previous:

This time, there’s a serving of cake for dessert on the tray with another note tucked under the plate: ‘Try this one. It should tickle your palate.’ That’s a puzzling comment. I have slices of lean roast beef with gravy, peas, a small amount of mashed potatoes, two pats of butter, one slice of bread, a fruit salad, and a cup of coffee. Plus the cake. The whole supper smells good and tastes divine. I am savoring my meal as the nurse comes in to check on me. I tell her, “I’m enjoying my feast.”

---

Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf by T D Aldoennetti on Thu, 2008/11/06 - 7:07pm., Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Chapter 19 is revised and reposted on Wed, 2010/01/06 - 09:28 AM ~Sephrena

---

I really need to walk more, before all this good food goes right to my figure. It doesn't matter that it's fictional food for my characters, my figure absorbs it anyway:

Chapter 19

 

Perhaps half an hour after supper, we go for a short walk. From the chair, out the door to the nurse’s station and one room down the hall, then back to my bed. Now my hips and pelvic region are driving me mad with pain.

“I think I need to walk more often, so this pain will go away faster.” I say this to the nurse.

“Honey, until you give birth, you haven’t felt anything yet. I’ll get you a pill for the pain. They’re prescribed, but unless you’re in a lot of pain, we’re supposed to let things go on as they are. Will the pain prevent you from sleeping?”

“If it doesn’t kill me first. By then, I don’t think I’ll care one way or the other.”

She purses her lips. “I’ll get you a pill. Be right back.”

She goes out and I gently touch myself trying to figure out exactly what’s hurting the most, but it just seems to be everywhere. It hurts so much that I’m getting a headache.

She comes back in with a tumbler of water and a little paper cup with a pill in it. “Here you go. Take plenty of water. Once this kicks in, you’ll go to sleep, pain or not. You won’t likely wake up until midnight or later. That’s good…. A little more water. Okay, now you’d better lie back. I’ll check in about ten minutes. You should be feeling a little better by then and you’ll be out by the time a half hour goes by.”

I lie back, still trying to figure out why I hurt. It seems to be my bones. That pill she gave me is weird medicine. I’m developing a metallic aftertaste in my mouth and nose, like breathing through liquid metal.

The nurse comes back some time later, but I’m having difficulty concentrating on her. I vaguely hear her saying something and I say something about the tuna on the wall, which is staring at me.

It’s funny, but I feel like I’m in the room watching myself talking with her.

Focusing my eyes is really difficult. It’s like one eye is looking one way and the other in some other direction entirely. I close my eyes to try to regain control and when I’m ready they won’t open. This is a little frightening until the nurse pulls the covers down and the room reappears. Now I’m getting really hot. She takes my temperature and says it’s something about midnight Mass or mess or something. I have this funny feeling happening and after careful consideration decide the new thing is trying to make me pregnant. I try to explain that it won’t work but it stays there a while. It isn’t doing anything except lying there so I go back to sleep.

-o~O~o-

The next time I wake up, everything is pretty much back to normal. I look around for the tuna but they seem to have moved it again. I remember that my bones were hurting, but now they seem okay. A nurse comes into the room and asks if I want to go for a walk before breakfast or if I’ld like to wait. I tell her that I don’t believe I could stand, so maybe sometime after breakfast. Breakfast was good, once I figured out which was the fork and which was the coffee.

That pill certainly afflicted me with mis-coördination. I think I’m doing better, the longer I’m awake. The food seems to be helping too. About half an hour later, they take the remnants of breakfast away and we go for a little walk. This time it is out to the nurse’s station and down the hall almost to the elevators. I eye them and the nurse thinks I’m planning to escape, so she guides me back to my room.

By the time we return, I hurt again and am worn out, but refuse the medication. I don’t like being dopey. She says she can give me something “a bit less extreme,” returning in minutes with a different pill.

She awakens me about an hour later for my second session with the new thing.

When I see it my eyes nearly pop out of my head. I’m apprehensive but in it goes just like it belongs there. I can’t believe men are that big. “That’s pretty big,” I confide to her.

