Mary -- CAW #23 - Sex Stories

Mary -- CAW #23

The following is a (hopefully) corrected version of my entry into CAW #23 on our Sex Stories sub-forum. The Challenge was to write something based on personal history. Roughly the first third of this tale is true. Some references in it may seem old-fashioned today, since the story is set in 1972. There are explanatory notes at the end responding to comments from earlier readers. ~~~~~~~ The ambulance jolted and creaked when it hit another pothole. Death-defying thrill rides like this broke up the monotony of wheeling patients around, shaving men to prepare them for surgery, and changing messy bedding at my summer job as a hospital “attendant”. I was jack of all trades and master of few. Going on ambulance calls was one of my duties. I was happy sitting in the back. From there, I couldn’t see the cars we nearly hit as we careened along. My co-worker spoke up. “Old Paul’s driving is worse than usual today. At least you get a view.” “Huh?” I couldn’t hear her well over the blaring siren from my perch on the little seat at the head of the empty stretcher. Seated on the slippery padded vinyl bench opposite me, she spread her legs more than seemed necessary to brace against the vehicle’s lurching through traffic. “I wondered if you liked the view.” “Don’t know what you mean,” I lied. “Bullshit.” She changed her position, causing her white uniform skirt to ride up more. “I kinda like you looking.” “I wasn’t looking.” “Oh, come on, Mike,” she laughed. “You’re not very subtle.” Old ...

... Paul, our volunteer fireman driver on evening shift, ran every call like a stunt driver in a chase scene. This time was no exception. He slewed the bulky converted Cadillac around a corner, tires howling in protest and engine bellowing when he slammed his foot to the floor again. We both grabbed handrails in the cramped back compartment to keep from being thrown around. The big car thundered up a narrow street and screeched to a TV-worthy stop behind the cop car already on scene. Mary took a second to straighten the stiff white cap pinned to her French twist hairdo. “Why do you think,” she chuckled as I opened the huge rear door, “I wear a uniform dress instead of one of those new uniform pants outfits?” Useless old Paul leaned against the vehicle to smoke a cigarette and bask in the smell of hot rubber and oil and the glory of the flashing lights. He never helped us with anything. We took the stretcher with our equipment lashed to it up the steps into the house. The cops greeted Mary by name and helped us load the elderly patient for a somewhat more sane drive to the hospital. She held the old woman’s hand all the way there while I radioed in our report. When we unloaded at the emergency room, she took charge of the case, writing procedure requests in her neat hand for doctors’ scribbled initials. She comforted the patient’s husband and sent a rookie policeman to get coffee for the old man and a candy bar for the crying granddaughter he brought with him. When the patient was ...