It was just past sunset on Friday at the beginning of the four – day a holiday weekend in late October. Veterans Day, I think was October 25th, that year. In the mid 1970s Veterans Day had lost its traditional date, though there was talk of returning it to November 11th. I was in the Central Avenue Urban Renewal District to pick up my roommate Dr Rebecca Barton whom I called by the endearing pet-name Zaftig. I had just parked around the corner from a mock emergency medical response which my roommate Dr Rebecca Barton was directing.
We had been roommates for just over two years. While in that time, we had become lovers, we were currently in the middle of a tiff. Zaftig had invited me with a wink to go out to dinner to kiss and makeup. This holiday weekend, my roommate Dr Rebeca Barton and I wouldn’t expect much competition for a table. No one come from Capitalland; Capitalland empties out every holiday weekend.
Weighed down by studies in my final year of law school, I looked forward to an evening out.
Instead, just as I turned the corner onto Central Avenue, I assaulted, jabbed in the arm, forced to the ground and stripped bare. Seconds later, Zaftig, my roommate Dr Rebecca Barton was standing over me “Oh my God,” screeched Zaftig, “It’s my roommate Erica! She’s not one of the disaster actors. This is a mistake.”
If only I could have laughed! Zaftig had finally gotten her sweet revenge — against me. This was almost like a plot of a Dr Zoptic movie. Indeed, sweet revenge was the theme of one of the last Dr Zoptic films, Rebecca Barton was featured in.
• • •
A little over a year earlier, as I was getting ready to begin my junior year in law school at Capitalland University, I was at the Fertility Clinic where Al Mandy was filming `Comparative Anatomy: Revenge Match.’
You could only see Al Mandy’s ‘teeth and eyes’ as tall dark-skinned Al, leaning against a dark woven wall hanging in the corridor of the Fertility Clinic, read through his shooting script for the umpty-umpth time attempting to project an image of calm. Further down the corridor, the camera crew stood with a bespeckled average sized man. Bare foot with knee — length bathrobe tied at the waist, the man would be playing Cameron Ratzinger scanned the shooting script, but I knew he had no lines.
I could hear some banter in the corridor among Al’s regular female players that Al dubbed the dirty half — dozen. Still in street clothes, these girls would appear in the shower and locker room scene where they’d undress, shower and change into the Dr Zoptic Nursing Assistant outfit, white lab coat reaching down to the mid — thigh barely meeting black fishnet, thigh — high, stay — up stockings and white sneakers. Standing by with the Dirty Dozen waiting for Al to call for “places,” I was already in costume with a camisole under the lab coat to conceal my deformed, scarred cleavage.
High pitched female voices echoed through the corridor, as the dirty half — dozen endured the wait were more interested in the berobed gentleman speculating what lay under the robe. “He looks good enough to produce a stiff one,” quipped one of the girls.
Another woman in the cast, looking over the script, snickered, “Grabbing his plunger between the lips and pulling him inside isn’t in the script.”
“Ah, like the rest of the sluts in this dimly lit corridor,” another girl returned the jibe, “you’re jealous you have nothing to do but strip off in the locker and stroll bare assed into the shower.”
“Paid to take a bath?” came the answer, “you can’t beat that.”
“Hey,” one asked, “The script I was handed for tonight’s script says it’s the latest in the Dr Zoptic series, “The title is `Comparative Anatomy Revenge Match.’ Where’s Dr Zoptic?”
Where is Dr Zoptic? That’s a good question. Zoptic evolved from the word Zaftig, my pet name which amply described my roommate pudgy Rebecca Barton, a girl with a well – rounded figure, pleasantly plump. Tonight’s episode `Comparative Anatomy’ was a payback to her classmate Carter Plessinger. Discovering the roles Zaftig played in Al Mandy’s light porn to support herself in her last year of med school, her classmate Carter Plessinger orchestrated a frat house prank on Zaftig and Al Mandy.
“Stripping her bare and photographing her derriere in the air,” Al Mandy had quipped in an aside, “for all the world to see, Becky lying naked on top of me, Becky became unhinged, vowing sweet revenge.”
“Against whom?” I released a tired sigh in reply, “has Zaftig vowed revenge Carter Plessenger or me?”
My roommate Zaftig would play the curvaceous Dr Zoptic in the title role but tonight the spotlight tonight would focus on tall, svelte dirty blonde Ashleigh Keytone, a Registered Nurse in real life who had shown up in her scrubs as Al had requested. Al probably wanted to use some of the footage shot in Ashleigh’s screen test.