“Honey, haven’t you ever noticed the bulge in men’s pants. Most of them are bigger than this.”

I feel my face becoming hot and just know my inexperience is showing.

“Relax, honey, You’ve never had one, have you?”

Again my face heats as I shake my head no.

“Don’t worry. We are all able to accept them. It just feels a little uncomfortable for a minute or two while our bodies get used to it, then it’s just fine. Unless you’re very young, you’ll be able to handle it, and if you were that young, you shouldn’t be doing it anyway. All we are doing right now is making certain you are still okay in that department. From what I hear, you had a pretty bad accident, but you’re doing great. Don’t worry.”

I try to look confident, but… bigger than that? I’m beginning to have second thoughts. Being female is nice but… BIGGER THAN THAT?

Over the past weeks, I’ve given a lot of thought to how nice it would be to have a man holding me in his arms, protecting me and sharing our lives while raising children. I’ve thought about sex, but not with this in mind. I mean, I know it happens and there is physical closeness and even sex, but… bigger than that? In me? And I will like it? Well, yes, maybe. But…. Oh God. What did you do to yourself?

I was NEVER that large, and ‘most are bigger?’ She returns to remove the thing and I realize suddenly that, while it was a little uncomfortable going in, I have indeed become accustomed to it and am actually disappointed it is coming out.

I ask her to sit me up a little before she leaves and then I grab the two books and continue reading. I finish Heinlein and am halfway through the second before the book cart comes around. I return the one and obtain another before continuing to read. I’m doing pretty well, finishing nearly three quarters of my second book before they come to take me on my next walk.

We go out to the elevators, across to the opposite side of this floor and then back via the direct route through the nurse’s station. Again I take only a light painkiller.

I’m doing better, both at the walking and in reducing the pain. I feel a little strange walking, like my legs are angled differently, or further apart, or something.

Back in my room, I sit on the chair instead of going to bed.

I saw the food carts come up, and sure enough, in just a couple of minutes my tray is before me. There’s a nice lunch with another of those interesting little cakes. Everyone is getting them now. I write a note on a piece of paper towel asking for the recipe and slide it part way under the plate.

After everything is taken away again, I try standing. Even just standing somehow seems different. My legs work just fine but there is still a nagging feeling that they are oriented slightly differently than before or something, like I’m trying to trip over my own feet. I’m vaguely aware of the difference but can’t place it. I walk back and forth in my room for a few minutes but still can’t place it. I must be imagining it; I’ve been lying down too long.

The nurse comes in and catches me up and walking.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t we exercising you enough? Come on, let’s go do two laps around the ward.”

I give her a ‘Who? Me?’ look.

“Yes, you. Come on, if you’re going to be up, then you can work at getting well. Come on, now. We’ll try for three but take two if you can’t make it.”

We made three, but about halfway to the elevators on the fourth lap I decide I’m getting pretty tired so we go back and I flow/ stumble into bed and am out like a light until the evening rituals.

Supper has a note, it is the recipe for the Quick Cake. He also tells me my entree is a new creation: ‘Try it, you’ll like it. Recipe to follow.’

It’s a meat dish but I don’t know what it is. It looks a little like meat loaf but no tomato and tastes like it has a lot of other things in it. The flavor is wonderful and it melts in my mouth. Next to it, there’s a small amount of mashed potato with spices and garnish, along with something softly crunchy, other than the green beans, mixed in it. Strange but tastes good. Instead of coffee there is tea, very strong tea. The dessert is my original favorite, Quick Cake. I scribble a quick note, ‘Delectable!’ and put it under the plate.

A little later, I do four laps around the floor on my own, checking with the nurses each time I go by. When I reach four, they make me return to my room to rest.

“Don’t overdo it,” one of them says. “You’re still about a week from discharge, and then you’ll be an outpatient for six to eight weeks.”

