Dr. Zoptic Pt. 10 - Cross of Gold

"And my role?" I inquired.

"Let me explain the scene," Al outlined the freak sequence, "A name actress -- Beverly Botticelli America's little girl straight from the sitcom Day -- by -- Day will make her first nude appearance chased up a gothic staircase by naked freaks. The pay ought be enough to cover your delinquent rent and to defray the expenses of the trip."

With an air of resignation, I nodded agreement.

"I must provide your nudes stills to see if you are freakish enough to qualify." My expression invited Al to laugh. "You would be nude most the day. Mat Winter, the director, would consider your deformity, minor by comparison to some of his recruits, because Mat has encountered difficulties recruiting women. The timing is right if it goes off as slated. The shoot is scheduled for the Columbus Day timeframe. I'll lend you the money against your honorarium."

"You already sent my pictures in," I gasped,

"You're accepted," Al declared, "Bravo. You'll be nude from early morning onward to smooth out clothing lines. Makeup men -- mostly gay -- will touch you up to emphasize that hollow chest."

"I'm not as shy as all that anymore," I reminded Al, "I do pick up work at the Hospital as medical model. I'm trying to get into that lock-down nude experiment at the Hospital for the spring semester."

Al reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out an envelope.

"You were ready for me," I shook my head, "What would you have done if I turned you down.?"

Al shook his head. "You were my first choice You forget how the others in my dirty Dozen who have lost their pin money in this eh -- recession."

At the mall, I walked into the Imperial shop where I was met by a young short thin girl in fashionable black slacks and two-toned dark top with a subdued tone stretching like a sash from her hip diagonally across to her shoulder. A tag over her marshmallow shaped left breast identified her as "Sherry."

"We close at 8PM," said Sherry about to turn me away, "I may not have enough time to serve you."

"I just need the cheapest rag of a formal dress," I declared. "The price tag decides. I won't take much of your time."

A smile appeared on Sherry's face. "Oh, you're Dr Barton's roommate, the law student," Sherry started to rattle her questions like a racing express train on the downstate Metropolitan Transit. "How long have you been her roommate? I see you driving Dr Barton to work every morning. When do you think she's going to buy her own car? Can law and medicine get along? Are you going to the wedding with her? Are you going to be in the wedding party? If I put your purchase on the wedding account, she'll get a special discount. Your dress could be free!"

Before I could speak, Sherry was pushing me toward the changing booths. Ordered to disrobe completely, I expressed shock. "I'm not in the wedding party. All I need is a dress."

To my dismay, Sherry advised me, "Underneath a fashionable gown, I can't allow you to wear raggy underwear. Plus I need to see you naked to know what to cover and what to expose. The art in dress fitting to cover the body up is no different from the art in surgery in cutting the body up. Get in there. Strip. I've seen it all before."

"Have you indeed?" I asked.

Ensconced in a booth, I mechanically undressed. This little firebrand knows how to take charge.

I gulped when Sherry entered. While Sherry studied me objectively from head to bare feet, I nervously fidgeted.

Sherry chuckled, "If the cliente asks, 'Should I squat and cough?' I know she's been caught smoking pot."

"An interesting clientele," I commented.

"Full Bush," Sherry observed. "That'll be gone at the first class when they teach new nurses how to prep patients. Some models keep it that way afterwards."

I shuddered as I quipped, "to avoid being the guinea pig for a nervous trainee a second time."

To calm me Sherry massaged my legs from tippy toes to inner thighs. In an apologetic tone, she explained, "I need to calm you to get an accurate height."

Stood up against the wall, I measured five foot seven inches. "Good long legs," Sherry observed, "That will be a good place to draw attention, slit up the right side daringly to the hip.."

After taking bust, waist and hip measurements, Sherry remarked, "let's use your ass -- ets to the max. Chic Chix, string bikini bottoms, suggests you've gone commando."

Holding my arms out, Sherry measured my chest cavity. "Obviously, no plunging neckline. I need to cover your shoulders. Some slight breasted girls, go bra-less. You need extra covering there. Padded bra. Bare arms, long opera gloves." Sherry stood back and critically observed, "I'm going to use those long legs to create a focal point with a slit dress."

Checking out I was still queasy about charging my purchases to the wedding account. "It's a corporate account," Sherry assured me, "No one will pay attention. If the account objects, the account will lose the discount and the price goes up. The store will be happy to make the adjustment."

"Right thing for the wrong reason," I commented.

