Hospital Politics

I turned and although I'd been expecting a man, I saw a tall, obviously fit woman wearing a sleeveless shirt, that served to highlight her biceps and tits, and a pair of calf-length jeans with white trainers. "Well, Jack, how about a large gin and tonic and whatever this lady's after?" She turned to me. "I'm Bernice, but everyone calls me Benny. Who might you be?" She had short, black hair and very dark blue eyes, so dark I wondered if they were contacts.

"This," said Jack, "is Wanda, regular if not frequent enough customer and ace reporter on the Clarion." People always mentioned my job early on, so that nobody was unaware that the press was in the bar and indiscretions should be avoided.

"Nice eyes," said Benny.

"Thanks, although my ears are said to be my greatest asset, but then, you cant see them, can you?"

Benny smiled and reached with both hands to push my ash-blonde, shoulder length hair back behind my ears. "I can now. They're okay, but not, I'd say, extraordinary. Unlike your arse."

"Wanda," said Jack, "means, I think, that she's a good listener."

A finger traced my lips. "Good talker too?"

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Play nice now, Benny."

"Always,Jack, always." She turned to me again. "Are you working or playing?"

"A little of both. I'm investigating the bullying at the hospitals, hoped I might pick up something useful."

"I'm useful."

"I don't doubt it. You're a medic?"


"Theatre nurse. Come and meet my friends."

We walked across to a large table at which sat, chatting and laughing, a group of about eight women. "Make room, girls, and a chair for my new friend, Wanda. She's a newshound, so no loose tongues. Meet my friends and colleagues, Wanda. Four dykes, two straight girls and a couple who haven't made up their minds yet." That got a laugh. "She's working on the bullying."

"And about time too," said a dumpy girl with red hair and spots, to general agreement. She went on, "The hospital bosses do fuck all, mainly because they are afraid of the consultants."

I didn't ask any questions but sat and listened and answered any questions they put to me. Benny had placed her arm across my shoulders and I liked it. No way was I going to mention Amrita but one of the older women, called apparently, Jolene, did.

"Sangritlal has really put the cat among the pigeons. HR are running around like headless chickens trying to limit the damage."

"Well, good for her. She had a fucking awful time with that arsehole, Guy Foster. She spoke to a few of us when she got elected. I know at least two who told her what they knew about him." I kept quiet and listened. Benny's arm left my shoulder and slid down my back, nice. Then she took my hand and squeezed it. I looked at her.

"Can we trust you?"

"I'm press, Benny, of course you can't"

She laughed. "You wrote a piece about Sangritlal, didn't you?"

"I wrote about all the candidates."

"Yes but the piece about her was, somehow, warmer. You barely mentioned that she's gay."

"She asked me not to make a big thing about it."

"She would."

"You know her?"


"Not well. I've worked her theatre a few times. She's brilliant, great with the staff, great with patients. Hot, too." I nodded. "You didn't, did you?"

"I should be so lucky."

"Right."

"She's had some threats, so she must be telling the truth."

"Okay, girls. Wanda's taking me for a walk. See you later." She stood, still holding my hand, and led me out of the bar. The others applauded. "You good for a stroll?"

"Do you always take charge?"

"Pretty much. Is that a problem?" I shook my head. She led me across the long park that runs beside the main road out of town and up to a small block of flats. "Come in and have a drink."

"Thank you"

Her flat was tidy, a couple of bedrooms and one huge lounge/kitchen/diner. "What do you fancy?" I got the impression that she wasn't talking exclusively about drink.

"Do you have a glass of wine?" I leant back against the leg dining table's edge and watched as she poured from bottle she'd taken from the fridge. She came close, invaded my space, placed the glasses either side of me on the table and kissed me. A finger tried one tell-tale nipple. "Cold?"

"Quite the opposite."

She kissed me again and stroked my nipple, while one foot insinuated itself between mine.

"You look like the kind of girl who prefers a skirt to trousers?" she said.


"You look like the kind of girl who isn't too bothered what I'm wearing."

She smiled and undid a button on my blouse, then another, those dark blue eyes watching me intently. When the blouse was undone, she pulled it open and studied me. "No bra. I thought not. You have pretty little tits."


"Thanks."

She bent down and kissed my nipple. I put my hands behind her head and stroked her nape. As she played with my nipple, her hands were looking for the way into my trousers.