Ashleigh shook her head as she read aloud her lines from the shooting script:
“`SCENE: Locker room. Brightly lit,’ “Ashleigh interjected a comment, “that’s good. It’s a little too dark in most of the clinic. Did you ever see a doctor’s office so dark?’ The two other new girls standing with her chuckled as Ashleigh read, “Girls arriving to begin a day’s work, undress, stow street clothes in a locker and shower.”
“`O, things are about the same,’ Ashleigh moans to a neighbor as she lifts her top over her head, `Since calling off an engagement, Cameron,'” Ashleigh interjected a comment, “That’s supposed to be that scum bag Carter Plessinger my ex, `Cameron has given me to the end of the week to get out of `his’ flat. His flat!,’ Ashleigh screeched, `is an apartment in a townhouse, Cameron has because I guaranteed payment of rent so that Cameron could get the lease. Cameron kept his dream house because I paid the bills faithfully.'”
“`What brought it on?’ a neighbor asks,'” Ashleigh interrupted reading the script for a parenthetical remark, That’s one of you. Ashleigh roared as she undid the bow holding her scrubs bottoms up, letting them slide to the floor, `Cameron expects to land a big — ass, soft touch job as Assistant Director, big pay, no work.’ Stepping out of her scrubs and rolling them into a ball, Ashleigh tossed them into a laundry cart. `If Cameron becomes an Assistant Director, he can forego the daily spermatozoa donation, unlock the chastity cage and go stepping out — with someone else.'”
“Ashleigh’s neighbor protested, `Look at you! He’s crazy,'”
“`Me? I’m nothing special! Just a great bod in chic loungewear,’ Ashleigh quipped, “Nothing more enticing than a scantily clad vixen in eye — catching royal blue bra and panty set, little more than three triangular patches, each no bigger than an eye patch,'” Ashleigh threw in the comment, “You can tell men wrote these lines. The script continues, `Ashleigh went on tippy toes to pirouette and display her sculpted bare butt cheeks bisected by a string running through her crack.'”
Calling out to me, Ashleigh asked, “Erica, who’s going to play Carter Plessenger — ugh I mean Cameron Ratzinger — in the script? The guy up the corridor is a good match. But I wish I had been consulted. Aren’t you supposed to be in the shower scene with me?”
I shook my head. I wasn’t slated to appear in the locker or shower scene. There were a few snickers from amongst the girls in the dirty half – dozen. “Too precious to bare it all,” smirked one, “she even wears an undershirt under the lab coat to cover her cleavage. Does she expect to blind the guys with the sight of her flat chest?”
Only little blonde Crissy spoke up for me. “Erica doesn’t play nude! I don’t believe it! Erica was hot during my audition with her. Her tongue was so crafty I thought it’d slither in down there and come out my mouth.” Doubt entered her voice when Crissy added, “But come to think of it, during my screen test, Erica managed to keep her top on.”
Like a bunch of chickens ganging up to peck at one of the flock, one girl after another added to the tease. It reminded me of the chorus of high — pitched voices taunting me in the high school gym’s locker room. The sight of my deformed funnel chest brought out shrieks of “Yuck, freak show! I going to barf. Seriously! I have to look at that after lunch.”
To get me a medical excuse from gym, my sainted father cajoled the family doctor to release me from high school gym. Making me remove my top, in the presence of my father, the lecher ran his finger along the scar down the middle of my sunken chest and squeezed my nipples. “There’s nothing wrong!” the doctor exclaimed, “small breasted but they’re likely to perform their function when that’s required.”
Ultimately it was my Dad’s threat to send me to St Athena’s of the Holy Virgins Convent School that forced the bastard doctor to write gym excuses. I often wondered how the holy virgins at St Athena’s might have reacted. I’m sure that, if not shielded from view by the camisole I wore under the white lab coat, the sight of my deformity would scare off Al’s clientele who endured Al’s attempt to inject a story line to watch nudie cuties.
The taunting in the corridor might have continued, but for a timely intervention by Al. “The guys at frat smokers and bachelor parties,” Al threw his arm around me and held me tight, “who salivate watching bedazzling belles strut bare breasts and butts would love to see Erica’s frame plucked clean, but she has a contract with an artist which prohibits her appearing in the altogether. Thus, I can tease, I can suggest, but regrettably I cannot script Erica in the shower scene.” Having neutralized the situation, Al went down the corridor to talk to his camera crew.
