be a member of the advance team, getting on scene quickly, establishing comms and permissions and god alone knew what and then organising the development of the aid from then on before handing over to a management team and either going home or onto the next fucking disaster.

I understood how Mel felt. I'd just got back from a three month deployment during which I had been able to email her occasionally but only to speak to her twice. My homecoming usually involved a frantic fuckathon but not this time. She was almost cold and sad. I think I knew in those first few days after my return that it was the end but it's hard to be honest, hard not to feel that she should understand. But why should she? Did I understand her. Did I really ever think about her. I'd often, it is true, lie in some temporary bed and unzip my trousers and slip my hand into my knickers and wish it was her hand. But did I miss her? Was I so self-absorbed that I didn't think of her as being alone and missing me. She was comfortable and could have a shower whenever she wanted one. She could have a meal that was not disgusting. I was the one making all the sacrifices. But, of course, I wasn't.

She didn't need to say anymore. I totally got it. It was unfair to expect her to wait, to do her incredibly demanding job, physically and emotionally, and not have someone to caress her hair and kiss her better after a road accident or a child's death.

When I had moved in with her I had let out my own flat to a teacher called Naomi Preston. I'd done it through an agency and had never met her but i decided to give her a call and fix to explain why I needed her to move out.

The teacher was surprised when I phoned. "I've only dealt with your agents. Sure, come round this evening if you'd like to."

I got there at 6. When she opened the door, I said, "Hi. I"m Carly Weston, we spoke earlier."

"Yes, sure. Come on in."

She was a stereotype of a teacher. She was wearing a grey skirt, a white, high-necked blouse with a grey cardigan over it. She wore blue tights which I loathe. She had no shoes on. Her brown hair was tied severely back and she wore black, round glasses that seemed too big for her face.

She showed me into her/my kitchen which seemed bigger, and definitely cleaner, than when I had moved out. She made tea and we sat at the island in the kitchen and I started.

"Naomi, I wanted to speak to you face to face. I need to move out of my girlfriend's flat, we're splitting up."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, that must be hard for you both." She must have seen the implications for her but seemed to put me and Mel first. "You'll be wanting me to move out of here then?"

"That's one option but I have another suggestion. It might not appeal and, if it doesn't, I will understand but let me explain?"

I told her about my work, the protracted periods away. I said that, maybe, she'd consider taking me in as a sort of lodger myself. She could still have the main bedroom and I'd keep out of her way as much as possible. At least that way she could look for alternative accommodation in her own time and I could move out of Mel's place quickly. Alternatively, I'd rent somewhere as soon as I could to give her time to find somewhere.

"Your work sounds fascinating, tell me more."

So I did and she said she was impressed, then she told me about her job as a teacher of chemistry in an all girls private school which sounded very much like the gulag I had attended. The chat was unnecessary except that it gave her time to consider my suggestion.

And so it was that for the first time in my adult life I began sharing a flat with a straight woman. It didn't take long for us to become good friends. It seemed to me that the lack of any sexual complication meant we cold just relax and be natural with each other which worked well. It took me a while to remember to put a dressing gown on before leaving my room, to close the toilet door and other little things that come with a sexual partner but not, definitely not with straight female lodger.

It was three months before my next deployment. I'd been working almost normal hours in the charity's headquarters, providing back up to others in the field when my boss called me in.

"We're getting reports of serious weather in the West Indies, you'll have seen them." I had. "We want to get a unit out there so when the shit hits the fan we can deploy really quickly. It'll be hairy; flooding, wind damage, the whole nine yards including looting and probably civil disobedience. If you don't fancy it just say. You've done your share." He watched my reaction.

He's a clever, thoughtful man and once told me that when he offered someone a task, he watched their body language. Were they afraid of saying no, afraid of the job but denying it to themselves, too hungry to put themselves in the way of danger. I was aware of myself because of his words.

"I'll get on to the arrangers and get my tickets et cet. They'll give me all the contacts?"

They would. And so here we go again. Another few thousand dispossessed, injured, dead, homeless but, at least, this was a natural disaster in the making and not some mad bastard with barrel bombs and poison gas for his own population.

πŸ“– Related Lesbian Sex Stories Magazines

Explore premium magazines in this category

View All β†’

The night before I was leaving, I checked over my 'always' kit. It's a large bergen with essentials that sits always in the corner of my room like a sentinel and a warning, and which I check once a week to make sure nothing is out of date or leaking or whatever. Naomi came home to find me with the contents spread across the sitting room floor and, overcoat and shoes removed, she squatted beside me to help.

That night, I'd got into bed when there was a tap on my door. She came in, in black pyjamas and, wordlessly, climbed into bed beside me.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm giving my best friend a hug before she goes into the danger zone. Straight girls can cuddle girls too you know. Not just you dykes. Budge up a bit."

She was still there in the morning when my alarm went off and, I swear, there was a tear in her eye when I kissed her goodbye.

~

The Caribbean doesn't look as good in the hurricane season as it does in the travel brochures. Two days after arriving and I'd moved from the tent I had first used into a slightly more permanent structure just a few hours before the real trouble started. Our camp was on the periphery of the worst hit zone so we weren't in much danger but we lost all comms, any loose tents and a few vehicles to falling trees and flooding.

