Medical Group Group Medical

I couldn't see an end to the hallway. Look for the beige door on the right, she'd said, but where the fuck was it? I trudged on, my outstretched finger tracing a line in the mortar crack down the cement block wall. White cement, because it was white everywhere in this place. White walls, white floor, white ceiling, flickering white fluorescent lights. Everything in Iceland was stark white, including the people. And their hair. And most of their clothes. I guess beige would be distinctive in comparison. I felt like I was in that 1970's Logan's Run movie, underground and all.

Wait, fluorescent lights? What the fuck. Iceland was supposed to be all about the environment. Why hadn't LED lighting made its way to this basement yet? Some incandescents would have at least given the place some warmth, both in color and temperature.

The air was cold down here and I was cold. Fucking cold. Stripped down to my skivvies and walking barefoot on the 1970's linoleum tile didn't help things much. It was at this point that I decided volunteering for this trip had not been such a fucking great idea after all.

Africa in January? That sounded great. Get me the hell away from Minneapolis and the Twin Cities' ice sheets. Let's go have an adventure and help some people out; people around the world without a lot of resources who had been hit hard by the virus. Maybe even save some lives. And even, what the fuck, have a fling or two with some cute Swedish volunteer nurse. Run my hands around her pair of bouncy round tits while she hangs her arms around my shoulders and giggles; it was a favorite fantasy of mine.

There was something unique about the mindset of volunteers far from home on these international charity trips, flirting with the fringes of the developing-world, patients' lives and deaths hanging in the balance. Maybe it was just the assumption of different rules. Inhibitions among the staff soften in the late hours. I'd seen it before—hell, I'd lived it before—and had a hope in the back of my mind that I could have some adventure like that again.

But Iceland in January? Not so fucking much. The World Health Organization in its infinite wisdom plopped the mandatory staging area here, of all places. Three days of orientation and training before all of us volunteers—gathered from medical schools and hospitals worldwide, twenty different countries the gray-beard on the plane had told me—were shipped out to destinations around the world to do our part. Morocco or Algeria was my hope for myself. Must have been from watching all that Casablanca on late-night TV as a kid. Play it again, Sam. Play one for me and my Swedish nurse while we cut the rug, my hand slipping down around her perky little ass as the tempo slows and she snuggles her tits against my chest.

It was a good vision.

But for now I was stuck in this fucking cold hallway. In my tighty whities. My much better looking boxers were packed in my checked bags, stuck going through customs somewhere upstairs in the labyrinth of this airport. I hoped I wouldn't meet anyone I knew from Minnesota or my other previous trips; there had been some cute staff on those trips and I wasn't dressed to impress at the moment. At least the rapid Covid tests let us get rid of the face masks. That was at least one small pleasant surprise. Taxiing into the jetway after the long flight covered up in PPE, I wouldn't have guessed that we would have gotten rid of all that shit so fast.

Where the hell was I anyway? The hallway was in Sub-Floor Two. Sub-Floor Two was in Annex Building L. Annex building L was in the Reykjavík airport, and the final link to this puzzle was that Reykjavík was in fucking Iceland. I didn't want to be in fucking Iceland. Especially when near naked and cold and trying to find a beige door in a sea of white.

But then there it was, on the right, indeed. I could have missed it, because besides the color camouflage, it was sunk into the wall in a clever fashion, recessed just an inch. This really was Logan's Run sci-fi shit. As I stood, wondering how to open it, it suddenly slid, horizontally, with a hiss, and disappeared into a crack that I hadn't seen. It was like I was in a fifty-year old space movie. Must have been some kind of neat Icelandic underground bunker design. A special Underground Annex Building L feature.

Before I could see what lay waiting for me inside, a large clean-cut man—the haircut and earnest no-nonsense demeanor cried out German to my eyes—stepped straight into my face, nodded curtly, then made his way around. He was as stripped down as I was, although not the least bit embarrassed about it. As he marched away, he left me standing alone at the threshold. A noticeable gust of warm air blew into me and banked against my chest. It was a welcome change from the cool of the hallway and I stalled for a moment before gathering my wits to step in.