Returning to my room’ I sit in the chair for about an hour and read. They come in and check on me a little later, asking me to move to the bed. They cranked it up so I’m partially sitting, and I continue to read, finishing the one book and then starting on the next.

I have nearly finished it when the nurse comes in with my midnight treat. I take one look at it and nearly faint. In nothing flat, the curtains are drawn, my covers are down, my gown is up and I’m flat on my back. She adds a little lubricant, thank God, and it begins.

“Come on, relax,” she coaxes me. “You won’t develop enough of your own lubricant if you don’t relax. Take a deep breath and let it out. That’s better.”

My eyes must be as large as saucers. I feel it sliding in and can’t believe it. It’s a monster. She finishes the active portion of our tryst, so she leaves ‘the monster’ where it is and tells me that she’ll be back in ten minutes or so. I can’t believe that it all fit inside me. I can feel it inside me. I reach down to touch it and am stunned by the sheer size of the thing. It must be nearly two inches in diameter. I gently press along my tummy and can feel some kind of lump there.

I wonder if this is anything like what I would find when I am pregnant. I try pretending it’s a baby growing in me and begin to explore the sensation in that light. I think I might be able to handle that. I need to talk with Mom. If I’m going to be pregnant some time I should know more about it now, not after it happens.

I look at the clock and it’s been about fifteen minutes. I reach down and move it just a little; other than that it’s larger than those before, I’m handling it just like that nurse said. I slide it in and out about a quarter of its length, finding that it offers me a level of sensation the smaller ones did not, especially when I push it far enough in that I can hold my tummy with my other hand and feel it move. I wonder if there is any way they can make me feel like I’m pregnant? Maybe a balloon or something. But then that wouldn’t move. I remember Mom saying that she could feel us move around inside her. That must be something really special. I hope I have the chance.

The nurse comes back in and relieves me of my visitor, then cleans it and puts it away in its hiding place beneath the towel.

Finally it’s over and I breathe a sigh of relief, not from pain but from my fear of the unknown future that stretches out before me. I’ll probably do better in the morning. I put down my book, she turns out the light and I’m off to slumberland.

-o~O~o-

Morning pushes itself upon me in the form of my doctors, who are making their rounds early. They review the charts and ask me questions, check me and pronounce everything to be on schedule.

“We may release you in a few days for home rest. In a week or so, we’ll allow very light duty if you continue to improve.”

“Then I’ll be allowed to return to the BOQ?”

“Yes, but there will be restrictions. No lifting above ten or fifteen pounds for several weeks, and then only gradual increases over the following two months. No long walks. A long walk will pretty much be anything further than about eight times around this floor. You will be allowed to increase that about one lap every day or two. The charts indicate you are up to seven right now. Basically, you’ll do nothing which might cause complications, but the aim is to improve your strength and stamina over time.”

“How soon may I leave?”

They start chuckling and the one I like best shakes his head.

“Perhaps in a few days,” he says.

They go out, discussing my progress between themselves, just as breakfast is walked in.

No eggs!? I check the plate and find most of the normal breakfast items, just no eggs. Strange. I go ahead and eat, finding the taste is not quite up to par, compared with the past few days. Very strange.

Breakfast finished, I turn to my book and have completed another chapter before the dishes are collected. I am about to turn another page when a nurse walks in with my shot and pills. The book takes a temporary back seat.

By lunch time, I’ve gone on two walks, my scheduled affair has been dropped to once every few days, and I’ve just finished the last book as I sit in the chair over by the windows. I was just wondering what to do with myself as lunch arrives.

Again it is not quite up to par, not bad though.

A nurse comes to check on me so I ask her, “What’s with the food?”

“That’s what we we’ve been wondering all day. The General ‘borrowed’ the mess Sergeant this morning. We should have him back tomorrow.”

“I should hope so.”

“We will. The General promised the Colonel in charge of the hospital that he wouldn’t keep him. I understand there is something wrong with the food at the school so they’ve kidnapped our Sergeant to look at the problem.”