"But a good outcome," Sherry quipped cheerfully, "Don't you agree?".

Everything went well right up to our drive downstate to her brother's wedding. We checked into the Soundview Motel on the Clintonville Road. At the front desk, Zaftig reluctantly paid $250 for the entire eight days. I reminded her of our disparate incomes, "You have the money. I just paid all your rent. Unless you pay for the motel, I won't have the money to drive you home."

Plunking the money down on the counter, "Pay me my overdue rent and now," Zaftig's tone was emphatic, "you want it back. Why didn't you just keep the money?" Zaftig snarled her face contorted.

The desk clerk retrieved the cash without counting it and fled to the refuge of the back room.

"Perhaps I should have bought you one of those new Electronic Calculators," I replied in a calm voice, "That way you could work the balance sheet faster." Looking away in exasperation, I declared, "There are times when I think we play the wrong roles: forte at calculating the balance sheet belongs to you; by default, the gold cross belongs to me."

With the increasing tension at the Front Desk, the clerk, muttering, "cat fight," discretely closed the door to the office.

"Would it be too much trouble to drop me at Landing Hospital in town?" The expression on her face was sharp. "There I can get a ride home." Noticing the shock on my face, she added, "-- to my father's house in Clinton Manor."

"You wanted me along to get a ride," I protested, "At least, you could stay with me here at the motel," I protested. What am I supposed to do here by myself?"

Turning as she strode toward the door, Zaftig answered in a hash tone, "You brought some of your books. Do your course work. You'll have plenty of quiet!" At the door, her final words were unapologetic, "Never mind about the lift. I can walk to Landing Hospital." Shaking her head, Becky in angry tones exclaimed, "It would have been cheaper for me if I had taken the train."

I did get some extra time to sleep. The gown I purchased on the wedding party's account hung in the open niche mocking me. Most days, I remained in my Che Guevara T shirt and a pair of panties reading my textbooks.

Friday the day before the wedding, I was visited by Al Mandy. Throwing a bikini on the bed, Al gruffly ordered, "put it on."

"What?" I protested. "I can't do that!"

"You accepted a considerable advance from me." Al insisted, "You have to prove me you're worthy of my confidence. Thus, you can wear a bikini and, if I order it, you will."

"People might stare," I protested, my eyes tearing up.

Al turned me around. I looked at myself in the mirror. Al neatly combed my shoulder length hair. "Presenting you to yourself," Al commented. Reaching under my oversized T -- shirt, Al exclaimed, "The ultimate rebel is what's underneath." With a swish of Al's hands sweeping up from my hips along my sides brushing past my boobs and massaging my underarms raising my arms over my head, Al lifted my Che Guevara T shirt and threw it across the room. "We have nothing that horrible to see!" Al explained, "Do we?"

Al yanked at the thin elastic strand holding up my panties. They fell to the floor. I was naked staring at myself in the mirror. I leaned back against Al. I whispered, "Get undressed Al. We're going to the pool together."

I chuckled. When Al dropped his pants, I swayed with him. I chuckled silently. Yes, I did have some magic. Al's naked penis elongated and hardened against my butt.

As we rocked back and forth with increasing intensity, I partially squatted to allow his engorging member slowly creep up my crack, I released a deep sigh, "This proved to be interesting."

"You and Becky are an item," Al whispered.

I pulled away, "Zaftig and I are devoted to each other," I explained, "I believe in Zaftig's mind, a relationship with a woman doesn't exclude the possibility of a man injecting his spermatozoa to stamp her genetic imprint on generations to follow."

"That sounds like Becky," Al intoned at a high pitch.

Turning to Al, I restrained myself from laughing. Noticing pre-cum on the tip of his swollen penis, I apologized, "We better get down to the pool before we decide to do something else."

I tried to put my Che Guevara T Shirt over my bikini top, but Al swept it away. Out at the pool, a mother with two small children looked up from her newspaper when Al and I entered the pool area. Noticing us, she returned to her reading.

Saturday was Ian's wedding. Passing on attending the church ceremony, I went to the reception at Landing Manor overlooking The New England Sound. I was crammed at a table next to the band with girls from the convent school Becky attended. We were antsy, all waiting to see who'd dare to be first to leave.

Upon the podium as one of the bride's maids, Zaftig wore an expressionless face during the toasts. There was that yellow cross hanging into her plunging neck line.

