It was a rainy weekend in May a few years back. The weather in the uk is patchy at best this time of year and I had volunteered to provide medical cover for a group of visiting civilians to one of our infantry training bases in the South East of England. I had just finished an active, six month tour in some god forsaken hell-hole and the quiet drizzle of the British countryside was not without its appeal. The last six months had taken their toll and managing a couple of sprains and splinters for a bunch of overexcited civilians seemed like a walk in the park by comparison.

They were a mostly cheerful bunch. A mixture of accountants and administrators from an ambulance-chasing law firm in Surrey. They were stuck with us for a 'team building' weekend, something we happily hosted as a bit of Army PR when we were between batches of recruits. The base we were using is where noddy recruits get their first taste of army life. For most of them it's the first time they have been away from mum and dad and the first six weeks are designed to turn them from whatever they were beforehand into the beginnings of a British Infantryman. Those who can rise to the challenge usually excel and those who can't handle the pace vote with their feet. What we call the drop-off.

This rabble of civvies were just here for the weekend though and my god were the boys going to give them a flavor of life in the green machine. They would arrive at 8am (midday by our standards) and be organized into groups and briefed on the weekend's itinerary before being marched off for breakfast in the mess. The next 12 hours would have little or no respite for the unwitting office workers. A lap round the base to shake-off breakfast, a basic lesson in safety, field craft and drill, then a once-over the assault course followed by lunch. After lunch was a lesson in map reading followed by an 7K orienteering exercise over rugged countryside which we would chaperon, bringing us back to camp for 4pm where there would be a timed challenge across the assault course, usually with some kind of prize for the fastest. The details of which escape me, although the real prize I suspect was having something to brag about at the water cooler on Monday morning. This is usually where we pick-up the most injuries though, as everyone is tired as hell by now and pushing themselves to the limit.

The day had unfolded largely without incident, a couple of minor mishaps but everyone involved had been keen to continue, probably just bravado in front of their colleagues, especially the guys.

It was about 4.20pm and the day's physical activities would come to a close about 5:30, where would then bivvie-up in the woods to eat composition rations, pop blisters and swap stories. Winding down and sleeping under the stars to make them really feel the part. I'd usually slope-off at this point as the risk of danger or serious injury reduces greatly.

So there I was at the finishing line of the assault course – the last section is the most treacherous so a good place to do a bit of goal hanging as a medic. All was going well as red faced and muddy office workers staggered across the finishing line with exhausted smiles, when suddenly my radio hissed the we had a person down 'big bertha' – a euphemism for a 60ft rope swing with a couple of meters of green stagnant water below it. My first thought was that someone had may have drowned but fortunately that wasn't the case. Apparently a female participant had fallen off but managed to clear the water. After establishing that the victim's life was not in danger I arranged for her to be evacuated to our medical center. I was some distance away from the site of the incident and I needed to get the treatment room ready to receive the incoming casualty, so it made sense to rendezvous there. I was still in good shape and had served with an airborne unit for years so it was far quicker for me to run.

I arrived slightly out of breath to find a landrover ambulance outside of the functional bare-brick, low rise which served as a medical center. I glanced inside the vehicle and it was empty so I made my way hastily into the building. At the entrance a young corporal came to attention and saluted, nodding towards to the waiting area.

The sparse waiting area was just row after row of empty seats, amidst a sea of grey functional paintwork. At the far end, right outside the treatment room was a young woman laid flat on a trolly with one of our training sergeants beside her. As I approached he slowly turned around and came to attention, he was a little older and had the relaxed disdain of an experienced NCO. I had overheard him joking and trying to put her at ease as I approached but I could tell she was nervous.

I relieved the sergeant and explained I was the duty doctor. She was a little puzzled, probably as I was still in combat dress, which in short meant I looked more at home on the battlefield than a medical center – the only nod towards my position being a red cross arm band and my RAMC stable belt. But I reassured her of my rank and qualification and she offered me a thin smile, introducing herself as Karen.

I could see as she lay flat that she was probably in her early thirties and athletic in build, although she looked like she had dressed more for a festival with chunky walking boots, thick dark tights with cut-off denim shorts and a faded hoodie. She was even still wearing the green safety helmet with a hand painted number on the side which we use to monitor the progress of recruits or keep tabs on ebullient civvies. I could not help but notice she was rather attractive, in a vital and sporty way, if not a little terse and perfunctory in her manner.