“It’s a problem all right. Everything tastes like dirty dishwater over there. I don’t know if they’re unable to prepare good food, or if the quality of the food itself is poor, but something’s not right.”

“Really? I hope they don’t keep him. We like his food.”

“I’ll see if I can’t put in my two cents worth. Maybe the General could increase the Sergeant’s rank a little and put him in charge of the school mess as well as the hospital. Sort of a Master Mess Sergeant. It doesn’t sound so good when I say it that way, does it?”

“Not exactly, but I know what you mean. Do you think you could? We would all appreciate it. His food was giving us more energy, not just helping the patients.”

“I’ll give it a try. Never hurts to try.”

She smiles and flashes, ‘Thank you,’ then goes back out, returning in a few seconds.

“You distracted me and I forgot why I came in. It’s time for your shot.”

I notice she is carrying that little prickly thing and a swab.

“Well, it was worth a try,” I joke.

-o~O~o-

Two days later, my wig and new breast forms arrive and immediately become a firm part of me.

Oh yes, the mess Sergeant returned to the hospital after two days, not one. When the General visited me this morning I asked him about the problem at the school and about the possibility of the mess Sergeant being promoted to supervise both the school and the hospital Mess.’ General George tells me he was thinking about something along that line himself, “The position would call for an E-7, though.”

“Why not do with him the same as you’re doing with me? Give him the rank of an E-7 (Master Sergeant) but help him a little without making waves by giving him the pay grade of an E-6 (Technical Sergeant). That way, you get your supervisor, and he gets a little extra money for taking on both duties.”

“I didn’t know you could read minds.”

I smile at him with that mischievous look women sometimes give to men.

“Lucy, are you certain that somewhere during all this,” he sweeps his arm to indicate the hospital and me, “they didn’t lose the male and substitute a female in his place?”

“Well, Sir, you asked for it and now you’ve got it,” I reply with a little twinkle in my eye.

His eyes just go larger and larger as he considers my comments until he gives up. “I yield. I yield,” he says.

I laugh and grab his arm suddenly drawing him down to me as I kiss his cheek.

“Maybe I should start calling you ‘Uncle George’ instead of General, Sir.”

He is standing upright now, with a disconcerted look on his face. “I think we’re in trouble,” is all he says.

The only problem is, I think he means it.

-o~O~o-

I’VE BEEN PAROLED, or it feels that way at least.

I am in a new uniform, which replaces the damaged one (I have to pay for it out of my clothing allowance), and I’m riding back to BOQ.

There I find my room and sit on the bed to rest. Three hours…. I have three more hours until supper. Digging through my cosmetics case, I add a little makeup to my face, I don’t really need it to disguise my face now that I’ve had the facial surgery, but I feel a bit naked without it. I need to practice again. My face is offering new challenges now that it is changed.

I’m thinking about walking to the Base Exchange, since it should be open, but the distance one-way is at my maximum range before resting so I’d better not try just yet. Maybe in a few weeks. I go back out to check in at the office and discover new people. Figures. I’ve been gone nearly three weeks so turn-over could easily have happened.

They panic to see a Colonel arriving at the desk. They are attempting to decide which room to give to me when I tell them I already have one. That confuses them. They go through their list of visiting officers and show no Colonel. I show them my room key and tell them I was a Major when I checked in. They find me quickly now and make the changes to the records.

One of them suddenly has some hint of recognition flash across her face, not of me but of something else and she begins searching through her papers and then into several files.

“Just a minute, Ma’am. I seem to remember receiving something a few days ago….

Ah, here it is.”

She starts reading to herself then begins to nod her head, apparently in synchronization with each sentence. Finally she says, “Yes, this is it. Just a moment, Ma’am.”

I’m looking at her with an expression of ‘are you going to stand around all day with that piece of paper or do you intend to share the knowledge?’

“Oh. Sorry, Ma’am. Let me make you some copies.”

She goes to their copy machine, inserts the sheet in the top, sets it for the number of copies she wants and presses the button. The machine begins whirring and clacking and the top starts moving back and forth.