Looking back to lock eyes with me, Al was wondering whether Zaftig, Rebecca Barton, my roommate show up. I shrugged my shoulders. The question was a natural one. This production was all about Zaftig. Where was she?
When I mentioned to Zaftig that there were times Al and I could conduct a subverbal communication, a rare smile blossomed on her face, “Trying to land a doctor?”
“I thought,” I replied hugging her, “I already had one.”
“Oh,” Zaftig teased me, “Remember what happened to Ashleigh Keytone. Is Al worth the risk? Certainly, the relationship would be a plus for your business when you get out of school. Besides, you recognize that we both have a duty to contribute our intelligence to the gene pool.”
“Gene pools not something,” I retorted, “you, an erstwhile aspirant to the veil of nun-hood in a convent school, ought be concerned with. Didn’t your Dad receiving Carter Plessener’s photos of you lying bare butt in the air with the air mounting Al Mandy start counting on grandchildren?”
“I admit Father has a liking for Al Mandy as a prospective son — in — law,” Zaftig chuckled, “but, if it were necessary, I’d prefer to have Al’s spermatozoa injected in a syringe than have Al ejaculate fresh cum inside me. Besides, I wouldn’t want to steal a guy from a girl I regard as a sister. I think you’d make a better fit. Think of your future career getting business off Al.”
“I knew I should teach you how to think, but drafting contracts for porn stars?” I suggested. “Right now, obscenity is still illegal. A contract could be drawn, but it wouldn’t be enforceable.” I took a breath. “Al went to great trouble to schedule this shoot to even the score with Carter Plessenger for having you stripped bare and photographed at a graduation party: The Porn Queen of the Class of 1976. Al expects to find you there.”
“I have a meeting with the Hospital President Dr Regina Windham in the shower at the University’s sub-basement Institute to deliver my answer on the offer of an Assistant Directorship,” Zaftig responded, “Whether I come depends on how that meeting goes.” Shaking her head, Zaftig added, “I don’t know. Her invitation from Dr Windham sounds weird. Why in the shower? Am I being set up again?”
“Maybe,” I suggested, “this Dr Windham wants to see what a porn star turned doctor hides under that aura of professionality.”
Slipping into that twilight, a trance in which she was present but not in contact, Zaftig vowed, “Don’t think I can excuse you for your part in Plessinger’s prank? I’ll get even when you least expect it?”
“Why?” I protested, “I went out in the middle of the night, covered you, drove you home. I even told you of my bad feelings before hand and told you not to go? How did I wrong you?”
“You laughed at me,” Zaftig retorted.
Merry laughter filled the corridor as the ‘Dirty Half-Dozen recounted some of the past films Al had made, “Anytime Al finds a new girl who’s a little nervous about baring it all, I tell them look at Dr Zoptic; if a girl shaped like a thanksgiving turkey can flaunt it, you certainly shouldn’t worry. All guys see is Tits and Ass.”
Yet I pondered why would Zaftig who could run down the corridor uninhibited in complete abandon be angry because I saw her naked?
While the cast touted previous Dr Zoptic films during the wait in the darkened corridor of the Fertility clinic, I wandered over to Al to tell him about Zaftig’s thinking about mind — linked sub — verbal communication. Al’s view was not tinged with romantic notions. “It’s a skill — actors good ones pick up the capability of reading the next line in the script off other actor’s face. Now, if you could read dear Becky Barton’s mind, tell me whether she’s going to do us the honor of joining us tonight.”
Looking down the darkened corridor to appraise the girls collected for the shoot, Al told me, “The regular Dirty Half — dozen don’t seem to mind; the camera crew is starting to get irritated — Join the newcomers. They might get antsy. I’m starting in a few minutes with or without Becky.”
“Ah,” I sighed, “When we don’t plead, please Zaftig come help us do Carter like he did you, I expect she’ll make her grand entrance.”
“An urchin spoilt rotten!” exclaimed Al.
“Al,” I baited him, “you’ll have to get me a copy of that English — to — English dictionary for Imitation Saxons that you use.”
I drifted over to the three newcomers. In addition to stately Ashleigh Keytone, there was the aspiring blonde model Crissy Callin, and Mary a short, chubby girl who seemed out of place among the usual cast of characters. Asked to explain the Dr Zoptic medical costume, “It’s part of the ambiance of the fertility clinic. Like the dark carpeting and wall hangings, and dim lighting, the costume, Al believes, would induce bright young men to come in here, attain a state of arousal and leave their genetic material behind.”
