One of the things you see as a firefighter is naked women. It’s no lie. You will see plenty of uncovered body parts as you deal with the sick and inebriated.
It rarely titillates.
There are exceptions.
Surprising exceptions.
I remember when I was young thinking about old people kissing, and it kind of weirded me out. I’d see their wrinkled lips and chins slapping together like a couple of Shar-Peis and swear that I would get all my lovin out of me before I hit 65. Strange, then, that the old naked bodies I’ve seen have been very smooth and shapely, nothing like the overtanned and weathered skin of the foreheads and sagging cheeks.
I hate to do this, but you know how the gynecologist tells you something along the lines of, ‘Don’t worry, missy, you can get naked. I’m a doctor. I don’t even notice what you look like. I am a professional. Keira knightly, Queen Elizabeth, all the same to me. Go ahead and remove your panties. Slooowly.’
Well, uh, volunteer firefighters are not professionals. They are mere mortals. WAIT, not just mere mortals. HYPERmortals. Often drunk, usually overweight, often inebriated, unshaven, undersexed, intoxicated and given given to repetition.
To say the least, I was taken aback by that first naked senior citizen.
Okay, if a doctor walks in, these are the words in the thought bubble atop his head:
“Just another body, like any other. The physical corpus is an intricate work of nature. I’m not getting a boner at all. Here, see? Look, limp as linen.”
/exposes himself underneath lab coat
Contrast that with my thought bubble caption:
‘Huh? Wow! Is that what granny is hiding underneath her bonnet, scarf, coat, jacket, sweater, t-shirt, skirt, girdle, support hose and unmentionables? I AM SO ASHAMED FOR WHAT WHAT I AM THINKING! I NEED ANOTHER DRINK. I wonder if she wants one? How YOU doin?’
/adjusts imaginary tie underneath bunker gear for unconscious naked woman
(Which reminds me of a funny story if you have a moment. Volunteer firefighters almost always get a call as soon as they return from the office. So, really, there’s no time to change into jeans and a t-shirt, the preferred undergarments for bunker gear. I can’t tell you how many times I put bunker gear on over my work clothes. One time over a suit. I looked like James Bond when I pulled off my gear. And coincidentally, I had a martini and a romp in the hay with a foreign chick immediately after. By the way, a martini and a romp in the hay with a foreign chick is how I refer to two straight shots of rum out of a martini glass. I’m lying. I drank straight from the bottle.)
And what’s also weird is remembering hearing that men’s cocks continue to grow as they get older (which apparently doesn’t start before you reach 33…) so then I imagine all these horse-hung men chasing around nubile, overly dressed senior vixens, and I think, no wonder old people have so many broken hips. Sex is unsafe at any age.
So for the sake of our medical system, I hereby propose abstinence-only education for anyone of retirement age.
As Michael Biehn once told Sigourney Weaver, ‘It’s the only way to be sure.’
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