The room was busy, to my surprise. Chock full of people—in contrast to the deserted hallway I had just left—with at least a couple dozen standing and sitting and waiting. There were chairs and desks and various medical apparatus jammed in every corner, and even what seemed like a few medical exam tables at the back. I squinted in the bright light; more fluorescent tubes.

I hadn't known what to expect, but if I'd given it any thought, there were a few hundred of us that had signed up for the trip, and we all needed a medical check before we could enter the dormitories, so everybody had to be staged somewhere. I just didn't expect a whole shitload of them to be stuffed together in the room that I had to get through before I could get myself into bed.

A more detailed survey of the room would have to wait because what grabbed my full attention was immediately to the right of the entrance where I was standing: an absolutely striking brunette, relatively young, slender, hair falling straight to shoulders with a slight outward flair there, sitting awkwardly in a chair. She was perpendicular to me, facing a middle-aged asian man sporting that classic doctor look: white suit, thick glasses, a little bit chubby, stethoscope in his ears.

She held her hands at her sides and I immediately took in the profile of her beautiful figure as she sat erect in the hard plastic chair, back straight, legs tucked under the seat gracefully, crossed, toes pointing to the floor. What was making her sit awkwardly was—and I am willing to go on the record on this one—the fact that she was naked from the waist up and the chubby asian doctor was leaning towards her eagerly with his hands reaching to her chest, about to press his stethoscope against her breast. I assumed that last part, because I could only see her side from where I was standing. And the doc was definitely looking with too much extracurricular excitement at his patient.

I watched in amazement, my mouth dropping dumbly open, as she obeyed the doctor's request—unhappily—to raise her arms above her head. The silhouette of her breast moved upwards with the motion and he reached towards her naked flesh. A small rotation of her torso let me glimpse a small, dark nipple as he closed in for the grab.

Fuck. This was something to behold. And not what I expected to greet me after the long trudge through that bleak hallway. She turned to me with a glare. Oops—my staring hadn't gone unnoticed. Her frown showed her displeasure at being caught naked in front of a stranger, unable to move to cover herself while the doctor grubbed at her. Her look was a plea for me not to take advantage of her situation. Ah, I thought to myself, it's a good thing that everybody's not a boring German! Flesh was just flesh, but I relished a cute girl who didn't want to be seen exposed and made seeing the flesh into something more.

This exchange took only a few seconds, and after my initial gawking, the surprise and the return look by the girl caused my brain to register the proper socially-acceptable behavior and avert my eyes. Down to the floor they went; and then of course my male brain immediately began, in a frantic panic, to try in vain to remember the curves of her cheek and neck and breast and hips and legs. And her eyes. Smoking eyes, maybe blue or green? With dark mascara and dark eyebrows matching her hair. I wanted to remember that.

But this room. Holy shit. I didn't know what to expect when I was told by the nice Icelandic blonde woman back at the entry desk to undress down to my undies, put my clothes in a locker, and find the beige door—but this wasn't it. I looked over to the rest of the room, avoiding the glare of my brunette with some effort, even though I was eager to take another peek. Guys and girls alike were in states of undress at the different stations. Everybody just jammed in here, in the medical room of Sub-Floor Two. We were all medical personnel, I assumed, so human bodies were not novel to us. But still. This was a "new normal" level of mixed-gender nudity for me to adjust to in a hurry.

It had also been a few days since I busted a nut, so even with just the brief glance at the beauty sitting at the tit-grab station I felt swelling down in the old shorts department. Things were stiffening up in a hurry after that imagery blasted into my visual cortex and remained burned in there. The room had in aggregate too many bodies to take in at once, but I could tell there were many attractive young professionals in this room with stomachs and tits and pussies and dicks and asses about to be examined. It left my mind reeling.

Maybe there was something extra sexual about seeing the young brunette—likely a doctor or at least a nurse—who was smart and competent and pretty and used to being in control and giving commands to her patients, being told to pop her own tits out for a public looksee and fondling. I whistled to myself. It was going to take some self control to get through this room without some embarrassment, I thought, and I could already imagine how that embarrassment might occur, involving the contents of the previously mentioned shorts department.