“That’s short for jerking off into a cup,” Ashleigh, the nurse who had just been jilted by Zaftig’s classmate and nemesis Carter Plessenger after she supported him through med school, quipped with a voice laced with bitterness.
Stunned by that tone, blonde perky little Crissy sauntered off down the hall to mingle with Al’s dirty half dozen, Al Mandy’s usual players, chattering away about putting herself through University’s drama program by working as a salesgirl in upscale Newman — Bakers at the Westgate Mall,
“In a few minutes we’ll get started,” Al addressed gathered cast and cameramen. “Tonight, we have my regular Dirty Half Dozen, plus we welcome some newcomers. Over there mingling with the regulars, there’s Crissy Callin, a drama student here at the University. It’s her first time on camera, the beginning no doubt of a successful acting career. We all remember the familiar face of Erica Ehrlich,” Al pointed to me, “who, by contract with an artist, must remain partially clothed in her parts in the Dr Zoptic series.”
Crissy exclaimed, “Try to get Erica released to play nude scenes. She’s so hot. I need a copy of my audition tape with Erica to teach my boyfriend how to make love to a woman.”
A shocked silence fell on the corridor. Even Al was stunned. I broke the quiet. “Crissy, how nice your boyfriend is so broad minded!”
Before eyes could turn to me, Al introduced Ashleigh, “We’ll find a use for that tape, I assure you Crissy. Crissy’s partner in the shower scene tonight will be,” Al pointed to Ashleigh, “is standing next to Erica Ehrlich. Nurse Ashleigh Keytone deserves a scripting credit. Her ideas have helped with scripting the locker room scene.”
“I have contributed what insight I might have on the wild world of med students supporting themselves through school,” Ashleigh replied.
“A new frontier in medicine,” Al remarked, “a new subject for the theatre. I see over here Mary Skeene, another drama student,” Al called on a dark-haired girl about as short and hefty as Zaftig. “Mary has played a doctor in some University productions. Mary, are you afraid of being type cast?”
“I’m,” Mary responded in a clear voice, “actually hoping to become type cast. I’m taking some science courses this semester. I’m hoping to be swept up into Med School through the Push — Ahead — Program.”
“All life is the stage,” Al responded. “Speaking of our stage. I expect we’ll begin in a minute or two.”
“Mary,” one of the regulars called over to the heavy girl, “Come meet Crissy. She can get us discounts at Newman — Bakers at Westgate Mall.”
While Mary joined her friends, I approached Ashleigh still in lime green scrubs from her job in the University Hospital. “I’d like to wrap up,” Ashleigh admitted, “my role in this. I figure with September rent upcoming on Carter’s luxury apartment, the landlord will come looking for me. Bad enough I supported Carter in the lifestyle to which he’d like to become accustomed to and put out for him, but I’m over being fucked. I need to scoot. Nurses are in high demand, easily re — employed elsewhere.”
Al looked at me. The question, I read off his face, was should we start? I nodded agreement. A strained look on Al’s face suggested the next question: do you think she’ll come? I gave Al a blank stare.
You don’t care, Al’s face bore the question.
Shrugging my shoulders, I indicated I supposed Zaftig will rush in at the last minute to make an entrance.
Nodding Al yelled out, “Places.” Silence fell on the corridor. The man in the robe joined Al and me behind the camera men out of the scene in the corridor. When Al called action the lights on the cameras sent a bright beam through the darkened corridor and the cast started the usual chatter you find in a workplace when the employees start showing up for work. As the players filed into the locker, two cameramen slipped past them one in the locker the other in the shower.
Girls in varying stages of undress, stood in front of the bank of lockers: petite Crissy completely naked hands on her hips thrusting her perky breasts out, one topless still in slacks and boots, two bare breasted down to their panties, Mary and several others in their underwear stood by to listen as Ashleigh undressed and related her tale of woe. When the others undressed and filtered off into the shower, Ashleigh in an audible whisper suggested an idea which would blow Cameron’s mind. “In the shower with everyone watching?” Crissy’s eyes lit up, excited by the prospect.
Ashleigh, throwing a towel over her shoulder, swinging her hips, led Crissy into the shower. Invited to join in, I politely declined, “Much as I’d like to roll on the floor and fuck all day, we have to eventually get to work.”
A clamor arose from the entrance to the office suite; Al and I turned to the source of the disturbance. Zaftig was running down the corridor to toward us. Hobbling on one foot and then the other to remove her flats, Zaftig apologized, “Sorry I’m late. First day of rest in three months. I got the job. Morning shower and sauna with the Hospital President. Then I slept the day away. Two weeks off. I start classes in computer science.” Al hand — signalled one of his cameramen to follow Zaftig.
