Partings Pt. 02

CHAPTER 2: INTO THE BELLY OF THE BEAST

I emerged from the one story NaSE (National Service Entrance) Facility into a beautiful mid -- morning Monday. Behind me was that portal which had swallowed me and my husband Jerry, a week ago. I turned to look back at the entrance. Ellipses, etched in the grey poured concrete around the grimy plexiglass entrance, symbolized a vagina. I wondered aloud, "Having been vomited out of the belly of the beast, shouldn't I feel reborn?"

Next to me stood two co -- inductees, a statuesque blond on my right and the petite brunette on my left just been released with me looked at me as if I were crazy.

One week ago I had stood with my husband Jerry in the same spot. A morose tone filled his voice, "If I only had more time." Clutching Jerry's arm, I marched up the path to answer our call -- up notice. Jerry leaned over to whisper,

"Be of good cheer// Let drop no tear// A little bravado// Be strong: show no fear"

Now a week later, outside, my two co -- inductees, released with me, were straightening out the clothes issued. The pants and shirt issued to the statuesque blond did not cover her belly button; the short brunette Ronnie had been issued clothing so big that she rolled up the sleeves and cuffed the pants.

Me? I was lucky. My husband Jerry was a veteran. A New Law which required Nation Service of every unemployed person not in school under age 40 was touted as promoting full employment, securing repayment of student loans and fighting crime. Jerry and I out of work for a month were called up.

Though happy to regain a measure of freedom, I felt alone. Part of me had been torn away. Jerry had not been released. Yet to him, I owed my good fortune in not being herded into the back of a carbon -- monoxide belching truck for transportation to a distant training facility.

As a veteran of the armed forces, once through the induction process, Jerry had taught me well right up to our last shower together, hours before we had to report in.

"I wish we had more time," Jerry said wistfully.

"So do I," I murmured, pursing my lips. "Yeah, let`s get down to it. Eat me out!" I didn't usually talk dirty to stir Jerry up, but this morning was special. "OMG, fuck me hard!" I fell to my knees "Let me take your cock," I fondled Jerry's spongy dangling post into a solid pillar, "and ram it up my slit. I need to feel your red -- hot man sap run inside."

Reaching his muscular hand under my arm pits, Jerry lifted to my feet. "Good," he commented, "your pits are smooth." Crunched a vice grip only Jerry's muscular body could secure, I heard an unexpected compliment, "Your legs are satiny smooth."

"And I trimmed my pussy hairs like you told me. But, dammit, what's the point?" I pouted, "Who do I have to show off for? I might end up locked down for two years with other women?"

Jerry's answered in rhyme.

"Entering the infernal machine,// Life can be more serene// Body fresh, Neat and clean,// Skin clear, bright eyes gleam// Presented bare, with good hygiene."

As I stood outside the building with two other gals just released, I reflected, as frustrating my last weeks in my home with Jerry were, the absent Jerry had guided me well. The clothes I had worn here reporting in were well worn. My dungarees and my oversized top, Jerry's T shirt, were so raggy that nobody would have dared steal. I did end up with someone else's underwear. She must have been sweating bullets when they told her what she would have to do. I sighed. At least she didn't shit herself.

A week ago, holding Jerry very close in the shower, I felt his bulge harden against my belly. "A couple more days would have been enough," Jerry bemoaned our call -- up.

I chuckled with that pulsating rocket a couple of minutes more was all I needed. Jerry fell into one of those sing -- song limericks he came up with.

"Whatever is insisted, // Show no resistance// Impervious without care// Even when suggested//

What none would ever dare."

Just inside the door, a tall woman in a grey uniform suit with a blue arm bands with hair bound up on top of her head, directed, "Men to the right, women to the left, trans -- men straight ahead. Jerry released his grip on my arm, leaned over to whisper, "Remember."

My mouth was moving but no words escaped as Jerry disappeared to the crowd of men. Ordered by the grey uniformed guard to shhh, I found myself among four women shunted off to the left. When one e inter -- sex man attempted to join the ladies, with her baton, the grey jacketed guard directed the trans -- man to proceed straight ahead. "Interesting," the guard told her female colleague, "No female inductee tries to enter with the guys."

Lined up in a darkened corridor with four other women, I waited. What would come next? I looked into the faces of my companions. What did I see? Was it indifference or concern, compliance or confusion, dreamy detachment or fear and anxiety?

Only a short time earlier in the shower, Jerry, with hands on my shoulders forced us apart. "You're forewarned," Jerry had described in -- processing in a ditty. How did it go? We'd be herded in like cattle on the hoof, inspected like a prize horse at auction, shorn like sheep and tested like chimps in a lab. Was that it?