Then the work really began and I barely slept for the next two weeks, as we strove to get aid to the worst affected, gradually moving from camp to camp. At last I found some time to take a bit of ease. The weather had improved but the effort was still demanding as all sorts of agencies tried to get on with reconstruction, particularly hospitals and schools as well as the houses, such as they were, of the poorer people.

At last it ended and I was able to return to base, only to discover i had a new roommate. I could care less? I hit my bed and slept the sleep of the dead.

Sandia was a Swiss paralegal who was helping the poor devils who had lost identity papers, passports or who wanted to apply for asylum somewhere. She was blonde, rather short and slightly dumpy. She was also incredibly and unaccountably sexy. And, what's more, she knew it.

"Hey. You're Carly, right?" Bleary-eyed, I confirmed I was. "I brought you coffee. You snore." She said this with a wicked smile.

"I do not."

"Okay, whatever." She told me who she was and we chatted, she sitting on her bed, me drinking the coffee which was surprisingly good. I said so.

"Anyone can be uncomfortable in camp but it takes class to be comfortable. I always reckon good coffee makes everything seem better. You got anyone at home?"

"No. Who'd put up with all the absences. My ex couldn't, anyway."

"No, nor mine. She fucked off with our cleaner, can you believe that?"

"Was the cleaner hot?"

"She was. I'd have done the same, no question. You gay too?" I nodded. "Well now, that's nice."

It was. Sandia was imaginative in bed. I honestly don't remember how we ended up sleeping together: not, mind you, that sleeping was the object nor was it possible. We'd clamber on each other in my or her small bed and then, when sleep overcame us, we'd revert to our separate cots. She loved being licked to orgasm and, annoyingly, had amazing self-control so she could string it out until my jaw ached and I was silently begging her to cum. She was, though, unselfish, and never let me drift off to sleep without an orgasm of my own. "Whether you want it or not!"

We were notified of another storm approaching. We weren't in its path but it would be advisable to get things covered, tied, secured or whatever and stay in the permanent building until it was all over. About an hour later, having worked hard to get things safe, the alarm came that the storm had changed track and we should take serious cover. Sandia and I sat against the wall, on the floor, holding each other and waiting. She told me stories of her youth and her parents until the roof was suddenly torn off and the noise became utterly unimaginable, almost indescribable except to say it was like a thousand jets taking off right over our heads. Something crashed and roared and Sandia literally flew, like a pantomime fairy, out of my arms and almost at the same time I felt a vicious crack on my head and then I passed out.

~

I came to to find myself in a small hospital ward which, I discovered later, was the sick berth of a Royal Navy Frigate that was assisting in the aid programme. I had, apparently, been found, almost buried under rubble and then was carried to a helicopter and onward to the ship. I knew nothing of all this. I had a few broken ribs, a broken wrist, concussion and lacerations but nothing life threatening. The Navy treated me with enormous kindness and professional skill until I was repatriated to England in an RAF transport.

And Sandia? I never saw or heard of her again.

~

Naomi, bless her, met me at the airport and drove me home. Although I had lost everything, for once our systems worked and I'd left a long list of contact numbers with our control who had contacted a few, which is how Naomi knew I was on my way.

She'd met me with a hug at arrivals, held me at arm's length and told me I looked like shit. "Let's get you home and I'll do my Florence Nightingale act and get you better. Short hair suits you. And scars are just sexy." Her finger traced the scar that ran from my left eye to the corner of my mouth. I'd been told it would fade. "Any other damage I need to know about?" I waved my sling to demonstrate the broken wrist. She did a mock 'tut.' "I am observant enough to have noticed that. Anything else?"

As we got into the car I mentioned a few cuts on my legs and back so when we got home she told me to strip off and have a shower and she'd give me the once over.

As I got out of the shower (I had become adept at washing with one hand and keeping my broken wrist's plaster dry) she appeared with a huge towel which she proceeded to wrap around me and dry me off. I gasped as she held me a little more tightly than my ribs enjoyed. "Sorry."

She squatted to dry my legs. "Fucking hell. That must have hurt." She traced the scars on my shins and calf. She told me to stay where I was then came back from, I assumed, her bedroom carrying a pair of her black silk pyjamas which she proceeded to help me into before guiding me to bed.

"Get some sleep. We can talk in the morning."

I woke, screaming. The dream, the same fucking dream. Sandia. In white even though I had never seen her in white. Sandia. Rising as if held by some invisible hand, looking back at me as she disappeared into the raging sky.

Naomi was there, stroking my hair, my face. "It's a dream, a dream that's all."

πŸ›οΈ Featured Products

Premium apparel and accessories

Shop All β†’

The next night Naomi came to bed with me and held me when it happened again. And the next night.

"You need to see someone. My brother, Tom is a therapist. I think he'd help you."

