“Hmm — out of sight of the nuns — our discussions of eh — comparative anatomy could get ugh–rather Intense …,” Zaftig’s admission trailed off as she shot a piercing glance into the showers at the girls washing under the spigots and the maintenance men holding the cameras, “Where did Al wander off to? The dermis on those girls is undergoing Maceration. They’ve been under the water too long.”
Zaftig and I turned to find Al, smile beaming, behind us holding a camera. “Ali,” I shrieked, “you fake Englishman,” I was angry. “You rotten snake, tip-toing around spying on us. I ought to crown you. Better yet, I’ll tell all the English loving American fools what you really are. Persians are not the most popular people here at the moment — The embassy hostage crisis?”
“I couldn’t resist the opportunity to capture genuine girly gibberish,” Al replied with a laugh. My audiences love to hear what women think outside the scrutiny of men. You would be wrong to think it’s all T & A.” In his defense, Al maintained, “You’d be surprised how many very intelligent men — and not a few women — buy my films just to escape the stresses of intellectually demanding jobs.”
Before Zaftig could respond, I snapped, “We get extra day’s pay, a share of the profits and a writing credit — under our stage names of course.”
“We could work something out.” Al weighed my demand, before he proposed, “Erica, I sense I may have the need for a body double to take the whacks in the corridor, and Rebecca, a fat girl in the shower …”
I was so afraid. I’m sure I was trembling. Observation of my quivering sent a flash of concern spread across Zaftig’s face. Ordering Al to get the girls out of the shower to dry off before they suffer from hypothermia, Zaftig grabbed me by the arm and led me back to the classroom where we dressed in costume. Calling after us, Al imperviously declared, “I’d like to continue to shoot the scene tonight.”
In the classroom, Zaftig confronted me. “I’m willing to be the fat girl being dumped on. What’s the problem with taking a few whacks on your bony ass? Are you afraid you don’t have enough padding back there to take the blows?”
“I couldn’t,” I looked away. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Prodded, I winced, “You don’t understand. I’m malformed. That’s why flip hamburgers and play a clothed role in a skin flick — to pay you rent. I don’t want to live in a dorm, share a room, bathe in a communal shower and expose myself.”
“Being thin and flat chested is not a disorder. Are you too embarrassed to strut your stuff?” Zaftig laughed, “As a doctor — eh future doctor — I see naked people all day. Let me be the judge of whether your body is so grotesque that you need to be in a freak show. Make yourself comfortable. Take off your clothes — all of them,” That distant haze descended on Zaftig as she ordered, pointing to a chair, “Fold them neatly and stand tall.”
Mechanically, I complied. As I removed the robe, I quipped, “that’s where they got the word `disrobing.'”
“First, let me ask a few questions about your general health. Good?” Zaftig grilled me as I kicked off the black shoes grunting “ugly.” To the question “Pregnancies?” I shook my head as removed the headdress with the quip “unveiled.” When I held my arms up presenting myself in my silk camisole and panties, Zaftig, reaching under my camisole yanked my panties off. “You work faster than a man,” I told her as she reached for the straps of the camisole to whip it off me.
I closed my eyes. I expected her to laugh at me as the girls did in the shower in High School gym. Instead, Zaftig did not lift off my camisole as I expected. When our attention was drawn to Al leaning in the doorway clapping his hands, I was left covered by a camisole barely reaching my thighs.
“Bravo, Rebecca Barton,” Al cheered us on, “or should I say Sister Rachael? And not to forget you too Sister Evelyn Bravo! We’ll add a scene having Sister Rachael assist Sister Evelyn robe up to greet the students.
“For all your tough talk,” Zaftig upbraided me, “You won’t remove your top. I’ll appear in the shower scene as the fat girl getting ragged. Al, how much extra will I get for appearing in a nude scene?”
I shook my head in disbelief.
Filming took several more nights. Filming Zaftig and me robe up, Al had me in my camisole which reached to my thighs inspecting the charcoal-colored robes. Zaftig, standing in front of me, hands on hips, the elastic on her panties straining so tight a fiddler could strum a tune, her bra restraining bulbous boobs, Zaftig reminded, “We are receiving new arrivals and need to make an impression. Hurry along.”
“The uniform in itself is the imprimatur, divine blessing on our directions,” I replied.
“Uniform?” Zaftig laughed, “It’s called a habit. It is more of a burden than a sign of authority. A distinctive habit and veil signify taking on a new life, symbolize devotion to purity, modesty and celibacy, and identify membership in a community separate from the rest of society.”
When I looked up, I was surprised to find Zaftig already in her robes and securing a white cap over her neck and scalp and pulling on the veil. “These habits come with snaps,” Zaftig recalled, “Old time nuns putting on the old habits had to pin themselves together.”
