Dr. Zoptic Pt. 03

Dr Zoptic: THE WAGES OF SIN

"You have said, I believe, Ms Ehrlich," my interrogator asked, "you told me you were not immediately concerned when you found yourself naked and drugged sprawled on the sidewalk on Central Avenue."

= = =

"Yes," I responded, "I can see every moment of that afternoon. I had come to the Central Avenue Urban Renewal area to pick up my roommate Zaftig -- I mean Dr Rebecca Barton. She was running an emergency response exercise. The neighborhood was a rough, desolate area."

My mind wandered back to that day. I had just turned the corner onto Central Avenue when I was blinded by the setting sun. Without warning, a burly man emerged from the shadows and grabbed my arm. I can see in slow motion his fist coming up to my face I crashed the pavement. I felt a tingle. Scissors were cutting away my red sweater.

A blonde woman, muttering soft words of assurance, stuck a needle in my arm. I found myself in a cloudy world on the edge of consciousness. I felt my penny loafers whisked off while the blond female wielding sheep shears swept dungarees and panties away.. In a wink of an eye, my bare butt lay naked on the rough surface of sidewalk.

The curly dark haired man, leaning over to run a fingernail along the scar that went down the hollow of my breastbone, grimaced, "I didn't expect a freak show. I don't remember examining any mutations among the crisis actors this morning. Do you?"

Calmly the female, placing her hands on her knees preparing to pull herself up, lectured her partner, "Pectoral excavatum occurs in every 300 -- 400 births, most readily observed in males rather than females."

= = =

"Now you were assaulted, your clothes cut off and left naked on the sidewalk in a desolate area and you thought," my interrogator probed, "this was a joke your former friend and former roommate Dr Barton played on you to get even. Could you offer me an explanation?"

"Oh," I explained, "Two years earlier, I was finishing up my first year in Law School. My roommate Zaftig -- I mean Dr Barton was graduating from Medical School. Her class had graduation parties almost every night... I was busy studying, Finals, but Zaftig needed me to drive her to a party," I remembered, "Her expression was glum. She appeared anxious. I drove up to the house. My eyes focused on her classmates on the steps waiting. They looked like wild dogs ready to pounce. I pled with her not to go."

= = =

The images of Friday evening were etched in my mind. I could see them as if they were going on before my eyes.

That Friday was a typical North Country April evening in Capital Land, "a bit chilly for us down-staters, Won't you say?" I tried to strike up a conversation to get my friend and roommate `Zaftig' to open up. "Locals say summer comes to the North Country on the Fourth of July -- eh," I stressed her yet to be conferred title, "Doctor Rebecca Barton," I chided my friend and roommate whom I called Zaftig -- behind her back -- as I drove her in my rust bucket to a graduation party held at an apartment of some of her friends in The University Medical College. My old rust bucket's heater was working that blustery night.

"If my classmates only knew," Zaftig shook her head, "What I did to get myself through my last year to graduate!" Her steel framed glasses and her new outfit, dark slacks and print tunic gave her a professional look.

"You're wearing the wages of sin, but that simple yellow cross still hangs around your neck," I complemented Zaftig.

"Oh, yesterday was one fun day, burning away the Wages of Sin at the new Westgate Mall," Zaftig exclaimed. Carrying packages back to my car, Zaftig declared, "Once you buy the shoes, you need matching slacks and skirts and then blouses."

"And to top it off a new chapeau to complete the ensemble," I interjected, "a trip to the newly opened Westgate Mall financed by practicing medicine without a license as Dr Zoptic?" I replied.

"Dr Zoptic!" Zaftig proclaimed in a sing -- song voice trying to hide the tension in her voice, "is the name, experimental medicine is the game, testing the hypothesis, is an intriguing business."

"-- ya -- ha -- ha," I interjected. I was trying to lighten the mood. Zaftig was nerved up. However, the reference went right over Zaftig's head. Utterly unfamiliar with allusions to Classic TV re -- runs, Zaftig was the product of a rigid upbringing. I brought the first TV to her apartment when I moved in.

When we first met, Zaftig professed ignorance of contemporary culture. "In family, Father imposed a strict regime of studies and insisted on a high level of academic performance. When I was sent to the convent school, TV was regarded as the work of the devil."

During the drive to her party, in an unsteady voice she added, "Did I tell you Al Mandy will be at the party?" Zaftig strove to reassure herself.

Nine months prior to the graduation party, I was a freshman in law school in search of a new sublet when Al Mandy a mutual friend, Zaftig's classmate, introduced us.