Directed toward the locker, Zaftig, kicking off her flats, squatted to slip off her slacks before she started down the corridor; lifting off her blouse, then unhooking her bra and finally tossing her panties aside rendering herself naked. Bare DD breasts bouncing, Zaftig rushed into the locker where most of the crew was in the process of dressing. Yelling “Sorry I’m late,” Zaftig froze in the entrance of the shower. In front of Zaftig tall buxom Ashleigh was locked in an embrace with a cute, petite, pony tailed, honey blond girl. “Don’t mind me,” Zaftig promised as she took a position under a spigot. Nonplussed, Zaftig turned the shower on, “I’ll be gone in a jiffy.”
• • •
Between scenes, the cast changed into the Dr Zoptic pantiless costume. Watching, the berobed man seated in a wheelchair, listened intently to the banter in the corridor. “The top barely reaches the bottom, truly chic; With every move she takes, the audience sneaks another peek at each puffy butt cheek.”
One of the regulars snickered, “A full frontal glimpse teases, frontal nudity pleases, pushing players toward shaven pussies. Only a few bitches disdain to tame the wild bushes.”
“Some women prefer to be bare,” another regular countered, “others want to keep their hair down there.”
“If a fertility clinic’s profit,” another added in, “depends on man — sap deposits, to spur the production, the style or fashion should favor seduction.”
“And not our bodies to ourselves be true,” another quipped, “I couldn’t resist throwing in my view.”
Still another added, noting the man’s apparent physiological reaction, “Who’d have guessed, the impact on our guest.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Al had his camera man working. That Al, I shook my head, never allows good time to go to waste.
• • •
SCENE: Theatre Fertility Clinic: Students all decked out in the Dr Zoptic costume, white lab coat reaching the thigh high fishnet stockings, entering Theatre — Lecture hall to attend Dr Zoptic’s Lecture to Nursing assistants.
At Al’s call to action, I, pushing a wheelchair bearing Cameron, the man in the bathrobe, entered the auditorium. Dimly lit, decored in dark carpeting and wall coverings, the theatre boasted of tiers of black stadium seats at right angles bisected by an aisle descending to podium. As I wheeled the patient toward the podium, I engaged in the typical small talk people grumble on the way to a meeting. “A meeting,” I amused my co-workers with a quip, “serves a purpose higher than wasting time. It is the occasion to collect ignorance and expound it.”
At the podium, I helped the man out of the chair. With a smile, I untied the belt and lifted the robe off the patient’s shoulders. He now stood in a hospital gown.
I joined the nursing assistants all seated in the front row. We mechanically rose when Dr Zoptic, Zaftig to me, strode imperiously down the middle aisle to take up position on the stage. Mary, trailing after Zaftig, seemed more hesitant. In the imperious Dr Zoptic tone, Zaftig assured Mary, “everyone is a little awkward the first time.”
“At least,” Crissy countered, “I don’t have to go on stage to give the patient a hand job..”
Zaftig corrected, “Palpate his genitalia. ”
“.. if he’s a hard up guy who goes limp..,” Crissy continued.
Zaftig suggested, “It might be polite to say a shy breeder’s flaccid penile shaft …”
Crissy resumed, “and give him a blow job. I can’t wait, if you please, to hear that translated into medicalese..”
With a straight face, Zaftig translated, “and osculate his glans penis..”
“to make him hard..” Crissy’s voice ended in a higher octave as if posing a question.
“.. to stimulate tumescence,” answered Zaftig.
“and make him cum…” Noticing the patient’s expression, Crissy apologized, “I’m sorry.”
Ashleigh interjected a biting jive, “Sorry for offending the patient or sorry you can’t suck him dry. Crissy, you know you enjoy engaging in the business of pleasure. Or is it the pleasure of business?”
“No need to be sorry Crissy to be sorry,” Zaftig replied, “to draw ejaculate. That’s why men come here: to cum.”
At Dr Zoptic’s direction, Mary, standing on her tippy toes, reached up behind the patient to untie the hospital gown and allows it to drift away revealing a hairy body, but a groin shaved clean.
“You’ll notice,” Zaftig, pulling an expandable metallic pointer out of the pocket of her lab coat, “the shaven pubes. A donor signs an exclusive output contract. The patient or,” Zaftig paused for emphasis, “as I prefer to call him, the subject must maintain chastity throughout the duration of the contract.” With a chuckle Zaftig added firmly, “We’re not on the honor system.”
