The Imprint Ch. 03

Part 3 The Castle

Released from the hospital, I felt strange as I toyed with the hospital wrist band on my carpus (wrist). I thought like a doctor, but up to the point of release I was treated like a patient, a piece of meat, even though the Hospital President held the palmar side (palm) of my hand during the procedure.

My sleek light brunette 20 - year old secretary had an interesting observation on the God - complex. "You hide behind an incomprehensible blither of pseudo Latin to present yourself as God. At some point, you're only deceiving yourself."

It was a quick drive up the hill from the hospital where Mr Pauling, my lawyer assigned from the insurer, had picked me after a surgical procedure to extract a donated ovum. We were getting together this early to sign important papers in preparing my defence to a malpractice action and other charges brought by my former friend and roommate Erica Erickson.

How much did Mr Pauling need to know? I understood the need to control the information Mr Pauling received about the incident. No need to know the whole wretched details, Mr Pauling I decided only should know what was necessary to make my defence. I was a doctor. I had the God - image to preserve. We can do no wrong. The "truth" would be controlled.

What is control? Erica had said any woman can control a man. Even me, at 5 ' - 1" and 200 lbs. "Here's the deal, swing that rack of Double D, the guy will buckle, he will kneel, an obedient servant to Queen Bee."

Like Erica, Mr Pauling, I believe, blessed with a great memory and attention to detail, would have made a great teacher. Teacher, hmm, I mused, there was a time when I myself might have become a teacher.

As Mr Pauling turned onto Sparks Place, he remarked "Edgar Carleton Sparks, (1822 - 1895) one of the hoary, grizzly portraits on the wall in my former law firm, a founding partner of REMPH, SPARKS & HARKER, Railroad lawyer, member of the State Senate, Chancellor of University Hospital."

Hmm, Erica, I, thought, could rival Mr Pauling for knowledge of such irrelevant trivia. How would she handle this situation? Pretend to be impressed. Men are easily entranced by a studious pupil. Erica put this under her wisecrack: "Why men are like coca cola bottles or the art of the tease."

"Railroad lawyer - State Senator - University Chancellor - all at the same time?" I asked. I chuckled. Shaking my head, I remarked, "I couldn't imagine Dr Windham the current University Hospital President managing all that without breaking half dozen policies and laws."

"Pretty much so," responded Mr Pauling as he was parking his car on State Street next to the park, "Pre - Watergate morality was significantly different." Noting the alternate sides of the street parking rules, Mr Pauling noted, "I've more than enough time."

I almost chuckled at "enough time." What did Erica say about spending time with men? "Men and women, who's more fickle? Men burn in a flick but come too quick."

As much as my former friend Erica was now my declared enemy, heck she sued me and my employer the University Hospital for malpractice, the worst thing you accuse a doctor of, her thinking was guiding me. Was that a danger?

I agreed with Mr Pauling that there would be plenty of time. I did not want more than a cursory examination of the Emergency Medical Response Training Exercise in October.

As we crossed the street to reach my brownstone castle, Mr Pauling commented, "State Street is an up and coming area. What brought you here?"

"Accident—or—fate, Mr Pauling," I replied, "seems to have shaped my entire life. I was to have gone to St Helena's College; they ran the Convent School I attended, but a week before school opened, an opportunity opened for me in the PAP program at Capital land College—too late for getting into the dorms. So, last minute, Father rented the apartment here. I fell in love with the flat and, at one point, even made a few sacrifices to keep it."

Hmm, last year of med school, that's where the trouble started. When Father cut the allowance because my brothers were in med school and law school, I brought in Erica as a boarder. After my graduation, she stayed on. Once a friend who rescued me, now an embittered enemy, oh what irony!

"Oh," Pauling remarked, "I see, EEOC. What did Vice - President Spiro T Agnew foresee? You would have your doctor chosen by equal opportunity! Ironic isn't it a prick of fate you who came up under banner of Equal Opportunity are one of the first sued for sake of the Rehabilitation Act's policy?"

"Unfortunately," I thundered my repartee, "women are judged by harsh standards. In the race of life, we're either saints left behind at the starting gate or sluts who succeed by whoring themselves, Hmm," I reflected aloud, "I might have been of the saints. Had I gone to St Helena's College, I'd have become a nun and taught school."

I had been warned by my brother that Mr Pauling was a tough fighter but was regarded as abrasive and one not to mechanically utter pleasing white liberal apothegms.