Struggling as I might, I couldn't remember the exact words of Jerry's little shower ditty. He had recited it in the shower earlier that morning as he pushed me away. My attention was drawn to his rising, throbbing crane pointed at me. "It," pointing to the tip, "knows where it wants to go."

Now awaiting in -- processing, I tried to follow Jerry's advice to present a blank face, "no emotional reaction, no matter the provocation." As I racked my brain to recall that jingle, a guard's comment that trans -- men expected cervical examinations brought to mind Jerry's ditty on trans -- men:

"Male and female he made them// Whence then// the trans -- femme// Come from?"

Chuckling brought my way the swish of the grey unformed guard's dress pants. "Something funny, Inductee?" She asked. Turning to her colleague, the guard asked, "Who's in there today?"

"Sergeant Meyers," the other guard called out, "Sergeant Meyers gives inductees a good toss."

"Inside," the guard sneered, "If you behave yourself, you might get some thrills." Turning to the others, she, pointing with her night stick, warned, "You'll get your turn."

Upon entering the room, I faced an electronic security scanner. A female clerk in a grey smock seated at a table instructed me to provide my id, remove all jewelry, empty my pockets -- everything including money and change, handbag and overnight bags.

When I presented my driver's license, a couple of dollars and some small change, I shook my head to the clerk's question about jewelery and bags. "Name?" the clerk growled.

"Amy Warbler," I spoke in a firm voice.

"Amy Warbler," the clerk called out to another clerk who stood in front of a table on the other side of the room, "number AW -- 2029 -- XX -- F -- 49651, $ 4. 67, dl, no property."

Beyond the barrier, a grey suited female guard motioned me forward. Passing through the metal detector without touching off an alarm, I was ordered, "Hold your hand out palms up and stretch your fingers as far apart as you can."

When I complied, the guard, examining my hands, perfunctorily ran gloved finger down the lifeline of my palm. Turning my hands over, she looked at my nails. "Rounded nails, no polish... neat. .."

"Thank you." I replied.

Nodding, the guard barked, "Open your mouth wide twirl your tongue." Perfunctorily staring into my mouth, the guard laughed when I asked if she were going to dental school.

"Not right away, Inductee," the guard quipped. "I got a good berth here. Dentists can draw field assignments in Support Services. Now, just be a good girl, Sweetie, turn your little butt around."

As nimble fingernails quickly coursed through my scalp, I asked, "Dandruff?"

"Untangled short hair, Paige boy clip," the guard noted, easier to check out. "Prior Service?"

"No," I was tempted to mention that my husband Jerry was, but held my tongue.

"Raise both your arms," the Guard in a softer tone requested, straight in the air above your head." Feeling along my arms into my pits, the guard noted, "Paige boy hair cut ... Did you shave your pits, your legs and trim your pussy hairs?"

"Care to sneak a peek?" I asked rocking my body with suggestive smile.

"Maybe later, sweetie," the guard promised, blowing me a kiss. Running hands methodically around my neck, the coursing down my back to my hips, across my butt, through my crack, she gave my butt a gentle slap. Hands reaching down my legs, then sliding up my thighs to tickle my slit. The guard paused there to run her finger across the outline of my vagina. Either out of fear or excitement, involuntarily, I began to breathe deeper. One of Jerry's ditties carried me through.

"In -- processing en masse// Feeling breasts// caressed// Fondling your ass// Racing your heart// However vile and crass// Let remarks pass// Just play the tart// And give'em a little sass."

The guard's hands systematically swarmed over my belly rising to cup both breasts. The end of the frisk came with an éclat when the guard toyed with my tits.

"Standard equipment?" I asked the guard. Turning, I noticed two other girls standing behind me. One was shaking.

"Doc'll decide," the guard chuckled. Pointing me over to a table where a black female Marine Sergeant in the olive uniform with bulging muscles and a bulldog face, sat. To her right stood a grey suited guard.

I stood in front of the table. The Marine Sergeant reviewed her electronic notebook. I struggled to restrain myself. Though my heart thumped in my chest, I tried to appear natural, neither fidgety nor rigid. I looked behind me. Two girls, knees knocking, stood behind me, another being frisked and a fourth, stunning in a dressy pin striped suit with skirt, waiting to proceed through the scanner.