While Zaftig, up on the podium with the wedding party, ignored me, her brother Ian, the groom, short and rotund, did waddle over to the table, during the band's break, to thank us for coming.

Once Ian returned to the podium, Becky's convent school classmates bristled with stories about the bride's artificial leg. "He stood by his childhood sweetheart even though she lost a leg. Hmm, Ian sounds like a pretty good fella," I interjected.

Fortunately, the band struck up a tune drowning gossip out.

Becky's brother Josh, recent graduate of Capitalland University Law school, visited the table to talk. Staring at the long slit down my right leg of my long dress, Josh spoke in halting tones about difficulties finding a job.

Up on the podium, Al, sitting with Becky, leaned over to whisper in her ear. A smile peered on her face. A peck on her cheek, Al left the podium and headed toward the last table.

Joining me at the remote table, Al reminded of my appearance on camera: 4:30 AM. Eying the slit up my right leg in my full length dress, Al smirked, "That dress sure interests Josh Barton." Josh's eyes widened when Al daringly ran a finger up my right side from my ankles along the partially exposed right butt to my hip. To my reproof, Al mockingly protested, "I am a doctor."

"Doctor -- Patient privilege?" I chuckled, looking at Al's finger advancing up the slit in my dress.

Staring Josh down, Al retorted, "The privilege is a protection the patient enjoys." To my complaint about the reporting time, "There's no costuming, but clothing lines must fade from bare skin before you go through make up.

"

Eyes widening, Josh parroted Al Mandy, "skin bared so that the clothing lines fade."

As Al audaciously tickled my tush, I increased Josh's discomfort by adding, "I believe the medical euphemism for the natural state is 'unclothed condition.'"

When Al rose to rejoin Becky at the podium, I took my leave. "Early curtain call," I apologized to my table mates who all at once decided to exit. The girls at the table followed me out.

As I turned at the door preparing to leave, I noticed Becky's brother Josh left alone at the table by himself. One of the ladies exclaimed, "Look, ah poor Josh, all by his lonesome!"

"Hmm, feel that bad?" another suggested, "Stay and keep him company."

"I ain't that desperate," came the response.

The next morning came earlier than I expected. I was barely conscious when Al started knocking at my door, As I climbed out of bed, I noticed the gown was thrown in the chair together. "Damn Al, I'm coming," I shouted to Al as I felt my way to the door.

When I opened the door, Al did not come in. He stood in the doorway, his dark eyes widened, his caramel tinged skin turned alabaster white in a flash, his mouth hung open, drooling. "Get in. There's a chill in the air."

"You're naked," Al exclaimed.

"Oh, geese, Al," I whined still in the fog of sleep, "Doctor -- Patient privilege, remember? Nothing you ain't seen before. You're a doctor who produces porn," I invited him in and closed the door. "Get in here before I freeze. Hurry up, I want to wash yesterday off me."

I slept during the drive to an old gabled house overlooking the harbor. It was still dark when Al introduced me to security. Checked in and handed a bag, I was directed to a room on the right. "Inside, everything off and into the sack. Someone will come by to collect your property."

The room was an old-fashioned library with teak bookshelves. About 20 naked or partly dressed women were inside. The chattering sound was intense and upbeat.

"Rather tame are we," exclaimed a woman who was statuesque enough to have been a glamor model if it weren't for the wine blotch stain on one side of her face, "the legion of the hounds of hades."

"We are legion," chirped another with surgical scars across her stomach, "because we are many. Some are too shy, too bad! we get paid plenty."

"Limousine liberals say we're exploited," declared a woman whose skin was blotched white and black, "they'd flush our jobs down the toilet."

Everyone seemed to be happy looking forward to the task at hand. A few were photographing each other.

A naked dwarf, not a bit self -- conscious, strolled up to me. Atop a tiny body with tiny boobs stood a normal proportioned head, with hair streaked blonde and silver. "I'm in the freak show off -- season here at Luna Park. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Mid -- Fenlands High?" I suggested, "You were in my gym class. Your name was ..." I searched my memory banks for her name.

"You should. I'm Jena! Yeah, I hated you," Jena replied with a polite laugh, touching my wrist with her tiny hand.

"Oh," I apologized, "I don't remember -- what I could have done that offended you?"

"When you got yourself excused from gym, the girls started picking on me," Jena explained with a smile.

"I couldn't take the treatment," I admitted.

