Dr. Zoptic Pt. 11- Pick Up The Pieces

Dr Plume the psychologist, with an evil smile, teased me, "Did you ever test that theory that you and Dr Barton would make one good stripper?"

"No," I shook my head, "not directly, but we ended up with roles in Al Mandy's porn together."

============

Fall blew in exceptionally cold, but the apartment was comfortable. It was mid -- December when I was sitting at the kitchen table in my Che Guevarra T Shirt and panties. The apartment was warm enough to lounge around as bare as I dared. I had just spoken with the landlord. Bad news I had to deliver to Zaftig. How would she react? Should I be prepared to move again?

Though the window was frosted, I could see Zaftig bounce down the steps of the number 12 bus. Whipping off her scarf, Zaftig took a deep breath. "You're home--Oh I forgot you're still in school. Must be nice."

"Some holiday I get Dolly! I have exams before Christmas," I turned to her as I moaned, "I need to catch up on studying. Or I could end up flipping burgers for living."

"At least you're paid flipping burgers," Zaftig answered, "You get a paycheck. I don't get to punch a time -- clock for my day, grueling day." Shaking her head, Zaftig commented, "I must have seen just about a gut -- wrenching wound or burn to just about every anatomical part imaginable. What are you reading?" Zaftig sent me a tingle when she leaned on me to read over my shoulder

I shot her a smile and clutched her hand. "Oh, Dolly," I answered, "Since electric and gas have shot up, our Landlord wants a whopping increase."

Zaftig hesitated. She bit her lip. "I was approached by Al Mandy. He can get us parts in ugh -- a Blue Movie. "We'd be fully clothed nuns greeting girls entering a convent school," Zaftig explained as she leaned into me and felt under my T -- Shirt. "Hey, you're wearing two shirts under that oversized man's T -- shirt. How come you're not overheating? 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 flick?"

"Every single day, I see corpus damaged from caput to the hallux and everyplace in between," Zaftig fell into that distant stare, "What's wrong with viewing beautiful bodies?"

=============

"Distant stare?" Dr Hadley Plume questioned.

"It was as if suddenly she wasn't there," I explained, "She wasn't interacting with you. She had divorced herself from you entirely, distant and cold like a statue. May I go on?"

==============

It was well after dark when we pulled up in front of the darkened red bricked school building. "Vampire hours," I commented as I looked at the unlight floor length windows, "are you sure we're not shooting a horror film."

"We're shooting parts of the shower scene," A broad smile blossomed on Al's face as he escorted us through darkened corridors to a classroom. I picked up the charcoal-colored robe and inspected it. Zaftig eagerly whipped off her clothes. 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 barked orders, "You better disrobe. You'll pass out from over -- heating if you throw the robe over your dungaree and sweater."

"Put someone in the uniform, they act like the real thing," I replied.

"Uniform?" Zaftig laughed, "It's called a habit. Ugh-- I can't afford finding the emergency response team I train with to respond here and find me in a nun's habit giving you mouth -- to -- mouth resuscitation."

"It does sound delightful," I muttered as I kicked off my shoes. In a more cheerful voice, I suggested, "We could do some mouth -- to -- mouth right now -- so you should keep you in practise." I looked down to pull down and step out of my jeans.

When I looked up, Zaftig was already in her robes and securing a white cap over her neck and scalp and pulling on the veil. With a sigh, Zaftig added, "I had wanted so much to become a nun. Then, came the push -- ahead -- program. I was pre -- med and then I found a boyfriend and," A silly grin come across her face, "I realized I couldn't be celibate."

"A fast worker, was he?" I pumped Zaftig for the details. "What was it like? Did he take you? -- Or," I cackled, "I know you took him. You like to be in control. You got him drunk, straddled him and rode him like a wild cowgirl."

"Nothing like that," Zaftig, while momentarily turning bright red, waved her hand and gave me her practised distant, stare. Though penetrating, her gaze was like I wasn't there. There was no personal connection between us. She was peering under a microscope. "I wonder what Al Mandy thinks girls in a communal shower do and talk about. Arms up," Zaftig ordered me as she swept my sweater over my head."

Examining the simple black shoes on the desk, I instinctively grunted, "Ugly."

"Nun's shoes are purely functional," Zaftig, picking up the shoes and banging them together, explained, "to protect the feet from cold, injury and disease. Fashion is not part of it."

Stretching his lanky body to lounge in the doorframe, Al Mandy with a devilish grin, clapped, "From kibitz to script." Al chuckled. "Perhaps I should have you ladies simply wag your chins to compose dialogue for me." Handing us the script, Al feigned a bow to Zaftig as he left us to read our lines.

I felt a tingle when I brushed against Zaftig's fleshy form as we huddled together to study the lines. I giggled, "Just how does a man form an idea on women's cackling off by themselves."

"Ladies," Zaftig read from the script, "I'm Sister Rachel," Zaftig looked up, "This is Sister Evelyn," Zaftig looked to me with a nod. "Welcome to St Agnes, the Virgin Martyr Convent School. Many of you are here for the first time; some of you are returning from your summer vacation. Entering upon your studies here is marked by a ritual...."