"Eyes front, Inductee!" the Marine Sergeant ordered in a level tone. After a few more minutes of studying her notebook, the sergeant in a level voice introduced herself, "I'm Gunnery Sergeant Abby Meyers. I will be your training sergeant, during your stay here. You're Warbler, Amy Serial number AW -- 2029 -- UU -- F -- 49651." Sergeant Meyer looker up at me, "Correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"I am addressed as Sergeant, never as ma'am. In the next few days, I will be taking all you daddy's little girls, whip you into shape, test, classify and assign you to a branch of National Service, most suitable for you. Do you understand, Inductee," She looked down at her electronic notebook, "Warbler?"

"Yes," I acknowledged.

"Yes, what?" Fierce black eyes penetrated me so intense the glare made me feel that my clothes were burnt off and I was left standing naked in front of her.

"Yes, Sergeant Meyer," I responded.

"Good," the Sergeant replied desultorily, "now, get undressed, Inductee Warbler, everything off including your undies, if you remembered to wear them. Hand each item you remove to the guard."

I first pulled Jerry's grey T -- shirt over my head. Handed my top, the guard felt through seams of the men's extra -- large T -- shirt and placed it on the table.

Looking at her electronic notebook, Sergeant Meyer asked. "You lost a job as an Industrial Psychologist. I see no PhD." Meyer's penetrating black eyes seared through me. When I didn't respond, an annoyed tone entered her voice, "Well do you?"

"No, eh—Sergeant Meyers," I replied. "I didn't complete the degree."

Making a note, Meyer muttered, "Too, bad. I could have released you pending direct appointment into Support Services." Glaring, Meyers hurried me, "I got more Daddy's girls to process."

Prodded, I unsnapped my bra. "Branch preference?" Meyers questioned as I stood bare chested.

"Armed Services, Sergeant." Meyers shrugged it off muttering she's wants to be assigned with hubby.

Watching my bra caressed and placed on the counter, I denied any significant health problems, pregnancies, allergies, broken bones, sexual dysfunction, psychiatric or psychological treatment.

Balanced myself on one foot as I unlaced a sneaker and kicked it off, I was struck with Meyer's question: "age at menstruation, last period and first act and most recent intercourse, number of partners?"

Struggling to maintain balance, switching feet to remove the other shoe, I rephrased the question, "last romp in bed, hmm?" Everyone in the room laughed.

Last time connected, I wondered. Earlier with Jerry in the shower. He pushed me away though he breathed heavily. A searing heat escaped when he exhaled. His nut sack drawn under a throbbing erection, Jerry painfully struggled for control as droplets of pre -- cum speckled the tip of his nozzle.

I deliberately teased him. "Tell me, Jerry, you don't want to quench your molten ingot in juices slick. Your rod in the tunnel of love slid. Your spear confronts my widening lips, a little swordplay with my clit, plunging deeper into the abyss."

I felt a tinge of regret when Jerry beat red managing control, whimpered. "What I do or don't do, I do for you," Jerry's voice trailed off. After a second, Jerry destroyed the touching scene with his complement, "by the way—not bad attempt at poetry. ."

I was recalled into the present by Sergeant Meyer's growl. "Is something funny, Warbler?"

Prod as I hobbled on one foot that I was being impolite to my co -- inductees, I responded, "14 or 15 first period, Sergeant Meyers, last period two weeks ago, first act of intercourse 17, last act of intercourse," I sighed, "one month ago, one partner." Now, unshod, I dropped my pants and then my thong.

Using a pencil to dangle my thong for Sergeant Meyers, the guard observed clean but a little raggy. Briefly giving me the once over, Sergeant Meyers observed, "underarms shaved clean, pussy hairs trimmed, legs sheered, hmm odd for a first timer." After a pausing, she ordered, "In line to see Doc."

The guard ushered me toward a gynecological examination table. As the guard directed me to stand on a white line and face the table, one of Jerry's epigrams came to mind:

"Reporting date// rush against time// to stand in line// and hurry up // to wait."

Sergeant Meyer bellowed, "Waxhams, Ronnie, RW -- 2029 -- UU -- F -- 49652." I turned. A short red -- faced brunette, holding back tears, curly hair in a bubble cut, held hands crossed across her chest. A dressy white blouse lay on the table. The guard dangled Waxham's bra.

"Hands at your side, Waxhams, chest out," Sergeant Meyers ordered. "Warbler, is this the Day of Atonement? They sent me a Waxhams and a Warbler, two of your kind today. Warbler?"

"I don't know. We're all atoning for showing up, Sergeant Meyers?" Prodded about religion, I protested that "I go by my husband's name. Is he atoning? That, you'll have to ask Jerry, Sergeant Meyers."