"I couldn't get a medical excuse like you did. My doctor determined everything was normal. All parts work together. Some parts are just a little smaller than average," Jena explained, "Doctor believed the problem was social not medical. So, I had to be tough."

"I'm sorry," I apologized.

"You shouldn't be," Jena told me, "I work in a freak show under the stage name Gem together with my partner Moose, the eight-foot giant in the next room. Summers we travel with the circus doing side-shows. Off -- season we work here at Luna Park down by the ocean."

"I guess filming over the Columbus Day weekend perfectly fit into a lull in your schedule," I observed.

"We do well off season," Jena explained, "People pay big bucks for a private show. Moosie and I done it together so many times, we're thinking of getting married." Tapping my wrist, Jena reminded me to finish getting undressed. "They'll be collecting the clothes soon enough."

Georgia another dwarf joining us looked at Jeanie but nodded toward me.

"Oh her," Jena introduced me, "classmate Erica Ehrlich from Mid Fenlands High. Also got ragged by the girls in gym. Ready to go on camera as a freak?" Jena asked. "My guy Moosie tells me the director will probably have the guys' pricks pickled."

"Pickled?" questioned Georgia.

"The guys will have their pricks tucked in huge strap-ons," Jena described the prosthetic penis.

"Hmm, a long condom, with the added benefit, the guy can't cum," I interjected.

"Multi -- functional," Jena agreed, "Sure it looks garish, painted fire engine red with bright blue streaks along the length, but also acts as chastity device. The real ding hidden underneath is immobilized like a broken arm in a sling."

"The guys'll look aroused but their furies will be contained," Noted Georgia the other dwarf.

"Won't the erect penis distract attention from the -- eh?" I inquired.

"Deformity?" suggested Jena with a smile, "Not on a dwarf, but my guy is gigantic -- that is head-to-toe. They'd have to give him a ding much, much, more than a foot long hot dog. Poor guy might give himself a hernia trying to support it with his nut sack."

"Luna Park patrons like to see a dwarf and a giant getting it on?" Georgia, the second dwarf asked

"Oh, yeah," exclaimed Jenna, "We get good money from our private shows. "My guy described the concept to the producers of this flick but the producers want to make sure they get a 'R' rating. Too bad, my guy was hoping he'd shake the tree for more money."

"Who's tree, Moose's tree or the producer's?" I interjected.

"Oops," Georgia pointing to men in smocks entering the room, closed the conversation, "here comes the makeup men to make minor physical anomalies and blemishes into frightening scars and disfigurement."

Reaching me, the makeup man using red and black to make the stitching down my breastbone stand out, proved to me chatty, "Bet your boyfriend whoops and hollers when he licks out this hollow."

I had to smile. He was describing my ex -- roomie's boyfriend whom I done when my roomie wasn't around.

Touching up my cleavage with swirling shades of greys to make the depression in my chest look deeper, the makeup man, shaking his head, tisk -- tisked, "Pure cosmetic surgery! You might have looked better if the docs left it alone."

"Really?" I questioned, "Doctors persuaded my parents that the miracles of modern medicine had saved my life."

"Doctors feel privileged to take an upset patient's money. Didn't you hear? `Listen to your Doctor, he'll make it better,'" the makeup man grimaced.

I sighed, "So they all say."

The makeup man chuckled, "Maybe Docs make things better, but today I know I'm going to make it look worse," the makeup man remarked as he dabbed some pink on my areolas, red around my nipples to match my lips and dark brown on the tips. "And now you're done."

I'm not sure how much longer it took before we took our first run up the wide winding staircase with Jena in the lead followed by disfigured faces and the surgical scars with the guys taking up the rear. up to the attic where the horde stopped at the door and parted to cut a path.

Finding myself In the last rank of the women, I found my butt repeatedly pinched by men trailing behind. Noticing this, Jena snickered under her breath, "You got the magic."

We repeated the race up the stairs several times screaming at the top of our lungs. Finally, Beverley Botticelli, the star, was escorted into the room. Her long silver robe removed, Beverley was exhibited in all her glory. Her pubic hair had been combed out and streaked with red highlights. Her body was coated a soft white with talcum powder. Her crack was emphasized with a black line. We were instructed that Beverly would work her way up the stairs through us freaks. "Let her pass."

Beverly worked her way through the men and then the women to reach the door. When the door opened, a man in priestly garb holding a golden cross emerged. Another cleric stood by holding a candle to meet Beverly. On cue, we all cowered against the wall or banister to create a path.