It turns out that she had good reason to be terse. Karen had been second from the lead when she suffered quite a fall and hurt her ankle and ribs. The Territorial guys who were helping had played it by the book, evacuating her on a stretcher with a neck brace. They had brought her in with an adapted landrover which served as a field ambulance and I got the impression that despite her injuries she found the whole thing quite exhilarating. She appeared to be OK but I needed to wheel her into a treatment room to asses the full extent of her injuries.

I quizzed her about symptoms and after a few basic tests decided it was safe to remove her helmet and brace, revealing a disheveled blonde bob as she shook her head in relief.

I explained that next I needed to asses how bad her injuries were. Her right ankle seemed to be the primary damage so I slowly slipped-off her muddy walking boots. Her thick blue tights obscured her skin but I could see that the shape was fine with no obvious lumps or swelling and after some basic tests established it was more likely to be a sprain the a fracture. She seemed to relax a little as I said 'it probably wasn't broken' and continued to quiz her about her other injuries.

Karen's ribs were clearly causing her a little discomfort too but before I continued I thought I had better check the paperwork which we had been asked to sign. The thought of them being lawyers was nagging at me and felt it best to check what we had agreed to do in the event of injuries occurring. In the corner of the room was a grey filing cabinet which I slid open and rifled though the paperwork to find the relevant forms. After a couple of minutes they came to hand and I began to quickly scan the small print.

Everything OK? Asked Karen without humor.

Ummm. I responded. I think so but we have small issue.

Her eyes widened in alarm.

Nothing sinister, I hastened to add. The agreement just says that 'any staff member suffering injury requires a complete medical assessment'... for insurance purposes and stuff, I continued.

Oh, said Karen.

Oh indeed. I repeated.

Look, it says here that this can be carried out by any qualified doctor so I should probably take you to the nearest hospital.

Oh. Said Karen again. Are you not a qualified doctor then? Her eyes narrowing.

Yes, of course I am! I responded a little defensively. Look it's up to you, we could do it here but only if you are completely comfortable with it... and i'll need you to sign some paperwork.

Karen went silent for a few moments, weighing up the options I suppose. The nearest A&E was a good 15 miles away from the camp so even at a logistical level it was a bit of a pain.

OK, said Karen, where do I sign. May as well get on with it, she added officiously.

Fine, I replied handing her the clipboard of paperwork as I searched for a pen. I just need to collect together some instruments. So off I scurried collecting the various apparatus required for the examination. I wasn't sure far we needed to go but I had better be thorough: given the nature of our guests.

As I returned she handed the signed papers back to me and I handed her a light blue t shirt in return. Karen frowned in mild confusion.

Oh, I'm sorry, I apologized, but I need you to get undressed and this is the closest thing I can find to a gown. It's from one of the regiments who train here... it's clean, I just took it out of the cellophane.

Karen continued to frown.

I thought it would help to, um... protect your modesty. I added sounding like a Victorian gentlemen.

It's extra large so it should, um, er... cover you up nicely. I was starting to sound as nervous as I felt. 'Will cover you up nicely', what the hell was I thinking.

Karen broke her frown and offered the thinest of smiles. Oh I see, she surmised. Then I suppose I should say thank you. She responded in a clipped Surrey accent.

I felt myself blushing and made an excuse to leave her alone. When I returned she was wearing the t shirt and was sitting up straight. Her top and shorts were neatly folded on the side with her bra sat on top but I noticed she was still wearing her tights.

I need some help she commanded. I can't reach that far, not without being in bloody agony, so would you mind please? I'm sure you have done this a hundred times...

She looked up with that familiar frown again.

Being a doctor...? She added impatiently.

Oh of course, I spluttered. Can you lay down for me please?

Karen complied without discussion, pulled up the blue t shirt up and hitched her tights down her thighs a few inches before she had to stop. I took over and slid her thick and mud splattered tights the rest of the way down, over her thighs, knees and calfs; then carefully over her damaged ankle and foot, leaving her with bare legs; smooth, toned and shapely.

I gently lowered her foot back down and noticed some heavy bruising beginning to appear.

Ok, we need to get you off of here and onto the couch over there. Can you stand on your other leg?

She gingerly edged off of the trolly and slowly extended upward. I offered her my shoulder and she put her arm around without hesitation, shuffling slowly across the sparse treatment room. She eased onto the black leather examination coach and instinctively laid flat. She was surprisingly tall.

