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The year I turned twenty-three didn’t start out very well at all. First off, I lost my job, and the reason they gave me was that I just wasn’t performing well enough. That kind of thing is always hard to take. Then, to round things off, my girlfriend dumped me. She told me that losing my job was the last straw, and she was sick of playing second fiddle to my inferiority complex, even though I never knew I had one, until she told me about it. I still think she was exaggerating.
So, there I was, with no job, no girlfriend, and a giant hole where my ego should have been. Ironically, it was my now ex-girlfriend’s mother who helped me out. She worked part-time as a receptionist for a local doctor, who had a few elderly patients at a nursing home, not far from my place, and she put in a word for me with the director of nursing, and the next thing I knew, I got a call from the admin clerk at the nursing home. She told me if I wanted to come for an interview, they might have a job for me.
Naturally, I went down there the very next day.
The job they offered me was as an assistant in nursing, basically the lowest rung on the ladder in the nursing field, and requiring only on the job training, but I needed a job, so I signed on. The admin clerk told me I was to start on the following Monday.
I turned up as directed, and my first day on the job was an orientation day. I found that this particular place had a buddy nursing system, where the nurses were assigned permanent partners, and they worked the same shifts together, five days a week. I also found that there were only two other men working in the place. One was a male nurse who did permanent night shift, and the other was the gardener/handyman. Most of the women who worked there were at least a few years older than me, and I was told my partner’s name was Lauren, but she was off sick that day, so I didn’t get to meet her straight away. Apart from telling me her name, no one told me anything about her.
The next day, I started my shift, and I was introduced to Lauren, my new partner. Lauren looked to me to be about my other’s age, but in all honesty, she was a lot better looking. She wasn’t very tall, about five feet five or so, with fair skin, blue-grey eyes, and light brown hair that she wore in a bun at the back. However, there was no getting away from it- she had a total hourglass figure, and her breasts were, quite frankly, large. They weren’t massive, and they were in proportion to the rest of her, but they were large, full and rounded in shape, and it seemed that gravity had been kind to them over the years, because they were high and proud on her, although perhaps she just wore a good quality bra, for all I knew. For a woman her age, Lauren seemed pretty well-preserved, and her light brown hair had only a few touches of grey that I could see, and even then you had to be up close to spot them. Her face was pretty smooth, with just a few fine lines around her eyes, and once again, if you got close enough, there was the odd broken capillary, but all in all, my first impression of Lauren was that, although she was no raving beauty, she was a woman who gave middle age a good name.
Over the next few days, working eight-hour shifts together, I felt I was getting to know Lauren really well. We worked side by side the whole time, just like all the other nurses and their partners, and since many of the patients suffered from dementia and had nothing much to say, it was almost like being alone together for most of the day, except for our coffee and meal breaks. So, we talked and talked, about all manner of subjects. I found Lauren to be a very interesting person to talk to, because apart from my parents, I didn’t have much contact with people her age, so her perspectives were all new to me.
I didn’t see her as hot, or even sexy, although I thought she looked pretty good for an older woman, but over the first few weeks, I began to notice that she was always perfectly groomed, her eyebrows were plucked, and she wore just a touch of makeup to work, just enough to accentuate her features. Lauren’s uniform was always immaculate when she came to work. She seemed to have a preened, stylish look about her, and I recall about the third week I worked with her, as we made our way around the wards, I thought to myself, When I’m in my fifties, I’d like to have a wife who looks as good as that.
During the first few weeks or so, I learned Lauren’s life story, as we walked around the wards, doing our work together, and talking the hours away. Naturally, she didn’t just sit down one day and say, “This is my life story,” but there would be a story here, an anecdote there, or she would give her opinion on something, and relate it to some of her life experience, and eventually, I learned Lauren’s story.
Lauren had been born in England, and emigrated to Australia with her family when she was nine. Her mother had sent her to deportment classes as a young teenager, and she had done some Escort Beylikdüzü modelling in her late teens and early twenties. I was surprised to hear this, because I had always thought models were tall and thin, but when I mentioned that, Lauren told me that, even in the 70’s, there was a demand for girls with what she described as “womanly” figures like hers, especially for swimsuit modelling. I started to see Lauren in a slightly different light after that.