I learned of Zaftig's search for a roommate from a tall, dark faced, pretend Englishman Al Mandy, a friend studying medicine in the University Hospital next door to the law school I attended. "Rebecca Barton does tend toward a tad peculiar. Solid downstate family, Clintonville Heights."

"Clintonville Heights?" I replied mimicking Al's polished English accent, "Mightn't I be, luv, a mote downmarket for'n the likes of her?"

"You might find," Al replied, "despite your working-class affectations, you too have much in common. Both," Al smirked as he mocked me slipping into a lower-class accent, "youse two." Reverting to his practiced English polish after a pause, Al continued, "were carried along in the 1970s revolution ban -- the -- bra and push -- ahead -- programme.."

"Peculiar, Al, you mean, like flotsam carried along in a hurricane storm surge," I suggested.

"Pater knows her people from hospital. Becky Barton had been sent up here to a Capitalland convent school. She wanted to be a nun. Then the push -- ahead -- program propelled her to University, then Medical College," Al explained. "Looking at her, Becky fits that nunish image, a cute face, but a rounded bum. You Yanks might call her a `Butterball.'"

"A Zaftig? Think of it me shacked up with the stereotypical chubby little Nun!" I exclaimed.

For someone like Zaftig who once set out to take the veil and become a nun, Zaftig and I, with Al Mandy, had embarked on a very interesting adventure together during the school year.

In the car driving Zaftig to her party, I chuckled when I thought of Al Mandy becoming a doctor. "Al -- a real doctor. He studied anatomy but not in class," I exclaimed, "It's incredible how Al Mandy completed medical school with all the time he spent scripting porno, scouting locations and recruiting women to star in it. When did he have the time to study medicine?"

Last December proved to be exceptionally frosty and frigid. Al Mandy had bailed Zaftig and me out. Outside it was cold and flurrying inside the apartment was so comfortably warm that I could lounge at the kitchen table, as bare as I would dare, in my Che Guevarra T Shirt and panties. But for how much longer? Complaining that she had seen just about a gut -- wrenching wound or burn possible, Zaftig sent me a tingle when she leaned on me to massage my shoulder.

Told of our Landlord's whopping increase to cover dreary 1970s inflationary costs, Zaftig shot me an uncertain expression. Biting her lip, Zaftig blushed when she told me. "I was approached by my classmate Al Mandy. You know him. He introduced us. He can get us parts in ugh -- Blue Movie. We needn't disrobe. We're playing nuns greeting girls entering a convent school," Zaftig explained, After a pause, Zaftig added, "I told Al I wouldn't take it unless you did too."

"As long as pay is better than flipping burgers. Dress up like a nun? A little late for Halloween!" I exclaimed, "but if it helps pay the bills...But answer me this question: why you need me for protection. Is this like a gaggle of ladies herding together to take a trip to the toilet?" I chided her.

"No, because you drive and I don't," Zaftig replied. She leaned into me and felt under my T -- Shirt. "Hey, I knew it! You're wearing two shirts under that oversized man's T -- shirt. How come you're not overheating?" Her fingers tentatively exploring under my shirt were pleasing, but I feared what would she say if she lifted my top off. I was relieved when abruptly breaking off contact, Zaftig declared, "I'm sweltering. I need to get these clothes off before I melt!"

"Don't let me stop you, Dolly!" I giggled as I teased her. "But first, I need to ask. Why you the wannabe nun should want to appear in a skin flint?"

"Every single day, I see mangled, broken burnt, corpuses," Zaftig fell into that distant stare, "What's wrong with viewing beautiful bodies?"

In my dented-up car on the way to her graduation party, Zaftig shook her head, "Al seemed to know the answers before the questions were asked. "You always teased me with the question, `What if Father saw one of Al's films? Al's Dr Zaftig costume left little to the imagination: White lab coat open exposing my sternum barely reaching the mons pubis leaving a gap of flesh between the tail of the white coat and thigh high black fish net stockings..." A dreamy look settled on Zaftig's round face.

Somehow in the course of shooting the first film, Al with suggestions from Zaftig evolved the script and developed the character of a voyeuristic school physician who delighted in humiliating the convent school's student. I proposed Zaftig for the role. Although hesitant at first, Al thought aloud, "round belly, big bappers, eh--prominent bum," Al exclaimed, "Jolly good! It might work indeed."

Al consented to giving Zaftig the part of Dr Zoptic if she would also play a chubby, pig tailed student racing to join her classmates in the shower. Zaftig agreed, "Let's both do it." She tempted me, "We can spend the extra money on clothes. You'll look wonderful."