As Zaftig spoke, I noticed something tougher, more deadly, than the impersonal disconnect I felt when Zaftig talked about medicine. What was I feeling?
“Dr Zoptic, how does eh — the guy shower?” One of the aides stood to pose the question.
“Showers open here at 5AM. Between 5AM — 7AM is the best time for a good yield,” Zaftig replied, “the subject’s body is given a cursory inspection, the coitus interdictor comes off and the subject can shower.”
I restrained myself from laughing when Zaftig appraised the patient’s hairy body. “Beautiful isn’t it? The male body is much hairier than the female. Males are less committed to hygiene. Thus, a shower is required to enter the facility, whether to make donation or to submit to a monthly medical examination or to utilize the physical therapy equipment. No different is required of our own employees and visitors.”
Approaching the naked patient, Zaftig ordered the man to lock his hands behind his head. Turning to the nursing assistants, Dr Zoptic explained her protocol, “The general standard in medicine is to introduce yourself to the patient, establish a rapport, explain the procedure and assure yourself you have the client’s consent. Nurse Mary, do you have the patient’s consent form?”
“Consent is important but a good rapport and making the patient comfortable are not. Our relationship with the donor is different from that of the typical family doctor. The donors work for us, not vice — versa. Here, at the clinic, the high value ejaculate comes,” Zaftig paused to smile, “from medical students,” Dr Zoptic explained, “the pay to the donors is better than that typically paid in odd jobs; the sacrifice in terms of time away from studies is minimal. The positions as donors are well sought after.”
Handed a clipboard, Zaftig verified the patient’s signature on the consent form. “You did read the form before signing?” At the patient’s nod, Zaftig turned to her audience. “As necessary as it is to obtain consent, I find control more vital than endearing oneself to the subject. I always take my subject naked, standing up, hands behind his head as a sign of submission.”
“First,” Zaftig told the audience, “I conduct a brief general physical evaluation. I examine the throat.” Forcing the patient’s mouth open Zaftig wheeled the tongue depressor and ordered an `Ah,’ before she applied the stethoscope to his chest. Directing the patient to about — face, Zaftig monitored the patient’s breathing.
Zaftig did seem to be a little abrupt.
Taking up a position kneeling at the right side of the patient, Zaftig instructed Mary to stand behind her so that the students in the audience can observe the standard testicular exam.
.
As she grasped the patient’s scrotal sac, Zaftig went into that daze when she disconnected from the present to present an explanation of the procedure, “The scrotal sac is made of rougher skin than the normal smooth epidermis. Using your thumb and index finger of each hand, feel each testicle. In basic anatomy, you learned testes are shaped like an orchid, weighing 0.35 to 0.5 ounces, that’s 10 to 15 grams in metric.” Cupping the male’s testicles, Zaftig with glee entering her voice added, “that’s 10 grams of trouble.”
A round of laughter filled the room.
“Testes descend into the scrotal sac in utero,” Zaftig, as if in a trance, expounded. “The testes rise closer to the body in cold; lower in warmer temperatures. Typically, two inches or five centimeters long, 1.2 inches or three cm wide and one inch or 2.5 cm thick, the testes may double in size during arousal and are drawn closer to the body preparatory to propelling ejaculate.”
“What should I do, Dr Zoptic,” a nursing assistant stood to inquire, ‘if the patient goes erect eh–into an erection?”
“With many male patients contact with a female physician is, in se, sufficient to cause a noticeable physical reaction,” Zaftig continued her presentation. “In an ordinary Doctor — Patient relationship it is protocol to explain that it’s an ordinary physiological reaction.”
“And do we do it, differently, Dr Zoptic? The questioner asked.
“I’ll explain, later on in my talk,” Zaftig replied. “Contact, you will note, can cause a male to erect, Correct?” Zaftig asked. “Manual stimulation is usually enough to pump the ejaculate,” Zaftig grasped the man’s penis and massaged it. “Note the building tumescence in vasodilation, eh–increased blood flow engorging the corpora cavernosa and the corpus spongiosum, running along the length of the penis…” Watching the budding erection with amusement, Zaftig added in an affected giggly, girlish voice, “see it grows.”
“If physical contact,” a Nursing assistant asked, “the means we use to coax a man unable to eh-cum, won’t more guys fake impotence. Guys love to be babied.”
“A handheld pump,” Dr Zoptic fasted a pump over the man’s penis, “a sperminator might do the job. It works on the same principle as an ordinary pump. Pump it up pour it out.”