"On my left hip."

That elicited a muffled, 'thanks' which made me smile and then she'd found it, worked it and her hand was burrowing down towards my neatly trimmed triangle. She looked up.

'No panties either. You came out prepared."

"These pants are a bit too tight for knickers."

'Come with me."

My trousers undone but holding up, my blouse wide open, she led me to her bedroom which was large, light and tidy. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me onto her lap.

One hand on my left tit, the other on my back, she whispered, "Rules of engagement. I'll tell you everything I know, fact and rumour, but you don't ever print my name. You never bullshit me and you never hide anything from me.."

"You've had trouble with the press before?" She nodded. "Well, you won't with me but you can't know that; not yet anyway."

"Take your clothes off." I stood up and stripped off the open blouse and my shoes and trousers. "Hmm, nice." She peeled off her top. Her breasts were large, firm and shapely with dark, neat nipples that were obviously engorged. "Say hi to the girls."

I bent down and kissed them both, taking my time, teasing each nipple with light kisses, little flickering licks and a fingernail rake along their soft undersides. I love that so I always see how it works for another woman when the chance arises. It seemed she liked it too.

With me still attached to her breasts, she stood, slowly and turned so it was my turn to sit on the edge of the bed. Stepping back a few paces, she slipped her trainers off and undid the fly of her jeans. She eased them down with her panties to reveal a very black landing strip in the shape of an arrow, the point aiming straight down to her bald labia. She stood up straight and touched her finger to the point of the arrow.

"In case you need directions." She smiled. "In your case, I don't imagine it's necessary."

"Never hurts to be guided."

She took my hand and placed it between her thighs and, using her own finger, forced one of mine inside her. She was slippery. Her finger was inside with mine. One hand on my shoulder, she worked our fingers as deep as she could, pressing down onto them and her face closing in on mine until we were kissing and fingering.

"Was that guidance enough?"

"Oh no, nowhere near enough. I'm not as young as I was, my memory's failing."

She placed her finger, the one that had been inside her, at my lips. "You have a smart mouth. I wonder if it's as smart as mine. Let's see."

Pushing my knees apart, she knelt and blew on my cunt. If she was hoping to get me juiced up, she was too late. As soon as her tongue spread my lips I heard a little, 'yummmm' from her and I probably echoed it. Her tongue was busy, spreading my lips, opening me, circling my clit. I raised my hand to my breast but she grabbed my wrist and pulled it away.

"Do what I tell you, nothing else." Her hands ran over the skin of my thighs, her tongue continuing to work my clit. I set my hands beside me on the bed and let the magic of her tongue take me out of myself. She stopped, stood up and pushed me back onto the bed.

Joining me on the bed, she kissed me, put her hand between my legs and started, slowly at first, to finger me. One finger entered me, almost delicately just as her tongue entered my mouth. "Taste yourself on me." I could. Another finger entered me, she crossed them inside me and began to increase her pace. All the while our mouths, lips and tongues were engaged in an increasingly vigorous, protracted kiss. "You mustn't orgasm without asking."

Now I have no idea why, but that simple instruction sent me right over the edge. I tried, I swear, to ask, but the words never got out; just a sigh-groan as I tumbled off the cliff.

When I'd recovered the power of speech she kissed me and said, "Hmm, we'll have to work on that."

By way of apology, I slithered down the bed and paid homage to her bald lips and warm, juicy pussy. She seemed to accept my apology with good grace, if you get my drift.

According to Benny, the head of the orthopaedic department was the aforementioned 'arsehole', Foster. He once told her, she said, that women made useless surgeons, too weak, too emotional and always 'buggering off to have kids.' He said he liked working with Benny because she was more like a man. He also tried to get her into bed and, when she told him in no uncertain terms that wasn't going to happen, he railed about dykes and frigid women.

"Did you ever complain?"

"Yes, I did. I also reported that he'd made a mistake and was only saved from losing the patient by Sangritlal who clamped off a blood vessel he'd hacked through. She was quick, said nothing, just did it. He hated her after that."

"Why?"


"Because everyone there knew what he'd done and what she'd done. He tried, according to my mate who was his secretary, to get her fired."

So, no hard evidence but a good case for a prime suspect and a fair bit of material for further research.