At the age of twenty, Lauren met her first husband, and married him a year later. She gave birth to her first son at twenty-four, and then had another son three years later, but at thirty-one, she divorced her husband, because he had become controlling and abusive, and their marriage fell apart. She had brought her two sons up as a single mother for the next ten ears, and at the age of forty-one, she had married her second husband, whose name was Dougie. It appears Dougie had always been fond of a few beers, but in recent years his drinking had gotten worse, and his behaviour more erratic, to the point where he had already lost one job due to drinking, and was now working as a removalist. Lauren told me she still loved the man she married, and was trying to hold the marriage together for his sake, but I got the impression things were not altogether happy at home.
I also got the impression that the booze was turning old Dougie into a bit of a dud in the sack department, although of course, Lauren didn’t just sit down and tell me this, but it was just a few things she said here and there.
In the place where I was working, the female nursing assistant’s uniform consisted of a pair of dark blue slacks, with a lighter blue blouse that was worn out over the slacks. It was cut conservatively around the collar, to preserve modesty, with all the bending and lifting that nurses do, but it was also shaped slightly, with darts underneath the bustline. On Lauren, the shaping of the blouse tended to emphasise her full, rounded breasts. One day, early in the piece, Lauren and I were getting an elderly man with dementia ready for his lunch, and he was a big guy, who was resisting our efforts to sit him up, because he could not understand what we were doing. We were both bent across the bed on opposite sides, lifting and straining, and for a brief moment, Lauren’s blouse fell open at the collar, and I realised I could see her full, creamy, rounded breasts, encased in a conservative white lace bra.
I looked away immediately, but I had seen enough to learn that Lauren’s breasts had weathered the years pretty well, with no stretchmarks that I could see, in that brief moment they were on display. Then, a moment or two later, as she bent forward again, I took a quick second glance, and once again, they looked to be in pretty good shape.
I don’t know if Lauren had seen me looking, but after we had positioned old Mr Earnshaw, she stepped away from the bed, and turned her back as she adjusted her clothing again. I felt a brief flush of shame, in case she knew I looked, but then as she stood with her back to me, I couldn’t help noticing that her bottom was still pretty tidy for a woman her age. It was nice and rounded, without any sag that I could see, and as I looked at her panty line, I found myself wondering what sort of knickers she was wearing. Then, it occurred to me, I’m looking at a woman old enough to be my mother, and undressing her with my eyes.
If Lauren had noticed me looking down her blouse, she never mentioned it, but I began to wonder just how old she actually was after that. Naturally, I couldn’t just ask her, even though we were discussing all sorts of subjects during work hours, but about a week after that, she came to work on an afternoon shift, with an old valise. “I was doing some spring cleaning on the weekend,” she told me, “and I found this in one of my cupboards. I thought you might be interested.”
She pulled a few things out of the valise, including an old passport, and some photographs. She told me the passport was one she had been issued about a year after she was married, when she and her first husband had gone overseas, and she said, “This is what I looked like when I was your age,” as she showed me the passport photo. I looked at her date of birth in the passport, and I saw that it would have made her fifty-one years old, just one year younger than my mother. The picture showed her at about twenty-two, and she was no raving beauty, but she had a pretty face, and a lot of style about her. It was the sort of pretty face that would make a man look twice, and want to get to know her better.
“What else have you got in there?” I asked, looking at the valise.
“Some stuff from my modelling days,” Lauren answered, as she pulled out some glossy photos, and magazine clippings. I wasn’t sure why Lauren wanted to show me what she looked like when she was young, but I was kind of keen to see more of her, after I saw her old passport Escort Bahçeşehir photo.
The fashions were very seventies, with short skirts, platform soles, and cheesecloth blouses, but the pictures showed that Lauren was a real looker back then. Even so, there was no getting way from it; I could see that she always had big boobs. There were a couple of swimsuit shots, one in a peacock blue satin bikini, and one in a pink one-piece, and her cleavage was nothing short of spectacular, especially in the bikini shot.