A round of laughter swept the room.
“To stimulate the ejaculatory process,” Dr Zoptic continued her discourse, “many, perhaps most men require a degree of visual stimulation.” On screen, Ashley after rolling on the floor with me throws a towel over her shoulder swinging her hips struts toward the shower.
Watching the screen intently, Zaftig opined, “Interesting, watching girl — girl scenes are preferred by most donors over scenes of heterosexual contact.”
“How do you explain the preference?” I posed the question.
“I have a theory,” Zaftig cupped the patient’s testicles, “that the attraction of males to watching girl — girl intercourse is a latent castration anxiety. But it’s the most popular attraction for fertility clinic harvesting spermatozoa from donors — especially med students.”
“What reason would you ascribe to this phenomena, Dr Zoptic?” I followed up.
“It may be a form of `masculine protest’ — particularly among hale and hearty, brainy male med students, seeing formerly all-male preserves invaded, has instilled a latent fear of the power of female sexuality,” Zaftig chuckled, “The aggressive, intelligent, independent woman, the Castratrix!” Zaftig declared. With a snicker she added, “With all these guy’s brains shouldn’t they know better? Like all men, the brainiacs are as men themselves. Let’s say they’re governed by the wrong head.”
Zaftig laughed as she jiggled the patient’s erect penis. “Any questions?”
The patient’s suspicious glare, Zaftig’s evil smile told it all. Zaftig certainly enjoyed making men uncomfortable. A woman in the push — ahead — program had to be rough on men to establish her position, but did it mean that Zaftig had a certain cruel streak?
I looked to Al Mandy standing on the sidelines out of the scene. I could read the question on Al’s mind was did Zaftig go beyond asserting herself to enjoy inflicting pain or watching people suffer? Was that the question I wouldn’t dare to ask myself?
Al smirked. Heck her classmates swore that she couldn’t wait to kill her first patient. I did not believe that. My attention returned to the scene.
“If the potential yield is valuable enough and auto stimulation, mechanical stimulation and imagination fails,” Zaftig released the patient’s scrotum and handed the patient a sperm collection condom. Tapped on the shoulder, the patient bent over to spread the hemispheres of his butt cheeks.
Discarding her gloves for a fresh pair, Zaftig addressed the students, “As a last resort, a prostate message will produce a strike of bubblin’ crude.”
As Zaftig dipped her fingers in lubricant, “in conventional medicine, the treating physician, prior to commencing this exam, cautions the patient preparatory to a urinary — genital — rectal exam that a patient may experience a physiological reaction to physical contact. `It’s normal. Feel no shame.’ Of course, our objective is to tap as much sap as we can. Thus, the décor, the ambiance, and the outfits. With a donor, it is a purely business relationship.”
The patient gasped when Zaftig plunged her index finger in his rectum. “A rectal exam feels for lesions, polyps and enlargement of the prostate. Rotate your fingers in the rectum to find the prostate. Massaging the prostate tests for any signs of enlargement. Also men, despite initial concern over a rectal exam, may find it pleasurable. A byproduct may be ejaculate.”
Withdrawing her fingers from the patient, Zaftig slapped the man’s tush to signal him to right himself. “Mary,” Zaftig ordered, “I think the procedure yielded ejaculate. Retrieve the donation.”
Turning to the audience and removing her gloves, Zaftig continued her talk “Sperm donations are fun medicine. As a urinary clinic, we deal with some somber situations; including castrations of men or Orchiectomy with prostate and testicular cancer. In some cases, young men detected with cancer will preserve their sperm for future use before undergoing surgery and chemo — therapy.”
Standing at the right side of the patient, Zaftig bade Mary to stand behind her. Cupping the patent’s scrotum, Zaftig explained the procedure, “There are two possible testectomy procedures to remove the testes: Simple testectomy by a vertical incision through the scrotum or an inguinal testectomy by incision in the groin. Essentially you draw the testes through the incision essentially reversing the process which occurs in utero during the eighth month of pregnancy when the testicles descend through the body wall to settle in the scrotum.”
“Mary,” Zaftig beckoned Mary forward, “take over here will you?” Rising as Mary grasped the patient’s scrotum, Zaftig continued, “Enter a man leave a Eunuch,” sighing, Zaftig added, “completely sterile unable to propagate.”
Ashleigh chuckled, “A lot of us nurses know former boyfriends who deserved sterilization.”
