The Examination Ch. 04

Examination of a NAG

Sometimes Kate Harridan thought *Milly* was the cause of her headaches, the way her administrative assistant went on and on, urging her boss to see a doctor about the trivial ailment. Milly ought to have been working for Kate long enough to know by now she *always* got headaches when she was under stress. And Lord knows she had cause enough for stress. Just moving the headquarters of NAG (National Association of Grrrls), the organization Kate had founded, from San Francisco to Washington was stressful enough. Then the disasters began.

The movers had hardly finished putting all the ficuses in place when the Finger scandal broke. Carol Finger, yes, Senator Finger herself, was caught in a sexual liaison with one of her hunky interns. "Sexual liaison" hell, the Senator was getting her lights fucked out daily if not more often. Truth be told, Carol Finger had never been a credit to the World's Greatest Deliberative Body, but she was on NAG's Board of Directors and the organization had to back her up. Always ready with a faux feminist rationale for her erratic positions on issues, Carol compiled an amazingly inconsistent and self-serving voting record.

The disclosure that Senator Finger was having sex with a boy half her age was bad enough. Worse was the grainy photo obtained by the other party showing the plump, middle-aged woman draped over an arm chair, short red skirt up around her waist and red panties down around her ankles, being skewered to her obvious delight by a muscular blond. The President's picture above the desk smiled down in apparent approbation, or was it envy?

The Senator made everything ten time worse, however, at the news conference she gave to announce her resignation from the Senate. Kate had read the transcript and seen the video enough times to have the gut-wrenching performance memorized. The rhetorical low points were burned into her memory.

"Hell, yes, I'm having sex with this gorgeous boy and I sure don't intend to apologize for it," the Senator declared. "That's the difference between men and real Grrrls. I do *not* beg forgiveness from my husband and family and this has definitely *not* made my marriage to the wimp stronger. In fact, I'm going to divorce his ass! And for all you school marms of whatever profession that `can't understand how a woman of `my age' can take up with a twenty year old stud-muffin, let me spell it out for you.

S-E-X.

Is that clear enough? Let me be more specific.

T-E-N _ I-N-C-H _ C-O-C-K.

Need more? How about,

T-H-R-E-E _ I-N-C-H _ D-I-A-M-E-T-E-R?

I've got the boy putting the wood to me like I haven't gotten it in years and damned if I'm going to give him up."

"Take it from me, Grrrls, get your self one of these," she proclaimed lustily, reaching over to fondle the erection of the handsome young man standing beside her, smiling even though he was a little dim to fully comprehend what was going on. "Stop grinding up the contraband Viagra in the old fart's oatmeal at night. It's not doing either of you any good," she admonished. "Loose some lard ladies, get those titties a silicone upgrade if they need it, buy yourself a few hot little minis, and wiggle your ass down to the nearest sports bar. I guarantee within a week you'll be getting your pussy plowed or I'll let you have Arnold for a night."

"If you are lucky, you might even find a plowman who can remember which morning to take out the garbage, but don't hold your breath. Remember, Grrrls, there's just one thing a man's good for. If he's well equipped between his legs, don't worry about what he's got between his ears."

"There is, however, one particularly disgusting canard out there, that I must most emphatically deny. I did *not* let my fuck toy `get me pregnant.' I got this," Carol paused for effect and lifted her obscenely short skirt to display a telling bulge in her panties, "Because *I* threw away the pills. *I* decided on the best dates. *I* locked him in the hotel room and kept the pillows under my ass. *I* made sure he gave me frequent re-fills of jizz all weekend long. I'm having this baby because *I* guided his big cock into me and made him shoved it farther down into my fertile womb than he ever had before. Arnold, the dear, just supplied the semen, one thing he can do very well." Arnold grinned, suspecting the nice woman had said something good about him again.

Ex-Senator Finger had gone on for twenty minutes in that vein. It had been a public relations catastrophe ending with the horrific finale. "Therefore I am resigning my seat in the United States Senate. Not because I am ashamed of myself, but because there isn't a man there who can fuck worth a damn -- and the women aren't much better. I don't have time to listen to windbags when I could be on my back getting a prong where it belongs. And so adieu and fuck yieu!" she concluded giving the middle finger salute for the nation's television cameras.

