Cassandra was a bountiful middle-aged wet nurse in the prime of her womanhood, struggling to deal with tragic events in her life that has lead to her becoming a widow. Throughout her daily life of caring for others and living vicariously through her working relationships, Cassandra manages to get by, but remains somewhat lonely and saddened by the fact that most men she had dated since were frightened off by her home-maker qualities and her strong desire to start a family. Was it the fact that she was built larger and stronger than most other women - did men not find her attractive? Or was it because that she knew what she wanted and went for it, but in so doing smothered those she loved too much which pushed them away? Though she asked herself these questions over and over in burning self-inquisition, she attempted to find solace in burying herself in her work.
Ever aware of her fast ticking biological clock, her life intensified one day when she sees a melancholy and brooding young man rushed into her hospital after suffering serious injuries including a broken hip, arm and leg from a cycling accident. During his operation whilst unconscious, Cassandra finds herself strangely enjoying removing the man's clothes and despite his horrendous injuries, finds herself fantasising about being the only one able to bring him back to full health. She begins to tend to him more than her other patients, wanting him to live, wanting him to affirm life and most of all, she wanted to see the cruel pained frown he wore change to a smile.
In his groggy semi-conscious state in a recovery ward, the man is only half aware of the voluptuous maternal looking older woman wiping down his brow with a damp cloth and smoothing it over the cuts down his chin, neck and over the abrasions on his chest. He groans and squints in and out of consciousness, the foggy shapes of the nurse's beauteous outline forming a hazy thick and rounded hourglass, shades of dark brown hair and an expression so amiably warm and welcome. He faintly felt the cloth dabbed softly over his chest and gritted his teeth slightly as the pain of his injuries washed over him amid the dulling anaesthetic. He drowsily sighed back into sleep as Cassandra looked to him and bandaged a deep cut on one of his arms. Her image began to transcend his sleepy state and siphon directly into his dreams and memories.
She reminded him of many his mother's close friends and his mind travelled back to his times as an adolescent growing up around them. He thought of the nights his family spent camping in the bush and their time cutting wood and creating firewood to be sold to customers. It was one night around a fire after a meal and some alcohol that his mother and lover were by themselves in the tent, his three sisters out for a walk, and others out driving. He sat around the fire by himself glumly and stared out to the stars and thought of his mother's friend Mary who had gone into town for supplies. She seemingly knew how he was growing up and teased him constantly, pouting at him and pushing out her proudly ample chest and shaking it at him when she knew he was looking at her. She'd also extend her wide fertile hips invitingly and wave her bum at him, looking over her shoulder and sticking out her tongue. Pent up libido caused him to repress his ill-conceived thoughts of taking her out in the middle of the bush and having his way with her and he felt so guilty and wrong for having such lascivious thoughts about her. However, she was such a perfectly sculptured and wholesome woman that carved an indelible imprint on to his unconscious. Yet it was only the body of heaven that ever shook amidst his early straining for relief, the fire receiving and burning away his young seed.