"At the moment, it's the Hospital's bad luck—and your too—that only an institution accepting federal funds is prohibited from discriminating against the disabled," Pauling noted.

Indeed, such was the state of the law prior to the Americans With Disability Act which would come some two decades in the future and which would encourage a tidal wave of litigation. Few people were familiar with the Rehabilitation Act. Erica apparently paid close attention in law school.

Inside, I exclaimed, "It's good to get out of the cold." I hung my jacket up. "You should take off your jacket while we go over your paperwork. Within these solid plaster walls," I tapped my fist on the wall, "these old wrought iron heaters are pretty effective in belching out the heat. Plus, after sun - up, I get pretty good sunlight through the front windows."

"Are you trying to sell me the building?" Mr Pauling, crashing into a wooden chair in the kitchenette, laughed. "It might prove to being a good investment."

Noticing that, despite the heat, Mr Pauling was clutching his coat around him, I conducted my preliminary evaluation; he was still wearing pajama bottoms; his shoes weren't properly laced; he wore no socks. My Rx, take my time. Chances are, having rushed out to pick me up, he is shirtless and sans culotte. Let him simmer.

What had Erica said of the art of the tease? "It takes expertise to control your mister, keeping hope flicker, letting him blister, making him treat you like a sister." Hmm, perhaps, in practice, that particular gem might not be wise in my case.

"Mr Pauling," I started, "I need to get these scrubs off. Scrubs tend to be rather stiff making them hard to wear without underwear. I have to get them off before I start to itch. I'll leave my bedroom door ajar while you ask your questions."

I walked into my bedroom, just beyond the kitchenette. Sitting on my bed, I lifted my foot to remove one of the haz - mat boots. I started to tug. The fit was snug. During the struggle, Mr Pauling with a yellow pad on the table started to ask questions.

"As you know, your former tenant, on a Friday Afternoon, last October, Erica Erickson, was brutally attacked on Central Avenue. In her lawsuit, Erica Erickson alleges that the attack happened," Pauling looked down at his papers, "or rather started during a disaster training exercise. A trainee, under your control, stripped her naked. Abandoned and helpless on Central Avenue at sunset, she was left defenseless on the street to be raped. What were you doing in that neighborhood that Afternoon?"

I decided to lift off the top. It was scratching my mammillae (nipples).

Sherry my secretary insists I provide as an alternative the popular term, even in my reports to the Hospital administration. How many of these people really understand all this gibberish? The lingo is intended to define the caste. Those many that don't understand it are too afraid to admit it.

I soothed the itchy epidermal tissue (skin), before I returned to the boots. "The Med School was conducting a training exercise in Emergency Medical Response, with the assistance of the Capital land Fire Department's Chief EMT. As you know, Central Avenue is a derelict area, mostly burnt out houses, abandoned buildings and car wrecks. It's generally deserted. Hence, it's an ideal place to conduct an exercise."

Freed from that starchy top, my mammaries (boobs) bounced. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr Pauling's eyes widened at my dangling mammaries (breasts). I chuckled to myself. How long would the magical spell last?

Erica had a trill for this:

"Mother nature's fiendish plot, he's out to peek, where he ought not, at her glorious physique, In the altogether, sans culotte."

Naturally, it took Mr Pauling a full heartbeat to ask the next question. "So, tell me," Pauling hesitated, "exactly what time did you start the exercise?"

"It starts out 6am early in the morning at the hospital," I explained as I rocked on the edge of my bed holding one knee in both hands, "I meet with the Med Students and the Fire Department people. I had problems with some of the med students. It was one of those October three - day weekends."

"Monday Holiday Act!" Mr Pauling exclaimed, "The travel industry loves it. The Veterans hate it. They lose the connection of our holidays to wars. And of course, if you give people a three - day weekend, they angle to add a fourth to it."

"Yep, to the many students," I suspected, "who wanted to take an extra day off to the three - day weekend to travel out to the lakes or go home, I remember what I said."

"Huh?" Mr Pauling grunted. Recovering from his fixation with my mammaries (breasts), Mr Pauling muttered, "Oh, what did you tell the disgruntled students?"

What did Erica say, "Sting him! you're Queen Bee, Suggest Favors to please, but keep him begging on his knees."

"I reminded them 'medicine is a full - time occupation without borders that takes precedence over everything else, your friends, your family, your religion, your race or nationality...'" I recalled, "`if you want an occupation which indulges in deference to personal preferences, the law school is on the other side of the North River.' I surprised myself with my own words. What do you think?"