The memory of that girl's profile was fucking with my train of thought. I needed to take another look at her, or I knew I would be lying in my hotel room that night rubbing my balls struggling to remember what I'd seen, exactly how the lines connected to form such a beauty of a figure. I swallowed and gathered the courage to shift my gaze back.

I needn't have worried, because she wasn't looking my way anymore. She was staring straight ahead, towards her antagonizer, a grimace of pain and embarrassment on her face. Her hands were still above her head and her back arched as she sat up straight. I saw why immediately: the little doc guy had pinched her tit at the nipple and was pulling on that bitch, hard, so that the gentle curve of her breast that I had seen earlier had stretched into a sort of flesh triangle protruding from her chest.

Fuck! My mouth dropped open again. I didn't know of any medical exam like this. Then he let go and the tit rebounded to its natural shape. She made a small "ow" sound. A circle of red appeared surrounding her nipple where he had grabbed so roughly. Her eyes were closed tightly as she held her hands up at his command, and I thought I caught a little shake of her head, like she couldn't believe what the fuck was happening, either.

"Sir," came a voice to my left, in polite English with a hint of a foreign accent.

It was a young woman neatly dressed head to toe, in white—of course—standing in front of a small desk filled with papers. I was startled out of my gawking; I raised my eyebrows and waited.

"You are . . . Alex Berensen?"

"Yes, that's me."

"You'll have a seat here, please."

She pointed to a row of chairs at the left side of the room behind her, facing away from us and towards a desk near the well. Two of the chairs were occupied, one with a man, shirtless, the other with a woman. All I could see of her from that vantage point was the trace of her bra straps up and over her shoulders. She had beautifully smooth skin which screamed youth. The seat on her left was empty. I nodded and moved towards it.

"Oh, and take this with you." She handed me a clipboard. "Fill out the front and back, and the doctors will write on the second page."

I looked back at her pretty young face. Another ordinary, gorgeous, white blonde Icelandic woman, this one with freckles. I gestured to the wider area filled with desks and people. "I'll just work my way around the room, then, is that it?"

"Yes. From there . . . to there . . . and then to there," she said, dancing her finger too quickly at sections of the room. I shook my head, my brain thrown off by the whole experience to capture it all. That didn't seem to matter much to her so she continued, pointing at the door I came in. "When you are done, go back to the front office where you came in. Dress there at the lockers."

With a quick look up and down my mostly naked body, including seeing the bulge in my shorts, I feared, she turned to resume her post at the check-in desk. Fuck, I thought. I hoped she hadn't caught me staring too hard at the topless brunette while I stood dumb in the doorway. That's what must have brought her up to greet me. The heat spread through my face and I knew it was turning red.

Well, nothing to do but continue on.

As I rounded the corner of the row of chairs, I saw that the girl in the middle was a very pretty next-door girl type with light brown hair and a fresh face. Young. Oh my. Just eighteen or nineteen I guessed, with a filled-out figure—must have been one of the nursing students they bring on these trips. They always add some youthful energy to the mix of medical staff that was assembled, some in their mid twenties like me and some older and crustier folks who had made dozens of these trips. I plunked myself down next to her. Out of my peripheral vision I could see what I thought were the generous curves of her tits showing above the fabric of a white bra line.

"Hi," I said, gathering my courage, turning my head and giving me an excuse to take a direct look at her chest. I couldn't resist. "I'm Alex."

Fuck, generous curves was an understatement. She sat straight up in the chair with her arms at her sides and tits barely packed into a deep-cut white bra. Big fucking line of cleavage down the middle of her chest, the way she was sitting nervously with her arms pinching into her midline, and the whole mass rising gently with the motion of her breathing. Her mouth was pursed in a pouty "I really don't want to be here" expression that only teenagers can do best. Resting bitch face? Or just due to the situation. I couldn't tell. But it was seriously hot.

She glanced at me without changing her expression a bit—I looked to her face in an attempt to mask my staring at her chest—then her gaze drifted back down to her feet.

"Hi," she kicked out sullenly, after a delay, then adding only out of politeness, "Marilyn."