Shaking her head, Zaftig puckered her chin. "This is a sugar-coated version of my reception at St Athena's Convent School of the Holy Virgins."

"Voice of Experience," Al remarked.

"They do strip you bare to inspect you like cattle," Zaftig bore that disconnected, distant gaze. Her eyes glazed over. She went into a lecture, "They strip away your self -- centered conceit. `Earrings, neckless and wristwatch, on the table.' The school nurse barked. `Strip, bare ass naked! All your pretty clothes come off.'"

"And after that rough handling, you still wanted to become a nun," I questioned.

"Right up to the point, I was swept up in the Push -- Ahead -- Program," Zaftig replied, "Even in College I believed I'd return to the Nunnery as a Novitiate. Then, unexpectedly, there came along a boyfriend," Zaftig's distant stare melted into a smile and a girlish giggle.

Helped by Zaftig into my costume, I felt the beads strapped to the cloth belt around my waist. "If my father could see me now, I'd be crucified." Asked if my father would prefer to see me undressing to be showered and inspected, "My father might care, but," I looked down at my narrow waist, "he isn't paying the rent."

Out in the corridor we milled with the dozen young women who would be the featured attraction. Some were drama students looking for spending money. Their principal complaint was that they had to utilize their own clothes. "I came commando; last film I lost several pairs of panties." Others were housewives, trying to make ends meet. "If my guy sees me in this film," one housewife told another, "he'd be afraid I'd take his balls off for watching porn."

At Al's signal Zaftig clapped her hands. With a phew she exclaimed, "I wish I could find my clicker -- clacker." Picking up a clip board, she shouted, "Andreson," she pointed to a place along the wall, "Cunningham, next, C'm'n ladies lets snap to it."

With all the women in line, Zaftig fell into that homey greeting, "Ladies, I 'm Sister Rachel." Zaftig pointed to me. "This Amazonian specimen is Sister Evelyn. Welcome to St Agnes, the Virgin Martyr Convent School. Many of you are here for the first time; some of you are returning from your summer vacation. Entering upon your studies here is marked by a ritual."

One of the women snickered, "Here comes the schmaltz."

Zaftig fell into a rage. "Which hussy dares defy me?" Advancing face to face on one tall blond in the lineup against the wall, Zaftig screeched, "It was you, Jenny Jennings. Wasn't it?" When the girl turned crimson red and shook her head, Zaftig roared, "Don't lie to me, young lady. I ought to slap you silly, but you've just arrived. Next one to step out of line will not be spared. Strip bare ass naked."

As Jenny removed her yellow blouse, Zaftig returned to the script after a fashion, "Now, you will see Miss Jennings take the first step in her rededication by casting off the frivolities of the outside world. As Jenny unhooked her bra and stood topless, shifting her feet in a kind of dance with the bra dangling from her hand, the cups oscillating like a hypnotist's watch, Zaftig examining the yellow blouse declared, "A fine label. My niece might like this."

Cacophony broke out. The other women in line were snickering, "Got anything special underneath those blue jeans, Jen -- Jen?" "Are you going to wear those jeans into the shower?" "Won't jeans chafe your bare rump?" "When will we see Empress Jen's new panties?"

Glancing off camera, I noticed Al directing maintenance men holding the camera and boom beamed an approving smile.

Her attention drawn to the clatter, Zaftig, quickly looked around before she barked at the women, "Ladies, what are we waiting for? Turn around. Face the wall. Completely disrobe? Neatly fold your clothing and properly place them on the floor next to you." Clapping her hands, Zaftig urged, "Ladies, let's move it along."

At Al's signal, I started to address the students, "Newcomers, bear in mind. There is no shame in the beauty and majesty of the unadorned human form ..."

Noticing Miss Jennings shifting her hips, Zaftig fell into a rage, "What do we have here? An example of false modesty. There's nothing under your jeans that we haven't seen before. Finish undressing!"

I was sure I was flubbing my lines, as I resumed. "The unadorned human form, designed in God's own image and likeness, unify the spirit with the human flesh. United in a blessing, the natural state promotes equality -- we are all sisters in the flesh, self -- confident, open and candid."

Pants off, Jenny stood in front of Zaftig with a apprehensive look. Eyes widening, rage building, Zaftig flew into a fury, "What do we have here? A scintillating seductress, a salacious strumpet, a street -- walker sans culottes suited to slog along Central Avenue! Turn face the wall. Bend over." To me, Zaftig thunder an order, "Sister Evelyn, fetch my pointer."

Trembling, with erratic moves Jenny slowly about -- faced and bent over presenting an apple shaped, quivering tush. Zaftig turned to me and screeched, "Evelyn, my pointer now."

Armed with the pointer, Sister Rachel (Zaftig) administered punishment. The air crackled with the swish of the pointer as Sister Rachel (Zaftig), narrowed her eyes, projected that distant, disconnected glare as if she had fallen into a trance, "Girl's butts fall into five geometric shapes with corresponding personalities: circular -- bubbly, square -- brainy, trapezoidal -- brawny, triangular -- batty or flat; boney -- bone - headed. Naturally, there's the fat ass; usually she comes with glasses."