"Eh—oh yeah," Mr Pauling mesmerized by the gently sway of my breasts remarked, "they're beautiful." When I raised my eyebrows, Pauling bumbled over an attempt at clarification, "Your - eh thoughts-you display them so well." Removing his jacket, revealing a bare chest and striped pajama bottoms, Pauling tried to avert his glance.

What did Erica say, "When you're blessed with ample chest that makes him quiver. You can suggest more than you intend to deliver."

"You want to know what happened next?" I suggested as I leaned forward to allow my mammary glands (breasts) to tantalize Mr Pauling. "Oh, let me see," I held my fist under my mentum (chin), pretending to think, "we explain the crisis the actors will be enacting." I paused to let Mr Pauling re - establish a connection with his brain.

Erica's line went, "his eyes perceiving, your breasts heaving, dreams weaving, heart racing eager, he's seized with the fever."

Recovering, Mr Pauling, eyes still rivetted on my bust, struggled to ask, "the actors ugh—gets her—their parts. Ugh What were the parts?"

"After I administered a physical exam to each of the actors," I explained the process, "The actors were all issued a red sweater, scarf and blue jeans which would identify participants. The scenario was a multi - vehicle accident and the actors and actresses were to wander around in a daze until help arrived. We wrapped up about 4PM."

Hands on my hips, I waited for Mr Pauling to ask the final question. Ultimately, Pauling strove to sputter out the final question. "Ugh—did you ever see Ms Erica Erickson that afternoon? Was she one of the ugh—crisis actresses that afternoon?"

"No, I didn't see her that afternoon," I replied.

We waited in silence for Mr Pauling to come up with follow - up questions.

"It's fun but risky," Erica taught, "to prod to vetch, to bring him to the edge, when he's frisky, fever burning, near the point of no returning."

I decided to end the interview by asking for help removing a haz - mat boot. As Mr Pauling approached. I could see every muscle in his bare chest, impressive but his erection was evident poking through loose pajama bottoms.

I was tingling. I mechanically reached for my top to hold it modestly to cover my chest. I didn't know if I wanted him to stay or leave. Was I terrified or titillated?

What would Erica have said? "Tease as much as you dare, but be alert, beware, Take heed of this mouthful, he's the bull and you're the mare."

My left boot simply slid off when he pulled at it. "Easy enough!" Mr Pauling declared. "Now the left—oops right.," Mr Pauling ordered, "leave the shirt cover your chest; cup both hands over right knee cap and on the count of three, pull back, while I try to pull the boot off. Did you have any problem putting the boot on?" I shook my head.

"One - two - three," Mr Pauling shouted, "Pull." When the boot came off, Mr Pauling staggered back a pace, I fell back on the bed, the top flew over my cranium (head). A strange, wild look came over Mr Pauling's face. He cast aside the boot, moved toward me, untied the bow, below my Umbilicus (belly button, navel).

The silliest things that the mind brings to surface at the most inappropriate times - My secretary Sherry's reminder to translate doc - speak into English - as Mr Pauling opened the Knot which held the bottoms up.

Phalanges (Fingers) grasping the waist band over either coxa (hip), wrenched the bottoms. I shouted, "Mr Pauling!" but I surprised myself. I did not resist. I lifted my gluteal prominence (butt) to allow the bottoms to slide off. He paused for a second looking at my freshly shaved pubes (crotch).

Once again, the most ridiculous thought came to mind. Was I betraying Erica?

Erica once whispered, "Friends forever, freed from all men, `till day come however, guys we will befriend, and we shall endeavor, with whomsoever, to copulate like a vixen, make heartbeat thunder like a drum, this augury I must portend, lest our choice, our bleak recourse, is an evolutionary dead - end."

Mr Pauling took a leg and turned me over on my belly. He lifted my thighs. I gasped when he penetrated (entered) me, but I pushed back to force him to pump in further. How long we rocked together, I'm not sure. Certainly, it wasn't long enough. He crashed face down, next to me, legs dangling off the bed.

I didn't want to scare Mr Pauling that this was my first time—with a man. I slapped Mr Pauling on the gluteus (butt). "Let`s hop in the shower - together," I boldly suggested, "if you want. You have to move your car anyway - Alternate sides of the street parking. Remember."