The furor over l'affaire Finger had barely died down when NAG was embarrassed to learn that Wonder Woman was out of service. For some time it had been damned hard to get in touch with her. The reason was another embarrassment. The Army's main contact with the superheroine, Diana Prince, was spending every free hour shacked up with Col Steve Trevor and had the little round tummy to prove it.

When the lovebirds could at last be prevailed upon to call in Wonder Woman, it was revealed just why the superheroine had been keeping out of sight. Although the Amazonian Princess wasn't telling who had done the deed, America's first line of defense had irresponsibly let some man put a bun in her oven and her doctor didn't allow her to travel. Consequently, the US military had to deal with a rogue faction of the Ruritanian Defense Force without the assistance of its superheroine. It was close run thing.

Finally, although it was not a crisis, Kate became increasingly aware of the subtly hostile atmosphere to NAG's agenda in the Washington social milieu. Kate had expected to find Washington full of sour women -- hard-bitten lawyers, disgruntled NGO executives, and angry consultants -- eager to become NAGs. Instead, every time she turned around Kate heard another story of a professional woman who suddenly quit her job to become a happy little sex kitten for her boyfriend and promptly got herself knocked up or one who suddenly had to give up her career when she "accidentally" let her husband make her pregnant again. Hundreds of women with children already in college were waddling around again in maternity dresses or were back to washing diapers. Some were doing both. Olivia Fuentes in NAGs Research department confirmed that the birth rate among upper middle class women ages 30-45 in the Washington metropolitan area was almost double the national average and was still shooting up.

The queen bee of these "New Feminists," as she dubbed them, was Angelica Lopez, the new editor of the Post's "Style" section. And Angelica made no secret whom she considered to be the "Old Feminists." Angelica was an odd bird, Kate thought. Admittedly she had a strong claim to being a feminist. She was a successful young woman with a six figure income and a handsome, slavish husband whom she kept home to look after the house -- and the kids. That was the odd part. Angelica had five children under four and was pregnant again. She filled "Style" with stories about having sex and having babies. Thousands of readers adored Angelica, but unfortunately, had rather less supportive husbands than their icon. So when their bellies started getting big, they were the ones who stayed home to care for the little shoot.

No, Kate didn't come by her headaches gratis. She had to admit, though, that Milly might have a point. Her assistant did seem so happy and full of life since her visit to Dr. Bock. Maybe it was a good thing NAG had selected him. Several women doctors had bid for the contract to be NAG's Preferred Provider of gynecological and (Ha!) obstetric services, but Bock's price was just too good. Moreover, Carol Finger and Milly, who had been on the selection committee, had returned singing the praises of the Bock Clinic. Grudgingly, Kate told the eager AA to make an appointment for her the next week.

This made Milly very happy. Although she knew Kate would not understand the recent changes in her life, much less approve of them, Milly was convinced somehow that the visit to Dr. Bock had been a turning point. Although she could not remember much about what happened there, since her appointment Milly had blossomed socially. To be more exact, were Milly not such a little lady, one would say she had turned into a cock hound!

Like many women who discover the joys of sex a little tardily, Milly focused on the basics, seeking to make up for lost time. Candles at dinner were an unnecessary expense and wine, however useful for getting a guy into bed, interfered with good performance once she had him there. Experience had taught her that a big plate of pasta before the main event and Gatorade, kept by the bedside for pit stops, were all that was needed for the kind of strenuous lovemaking she demanded.

Milly was not yet much into romance. Her idea of a "long term" relationship was a guy who would pick her up at work on Friday afternoon and would still be performing to spec Monday morning when she reluctantly made him climb off and go home so she could get ready for work. Sadly, Milly had not yet found the man she was looking for, so she made do with a team. A major league manager planning his pitching rotation for the playoffs had nothing on Milly's strategizing her boyfriend schedule according to her moods and social occasions.