At that, Al raced out of the shadow and yelled "Cut. Ladies you were great. I almost believed I was watching the real thing."

I shook my head and laughed. "I guess I just saw what lay in store for me had my father carried out his threat to send me to the Convent of the Holy Virgins."

With a silly grin, Zaftig conceded, "When the camera rolled, I became a different person who did a lot more on camera than I really expected Rebecca Barton ever would on her own."

=====

"Dr Barton played a clothed extra in a porn production?" Dr Plume asked.

"A little more than that?" I replied. Zaftig often played one of the shower sirens. Her round bum bouncing, with her simple golden cross swinging between her boobs, as she bounded down the corridor for the shower where the other naked girls chided her, "Ratchet it up, the girl with boy magnets, pristine sedate and glum, she'd rather become a nun."

"Clean themes in a dirty movie!" Dr Plume quipped.

"And healthy ones two," I chuckled, "Zaftig played Dr Zoptic inspecting female arrivals in behind a screen in the gym. Of the costume, the white lab coat, without buttons, garter belt, and mesh stockings, no panties, Zaftig said, "I'm not worried about being fat. I make more money bare of ass, It's only business, Get over your self -- consciousness, about being flat."

=========

"And that's why Dr Barton would have wanted to get even with you?" Dr Plume probed me. "purely out of caprice because Dr Barton enjoyed humiliating people?"

"No," I disagreed. I sighed. "There was a sadist streak in Zaftig which I overlooked because I was in love, but there's a particular incident which led me to believe Zaftig was even the score. Two years earlier, I was finishing up a semester in Law School. My roommate Zaftig -- 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 remain etched in my mind. 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 as I drove her in my rust bucket to a graduation party held at an apartment of a classmate. My old rust bucket's heater was working that blustery night.

"If my classmates only knew," Zaftig shook her head, " My last year I got through! Across the screen I flew! Presenting my voluptuous body nude." 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 Sin's Wages of Sin," Zaftig exclaimed. "financed by practicing medicine without a license as Dr Zoptic? That's," Zaftig proclaimed in a sing -- song voice trying to hide the tension in her voice, "the name, experimental medicine is the game, testing the hypothesis, is an intriguing business."

At a traffic light I leaned over to give her a kiss. "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, 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 Fenlands. 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. "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. "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."

"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," Iaughed, "I have nothing up top to brag about."

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 comfortably topless in my new boy briefs to run the tape.

I fell asleep watching the tape. Awakened by the telephone ringing, I tripped over my legal tome as I moved to answer the phone. Voices were indistinct; cacophony a mixture of hysterical laughing and bitter whimpering filled the background. "Hello, Hello," I shouted into the phone.

"You better get over here," A gruff masculine voice ordered, "And pick up and carry off your friends."

Balancing myself on one foot, I struggled to put a pair of jeans over my flimsy panties.

It was past midnight when I reached the hovel where I dropped Zaftig off. Racing there so quickly, I left the motor running and the car door open as I ran up to the house. The lights were on. The door was opened onto a ground floor apartment where I found Zaftig lying naked, face down into the mattress, round butt in the air, on a bed cuddled up to Al. Zaftig was groggy, but managed to open her eyes to look up at me. I couldn't resist myself. I laughed.

In her drugged state, eyes glazed over, pointing in every direction, she vowed, "Laugh at me. Think this funny. I'll get even -- when you least expect it.",

"I'm over here, Dolly," I excused myself, "Do you know what happened to your clothes? Never mind I'll look around and pick up the pieces."

The wages of sin Zaftig's clothes, her steel rim glasses, her bag and jewelery, including the yellow cross around her neck proved to be a casualty of the evening went missing.

Finally, I snatched a sheet covering a ratty old couch. I coughed when I shook the dust out of it. Slinging it over my shoulder, I returned to Zaftig. Assisting Zaftig to her feet, I tried to find out what she might have drunk. "Drunk," Zaftig shrieked, "I was eh -- harpooned."

"You're too heavy for me to carry," I warned Zaftig, "You'll have to negotiate the front steps on your own." Noticing a 4 x 6 manilla envelope, I picked it up and opened it. It was a blown-up glossy polaroid of Zaftig lying naked on the bed resting on the thick black curls of Al's chest.

"No matter, time will come when I settle the score," Zaftig swore, "With them and with that turbanless mongrel Ali and you too--you laughed at me."

"I warned you about going," I started, "You'll think clearer in the morning."

==============

"What happened to Dr Barton's clothes and jewelery?" Dr Plume prodded me.

"Al Mandy replaced her clothing," I recalled, "He claimed to have found her cross on the bed when he came to. Had he found her cross or simply bought a new one? I don't know," I recalled. "Surprisingly, Zaftig wasn't worried about her father coming across those still shot of her in bed with Al Mandy."