Mr Pauling's mouth was moving without sound. He was trying to say, I'm sure, "are you protected?" Putting a finger over his mouth, I said let me kiss you and make it better. Besides, I donated an egg last night. The baby factory is temporarily closed. Head to the shower and I'll take you to breakfast and then to the scene."

In the shower, we soaped each other up and hugged. With his erection stirring again, we gently rocked together. "There really isn't very much room in here." At that I was thrown facing against a wall, upper and lower extremities (arms and legs), spread against the tiles, mammary glands were flattened into the cold, damp tile. To accommodate his access, Mr Pauling hoisted me off my feet by my axillae (arm pits).

I repressed a chuckle. In mastering practical medical terminology, my secretary Sherry as restrained as she was, commented that "a big mistake in porn is to employ vulgarity. It, sex, can even sound more exotic if you use medical terminology." When I raised my eyebrows, Sherry added, "Think on it, the most offencive word you can use to refer to a woman is `cunt,' which comes from the Latin word cunneo, as in Cunnilingus, oral sex the guy applying his mouth to stimulate a girl's—cunt?" I often rocked my head to and fro in amazement at some of the things Sherry came up with.

Rocking up and down, I brought Mr Pauling to a second eruption.

Then I turned and ordered Mr Pauling out of the shower. "Go to the other bedroom, your friend Josh left some clothes in there. I'll be with you as soon as I rinse off."

As I stepped out of the bathroom in my bathrobe, drying my hair with a towel, Mr Pauling, towel discarded thrown on the bed, was in the bedroom rummaging through the closet as I, leaning in the doorway, admired his physique.

"This was Erica's room," Pauling remarked. Though naked, he was perfectly poised. "Did she leave anything behind?"

"The room appeared to have been stripped bare when," I replied, "Erica left in the middle of the day sometime after Thanksgiving. I haven't gone in there since."

Mr Pauling casually went through the draws on the dresser and the nightstand. Inside the nightstand, he held up 8 x 10 glossy nudes of Erica from four views, right left, back and front. "There's a note," Pauling announced, "Something to remember me by. Care to comment?"

"Those appear to be photos which would have been taken of Erica when she signed up to be a medical model," I replied as I studied the photographs, "It shows the condition of the body at the time they're enrolled to document her condition at time of employment in case she later claims that she was injured by the hospital. I was unaware the hospital had a practice of releasing these photos to the model."

"Do you mind if I take these?" Mr Pauling, displaying the photographs to me, asked, "I'll have copies made and return them to you."

When I nodded, Pauling fired another question, "You're listed as a reference on her application to become a medical model. Did you hire her?"

"Officially Erica," I replied, "was employed by Department of Nursing, Division of Training, available for loan to the Medical School. Hiring was through the UH, University Hospital, personnel office, outside my jurisdiction."

"But you yourself employ actors, actresses and models in Emergency Response Training," Pauling prodded me.

I nodded agreement. "All hired through the personnel office. I have an exercise coming up. It's a drowning response problem. Why don't you apply? You'll see first - hand how the process works. Besides, it's some extra money, now that you're out of a job. By the way you never mentioned the nature of the dispute that put you out of your posh downtown firm."

"Actually, it centered around you," Mr Pauling acknowledged, "I suggested the Hospital make an offer to Erica of $50, 000.00 for a Rehabilitation Act violation. The other charges are hard to prove but the Hospital receives federal funds for training and did fire her for a `sullen attitude following a devastating injury.' I can't see how you'd be responsible for the hospital's decision to let Erica go. She could have continued in employ, perhaps for study by the Psychiatric Unit."

"Why did you suggest such an offer?" I asked.

"Tactics, Ms Baker," Mr Pauling replied, "Tactics. The offer would have been a ploy mainly to impress the judge. Chances are Erica would have turned such an offer down."

"That runs contrary to the God - complex," I blurted out.

"The hospital decided, and my Brahmin Bosses at REMPH, SPARKS & HARKER agreed," Mr Pauling said in a gruff tone, "I was too concerned with your welfare. So, they decided to cast me loose to defend you. Right now, day two of my own practice, you're my only client—."

What should I say? A normal person might commiserate with Mr Pauling. Most might offer condolences and say I'm so sorry. I was God. I could not.

"Find some clothes in the closet and dress," I said abruptly as I turned to head to my own bedroom, "We need to move your car. You can't afford a ticket." After taking a few steps away, I pivoted, "Mr Pauling, do apply at the Personnel Office. It'll give you some operating capital until you get fully on your feet."