That's when it began with Simon. An evening at the pictures, then a picnic, walking me to a fro. As the time went on the probationer became used to bringing me notes. I became used to being in a relationship with a man. I didn't love him- I didn't know what love felt like but I was more than aware that this wasn't it. Even when, in the following July he kissed my deeply, all I felt was a tongue swirling about in my mouth- not even a tingle of emotion.

But I had written to my aunt, my Father was delighted that I'd found a fellow. I was delighted to be pleasing him, to have him feel I was becoming the daughter he wanted, the daughter who wasn't damaged by the war.

It was August when it began to change. August when he did something so obvious that I was given a tough shake and began to see what I was missing.

"Come to bed." He had insisted after a meal at a local restaurant.

I hadn't known what to say, part of me was willing to go with him, another part was terrified.

"I have rubbers," he added in a whisper as though pregnancy was the only thing on my mind.

"Oh, I'm allergic to latex," I tried to tell him, quite pleased with my quick thinking until I realised it was going to be no help to the situation.

In fact I made it worse.

He took me home that night, stripped me bare and thrust his manhood inside me. It was just as expected, sore and rough and I felt I was jerked around like a pulley string. Simon had grabbed at my breasts, pummelling them with his chest and rib cage with every thrust. It was uncomfortable and strange and the feeling inside me was like I was being grated.

He left me in the large bed in his bachelor flat to recover while he made some telephone calls. It took me a while to sit up, moving my legs closer together or further apart was uncomfortable, and it took me only second to see I was bleeding. Officially no longer a virgin, but in spirit I felt like I had just entered prostitution. There was no love for this man, barely even care other than not to hurt him. I felt as though we were strangers, like those in the Far East who were forced into arranged marriages.

I had my answer: not the one I wanted. It wasn't curable- being a lesbian. The whole time Simon had spent within my body I had been thinking of other things, of work, or my next meal; of women.

I was late. I was never late. Nursing was a vocation which didn't stand for disobedient behaviour- and that included sex for any nurse.

I had only been late when I was twelve and just starting out with the curse.

Being a nurse on male surgical I wasn't sure how to slip in a sample without it being noticed, having to take a urine sample bottle from one of the supply cupboards off the surgery corridor, I kept the bottle- tightly sealed- in my apron pocket.

As chance would have it a week after I'd began carrying the bottle- which was refilled each day- I finished late. I was just leaving the ward after an emergency on a patient with acute appendicitis. The surgery was conducted by Tracy, the arrogant fool, who managed to pierce the appendix and allow poison to flow from the inflamed organ into the abdomen itself.

The whole inside wall of the abdomen had to be washed and carefully handled. I tried my best to be gentle with the innards which Tracy dumped into my hands. He didn't care about the intense bruising the poor sod would suffer afterwards.

By the time I'd changed from my scrubs into my normal uniform the last ward round had been completed and the night shift had come on duty. The hospital was on skeleton staffing for the night.

I was just leaving the hospital for the nurse's home when I bumped into her again, the young nurse-Delia. My heart leapt when I saw that she was carrying the last box of labelled urine samples of the day.

"Nurse Busby!" I called after her, trotting a little down the corridor to catch her.

"Just the girl I was looking for! You couldn't squeeze another sample in could you? It's for a Mathilda Horace." I quickly grabbed the bottle out of my pocket as if pretending to check the information on the bottle.

Delia's eyes narrowed, her head twisting slightly to the left in a way that questioned me.

"Why would a pregnancy test come from the men's ward?" She asked.

"It wasn't from the ward, Matron caught me in the corridor." I began to feel like she was accusing me, she must know how dangerous that was, to be a common whore, to sleep around; to be pregnant.

"And I would ask you to remember your position."

I stalked off, feeling angry at her confrontation. But feeling something else too, something that made me feel wrong- like I shouldn't hurt the young nurse.

Little did I know it then- or for several months to come- that then I was beginning to discover the reality. This was love.