Sergeant Meyers declared officiously, "I may look him up." Under her breath, Sergeant Meyers muttered, "They give me shrinking violettas, Daddy's girls, while their guys stay comfortably at home."

"Oh, Jerry," I retorted, "he's next door. We reported in together."

During the interchange, Ronnie was squirming trying to stand crossing her legs after her dark dress pants, shoes and lacy frilly full paneled pink panties had joined her blouse. "Stand at attention!" Coming from behind the counter, Sergeant Meyers growled. "Stand tall, chin up, shoulders back, thrust that chest out. Be proud. You have a nice rack." Picking up Ronnie's bra, Sarge questioned, "36C?"

Ronnie mumbled inaudibly. After a good berating, Ronnie finally yelled out "36C" loud enough that her voice rang throughout the facility. Prodded, Ronnie sang out a second time, "36C, Sergeant Meyers."

"Stand tall," Sergeant Meyer spoke in a softer tone as she pulled Ronnie's shoulders back, "Be proud." A confused look came over Meyer's face, "Waxhams, you have more curly hair in your bush than you have atop your head. How do you see your feet?" Turning to the grey uniformed guard, Meyers ordered, "Comb Waxhams' pubic hair. She could be hiding an army in there."

One by one, the girls who came in blouse and slacks, shorts and a sweat shirt, jogging gear and a pin striped suit with matching jacket were stripped bare and handed a damp cloth to clear away make -- up and tears. In short order they ended up standing on the white line with me facing a gynecological examination table. Everyone took a collective gasp: the table had with straps to secure the patient.

How long did we wait? I'm not sure. Jerry had a little ditty for this too.

"Gaggle of Heiffers // Herded down the chute // Plucked of feathers// shorn of fleece // skinned to bare bone // into the belly of the unknown// poked, prodded tested // rendered and inspected."

Sergeant Meyers came into my face nose to nose. "Warbler, you this is funny, huh? Ok you go first." I stepped toward the gynecological table. "No," Meyers pointed to an alcove where a camera mounted on a tripod stood in front of a white backdrop. "Your husband needs some pictures he can jerk off to."

"As long as I get Jerry's pictures," I replied, "so I get a chance to jack off too, Sergeant Meyers."

She merely shook her head as a guard took body length pictures, front, back and side. Returned to the line, I waited. How long? I'm not sure. Suddenly, Doc in a grey utility uniform whisked into the room, the tails of his grey lab coat trailing after him. Complaining that he should remember a med school prof's advice about condoms during a proctological exam, Doc gave the once over to each body in the line.

"Maintenance is Humanitarian Services Department, Sir," Meyers mechanically responded.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about the guys," Doc quipped, "I was talking about myself. Sometimes the body is simply overstimulated. He thought for a second before he added, "maybe I should wash my hands."

During the interchange, I whispered to the girls in line, "Doc did better than me, Doc got Jerry to cum." Bare breasts jiggled as the room rung with laughter. Doc looked around clueless.

"Hmm," grunted Sergeant Meyers, "Warbler, you know so much. Go first!"

I climbed aboard the exam table. I held my arms up in triumph as if I had accomplished something. The girls standing in the line giggled. Shrugging his shoulders, Doc left a stethoscope against my chest wall. I yelped in an exaggerated reaction to the cold tip. The girls giggled; ignoring my silly protest, Doc repositioned his stethoscope around the contours of left breast; shaking her head with a half -- smile, Sergeant Meyer looked away. Checking his notebook, Doc, noting you've reported no physical problems, quickly shone a penlight in my eyes, ears and mouth. A silly thought came to mind, perhaps there was hope. If doc went erect and came examining men, a pretty young girl might be safe.

"Now," Doc announced, "it's fun time: mammary, rectal and anal exams." I wiggled my shoulders to allow my breasts to swing. Perhaps Doc expected me to hunch over to conceal myself when he told me "thrust your chest out, sit up straight, hand on your hips." Cupping my breasts and gently kneaded them, Doc started to breath in deeply as he asserted, "I'm checking for any unusual clumps of tissue."

The erection in Doc's pants became more pronounced as he twisted my nipples allegedly for discharge.

Patting me on the shoulder, Doc ordered "lie down, feet in the stirrups." His entry with a gloved hand was gentle. Separating my lips, Doc stimulated my clit. Entering Doc circled the pads of his fingers against my vaginal walls, then retreating before he plunged into the depths. Up and down unhurried at first, then picking up the tempo. When I, on edge, pled for more, Doc unexpectedly withdrew.