Fully disrobed to rise to the dare, a broad smile beamed on Zaftig's face as she, like a winged cherub in complete abandon, bazooms bobbing and bare butt bouncing, bounded bare -- assed naked toward the showers. Her yellow cross remained around her neck during the jaunt.

When I inquired, Zaftig explained, "I always wear that cross -- a small present from a former friend. It can never be replaced. So, I never take it off."

Watching the performance, Al Mandy commented, "Erica you're confusing. I can get you to forgo your knickers on camera, but not your brassiere and the rest of the upper body armour concealing your torso."

"My father might not approve," I teased Al.

In the car bound for the party, Zaftig's voice thundered with a dare, "Now I'd ask you," what would your father say if he knew of your role in the Dr Zoptic films?"

"You look marvelous," At a traffic light I leaned over to give her a kiss. "And so do you? You're something else."

"Careful," Zaftig cautioned, playfully pushing my face way, "You can't mess my makeup. How can I walk in the party looking like a clown? I won't be able to show off the wages of sin to my classmates. For the wages of sin do they not pay the rent and fund a trip to the mall."

I complemented her. "The wages of sin look good on you." We blew a load of the money we made starring in Al Mandy Dr Zoptic flics at the new Westgate mall on the Highway. "But,.."

"But?" A sharp tone entered Zaftig's voice to prod me.

"I have a bad feeling about this party," I warned Zaftig as I pulled up in front of the old wooden muti-family hovel on Washington Avenue. Looking up at the dilapidated wood framed building like ones we called rat-traps in the slums downstate, I noticed a semi-circle of her classmates waiting on the path leading to the house waiting for her. Oh, heck they were well -- groomed and well - dressed but they hung together like hoods on a street corner downstate in the rundown slummy Mudflats. The expressions were as menacing as wild dogs ready to pounce. I begged her not to go. I pled, "Don't go. We'll go out to dinner instead."

"Eh -- when will I get another opportunity to show off my outfit to the girls in my class." Zaftig hesitated as she surveyed the shit -- eating -- grins on the faces. Just as I thought she might relent and drive off with me. Tall, bronze faced Al Mandy came up to the passenger side and squatted to talk directly to Zaftig.

"Quiet on set!" Al joked.

"Al," I jousted with him, "You forgot your whistle, megaphone and -- damn you're not wearing your beret."

"No director's chair for me tonight," Al quipped, "Come on in, Becky," Opening the car door, Al took Zaftig's hand and helped her out of the car.

As Zaftig left my car she threw me kiss. "Al is here--to protect me. I promised I'd come." A tentative tone entered her voice when she claimed, "I should be OK."

"It's rather cold out here," Al promised, "no one will bite inside."

Looking at the classmates on the steps ready to pounce, I said, "I'm not sure."

"Sorry, Erica," Al sighed, "much as we enjoy your scintillating company the class decided no guests. Actually," a dreamy look came across Al's face as he spoke, "many of our male grads -- and some of the ladies too -- are in the process of dumping the gal that supported them through med school. Having put the good doctor through, the services of a ugh -- a common serving wench are no longer required."

"Al is unique for a doctor -- he tells the truth. Zaf--Dr Zoptic gets angry when I learn her the truth and tell her stuff like that," I returned the jibe. To Zaftig, "I'll be around. Call when you need to be picked up."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Al reached behind him to pull out a black cartridge to hand me, "Here's a new Beta-max cartridge. If you have a console or can borrow one. You and Becky can enjoy watching yourselves on camera. By the way, I hope in the next film I can get you to pop your top."

"Don't expect to find DDs under my top like Zaf--Dr Zoptic's. I have nothing up top to brag about." Putting the cartridge on Zaftig's vacated seat, I promised to play the tape. "I can watch the tape while I await Zaf -- Dr Zoptic's -- Dr Barton's call."

Back in the apartment, I settled down into an overstuffed high back chair. The apartment was warm I could risk stripping off my top. Unsnapping my bra to free my breasts, I could loll around in my new boy briefs to run the tape.

In the previous September, when I moved in, I invaded Zaftig's sanctuary when I introduced my TV into Zaftig's apartment. Part of my money from the `wages of sin' went to buying the new Beta Max Home Theatre System, "state of the art," the salesman at the Westgate Mall assured me.

On screen, the camera focused on Zaftig. "Good morning, ladies and those gentlemen among us," Zaftig in her unbuttoned white lab coat, baring her cleavage. addressed a group of a dozen women and six men sitting on the bleachers in a high school gymnasium.

