The Imprint Ch. 02

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

*****

Everywhere I turned from the moment I left my brother Josh in -- processed into the hospital's fertility study, I faced roadblocks, under the watchword "procedure." My visit to the hospital lawyer which should have lasted a few seconds to drop off legal papers wasted half the day. "Procedure," I was told, dictated that I make contact with my counsel directly.

Dispatched on the spot, I left so quickly that I hadn't retrieved my ermine collared coat before I trudged up the hill. Arriving in my white lab coat at a prestigious downtown capital land Law Firm in a glass and steel architectural monument atop the stately heights, I was left in the waiting room and ignored.

In the waiting room two tall, slender girls made -- up like models wearing an intoxicating scent explained, "The Senior partner is discussing an important procedural point with Mr Sam Pauling. They'll be with you momentarily." Refusing my request to call back to my office, a common request granted as a courtesy in those primitive pre -- cell phone days, these elegantly dressed receptionists in a chirpy voice advised me that "Procedure requires that only an attorney can grant permission."

The breath -- taking view from the law firm's 14th floor window gave me a vantage point where I could look down below at the University Hospital complex by the river. Down there, who was I? I was a doctor, young—age 30 but still the director of an important department in the medical school. I was used to being the one in control.

When I finally got seen by Mr Pauling, I was unimpressed by his slovenly appearance and wild hair. Staring at his wrinkled shirt, rolled up sleeves, tie unknotted, I voiced my lack of confidence. "Sam," I began, "I take it you are my lawyer... Don't take this personal but eh—what if I don't want you?"

Pauling quickly cut me off. "Here in America, lawyers are only first -- among -- equals, commonly referred to by first name, imputing a certain artificial familiarity to the relationship."

I was stunned. "You certainly may set your bounds," I replied in a defensive tone. "I understand your firm is well respected here in Capital land."

"Actually, I'm sorry to give you a mis-impression—two of them." Pauling opened the file on his desk and leafed through the documents and spread them out on the desk, "First, you may call me whatever you want: Hey you, Asshole, Schmuck, Whatever... but today is my last day at this firm. It's a procedural issue. You and the hospital must be separately represented. The firm will represent the hospital and I've been elected to split off to represent you."

"Very well then, Mr Pauling, if that's proper procedure," I said firmly with a half -- smile. "I don't mean to strike a discordant note," I replied, "but wouldn't my interests be best served in an established firm? What if I report back to the Hospital lawyer that you are unacceptable?"

"I'd cry," Pauling grinned, "and you would too, but your employer will cheer. Neither your insurer nor your employer would have to cover the costs of your defense! Your employer can call you a rogue employee who acted contrary to policy, injuring this," Sam looked down to the papers, "person. You'd bear the entire loss on your own. Ask your brother Josh. He was in my law school graduating class. What's he been doing since graduation?"

"You know, Josh," I smiled, "he's up here in Capital land, temporarily as he decides on direction." I complimented myself on the interesting way of phrasing Josh's current predicament. Did this unkempt rogue Sam Pauling need to know that Josh was squirreled away naked in chastity in a sub -- basement of University Hospital in a sperm retrieval project?

"My employment here terminated and I came off their payroll as of the moment you walked through the front door. So, I'm on my own right now," Sam explained, "I need to jump -- start your defense. Let`s start with the paperwork -- we have here an answer to the complaint and reams of other documents."

"How could you file an answer to a complaint," I looked down as I leafed through a document thick as a book, "that you prepared without hearing my side of the story?"

Waiving his hand, Sam dismissed my concern, "It's all procedure, pro forma, haec verba, boilerplate. You deny everything; it never happened; besides it's all the plaintiff's, your accuser's, fault."

"And you need," I balanced the document in my hand as if I were calculating its weight, "all this paper to say something so simple?"

"Somehow," Sam's leveled his glance at me, "simply saying, `Fuck you, prove it,' never caught on."

Unsure about my assigned counsel who needed sheaths of documents signed immediately, I was allowed permission to review the documents over night with my brother Josh. Sam cautioned, "It's really not smart to allow your personal information to circulate around the hospital. You must treat everyone there as a potential enemy."

With time pressing, I suggested that Sam to pick the documents up from my house. Sam agreed even though I reminded him "I leave for work before 6 AM."

I accepted Sam's offer for a ride back to the hospital.