As Zaftig rushed me along, offered to help me robe — up, “We need to receive into our midst nubile young women effervescing with the onset of maturity.” Lifting my camisole to whack my bare tush, Zaftig bit her lip.
Gasping I emphatically thundered my protest, “Sister Rachael!”
Zaftig confessed, “The Devil made me do it.”
“Just suit me up,” I pled.
As Zaftig allowed my robes to flutter as they flowed down over my long lanky frame, “Remain circumspect, as we inspect,” Zaftig chanted, “bodies ripening, eyes with lightening, key to the soul, smile brightening, on lascivious lips, and ruddy cheeks, necks craning at nips erect on bulging breasts budding from dainty chests, widening hips, sprouting pubes direct to the goal, rounding rump, above legs so smooth on nimble toes. Look, admire not to touch.”
Al shot Zaftig wield the pointer against Jenny Jenkins’ tush so many times that Zaftig quipped, “Al you’re such a sadist, you ought to have become a dentist, not a real medical doctor.”
“Ok, Sister Rachael,” Al teased her, “Time to change costumes.”
“Costume?” Zaftig shrieked. Pulling her robes off, Zaftig, looking at Al strangely, rebuked him, “I’m playing the naked fat girl in the shower.”
“That’s the costume I adore,” Al declared with a blossoming smile. Al had the magic to deliver that line with an endearing quality.
Stepping out of her robes, hands on hips, Zaftig turned her back to me. Hands on hips, peering over her shoulder, Zaftig requested assistance, “Could you undo me, dear?”
Looking at her fleshy curves, I quipped as Zaftig released a breath to release the tension on the elastic band so that I could unhook her bra allowing her boobs to bounce in Al’s face, “I’ll bet Al would kill for this honor.” I daringly allowed my hands to feel along her sides to reach under the elastic band of her panties.
“At least, I’m in position to appreciate the view,” Al rejoined.
“Don’t be a prude,” Zaftig, bending over to allow me to help her out of her panties, urged me, “Go ahead whip them off.”
“I should wager, Ms Ehrlich,” Al interjected, “If you went out there with Becky you might discover that there is little difference in playing a role in real life — like lawyer, billowing an argument with fiery righteousness in court or a Doctor, hushed voice, speaking in inflated Latin terms, you assume a personage very different from yourself. You’re distant and disconnected, You’re acting.”
Fully disrobed, Zaftig, boobs flapping and butt bouncing, bounded toward the showers, yelling “sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”
In the showers, some girls, inside the showers, taunted Zaftig with a chant, “Flapping Double Dees untrussed, boys’ eyes leering with lust, bouncing boy magnets, as hypnotic as stardust, making the guys cum, all misspent, she’s becoming a nun.”
Others dismissed Zaftig as “In the sheets she won’t tussle, Inflated, she thinks herself as special.”
Zaftig retorted, “With my conscious, I won’t wrestle, I’m untouched, because I’m special.”
On a different night, we filmed Zaftig to play Dr Zoptic inspecting female arrivals in behind a screen in the gym. “There isn’t much to these costumes.” I held the white lab coat up, with the comment, “no buttons, garter belt, and mesh stockings, no panties.”
“For you, partially bare bottom, closed top, truly unique,” Zaftig declared, “I’m not worried about being fat. I’ll make more money, You would too. if you get over being self — conscious about being flat.”
When we entered the gym, the chatter of the dozen naked women shoulders draped with towels subsided. “Here we go.” I stood by with a clip board as Zaftig suited up as Dr Zoptic listened to heart and breathing and took the pulse. After routing questions about health and periods, Dr Zoptic (Zaftig) barked orders, “arms out, arms up, turn around, stretch legs apart, bend over touch toes.”
I cringed at the screeching sound of Dr Zoptic’s (Zaftig’s) stretching the latex gloves as she prepared to penetrate the patient’s butt with a thumb stretching fingers reached for the vagina. “Hands on digital rectal exam,” Dr Zoptic (Zaftig) declared as the patient gulped.
The patient was ordered to stand, turn around and do 100 jumping jacks. The patient’s breasts flapped as the patient built up sweat.
At the last cut, I found myself near Al Mandy. “Don’t you think 30 minutes to an hour of watching women bouncing boobs doing Jumping jacks, bending over for finger fucking would get boring?”
“I’m sure some men who buy these porn flicks wouldn’t mind that,” Al replied, “But when I put together to screen the director’s cut, I have to present some kind of theme or point to avoid classification as illegal obscenity. I say! It’s a tough line to walk,” Al smiled exuding his usual charisma, “but someone must be up to do it.”