In readying Zaftig for the shot, Al, taping the lapels of Zaftig's lab coat to her breasts, "The appeal of big bappers is planted in the imagination by suggestion rather than in complete exposure."

"With thigh -- high fish net stockings and a lab coat barely brushing up to the top of the stockings, and my big butt protruding out," Zaftig quipped, "little else is left to the imagination."

Turning to me also dressed in a white lab coat with stockings but with a camisole shielding my chest, Al Mandy asked, "A glimpse of the bum and cunny is OK, but not the upper body?"

Addressing her audience, Zaftig introduced herself. "I am Dr Roberta Zoptic, This Gargantua next to me," Zaftig pointed to me, also in an identical white lab coat with stockings but with a camisole shielding my chest, "is my assistant Estrella Reed. You have volunteered to participate in a great adventure, the first link in a multi-generational exploration of the deep recesses of outer space. You've passed mental and psychological tests. Today you must pass a complete physical examination and test of physical strength and stamina."

Zaftig paused to survey her audience before she continued, "You will be living close together under cramp circumstances with little or no privacy." Taking breath, Dr Zoptic concluded her opening remarks, "So let's start right now, making yourself comfortable in the natural state. Rise, strip naked and stand on in alphabetical order the mid court line. Ladies first then I'll deal with the gentlemen."

"Nurse Reed," Zaftig commanded, "attend to collect lab specimens."

The film kept running, but I was transfixed by staring at the phone. My sense of dread increased by the moment. My heart beat quickened. I tried to dismiss my fears. I'm not her mother, I rationalized, Zaftig, if she needed help or wanted to bail out of the party, might have called me for a pick - up.

On screen, on command, the girls stood shoulder to shoulder, hands at sides. I as Nurse Reed turned to Dr Zoptic, "the patients present for your examination."

Passing down the line, Dr Zoptic started with Ackron. At first Dr Zoptic grabbed Akron's jaw and inspected Akron's lips and cheeks. At Dr Zoptic's directions, Akron first lifted her arms up, then her boobs to allow Zoptic to check the underarms and under boobs. Dr Zopic may have ignored my unscripted comment, "Nice rack." It did bring a nervous chuckle to Ackron's lips.

"Full bush," Dr Zoptic observed, "slightly darker than cranial. No evidence of unusual dark hair growth on the lips, chin or chest." After passing down the line inspecting the skin and hair of each naked woman, Dr Zoptic, turned to the guys on the bleachers to remind them they were not forgot; they'd be next.

A nod signaled me to issue the next order, "Ladies about -- face," I ordered, "lean forward, bent at the waist." As I went down the line, I urged, "Stretch your legs as far apart as you can. Let's see that seventh inning stretch, ladies. Hold your arms out away from your body, try to touch the floor."

At Dr Zoptic's nod, I directed, "Ladies reach behind you, pull your butt cheeks apart and crack a smile--for me."

From the end of the line a cheery Zaftig as the volunteer Zenia obligingly turned red and blurted out in a cheerful voice, "I knew that was coming." Looking on Zaftig as Dr Zoptic smirked as her on - screen doppelganger was forced to part her rounded cheeks.

Al had seamlessly inserted Zaftig as both patient and physician into the scene. Watching I laughed. With Dr Zoptic's lab coat only partially covering her butt, a truly astute observer could see both Zoptic and Zenia had the same birthmark.

Speaking of the seamless manner in which he could splice two scenes together, Al on the sidelines confined in me, "I never really wanted to be a doctor. That was all my father's idea. My father wanted me to join the American medical elite. I'd have preferred to go into films. Perhaps become an actor, screen - writer, producer and director."

"So you did both," I quipped, "and went into medicine and the theatre."

In my apartment, I stared at the phone sitting on the table next to the TV. No ring. I tried to persuade myself everything was OK, but the knotty feeling gripped by insides told me otherwise. Or were my hormones playing ping -- pong on my brain? I might be feeling the onset of my period.

Oops I may have dozed off for a few minutes, I missed the physical exam of the men and drawing and collection of their sperm. When I regained consciousness, the tape was winding up toward the end.

On screen, the performers were executing nude calisthenics and stretching exercises in preparation for the run around the deck of the pool ending in splashing around during water polo.

Watching off camera with Al Mandy the bare bottoms bouncing and bare breasts bobbing, I exclaimed "Gyrations destined to leave lonely hearts throbbing. How do you get so many women to take it all off for you?"