Primus inter pares was Horse, the Washington Wizards' center who was hung like a ... well, the eponymous farm animal. Carlos was a dance instructor whose introduction of the movements of Salsa, Cumbia, and the Meringue into his frenetic lovemaking more than compensated for his small stature. Wentworth was a pleasant looking banker, rich as sin, and not too bad in the sack. He had his uses. The sleeper of the group was Albert who worked at National Science Foundation. He was terribly bright and didn't look so goofy now that Milly had convinced him to get contact lenses. Albert was still a bit of a nerd, but Milly decided must have a Ph.D. in the geography of erogenous zones and had perhaps done some post-doctoral work in cunnilingus. He could get her off so well with his fingers and his mouth, Milly only fucked him to be a good sport ... and because his prick was almost as big as Horse's.

Amaka was also happy to get Milly's call that Ms Harridan would be coming for a visit and immediately informed James. "You handle her honey. After all, she *is* a feminist." Emboldened by James's confidence in her, Amaka did a little research on her patient-to -be. Although Kate had written several books, the locus classicus of her anti-male ideology was, "Forget It!" This screed was mainly famous for Kate's aphorism, that "a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle."

When Amaka saw Kate's scowling face, she knew this was not going to be easy. She decided that the best approach would be a respectful, businesslike tone. "Since you're a new patient, Ms Harridan, I'll need to get some preliminary information."

"I assumed that that was the purpose of having me fill out the form," Kate icily replied.

"You're quite right," Amaka assured her, wanting to get her into at least a semi-cooperative mood as quickly as she could. "All the basic, standard information is on the form, and of course I won't waste your time asking you to repeat it. All I need to do now is get some more details medical history, and because so many questions are contingent on other questions, it's a lot faster and more efficient to do that in an interview."

Kate seemed to accept this common sense explanation, if reluctantly. She nodded and said, "Very well."

"OK, glancing over what you put down, it looks like the only medical problem you've had in the past several years has been headaches, is that right?"

"That's correct."

"No history of sinus trouble? Good eyesight? Has there been a change in your symptoms recently?"

Kate answered the first two questions with a quick negative shake of her head. "The headaches have been getting worse in the past few weeks. Well, I'm not sure they're worse, just more frequent."

"I see. And has anything changed recently about your habits or your diet or your environment at home or at work?"

"I keep telling my secretary it's stress, and I have certainly had to deal with a good many problems recently. Unfortunately, stress is unavoidable in my work."

"Do you anything to relax?"

"I don't have much time for relaxing." Kate's expression changed from sourness and impatience to one of passionate zeal. "I don't know if you're aware of how much ground the feminist movement has lost in the past few decades. It's all we can do, those of us who still care about it, to keep things from sliding back into the dark ages."

"The real crisis is that we women have ourselves given up the fight. A lot of us have convinced ourselves that full-fledged feminism is extremist rather than simply right. Some even take delight in being sex objects, living their lives as if they were in some male fantasy. I don't suppose you've read Andrea Dworkin?"

Amaka had in fact read some Dworkin, but she shook her head, not wanting to extend the discussion if she could avoid it. But Kate seemed to be on a roll.

"Well, you should read Dworkin; she's a very important writer. But even Dworkin is too tolerant for my tastes. Men have subjugated women for years, using them for sexual pleasure and to make babies and to clean up after them. And look at so-called women's magazines! What are they about? Babies, sex, and how to have a pretty house! We're subjugating ourselves! Every time a woman has sex, she's cooperating with the oppressor!"

This was not going the way Amaka had intended. She had meant to gradually steer the discussion around to the need to relax, then either to the use of tranquilizers or self- hypnosis, which would give her the opening she needed to start this woman's conditioning. But she couldn't help saying, "I've heard that Andrea Dworkin says that any sex involving penetration is inherently sexist. Is that what you mean?"

Kate shook her head emphatically. "No, Dworkin has that completely wrong. That's a detail, mere symbolism. It isn't how you have sex, it's having sex at all. Any kind of sex subjugates women to men!"

Amaka looked at her with real curiosity. "Well, what if there aren't any men involved? What if it's just two gir -- two women? How can that o--"

Kate cut her off impatiently. "That's still sex, isn't it? Do you think that makes any difference to a man? Men love the idea of lesbian sex! They like it as much as they do male-female sex. Maybe more!"