"On parting, I guess," Sam, in the underground garage, looked up reflectively to the steel bars holding up the ceiling, "you could say you, Ms Rebecca Baker," Sam stressed the honorific `Ms,' "and I, we're both put out there into battle as expendable, potential sacrificial lambs to the vanities, interests and ambitions of others. Never forget that."

When I saw the interior of Sam's car, cluttered with dust and trash, I was afraid to sit down. "Just push anything in your way aside, it's a lot quicker than walking—if the heat actually comes up, a lot warmer."

"Scaling the hill, I was in such a tizzy," I recalled, "I didn't feel the cold."

At the barrier, the guard apologized for the order not to allow anyone in the lot without a pass. "I'm sorry, Dr Barton, you must walk to the door on such a cold day." He shook his head. "Procedure! Admin is cracking down on employees, particularly the docs, who aren't getting annual physicals."

"Somehow, today procedures create a difficulty for me in moving from point A to point B," I declared as I stepped out of Sam's car. Cold gusts rustling through my clothing made me realize how poorly dressed I was for wandering around outside on such a blustery day. Apologizing for dropping me so far from the door and handing me a slip of paper with his phone number, Sam waved and sped off.

The guard beckoned to me as I turned to march to the door. "There's a car parked in your assigned spot. I know you don't drive. Is that OK with you?" When I nodded approval, the guard reminded me to have my physical before the pass is revoked and that car is towed. "That's procedure, Doc."

On edge throughout my meetings all day, I could not get to see the director of the fertility experiment where I had ensconced Josh. 4 PM was the earliest time available. Like clockwork, my secretary Sherry sashayed into my office, feeling the lapels of her new lab coat. Before she could remind me, I jumped up. "Oops the time," I declared, "I have to get downstairs."

In the sub -- sub basement, I unexpected resistance there. "The experiment just started this AM," I was told, "If you could explain the nature of the emergency in general terms beyond a family situation. Are you sure you just don't want to check," the director looked down at his `census' (patient register -- Sherry drilled into me translating medical lingo into English), "your brother Josh out of the project?"

I shook my head. "The reason is personal but not only am I affected—but so is the hospital," I shot back, "I need confidential legal papers reviewed—right away."

The director relented "The environment is sterile. There are strict procedures. Even Dr Regina Windham our Hospital President observes them when she visits. Your access is granted on condition," the director raised his index finger, "that you submit to examination, decontamination and disinfection—entering and leaving anti -- septic zone. At this point, procedures require that I separate you from your papers. The papers will be separately sanitized."

Mindful of Mr Pauling's admonition, I did not like the word scrutinize. "Thank you for your consideration," I agreed to the terms, "The papers are extremely personal in nature. I can enter without them," With a smile, I added, "My secretary will retrieve the papers."

At the check point, a tired guard handed me the book to sign in. As I was being fingerprinted, I complained, "is this really necessary?"

The guard shrugged "It's just procedure, ma'am," he said as he handed me a moist paper towel and buzzed me in.

Inside, I found myself in an ante -- chamber, little more than an over -- sized closet lit by ultraviolet lighting. Lockers lined the wall. A nurse in scrubs, in an officious tone I was familiar with greeted me. "Dr Barton, before you might enter a secured area, I must examine you. Please disrobe and place your things on a peg against that wall." As I hung my white lab coat and dress from a peg, the nurse prompted me. "Procedure requires that everything come off. Hurry, sweetie, your darling brother is waiting."

The familiar tone infuriated me, but I hung my underwear and stockings. "Now I need your watch, those shiny pearl earring and anything else of value on your body."

Handed a small manilla envelope to deposit my jewellery, I sighed, "I guess it's all procedure."

When I presented, the nurse removed my glasses and handed them to me. Unable to see without them, I clutched them in my hands as she guided me over to a scale. "Height," she noted, "5 -- 1, hmm, weight 200 lbs."

After shining a light in my eyes and examining my ears, she wagged a stethoscope dangling from her neck. Perfunctorily applying her stethoscope under my bare breasts, the nurse announced in a tone so artificially cheery it was annoying, "Let`s take your temperature, sweetie," Mechanically, I opened my mouth and held out my tongue.

With a chuckle in her voice, the nurse reminded me, "Procedures preserve a secure, safe, sanitized area, sweetie. Everyone who comes to that door," the nurse pointed to her entrance, "is treated the same."