I was, I confess, pretty desperate by this time. Work were really good and gave me unlimited time off but the nightmare kept coming and I was losing sleep and, well, you get the picture. Where Naomi was neat and precise, Tom was a shambles. His office was strewn with books and god knew what else. He had to move a tray of dirty cups for me to find a seat and then find somewhere to set it down. But he was amazingly kind, a great listener.

"Naomi has told me a little. She said you were okay with that." I was. "It wont be news to you that you have classic symptoms of PTSD and, given your experience, that is hardly surprising. If you agree, we'll have a few sessions and work together to see if we can help."

I agreed and that is exactly what we did. Over time the incidence of the nightmare decreased. I got back to the gym, to work in the office and slowly felt human again.

It was about 3 months after my return that things changed. Naomi had slept with me every night. She'd held me when I had the dream and watched over me until I got back to sleep. But this Saturday night we had been out for dinner and when we got back, she said, "I want to take you to bed."

Now, if she'd said something like, 'I'm whacked, time for bed,' it would have felt different but 'I want to take you to bed,' has a sort of sexual connotation so, careful that I might have misinterpreted, I smiled and said, "So you can have your wicked way with me?"

"Something like that."

We kissed then. Kissed as we never had before. This straight girl, probably now my best friend was making love to me and I loved it. She was confident which rather surprised me, undressing me slowly, guiding me to bed and there, making love as if she'd been fucking women all her adult life. She caressed me and kissed me, her tongue finding nooks and crannies, her lips sucking here and there and her fingers traced and raked and, eventually, entered and worked me. Not to be outdone I went down on her and gave her the 'Weston Special,' which is my buzz tongue which a trumpet player had taught me. She had said, "we learn triple tonguing. Like this." Well, fuck, did i like it so I made her teach me and it seemed that Naomi was delighted she had because her orgasm was only a moment away. She nearly broke my neck! She clamped her thighs around my ears and twisted but I held on with grim determination and managed not to lose my head.

Naomi's orgasm was intense and protracted and, at the end, I was holding her just as she had held me in the throes of my nightmare.

We made love several times that night. There was a sort of unspoken agreement to try as much as we might, to explore each other, make up for time lost.

It was about 3 in the morning when Naomi told me I was her first.

"Your first relief worker?"

"First woman, idiot. But 'relief worker' has just acquired another meaning. Who was your first?"

So I told her about my first. First times are not always what one might hope for. I remember clearly the first time I was fucked by a boy and how it was almost the last, so inept was he. I tried for a while to get over it but, in the end, my true sexuality revealed itself in the form of May, a Thai nurse I met at a pottery workshop. She was hugely funny, self-confident, pretty with jet black hair almost to her bum and a figure to die for. She was also earthy, direct and, ok, almost perfect. We went for a drink together and she held my hand in the pub. She walked home with me, holding my hand all the way and by the time we got there, I would have married her had she asked. She didn't but she did ask me to go to bed with her, so I agreed to that instead.

"Was it all you hoped for?" asked Naomi.

I was patently not May's first. She was unashamedly physical, her fingers and tongue, even her hair was used to excite me. She kept me on edge, skilfully and kindly, for a while before I completely lost it and roared an orgasm that, had I not been in extremis, might have worried me that the neighbours might be disturbed.

I smiled at Naomi. "Oh, God, yes."

"How good?"

Actions, I have always said, speak louder than words.

~

I knew my time with Naomi was over when she said those awful, portentous words, "I need to talk to you."

What she needed to talk to me about was that she had applied, successfully, for a deputy head's position in Sussex, about two hundred miles away and had decided she had to take it. I pretended to be delighted for her, agreed she had to go and maintained a stoical cheer until she actually left then had a weep for a few months (well, hours anyway) and decided two things. One, I would resume my paramedic training - i had only a year or so to do. Two, I would apply to join an aid agency like MSF and see more of the world.

And, my friends, that is exactly what I did.

As a qualified paramedic, my old relief agency invited me back! I'd always loved the team and here i was wth another role, a new lease of life, and an occasional bed-fellow in the form of Angelica, whom I'd met during training, and who was, I can assure you, no angel. Quite, in the fact, the reverse.

Angelica was a former soldier/medic. She was manly to a degree and physically as hard as nails. I was buddied up with her for my post-training assessment which involved not just the medical stuff but also the driving, sometimes with blue lights, and things like lifting and handing over to A+E.

After a couple of shifts together she had invited me out for a drink. "What, like a date?"

"Yes, exactly like a date."

"That sounds nice."

"Tell me, Carly. Are you a good girl?"

"That rather depends what you mean."

She smiled and kissed my ear and said, "The Sherry Tun, 7.30." She didn't wait for me to agree. She just turned and left. Fucking nerve.

I was in the pub at just before 7.30. Don't look at me like that! When a woman asks you if you're a good girl and you're like me, you know that it's best to do as you're told if you want to get off to a good start. You also know that, it being a very warm Friday evening and that we were off duty for the weekend, I made some effort to dress as I hoped she'd like. And at least a part of that is acknowledging that we're different, if you get my drift. Opposite sides of the same coin.

Enjoyed this story?

Rate it and discover more like it

You Might Also Like