Amaka opened her mouth to say something, but decided better of it. Reminding herself that this was not going anywhere useful, so she decided to revert to her original plan. "You make a very good point," she said, hoping agreement would avoid extending the argument. "You're absolutely right. Your work is very important. Vital. And I'm sure your headaches are interfering with your work, so we had better do something about them."

"Yes," Kate agreed, putting her palm to her forehead and seeming to sag slightly.

"Are you getting a headache now?" Amaka asked.

"Yes," Kate said. "I guess I got a little too intense." She looked up sharply. "But it's important! Ow!"

Amaka stood up and moved behind the woman. She began massaging Kate's shoulder's while trying to make it seem like an examination. The woman's shoulder muscles felt like taut steel cables. "Ms Harridan," Amaka said, "I believe that hypertension of the striated muscles might be at the root of your sensitivity to stress. I would like to examine your staticodynamic ligomusculature more thoroughly. Please remove your outer clothing and lie down on the examining table."

Kate looked sourly doubtful. "I had assumed the doctor would examine me."

"And I'm sure he will," Amaka said with a second unstated meaning. "But I assure you that I'm a qualified medical professional, although I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, since you would not underrate the nursing profession simply because it is traditionally female."

Kate seemed horrified by the very suggestion and quickly said, "Oh, of course not. I, I simply was concerned about the time. But perhaps you're right." Efficiently, and without the slightest sign of either shame or delight about the process, she stripped to cotton briefs. No doubt all her bras were burned years ago, Amaka told herself.

"OK, now if you'll just lie down here. No, face down, please. All right, now tell me if I hurt you."

But of course she had no intention of hurting. Amaka massaged the woman's shoulders, her back, her legs and arms, alternately gently and firmly, all the while trying to make it seem like an examination despite the pleasure she was sure she was provoking. Occasionally she allowed her large uniform-covered breasts to brush against her patient's bare skin as if by accident, and she let the tips of her fingers brush a few times against the sides of the woman's breasts. Kate showed no suspicion of what Amaka was up to, but she did show signs of responding and trying to conceal it. Amaka grinned inwardly, wondered if this woman ever had a massage before. Probably not the sort of thing a tight ass like her would go in for. May that was why she was reacting so well to this one.

When Amaka shifted her attention to the surprisingly cute little ass, though, she provoked a more negative reaction. "What are you doing?" Kate suddenly demanded.

Sounding professional, Amaka said, "I'm sorry if I startled you. Headaches can originate in primary or secondary muscle tension anywhere in the body, but especially near the head and spine, and in particular with the larger muscles, such as the gluteus maximus, here. I notice you seem to be particularly tense around the base of the spine, and I really should examine the whole pelvic area for my report."

Kate reluctantly let her press and feel her way around, and after a while the ass muscles no longer clinched up when she touched them.

"How's your headache?" Amaka asked.

"Why, it's gone!" Kate sounded genuinely surprised.

"Good. Sometimes the physiological manipulation necessary for the examination is itself therapeutic." Damn, she thought, she was starting to sound like what's her name on ER. "In fact, I believe it would help establish a treatment modality that I could report to the doctor if I tried one additional thing."

Amaka looked around for some oil but couldn't find any. "I'll be right back," she said as she hastened out of the room.

Kate lay there feeling better and almost relaxed. Perhaps her initial skepticism of this nurse had been based upon some residual sexism. After all, it pervaded society, and patriarchal values were passed on as much by mothers as by fathers -- that was the insidiousness of it. She should have thought to mention that in explaining how even lesbian sex could be oppressive of women, in that it reflected the patriarchal socioeconomic system. Marx had been, in his typical male way, wrong. It was not religion but sex that was the opiate of the masses, especially the female masses, and as with any seemingly pleasurable addictive drug it was best avoided.

The nurse came back with some sort of bottle. "This is a therapeutic lubricating oil," she explained. "It will help me perform a palpatative examination of the deeper musculature." Amaka neglected to mention that the oil had several tranquilizers that would be absorbed through the skin mixed with it. Since her close call with that tough Ms. Lopez, Amaka took no chances. Slowly, she began to smooth the cool liquid on Kate's back.