"Dr Regina Windham, Queen Bee herself is stripped and examined like a cow?" I chided the nurse.

"Dr Windham, the Hospital President insists upon it," the nurse assured me, "If the hospital president thinks I'm moving too slow, she snatches the thermometer from my hands and sticks it up her ..."

"I get the message," I replied in a firm voice.

In a calmer tone, the nurse added, "I need an accurate reading. As you know, basal readings are more accurate, my dear. You're a doctor. You must have seen this done many times. There's no reason to blush. Lets take your temp from the rump," the nurse chuckled, "oops—I meant—the other end."

With a swirling movement of her hands, the nurse signaled me to turn around. "Sweetie, spread your feet as far as you can."

She paused as I peered over my bare shoulder to glance at her. "Don't worry, Sweetie, it's good exercise. Now bend over to touch your toes."

I heard latex gloves snap and goo being squeezed out of a tube. "Good," the nurse complemented me, "Now, reach behind your butt and spread those sassy butt cheeks."

The nurse leaned up close to me as she inserted a finger in my rectum and twirled it around gently massaging my sphincter muscle. "I'm sure you realize it feels a little chilly to start up with. Then suddenly it will turn warm."

Then her finger was withdrawn. I felt the heavy glass thermometer contact my sphincter. Involuntarily I gasped. The nurse in a soft voice instructed me, "Relax. All we need right now is a deep cleansing breath." With her gloved finger massaging the edges of my sphincter, she slid the thermometer inside.

Slapping me on the butt, she ordered, "Now hold that position for a sec for me, sweetie so that I can get an accurate reading on the first try. Will you sweetie?"

Looking over my shoulder, I noticed the nurse calmly walk over to a desk and sit at her desk. "Name. Rebecca Barton," she called out. "Correct?" According to hospital records, you're "Employed here, Female, Age 30. Date of last physical ... Hmm you're overdue—by two years, You're in luck. I'll have the doc," with a giggle, "stare up your snatch and check your rack to complete your physical. Or, I have to put a hold on your paycheck until it's complete. That's procedure! Your choice."

I grunted approval, "I do need to pay for Christmas."

The nurse returned to me. A firm hand on my backbone right above my hips at the L5-S1 intervertebral disk held me in place. In a soothing voice, she assured me, "I need you to stay still, sweetie until I see if we need to repeat the procedure."

Retracting the thermometer, the nurse held it up for a few seconds, "Hmm 98.6°, you're heating up." After a pause she asked, "Do you remember the exact date of your last menstrual period, sweetie?"

"Just, two weeks ago?" I replied. "Are we about done, here?"

"Almost! You're in luck. As long as your butt is in the saddle and your feet are in the stirrups why not allow them to retrieve your egg?" The nurse asked. "You'll be paid. You did say you have Christmas to pay for. You're not preparing to get pregnant, this month, are you?"

I took a deep breath and shook my head.

"OK," the nurse attached a blood pressure cuff to my left arm and left my wrist. "BP 140 / 90; pulse is 85 beats per minute. A bit high, darling."

"I wonder why," I exclaimed sarcastically.

Affixing a wrist band, the nurse asked me to read aloud and verify the name and date of birth on the tag. I protested, "is this necessary?"

"Procedure," the nurse replied, "ensures that your property is returned to you when you leave. Oops," the nurse exclaimed, "since you're checked in for a procedure, your clothes must be inventoried."

Deliberately, the nurse held up my underwear and announced, "blue bra." Turning to me, she asked, "yours?" Then, the nurse checked it off on her list. "Matching panties?" She proceeded to record each and every item of my clothing, before she deposited it in a clear plastic garbage bag.

I chuckled. What had Josh had said of this procedure? Josh quipped, "They strip you bare to inspect you like cattle. Clothing makes a person. That why institutions, private schools, hospitals, take them away?"

School? Father kissed me goodbye and drove off. Dropped at the door of the convent school, I surrendered my overnight bag. In the shower, I met the obese school nurse who handed me a towel to wipe any makeup off my face. "Now I need your jewelry, clothing, and any money you have."

I was stunned. "Strip!" the school nurse barked. " bare ass naked! Those pretty clothes come off."

Trembling I clumsily undressed. Seconds later, reduced to a quivering naked body, I watched the nurse run stubby fingers over my polka dot dress, buster brown shoes. "My niece could use this stuff."