I had to either stop staring at the tits of this girl next to me or think of something else to say. My brain went into search mode. I could tell her about my role here, that I was an anesthesiologist. Or ask if this was her first trip. Or what did she do. Or what country she hoped to be assigned to.

Instead, the blonde dude running the station interrupted me. He approached us from his desk. Are all fucking Icelanders blonde? It seemed that way. All related to the same clan a thousand years ago someone had told me. Eric Ericcson must be his name, I thought. He was thin and athletic with a cut face and perfect Paul Mitchell hair.

Eric brought the shirtless guy on Marilyn's right up to the chair at the desk. He was a pretty plain looking guy, not very attractive I thought, maybe in his late thirties, but already sporting more than a bit of a pudge around the middle. I didn't recognize him from any previous trip. I looked at that stomach again and whistled to myself, vowing to watch my beer intake for the rest of my twenties. Jesus Christ.

He was told to sit down in that chair, directly facing Marilyn and me. The guy had a hard time finding a place to look that wasn't directly at Marilyn's big tits. I kind of felt sorry for him and the awkwardness. The cuff came out for a blood pressure measurement, and the guy swiveled his gaze awkwardly up to the ceiling as an alternative to the boob shot. Marilyn shifted in her chair uncomfortably, not missing any of this, and sighed audibly. I stared straight ahead, imagining the way her eighteen-year-old chest looked, but not sure how to engage her again to find out more.

I didn't know why I was so fucking horny that day. But it was a tough situation. First the beautiful brunette with the slender side boob and nipple pull, now a curvy young woman in a low-cut bra stuck next to me, all in a room with a whole bunch of other people, guys mostly though, getting a group physical together. Still, it wouldn't have taken much to whack one out right there while I waited.

I was wondering about the fate of my topless brunette back at the tit station, and I was getting a little tired of staring at Eric and the pudgy guy, so I craned my head around to take a peek. My eyes didn't make it all the way there, however, because at the door was someone I recognized, standing nervously where I had been just a moment before.

"Jenny!" I cried out in surprise.

The young woman looked confused, pinned there in the open doorway, staring at the busy room in what must have been the same manner that I appeared on the scene. She was naked except for bra and underwear, like all the other women undertaking this same chore of navigating the exam room, hands clutched across her chest.

Actually, confused wasn't quite the right description. She looked terrified. But beautiful as ever. Long, straight light brown hair ran from a simple centered part on her forehead past her cheeks, shoulders and all the way down her back probably to her pantied ass. One hell of an ass, I remembered well.

"Alex?" She responded tentatively, as her brain clicked into gear.

I jumped up from the rows of chairs with a quick "excuse me" to my new companions and bounced over to the door in my eagerness to greet this amazing woman, forgetting my own state of undress and probably a Marilyn-big-tits-inspired erection. It was just such a surprsie. I hadn't expected to see my old friend, my old flame, in the bowels of the Iceland airport.

"Jenny! How did you . . . I had no idea you were on this trip!"

She looked quickly side to side at the room, annoyed. Not with me, I hoped, but with the situation. "I was last minute" she muttered, distracted, then her eyes settled back on me with a frown. She lowered her voice. "Alex, what the fuck is going on in here?"

Jenny was a goodie two-shoes and never swore, at least not in my earshot, so I knew that she was not a happy girl with this scene. But did she take my breath away or what. She always had. I met her that summer a few years ago on rotation at Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles. Slender, creamy brown skin, dazzling eyes, square shoulders and graceful, thin arms with long fingers. Petite figure, but just enough curves to drive me wild.

We were both anesthesia interns, and I lusted after her in vain that summer. There was some fucking pathetic loser guy back home that she couldn't shut up about—well, okay, she didn't describe him exactly that way, but that's what I pictured—and I respectfully honored her commitment to that guy, so she and I remained purely friends at work. And in our spare time, doing the Southern California thing hanging out by the pool, on the sand by the ocean, on the Strand. She was a knockout in her two-piece. I'd never seen abs as sexy as that before. I could bust a nut thinking about her face without even getting to her tits and ass.

I sighed and waved over the room. "Well . . . it seems to be the European idea of a group medical exam. They never were too modest, right?" I joked, but got no reaction.