I lifted her bruised foot and asked her to push into my hand, wincing in empathy as her well exercised calf tensed and relaxed.

Ok, It's definitely not broken but I'm going to bandage it to give it some support. She half nodded and I proceed to wrap the crisp white bandage around her foot and ankle, like a white sock without a heel or toe. It had been years since i'd applied something as simple as a crepe bandage but it looked OK and worked just fine.

I looked down at her prone athletic form on the couch and smiled. Right, you mentioned your ribs?

Umm, she responded, clutching her left side, they are quite sore.

Ok, can you lift-up your t shirt up for me please? I asked trying to sound matter of fact and without issue she lifted the baggy blue t shirt all the way up to her neck, exposing her flat stomach and milky white breasts. I was more than a little startled but she seemed completely unfazed, just tight lipped and matter of fact. I scanned her bare flesh for marks or bruising but could not help notice that her small white breasts appeared to be defying the laws of gravity.

Ok, let's get this straight. I was 100% professional. Or 99.9% at least. But I had been in the field for half a year and it had been a long, long time since I had experienced female intimacy. Not properly. I mean there were plenty of women around: the medical unit in which I served now had plenty of women. Plus there was no shortage of females in logs, intel, signals and even the occasional Artillery officer. But I steered clear, knowing well the difficulties of relationships in uniform. There was the usual army of hookers hanging around the camp as well but that just wasn't my bag. In my downtime I just liked to read and relax, distance myself from it all. I was too old for chasing girls at every opportunity and this all conspired to make intimate moments a rarity for me. These days at least.

There was some red marking around Karen's lower ribs so I began to feel for cracks or fractures. She recoiled a little as I made contact.

That OK? I asked.

Cold hands. She replied curtly. You're definitely a doctor.

I could feel no obvious damage and unfurled my stethoscope to have a listen.

Red? Said Karen. A bit camp isn't it... for an Army boy?

It's so I can find it amidst all this bloody green, I replied. Which she seemed to like as It was closest she had come to smiling.

I hooked the steth into my ears and pressed the cold metal chest-piece against her smooth skin, just below her left breast. Her heartbeat thumped healthily in my ears and I could hear the rattle of lightly inhaled air in her lungs.

Deep breaths if you can manage it please. I asked, to which she complied, her breasts rising and falling in time with each breath.

I moved the stethoscope to the apex of her chest, then down and to the side. The cold metal chest-piece leaving a perfect white circle on her warm skin each time I lifted it and repositioned. Her chest sounded fine and her strong heart was beating without issue. I could have stopped there and then but the awful truth is that I couldn't and proceeded to auscultate every inch of Karen's naked chest, slowly and methodically examining every valve and bronchia in turn.

Ok, that's fine, I said reassuringly, after what have must seemed like an age. I glanced at her face and she was staring at the ceiling, appearing almost serene. I thought for a second I caught a glimmer of a smile, not so much her mouth but in her eyes.

I proceeded with a battery of routine tests: BP, pulse, eyes, ears, throat. Tested her reflexes, examined her spine and palpitated her smooth flat stomach. All of which passed without alarm as Karen lay near naked yet obligingly still and compliant.

I had been putting off the mandatory breast exam and the thorny issue of her gynecological history but needed to muster the courage to complete the examination.

Ok I said yet again, taking a deep breath. Do you self examine?

Karen snapped back into the moment with astonishing lucidity. My breasts you mean? She quizzed lifting her head. Almost before I had finished the sentence.

Indeed. I replied.

Yes, of course. You can't be too careful. She said, instinctively touching her left breast with her right hand.

Great. Good for you. Could you just pop that hand behind your head for me please? I asked, asserting my authority.

Karen nodded in acknowledgment and complied with the request. I gulped a dry swallow and proceed to palpitate her left breast, slowly and methodically pressing my fingers deep into her soft, warm breast tissue.

I glanced up at her face and her eyes were closed tight. I'm not entirely sure but I swear I saw the corners of her mouth lifting – as if she were suppressing a smile or a laugh.

I tried to ignore it and pressed on with the examination, moving to the other breast: pressing my fingers deep into the tissue again in search of any abnormalities.

All fine. I said in an unintentional soft whisper – to which Karen blinked slowly and compliantly returned her hands to her side.

I continued in the soft tone as it seemed to suit the moment. Can you tell me about your gynecological history please? When was your last period?

Two weeks ago. Nothing to tell really.

And your last Gyn appointment?