“Formerly profligate, unable to proliferate! Unfortunately, not all is bleak for the Eunuch,” Zaftig was transfixed as she beamed and evil smile. “Historically, palace eunuchs who additionally underwent a penectomy, removal of the penis, may have reported urinary incontinence and symptoms experienced by menopausal women. On the posit side, the lifespan of eunuchs may be as much as two decades longer than intact men with a greater chance of reaching 100 years of age. Strangely, in view of the obvious benefits, we don’t get more requests to be neutered.”
“Mary,” Zaftig ordered, “you may run through the examination protocol. Ladies, it’s good to practice the examination protocol to get familiar with it. Husbands, boyfriends, brothers will do as test subjects. Remember the key is control. Retain control he’s bent over; lose it you’ll find yourself spreading your gluteal cleft.”
Ashleigh quipped, “I call it spreading the other cheek.”
At that Al called a cut.
• • •
A great sigh of relief which fell on the cast and crew at Al’s cut was followed by a burst of energy. Cast gathered in a number of clusters chatting. I hugged Zaftig. Her lab coat opened allowing her exposed soft DD boobs to nestle into my chest. “I haven’t had so much fun since I played doctor with my brother Josh on my weekends home from convent school.”
“And you who wanted to be a Nun made your brother cum?” Taken aback, I asked. “Were you curious or were you taking a fling before you gave up men?”
“No, I needed some hands — on experience to shock the other girls in the shower at the convent school when my classmates discussed anatomy,” Zaftig replied. “You did pretty good studying anatomy with Crissy.”
“It’s all part of the act,” I reminded her, “part of the sacrifice Al, me, and the rest of the Dirty Dozen made to allow you to avenge yourself on Carter Plessenger.”
An annoyed look crossed her face. “Just how is this skit supposed to humiliate Carter Plessinger?”
Ashleigh standing nearby wistfully echoed the same thought. “I abased myself. How is Carter reviled?”
I looked around. Where was Al? I knew he’d be around monitoring impromptu discussions to mine them for the locker room and shower scenes.
Listening in Al interjected, “The greatest insult ever delivered is one for which the target gives you thanks.”
“I can see,” Zaftig griped, “Al, that you have all the formula elements of one of your stories: girls undressing, showering, followed by a physical exam, then donning suggestive clothes, and fluttering about to tease male viewers.”
“Unfortunately,” Al explained, “you can’t see the canvas until it’s ready fo be unveiled. In a month or perhaps two, if we’re lucky, I should have a director’s cut.
“I’ll be gone by then,” Ashleigh wistfully sighed.
Walking off in a huff, Zaftig called back to me, “I have to find the clothes I left scattered in the corridor and get ready to go.”
“During the break, I picked them up, folded them and put them in a locker # 9 for you,” I told Zaftig.
“Truly the domestic type, Erica!” Al interjected, “Becky does have two brothers Ian in med school, the other Josh, just graduated from law school in May, class ahead of you, in Capital land.”
“Hurry it along, Erica,” urged Zaftig in a gruff tone, “I don’t need to call another cab to get home.” With a deadly sparkle in her voice, she added, “Remember, I still haven’t settled the score with you.”
“Why is Zaftig so hard on me?” I asked in exasperation.
“The med school grad believes they join an elite,” Al replied, “The effete professional appearance garb, the glasses her classmates ripped off her body expelled her from the elite. When you laughed at finding her stripped bare by her peers, you, Ms Ehrlich, a mere mortal, delivered a slight which in her view diminished her perceived superior social status.”
“Pretty good for parlor psychology, Dr Al,” I replied, “You were drugged and stripped bare too. How come Mr Plessenger’s dirty trick doesn’t anger you?”
“You’ve,” Al tapped my shoulder, “got a crush on Becky and she’s got a crush on an image of herself. Get changed. If you don’t drive Becky home than I might have to. Just think the person you have a crush on is so self — absorbed she’s never learned how to drive.”
• • •
Silly things come to mind in the midst of a catastrophe.
A year later, I was thinking of Al’s explanation as I lay naked in the gutter on Central Avenue in the Capitalland Revitalization District waiting for Zaftig to return. Wouldn’t Al like to use this tale of come-uppance for a new Dr Zoptic flick!
Naturally, the fire rescue vehicle from the Emergency drill paused a few feet away from me, I expected Zaftig to pop out of the Fire emergency vehicle and help me up. We’d go home. We’d laugh about the score being even. I’d dress and we’d go out for that dinner she promised. When the rescue vehicle pulled up, Zaftig looked out the passenger side window and stared, before it sped off down Central Avenue.