The tales of Lorna’s youth were legendary.
Sure, our colleague is an incredible nurse: a consumate professional who has the most amazing bedside manner, but her path to nursing greatness, Nurse of the Year 2013, did not run smooth. And on one particular story: “that” story, I was there.
In truth, it was a cock up: a piece of epic ineptitude that could have been so much worse. I shouldn’t have been there. Mike was her usual chaperone, but he had the two-bob-bits after a dodgy curry and she begged me to stand in. I could not say no.
We were both nursing students at the time and she worked a few nights as a stripper to help fund her studies. I could only imagine what the gorgeous brunette looked like underneath her clothes; it was an exciting and enticing thought. And that night, she had a poor photocopy of the order form, scribbled in barely legible handwriting. I couldn’t read it and even Lorna had trouble deciphering the text; it was worse than Dr Shaloh’s intelligible scrawl!
The request was very specific. She was to be dressed like a member of the French Resistance: the tan trench coat, the beret and the suspenders. She had a particular script too, and with particular moves to do. It was a detailed demand.
We drove to the venue in my car, and I escorted her to the door outside Function Room 2. I was nervous, she wasn’t; she’d done this many times before.x`
The gorgeous brunette burst into the room as the clock struck eight, the sexy seductress walking past scores of open-mouthed men and women as she advanced along the length of the room. It was a birthday: a 100th Birthday party.
The lucky gentleman was sat at the end of the long table; his family and friends looking at us with confused faces. I didn’t feel like we should be there but the booking had been made.
“Listen very carefully,” she announced in a French accent. “I shall show this, only v-once!” There was silence as she ripped open her long coat. “It’s the big boobies!”
I got the feeling there was something wrong at that point, the stunned silence from everyone was unnerving but Lorna just continued; she fell into her performance, sliding her stocking-clad legs up the inner thigh of the birthday boy, staring at her wide-eyed. His hands trembled excitedly.
She drove her hips against his lap, bringing his pitted face into her bosom. Everything about her oozed seduction: the smooth curves, the delicate frame and the radiant skin. She slowly unfurled her black stockings and tossed them at the birthday boy, gently grinding her hips against his gleeful body.
And he was gleeful, and grateful. It was obviously a surprise to him as much as a surprise to most of the guests.
Someone had taken a lot of time for him, and he deserved it. The posters on the wall of the 100-year-old showed oversized pictures of him through the years and the ages: from when he was a baby to now. But most prominent were the pictures of him and his dozens of army medals: proudly smiling at the camera with his World War II tank behind him.
But Lorna was oblivious to the startled eyes on her, her focus was on him and his smile. His grin. His disbelieving eyes. Her naked body designed to entice, to seduce and to arouse was strutting in front of him; her hip cocked with an alluring demure. Her lips pouted. The naked woman kissed him on the cheek, running her finger down his nose with a smirk.
She jolted as his hands grasped his chest, his eyes wide. He slipped in his seat and grabbed the table as he fell. “Call an ambulance,” she cried immediately, her attention snapped from her performance at a moments notice. We both ran towards him and put our nursing training into action, blocking out the screams from those around us. “Call 999!”
“Who are you?” A voice squawked as my naked friend raced to performed life-saving treatment. “What is this?”
“She’s a nurse,” I replied, dropping the sheet of paper as we moved him into the recovery position. “She’s a nurse too.”
Only, as it transpired when they looked at the sheet, the birthday celebrations hadn’t booked a stripper at all: she should have been next door in Function Room 1. The “Allo Allo Appreciation Society” was having their annual night out, and had ordered a stripping Michelle Dubois. Instead of being part of their celebrations, the stripper they ordered and paid for was performing mouth-to-mouth lifesaving treatment on a war hero, because she got the wrong room. As Rene would have said to her, “you stupid woman!”
The collapsed man was dispatched to the hospital a few minutes later; our new colleagues sniggering as the paramedics we knew so well helped the elderly man into the ambulance.
Alas the stripping agency did not see the funny side of the débâcle. They fired her on the spot for performing to the wrong room once the story hit the giggle pages of the national newspapers, and the Hospital Trust were less than impressed by our moonlighting. We were reminded of their “moral code” and given written warnings as to our future conduct.
But if you are going to collapse, doing it in front of two nursing students while having your face ground into the bosom of a 21 year old, would be my preferred choice to be honest. And I think it was his too!
The featured image comes from here