“You had a good figure,” I said, understating the obvious, but I was thinking, You were totally fuckable back then, while I checked out her tits, as they were all those years ago, and let my eyes stray to the outline of her pussy in those blue bikini pants.
“Well, all good things come to an end,” she said, looking down at herself. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but the truth was, apart from a little thickening around the middle, she still had a pretty good figure for a fifty-one year old, and the thought crossed my mind that if boozy old Dougie wasn’t giving that body some loving attention on a regular basis, then something was seriously wrong with him. Lauren had kept herself looking good long after a lot of women had given up, and if my suspicions were correct about her marital life, then it was all being wasted on a drunk.
Just then, the shift supervisor came into the room, and asked to speak to Lauren, so she left me at the table with her valise. I saw an old magazine in there, so I took it out and found it was a late 1970’s edition of Gateway magazine, which was a kind of weekly variety mag that they stopped publishing a few years back. They always used to have a picture of a girl in a bikini on the front cover, and then a few more pics of her inside on page four, and there on the cover was Lauren, in that blue satin bikini. The picture was taken from down low, so you couldn’t see much of her cleavage, but just the same, there was no mistaking those full, round, grabbable tits, and the angle of the sunlight was emphasising the outline of her pubic mound, underneath her blue bikini bottom. The picture was sexy, but in a playful way.
On the bottom right hand corner of the front cover, the caption said, “This week, our Gateway photographer catches up with 19 year old Lauren MacIntosh at Cronulla Beach — more pictures on page 4,” so I opened the old magazine for a look. There were six pictures on page four, in various poses, mostly pretty tame, but in one shot, she was on all fours, in that blue bikini, shot from behind, and looking back at the camera with a playful, inviting smile. She could just as easily have been playing leapfrog, and even though it was a long way from being pornographic, the message was there, Yes, we could do it like this, and I think I’d like it. The thought crossed my mind, She was nineteen years old then, and probably had a boyfriend. I wonder if she’d ever done it in that position.
My train of thought was interrupted by Lauren’s voice, saying, “That was a long time ago,” and I looked up to see her looking over my right shoulder, at the magazine. I was looking at pictures of a sexy girl in a bikini, shot before I was even born, but I realised my cock was half hard. Maybe it was because I hadn’t been with a girl since about a week before my girlfriend left me, but I looked up at Lauren, and said, “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve actually kept your figure pretty well.”
I said it with a smile, in a casual kind of way, so she wouldn’t think I was some young perve with a mother complex, but she just smiled, and said, “Well, that’s a nice compliment.” Then, she turned to place her empty coffee cup in the sink, and I was a little surprised to hear her say, in a softer voice, “It’s a pity it doesn’t get that much appreciation at home.” I took a breath to speak, but then I decided it probably wasn’t appropriate to explore that particular conversational opening.
I worked in that nursing home for a little over a year, and in that time I got to think of Lauren as a friend, even though she was over twice my age. We worked side-by-side, five days a week for the whole time, except for her annual leave, and we told each other all sorts of things about ourselves. Now and again, she would tell me about the latest stupid thing Dougie had done, as his boozing got worse, but at the same time, she would tell me how she was trying to keep their marriage together, because deep down, he was still the same guy she married. I was only 23 years old myself, but even then, I knew it was a lost cause, but I didn’t tell her that. I would just listen, and offer a sympathetic ear, because I really wasn’t qualified to give marital advice.
During my time at the nursing home, I realised where my calling was in life, so towards the end of the year, I applied to be trained as a registered nurse, and in time I was accepted. I had to give up my job to start my training, and to my surprise, the girls all got together to arrange a farewell for me at a local tavern. This was a bit of a tradition there, when someone left or moved on, so it wasn’t just me getting special treatment, but we decided to meet at the tavern on the Friday evening after my last shift at the nursing home.