“I appreciate this remarkable display of mechanical capability but, is this going somewhere?”

At that moment the sound changes a little and sheets of paper begin to slide out of the machine and into a little hopper located near the bottom front. After it has cycled back and forth about a dozen times, the top stops moving and she removes the sheet as papers continue to pour out into the hopper. Eventually the papers stop spitting out of the machine, the sound drops in intensity and finally ceases.

She hands me the copies still warm from their ordeal.

“Is that all it does?” I say, as as I point at the machine.

“Yes, Ma’am. It’s a couple of years old. The new ones don’t move like that.”

I start reading the top copy and find these are orders. Two weeks from the date shown at the top (just less than a week past) I am to report to the school as a temporary instructor in Intelligence Analysis. Terrific, I’ve never taught a class before.

What in the world could he have been thinking about? I’m about to turn and go to my room when I remember to thank the young woman who made the copies for me.

“You’re welcome, Ma’am. I’m looking forward to this.”

I look up from my copies, “Looking forward to what?”

“Your class, Ma’am. I’m one of the ones you will be teaching. The rumor going around the school is that you’re an expert and are on loan to us for about six weeks. They have been getting ready for this for the last three or four days. I guess we will actually be working with real Intel during the class. It’s an exciting challenge. Most of us have completed the previous three classes and we were about to rotate when they halted it because they got word you were coming to put the final touches on our training, so to speak.”

Wonderful. I’m supposed to teach a class, and give them insights into analytical techniques when I have never taught, nor do I have any idea what background information any of them may have had regarding the Intel with which we will be working much less my having any background in teaching it.

“I don’t suppose you could fill me in as to what material any of you have processed or perhaps what Intel we will be examining?”

“No, Ma’am, I’m afraid not.”

“Could you obtain that information for me, as well as the clearance information regarding each of you? Perhaps the school would be so kind as to provide me with a list of my students, their abilities, clearances, and field reports they’ve analyzed?”

“I’ll call them right now, Ma’am. As soon as I reach them, I’ll transfer the call to your room so you can talk with them.”

“Thank you.”

I return to my room, thinking of ways I can make the General sorry he ever thought of this.

A few minutes later, my phone rings, “Here is the Lieutenant Colonel who’s in charge of the school, Ma’am.”

I say, ‘Hello,’ and it all begins. He is gushing with effervescence at the prospect of my teaching at his school for six weeks. After a minute of ‘Old Faithful’ gushing off, I manage to calm him down and get to the nitty gritty. He tells me we can’t discuss it on the phone but he would be overjoyed to have me come over and we may go over everything.

I inform him that due to my surgeries I am not to walk more distance than about three hundred feet without several hours of rest. “I hope this will gradually change, but in the meantime, I'm under doctor’s orders to limit the distance I walk and the time I spend on my feet.”

He asks if a car could bring me the six blocks to the school and take me back to the BOQ each day with another round trip for my meal at lunch.

While I think this might work out, I tell him I feel the need to begin looking at the intelligence my students have studied and information about them such as clearances, capabilities, and so on. “This will be especially important if I am to do anything to help them learn during the following six weeks.”

He is still gushing and promises to make arrangements for my ride immediately. I am going into the school tomorrow (and every day) before my class begins so I can develop a ‘feel’ for the material and for my students.

“How many will I have,” Thinking along the lines of the classes I attended where eight or nine were taught at once.

“Twenty. The entire output of our last session.”

“TWENTY?” I think I’ll have a relapse. “Okay, twenty.”

I’ve never seen a single class of twenty intelligence analysts.

“HOW, may I ask, are we so lucky as to have twenty available?” I intended this question to be sarcastic but somehow it seems to have gone over his head.

“Yes, we are fortunate, aren’t we? We have two study groups which graduated within a day of each other and held them all over for your additional training.

They’re quite excited about it. We haven’t had a new field analyst teaching here in some time. The General tells me you have been batting well over 90% on the analyses’ you’d produced in-country. We’re glad you could take the time to polish our students. We have a half dozen instructors who want to sit in as well, maybe pick up some new approaches.”

