Chapter 1: The Loader

My investigations had unearthed a trial of corruption that led to John Davison, a millionaire arms dealer. The signs pointed to him smuggling in slave labour from India, but I needed solid proof to provide to the Police (and the Press to make sure his “friends in high places” can’t get him off the hook without public embarrassment!).

Davison owned a large private airfield out of which he operated his business. Putting on my roughest clothes and several layers of clothing to make me look bulkier, I managed to bluff my way through an interview and got a temporary job as a labourer.

The interviewer explained that they had a lot of big orders to complete before Christmas. Evidently the festive season is the best time to organise revolutions - strike while the enemy is drunk and being merry!. This meant that aircraft were arriving at the airfield several times a day and needed loading and unloading. I was to be part of a small team of loaders.

I was introduced to the foreman, Kevin Greetson, he was in his mid thirties, about 6’2” with a large strong physique which he liked to show off. “Look at a bit wimpy to me. Sure you can cut it?” he asked. “I work hard” I replied. “You’d better” He replied “or you’ll have me to answer to”.

Greetson took me to the Security hut next to the main gate to get my pass. The security officer on duty was a young woman, Emma, probably between 18 and 20. She had a cute face framed by a thick mane of shoulder length black hair which stood out several inches from her head (sort of punkish style). Her petite face had large brown puppy dog eyes that you could lost in, a small cute stub of a nose and a pleasant mouth surrounded by dark lipstick. She was about 5’3” with a slightly Rubenese build.

The grey jacket of her uniform had quite wide shoulders, I couldn’t tell if they were padded or really her. Under this she wore a white blouse and a small black bowtie. The blouse and jacket swung out dramatically doing nothing to hide the fact that she was extremely well endowed. She was a good 55” or more and you could just make out the outline of a large white bra beneath her blouse trying to contain them. As she walked around the hut preparing the paperwork and the photo machine, I had difficulty from tearing my eyes away from her chest as it bounced around barely constrained by her bra. Below the waist she wore a grey knee length skirt with a split up the back, sheer black nylons and black shoes with a small heel. When she had her back or side to me I could see that her calves were large and shapely. There was no sign of muscle, but they tapered out from her slim ankles into large perfect peardrops made even sexier by the sheen of her nylons.

Her breasts, calves and sweet face made it quite hard for me to surpress my loins as she prepared my identity pass. All the time she was chatting away quite merrily, she was genuinely friendly and cheerful. Eventually the job was done and relunctantly I said goodbye. “Wow I wish all security officers were like that” I quipped to Greetson. “Forget it Priest. She’s mine” he retorted. I later found out that this wasn’t true and she rebuffed all his advances.

As the newcomer, I was paired up with Elaine, the only female in the group. She was in her early twenties, about 5’ 8” with a good sturdy build which she kept hidden under grey overalls. She had long black hair which cascaded over her broad shoulders and down her wide back. She was attractive, a long oval face with brown eyes, long slender nose, small mouth. She seemed rather timid and quiet, but boy could she lift!. She effortlessly lifted boxes and crates that I could hardly carry. But she would never criticise or make fun at my obvious weakness. She would smile sweetly as she carried off a heavy crate while I stood there struggling with mine. Being a self-confessed admirer of strong women, I was intrigued. Not knowing what else to say I stated the obvious “You’re very strong. Do you work out?”. “Hmnm yeah” she mumbled turning red with embarrassment and carried away another box. I studied her closely but the overalls revealed nothing except that her shoulders were broad, her arms thick and her back wide.

I watched as she bent at the knees to lift another heavy box. The loose sleeves of her overalls suddenly stretched tightly over her upper arms as she lifted the box. I tried again “How did you get so strong?”. It was useless, all attempts to engage her on the subject failed. She seemed embarrassed to talk about it, so I changed the subject hoping to gain her confidence.

