Out on Transport
by Herbert

I started my residency in a Children's Hospital in the Swiss Alps, not far from Bern. Although training to be a doctor puts you through a lot of hardship it was a time I wouldn't want to miss. Maybe some nights. Yes, the long weekends. The constant state of physical exhaustion. But the overall picture was rich, colored in tones that I would never have come to know wasn't it for the nights on call, the illnesses of my patients, the long talks with their parents.

And for the charming presence of Ramona, a pediatric nurse who has seen all of it, life and how it goes, hope and how it carries people through even if the body fails. Who watched it all with her dark brown eyes, framed with the longest lashes I have ever seen. Wide open and straightforward as the country of the Berner Oberland where she was born.

I had worked with her for many months, bent over many a baby. But I really got attracted to her when I saw her nurse her one-year-old son during a hospital outing, this little bushy black-haired head held close to her breasts, while she was sitting in the grass, leaning against a tree. Her eyes closed, as if she was listening to a tune deep inside herself. As if she was following the traces of all the little noises that the baby made in her arms. As if she was floating in the feelings that his sucking gave her. Melting with pleasure, with closeness.

This picture is engraved in my soul and it often made me think about what it is that seems to  radiate through a womanís body when she nurses a child. Is it erotic pleasure that she feels on her breast? Is it just a warm tender glow? Is it pride to be able to satisfy a hungry soul?

For me it was erotic, without question, seeing her sitting there, so relaxed, so open. Her legs so spread out.

I watched her for a long time, from the shade of a pine tree. The black head bobbing with bodily pleasure. Her eyes so focused on something precious.

When he let go there was her long, dark nipple shining in the sun. Molded by a hungry mouth. Pointing out in the air. I do not remember her breasts, I probably didn't even try to discover them, so strikingly erotic did I find her nipple, a magic antenna that attracted my gaze.

From then on I did take notice of her breasts during work. Although well rounded they were on the smaller side, but the nipples, the nipples... those were big and not to miss. In wintertime they made for a nice hump on the tip of her breasts, nicely set against the blue of her scrubs. In summertime, when she did not wear a bra, they were like pillars lifting the fabric of her shirt into two little tents. With a long fold in between.

Whenever I saw them I thought of her son nursing. Of her listening to the feelings deep inside.

By the time it was winter we had come to know each other quite well. We had talked, we had laughed, we had cried. I had seen her brown eyes from very close, bent over sick children. I had seen her leave for the nursing room to pump milk while away from her baby. I had seen her come back, her nipples standing out even more than usual.

And I had seen her once in summertime with stains over her breasts on both sides.

One winter day we were called out to pick up a critically ill child from one of the small peripheral hospitals high above the lake of Bern. Ramona was on transport call with me. We left in the ambulance with an ice storm announced. By the time we reached our destiny the roads were all ice and snow.

The little thing was less sick than anticipated and seemed to have "turned the corner" just in time. How resilient these little ones are. The local pediatrician felt comfortable enough keeping the baby in his care.

We were about to leave when we realized that there was no way that we could make the trip back safely in an ice storm like this.

The local hospital put us up in a small Bed and Breakfast run by an old lady, far out in the boonies. The rooms small and old, but flawlessly maintained with starched linens and everything. Ramona said goodnight and left for her room down a long hallway.

In the dim light of a lantern I read whatever I could find in the drawer of the bureau. My thoughts kept trailing off to Ramona, down the long hallway. Her nipples. Her eyes. I was sure I would masturbate thinking of her. Jerk off in a piece of toilet paper while piecing together the sight of these so abundantly nippled breasts...

Then the light went out. Somewhere out there one of the trees must have hit a power line. The wind was louder suddenly, as if the light had softened the noise around me. Trees were cracking under the load of ice. The wind was suddenly palpable through the cracks of my room. The humming of the heater had stopped. The cold started its way through the shingles.

I got up to look outside. Swaying trees, every now and then the cracking sound of a limb.

Suddenly a knock on the door. Very gentle, but decisive. Then Ramona in the door in a white nightgown that the old lady had given her: "Frank, I am afraid" she said. "Could I stay with you for a while?"

We sit and talk. My belly talks more with a nervous rumble. Her face is close, yet hard to see, so dark is the night. We wrap a blanket around us, move closer to make it cover both of us. Still the cold is moving in. With the cold comes a sense of closeness, of being in the right place together.

After midnight I feel her back against my side. So warm. The rest of us cold, really cold. She is the first one to ask the obvious question that had been floating through the room - and my belly - since she had knocked on the door: "Do you think I could stay for the night?"

The bed is ice cold at first, makes us drift together closer and closer. We cuddle like children, my long arms wrapped around her. Our entangled bodies start to fill up with heat, which spreads in every corner, everywhere. My arms start to move, my fingers start to explore. My senses turn outward, to the skin, the hair.

I feel her nipples against my chest, feel her move against my body. Feel her stretch out in comfort. I glide under her gown, push it up gently. Make my hand crawl on one of her breasts. A well rounded cone, a soft groove between. And these pillars on the top, bent to the side a little, but straightening out under my touch. She melts into my hands, pushes her breast into the cups that I form for them, teases them, urges them, makes my fingers reach out to the nipples, roll them gently, wiggle them and feel how softly they are rooted on these breasts...

Her hands are on my head, stroking my hair, first softly, then rapidly, and then she uses them to guide me, to lead my head to her chest, under her gown...

To the warmth of her breasts. I feel the nipple stroke across my face, across my lips. "Suck them for me" I hear her say, clearly, with conviction and want.

The long nipple slips into my mouth, harder than I had imagined, rougher, too. My tongue is all over it, around it, and the nipple glides deep into my mouth with my sucking, in and out. Molds itself into this cavity that pulls on it, urges it, strokes it. My lips push against her breast, wanting more and taking more with every suck.

Her hand is still firm on my head, guides it deeper into her breast, deeper into her softness. The nipple is everywhere now, broad, suckable, with a rich texture.

And a rich taste. First it is just a drop of something, a drop that makes her nipple silky, creamy. A hint of sweetness, but suddenly it is a gush of taste. Warm and sweet. There to swallow. Her breast is firm now, nearly hard for a moment. Then it lets go of milk, a lot of milk. I hear it spray into my mouth. I swallow it. Warm. I swallow more. I swallow quick. Every suck pulls more of it into my mouth, every swallow makes me suck harder. Her breast relaxes, becomes soft as I swallow its content, as I knead it with my tongue, my lips, my chin. I relax, too, start to feel the hands on my head rocking me gently. Rocking me while I caress this wonderful breast, while it release all its sweetness.

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