On Monday morning, with four days left to go, I met Lauren at the start of our shift, but she was not her usual self. After an hour or so, I asked her if everything was okay. “It’s Dougie,” she said, shaking her head, “He came home drunk on Saturday night, and fell on the coffee table, and broke it.” She sighed, and went on, “Then, he got up and stumbled, and fell through the china cabinet. He’s lucky he didn’t hurt himself, but the place was a mess, everything broken like that.”
“Oh, no,” said, not really knowing what to say.
“I waited till he was sober to talk about it, the next morning,” Lauren said, sitting down on a chair next to an empty bed in the ward, “and I told him it was either the booze or me. He had to make a choice.”
“So, what’d he say?” I asked.
“He left,” Lauren said, her face crumpling, “He left to go and stay at his brother’s place at Bathurst,” she started to cry, ” and his brother’s nothing but a drunk himself. It’s like Dougie chose the booze over me.” She started to sob, and I took a tissue from a dispenser on the wall, and handed it to her. Lauren wiped her eyes and composed herself, and we continued on with our work, but I couldn’t help thinking, This Dougie is a loser!
Over the next few days, as we worked through our days together, Lauren would occasionally get teary, or she would fall silent and brood about her problems at home, and I would try to do what I could to comfort her. I wanted to say, “Fuck Dougie. You’re better off without him,” but I didn’t think that was what she wanted to hear.
On Friday, my final day at the nursing home, Lauren and I finished our last shift together, and I said, “You coming tonight?” I thought, with her problems at home, she night not feel like socialising, but she smiled and said, “Just try and keep me away.” Then, her face got more serious, and she said, “Simon, I know you’ve got your future to think about, but I’ll be sorry to see you go.”
“I won’t be far away,” I said, smiling back, “I’ll come and see you.” Although I had come to see Lauren as a friend, I thought she had just said that to be nice, but she added, “I’ll be really sorry to see you go. You’ve been a real friend to me, especially this last week, with Dougie leaving and everything, and me crying on your shoulder all the time. You’ve been really understanding.”
“That’s what friends are for,” I answered, hoping she didn’t get all teary on me again.
That night, I arrived at the tavern as planned, and found most of the other nurses already there. Most of them had their husbands or boyfriends with them, as well. We adjourned to a bar on the upper floor, with a balcony overlooking the street, and I noticed Lauren sitting and talking to a couple of other nurses. She was wearing a white blouse with short sleeves, and a caramel coloured skirt that was about mid-length, with no stockings, and I could see that she had a pretty good pair of legs. Her blouse showed some of her impressive cleavage, and until then, I had never seen her in anything but her nurse’s uniform at work. She had her hair down, rather than in the bun she kept it in at work, and with her hair out, she looked a little younger, but not in a mutton-dressed-as-lamb sort of way. She looked smart, attractive and stylish, and I noticed a couple of guys checking her out as she stood up and walked across the room towards me. “You made it,” she said, with a smile.
“Yeah,” I answered, “here I am.”
The girls started off the evening by giving me a gift, and a big greeting card, wishing me all the best for the future, with signed messages from each of the girls, written inside it. There were the usual “Good Luck” messages, and a few smart remarks, like “Hands off the young nurses,” but the message from Lauren said, simply, “Good Luck, Simon, you deserve it. You are one of nature’s gentlemen”.
I had a couple of beers, and spoke to a few of the other girls for a while, and about an hour after we started, I looked around and noticed Lauren was missing. I looked out on the balcony, and I saw her in the dark, looking over the railing at the street below, so I walked out and said, flippantly, “Don’t jump. It’s not worth it.”
Lauren turned her head, and smiled, and said, “Things aren’t that bad yet.” She turned to face me, and I saw she had a glass of white wine in her hand. She took a sip, and set her glass down on the railing. “Thanks for the kind words today,” she added.
“Glad to help,” I said, “I just hope things work out.”
“I think it’s over,” Lauren said, looking down at the ground, “I think Dougie’s a lost cause.”
“He’s the one whose losing out,” I said, and Lauren looked up at me, “Look at you,” I said, gesturing towards her with my arms, “Any guy who’d rather spend his life pouring booze down his throat than be with someone like you needs his head examined.”
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