One of the guys was using a fork-lift to unload some large wooden crates. “What’s in them?” I asked Elaine. “Oh guns or something I’d imagine” she replied, obviously relieved to talk about something else. “Haven’t you seen inside them?” I continued. “No, we shift the boxes and crates between the planes and the storage hanger and that’s all we see of them” she answered. That didn’t help, the crates were large and heavy but this didn’t mean anything, they could well contain arms which was Davison’s legitimate business just as easily as they could contain anything else.

“I would have thought that there would be Customs officers around” I said. “Never seen any. Maybe Mr. Davison doesn’t need any” Elaine replied. No, that didn’t sound right. More likely Davison pulled a few strings with his friends in high places.

At that moment Kevin Greetson walked over. To put it bluntly, he was a complete and utter bastard. “Come along Priest put your back into it before I put my boot in your face” he shouted at me. “Oi! Arnie, gonna turn green are you and bust out of your overalls! ha ha ha ha” he aimed this barb at Elaine. “Don’t just stand there Priest, get a bloody move on. Hasta La Vista baby. I’ll be back - and you’d better have those bloody crates stacked by then”. I soon discovered that this was not an isolated incident. Greetson took advantage of every opportunity to have a go at me. It wasn’t just me, poor Elaine got a lot of flak. He would call her “Arnie” because of her large build and obvious strength. He would make remarks about dykes and freaks, humiliating in front of the rest of the crew.

Making sure we were unobserved I put my arm around Elaine to try to comfort her “Don’t let the bastard get to you. He’s not worth it”. My hand encountered stony shapes rippling under the back of her overalls as she pushed my arm away. “Leave me alone” she told me as she moved away towards the next stack of boxes to be loaded. I followed, grabbing her gently by the hands I forced her to face me. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in being strong. In fact I like strong women” I confessed. A strange smile appeared on her face and then her hands squeezed hard on mine. Her grip was strong, stronger than any man I had shaken hands with. She was crushing my hand. “Please no, you’ll break the small bones in my hand. Please let go” I begged. She angled her hands down forcing me to my knees in front of her. I looked up into her brown eyes and the determined look upon her face. “You just want to make fun of me like all the others” she said. “Aghh Elaine please I’m only trying to help. I’m on your side really I am”. “I don’t know” she said softly before releasing my hands and turning back to her work. I didn’t raise the subject again, I didn’t want to press my chances.

On my third day I was allowed to drive the fork-lift. This was my first time (despite what I told the interviewer!) and this gave Greetson plenty of opportunity to give me a verbal bashing. Lunchtime was slow coming that day. When it did, I parked the fork-lift by the side of the storage hanger and seeing no-one else around, decided to sneak inside and take a peek. Turning off the engine I got out and approached a side door, opened it and went in. The hanger was poorly lit and filled with crates. I walked over to the nearest stack then heard the sound of sobbing. It seemed to be coming from inside one of the crates. Excitement mounted as the adrenaline flew. This could be what I was looking for, some poor soul pining for the village and family they had been so cruelly cut off from.

As I neared the crate, I could see that the end had been removed. The interior seemed heavily padded. I could just make out a figure in the gloom of the interior. As my eyes adjusted to the light level, I recognised the overall covered figure. “Elaine?. Are you all right? What’s the matter?” I asked. “Please leave me alone” she sobbed. I got next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. This seemed to trigger something, she wrapped her arms around me, pulled close and cried into my shoulder. “People think I’m a freak, why can’t people leave me alone” she wept. “You’re not a freak. You’re a beautiful strong young woman. Greetson is a just a old fashioned chauvinist who won’t accept that women can be strong too” I told her “You’ve seen Gladiators haven’t you. Men really fancy Jet, Lightning and the other women, and they’re not exactly weaklings are they?”. She gave a little laugh “No, I guess not but it’s not the same”. “Of course it is. I think muscle on a woman is very sexy” I told her. She looked at me, her tears subsiding. “Look, how about we go for a drink after we finish work?” I ask. “All right. We’d better go now, we’re not really supposed to be in here unsupervised” she said. As I helped her from the crate, I noticed the markings on the crate “Produce of India”.