Must be a couple of years, she replied slowly and a little guiltily, as if she were wracking her brains for the information.

Ok, we'd better have a look then? I said almost as a question, to which she just nodded compliantly again.

I just need you to remove your underwear please. I requested in an apologetic tone.

Umm, but I may need a hand, she replied attempting to remove them herself. You'll have to take over, that's as far as I can go, she almost ordered as I gingerly slid her intricate black lace underwear down her long legs and placed them a top of the growing pile of clothes on the side. I was fit to explode with desire but had to focus and remain professional.

I then proceed to extend the examination stirrups to the upright position and gently lifted her bandaged foot into position. Her other foot following without request as I snapped-on the light yellow surgical gloves and applied a liberal covering of lubricating gel.

So, nervously I began the last stages of Karen's examination. In truth I hadn't done gyn exam in ages. Obviously I knew how to but was a little rusty as the Army prefer this to be carried out by female doctors to avoid any 'difficult situations'.

But I knew the drill and tried my hardest be respectful and not let my nerves show as I pulled her labia apart with and slid my fingers inside her warn vaginal opening. After a quick feel around I slid them out, the shiny steel speculum reflected rainbow colors as it sat on the side table. I gripped it authoritatively and applied a coating of lubricant before sliding the cold steel device deep inside of her: firm pelvic muscles resisting the device as I slowly spread open the stiff steel legs.

I eased the device to it's full extent and opened her wide to see inside, glancing up at her face I noticed her eyes were shut tight and again I could swear she was suppressing a smile. But more pronounced than before.

I concluded all was fine but as I slid the speculum out of Karen's vagina I thought I heard a low, guttural moan. Barely audible. Possibly trapped air or a rumbling stomach but different somehow. Nasal sounding, like a sigh and with a slight wiggle of her hips.

I said nothing and proceeded to clean her up in silence. She appeared happy to let me do the dirty work so I just carried on while she lay there, compliantly allowing me to wipe every crease an fold of her smooth skin.

All fine, I said in even softer tones. Inadvertently touching her arm in reassurance. Just one more thing we need to do, it may be a little uncomfortable so I'm sorry. But you do have the choice to terminate the examination if you wish.

Karen nodded in acceptance but without opening her eyes so I rolled her gently onto her left side.

Can you bring your knees up to your chest please, I almost whispered, to which she complied as I slid a lubricated finger into her rectum.

Her body tensed as I pushed it all the way in and turned it clockwise. Again I heard that low guttural noise. Like a sigh or maybe a whimper. I felt like whimpering myself.

I slid my finger out and cleaned her up. Rolling her slowly onto her back again.

OK, I think we're done, I said desperately trying to conceal my disappointment. She blinked her eyes slowly as if awaking from a deep slumber.

Everything is fine but if any of your symptoms get worse or don't heal then please go straight to A&E.

I had borrowed a pair of combat trousers and some thick socks from the store when I grabbed the t shirt, thinking she may need something easier to wear. She seemed grateful and I helped her to get dressed in silence until eventually she was fully clothed in baggy army wear and her faded hoodie. Can I keep them? She asked enthusiastically.

Of course, I responded. But I need some contact details from you, in case we need to get in touch. Just your work number or something. This was of course a complete fabrication, we had all of everyone's details already as they had to be cleared for the visit but I really wanted to see her again and was clutching at straws.

I flipped one of the forms over and handed it to her with a pen and she proceeded to scribble something on the back.

Thank you I said as she handed it back to me. No, thank you... doctor? She replied scrutinizing the pips on my epaulets. Or should I call you... captain...?

God no I laughed. It's Marcus or Marc.

Ok doc, she replied, eying me suspiciously but extending her hand – nice to have met you.

And with that she was gone. Her colleagues must have gathered outside the front while she was in here as I heard a load cheer as she left the building.

I rubbed my head and looked at the scribble she had left behind as my brainless organ throbbed in my camouflage trousers. I was so stiff it was actually hurting and I hope to Christ she didn't notice. I felt awful and guilty. Like I had abused my position.

Then something dawned upon me. As I scrutinized her hasty handwriting i noticed that the first line read flat 7.

Flat 7?

That wasn't a work address. That must have been home. And there was a number too which I checked against the other side and it was a different dialing code. Karen had just given me her home address and telephone number. I laughed out and flopped into one of the chairs in the grey waiting room.

Suddenly I didn't feel quite so bad.