“Just out of curiosity, how many people will I actually have in my ‘class.’”

“Well, let’s see. There’s the twenty and maybe seven plus the four from over at building two and maybe three from building four. Of course we haven’t heard from the other campus in Tucson yet, but they might send us twelve or so. That should probably be about it.”

“I’m going to have from forty-six to fifty students in one class?”

“Well, no. We might divide it in half, so you see half in the morning and half in the afternoon.”

“I’m looking at twenty-five students per class? We’ll need a lab for them to work in. In fact, each class will need its own lab because they’ll continue to work while I am teaching the other class. In fact I think I need to change all that. Everyone will receive a lecture during the first hour each morning. That means I need one room where everyone can sit down for an hour or so. Then they’ll report to their labs to begin the lab work.

The other instructors may be able to help with that, while I go back and forth between the labs. Because of the limitation to my time on my feet, I need the two labs and the lecture hall to be very close to each other. I think during this training I will also wear civilian clothing because my uniform shoes will cause me some problems. It might help to relax everyone more if they don’t think of me as an officer looming over them. Proper analytical procedures almost dictate the need for everyone to be relaxed and in top form. How’s the food here at the school? If they aren’t well fed, they won’t do well.”

“It’s funny you should mention that. Maybe that has been changed because the General knew you were coming.”

“And?”

“Oh, the food is much better now. I wouldn’t eat here before it changed. Now I’m looking forward to finding out what’s on the menu.”

“How has the change in the food affected the morale?”

“A lot actually. Everyone has perked up and they are showing more interest in learning. When did you know you were coming here, if I may ask?”

“It was a spur of the minute thing. I arrived a few weeks ago, but was still busy. I have another eight weeks of recovery ahead of me, so I can’t push myself too far for a while. Although I didn’t see how I could possibly handle fifty students at first, I’m actually beginning to look forward to it, provided I have plenty of support and all the information I need prior to starting the classes. If I’m ready a little early, then I might start the program early, as long as everyone is here.”

“Some are on a short leave, but everyone is due back the Friday prior to the Monday the class begins.”

“We’ll start on Saturday then, with introductory material, if I’m ready, and if everything can be arranged by then. Since this is to be a ‘crash’ course, our classes will be held Monday through Saturday, with Sunday’s free. The days may go long, I think, depending on where we are. Tomorrow I want to see the files on all the students including those from the other areas. I’d like photographs with the files, so I can visualize each student and associate the face with the information. You may want to do that with the instructors who are going to be attending as well. This is going to be interesting.”

Then I have a thought. “Oh, that first Saturday probably won’t go more than three or four hours. It will be held in the lecture hall. To keep everyone interested and awake, I’ll offer them two short breaks of ten minutes during the lecture period. During normal days, the labs will be about three hours each following the intro hour in the lecture hall.” I was designing my class on the fly now.

“We'll have a break of ten minutes between lecture and first lab period, and then the second lab period will follow lunch by a half hour and go for three hours. That should be enough time to allow everyone to make it to the first supper call if they need to.” I think for a second about scheduling.

“Remember, the first lab period is really two separate labs with half the students in each, as is the second lab period. Can the school arrange this for me?”

“I may need a few days to move things around a little,” he says, “but by the time you begin, it will be ready, Ma’am.”

“All right, If you’ll have a car pick me up tomorrow morning about 0800, then we will start this going, and see if there’s a real possibility of it working out. Thank you for talking with me.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He begins gushing again. I think he is one of those men who needs a woman to order him around. It takes me almost five minutes to get him off the phone so I can move on to the problem of preparing for my class.

---

To Be Continued….       © 2008, 2009 by T D Aldoennetti & Rénae Dúmas. This work may not be replicated or presented in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder) or her assigned representative. ALL Rights Reserved, including but not limited to ownership of Characters, final content decision, and more. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental. An Aldoennetti Original.