Bitter experience had toughened me. I had become so aggressive, elders regarded my forceful manner as forward. Contrary to my ingrained assertiveness, I, stripped bare, accepted the de-personalization process submissively. I had no choice I needed to talk to my brother. As the last shred of my position, my white lab coat, was dropped into the sack, I suggested "we should be about done."

When completed with the inventory, the nurse, shoving the clear plastic sack aside, ordered me to stand on a line in the floor. "Face forward, hands at your side," the nurse ordered.

A flash of light nearly blinded me. Raising my hands automatically, I shrieked, "what was that for?"

"Procedure, sweetie," the nurse in a sickeningly sweet voice, "With the incidence of malpractice suits, you may have heard?"

Unfortunately, indeed I had. That was the unstated reason for my visit to my brother. I simply nodded.

"We have to show," the nurse continued, "that the body that entered left in the same condition. Turn right please, I have more pictures to take. After a flash, the nurse asked me to raise my left arm.

The procedure continued until I said. "Nude photos from every angle: Left Sagittal Plane, Right Sagittal Plane, frontal plane, back and front. I feel like a porn star. What else? Should I autograph the photos?"

"Oh, yes," the nurse answered, "turn around, bend over for an enema. Procedure, sweetie."

Fortunately, the nurse used a syringe to inject me with sodium phosphate, a saline laxative rather than the old -- fashioned bag and ball which would have sloshed warm salty water into my insides.

Oh, I was familiar with the old enema bag. After cursory in -- processing physical, the school nurse asked, "General good health?" I was too shaken to reply. "Hmm OK, turn around." Knees knocking, I stooped over. My Gluteal-cleft (butt crack) was stretched. "To clean you out, I'm inserting the tubes."

Tapping on a door next to her desk, the nurse told a tall woman wearing a blue two -- piece bathing suit, "Get doc for annual exam and egg donation. She's been processed for the procedure."

I was pushed into a dimly light corridor, with cinder-block walls and bare pipes above. The scrub nurse, pointing to a hole in the floor, ordered "Squat." Gracefully, she turned away while I relieved myself.

"Welcome to the car wash," said the scrub nurse in the two -- piece bathing suit as she pointed to an X in the floor." Stand there, sweetie," she instructed me in that sickeningly sweet voice.

Under the X, a cascade of very warm water drenched me. That sensation was by no means unpleasant.

With a flick of her hand, the bathing suited nurse ordered an advance to the next X. Soapy water rained down on me for a few seconds. "Work it in," the girl in the two -- piece bathing suit urged, "into your hair, under your arms, into your vagina and rectum. Work it in thoroughly." When I hesitated, the aide added, "Our girls released to go to school or work do this every single day."

Handed a towel, I dried myself off as thoroughly as I could. I stood behind the scrub nurse in the two -- piece bathing suit as she tapped on the door. "Get doc, annual physical, egg donation."

In front of me stood a person dressed in complete anti -- contagion, bio-hazard gear, hood, face plate and white vulcanized jump suit. In the glorious pre 9 -- 11 era, that degree of protection was science fiction.

The room's decor consisted of a solitary chair and some anti -- contagion jump suits hanging from pegs, When I asked for a hospital gown, a resonant voice echoing from under the suit told me, "You're here for an internal exam. No clothing issue is necessary."

"I came to see my brother. My physical was overdue. I'm completing my physical to get my paycheck. How will anyone know I'm not part of the experiment?" I protested.

"Your wrist band identifies you." Tapping my wrist, the space -- person ordered, "Hurry Doc waits,"

I was directed to a small examining room. To my dismay, one wall was transparent. Helped onto the table by a person in the eh—space suit, I put my feet in the stirrups. Clad in a spacesuit, doctor breezed into the room with a chart in gloved hands. "Barton, Rebecca age 30, 5' 1" ugh—not good 200 lbs, caught at checkpoint for overdue physical—Congratulations you're one of the first persons caught. The hospital is starting gentle enforcement at checkpoints to secured areas. Lets have a look inside."

Doctor shone a penlight at my reproductive glands. "On a visual exam of your external genitalia. I see no signs of irritation, redness, sores or swelling."

"Now," doctor took a speculum, "relax, while I peak inside— my handy dandy stainless steel crowbar — will unhinge your vaginal walls and allow me inspect your internal reproductive organs."