The Worm That Tried to Turn

In 1980, the two Ronnies, a British comedy duo ran a weekly mini-series in their show. It was about England being run by women. Men had to wear dresses, even though they had short hair and beards and still looked like men. Men looked after the home and women went to work. It sounded like paradise to me. This story is set in that universe. You can see the show on Youtube. Search for "The Worm That Turned"

"Mr. Jones! Doctor Roberts is ready for you now. If you would like to go through please."

The receptionist smiled at me. He was a fresh-faced young man probably straight out of school doing his first job. He wore a knee-length black skirt and a white blouse. As I walked passed, I noticed the 3-inch heels. Silly boy I thought. His legs would be killing him by tonight.

My wife David. That still rankled me, she took my name after the change in 1998, and gave me hers, Brenda. David insisted I wore high heels about the house. As I was at the doctor's and she was not due in from work until 6pm, I was wearing some 1-inch wedge court shoes.

As I went through to the doctor's office I saw her give the nurse a slap on his backside. He giggled and blushed when he realized I had witnessed the act. He was wearing a white nylon nurse's uniform with a little white cap and black stockings. I noticed the uniform skirt was a little too short and he was also wearing heels. I think the doctor must be a leg woman.

"Ahh, Mr Jones. You're here for your monthly prostate exam, aren't you? Pop up on the table, all fours. There's a good boy."

In my opinion, doctor Roberts was an old pervert. I hated these exams, but as I was in state-mandated chastity I was told it was necessary to make sure my reproductive system was in good health.

When the change happened in 1998, the government sold off its fishing rights, north sea oil as well as all its former colonies. Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Wales were all sold their independence too. The government knew that what they were planning to do meant men would be banned from doing traditionally male jobs, so they needed money to retrain women to take over.

In those early times, so many men fled abroad, or to Scotland and Wales. Now there were 2 women for every man. Men were milked once a month by their wives and the semen was collected by what was jokingly called the milkwoman.

I slipped off my shoes and climbed onto the table. I hated this part.

"Do you want the nurse to stay? Would you feel more comfortable with another man around?" Said the grinning pervert.

I was 48. I remembered how things were before all this women-ruling nonsense. I knew this was a sort of revenge for the smear tests women used to hate having. The nurse was around 25. He would have been put into dresses at such an early age it would all seem normal to him.

"No thank you doctor I'm fine."

"Off you pop and make me a coffee. Two sugars, I like it sweet like you Debbie." The doctor swatted the nurse's behind as he trotted out of the office.

"I'm just going to lift your dress Mr Jones. Please relax."

Relax, I thought, no chance. I knew what was coming next.

"Oh, Mr Jones. What pretty knickers you have on. Are they silk or nylon?"

I felt her hand caress my cheeks through the lace and smooth nylon. These were the least sexy pair I owned. David insisted I wore pretty knickers always. It was partly my fault. When we were first married and men ran the country, I used to insist that she did.

"They're nylon doctor, please get on with it."

"Oh, no need to rush. You're in safe hands."

Yes, it was those hands I was worried about. I felt my knickers being tugged down to just below my stocking tops.

"I'm glad you had the good sense to wear stockings. Some men wear tights and it makes my job so fiddley."

I bet you love to fiddle. I thought. I heard her snap on a pair of rubber gloves.

"This may feel a little cold. I'm just lubricating you so I can check your prostate."

Cold? It was bloody freezing. She kept the lube in the fridge. She wanted it cold. I shivered involuntarily.

"Now, now Mr Jones. This is a serious medical exam. Not for your pleasure."

Your bloody pleasure is more like it.. I thought.

She slowly worked the lube into my hole. Her finger getting deeper with each prod. She put more lube on her finger and started to slide it in and out. Then she hooked her finger and probed around. I groaned in pain and embarrassment. Then I felt a second finger enter me. She continued to violate me. If I complained I knew no one would take me seriously. She was a doctor doing a prostate exam. Where else would her fingers be? They would say. No one would believe me. I was just a man.

I heard her breathing heavily. She was getting turned on by this. I closed my eyes. Tears were forming. I won't let that cow see me cry I thought. I wanted nothing more than to jump off the table and punch her in the face. I knew where that would lead though. I would be castrated and imprisoned. I would end up working down a mine or doing one of the few heavy, dirty jobs women were not physically capable of doing. I had seen them in their brown jumpsuits sweeping the streets and being stood guard over by the armed state police.

There was a knock on the door. The nurse announced he had the doctor's coffee.

"Give me 3 minutes Debbie," she said.

Immediately she stopped finger fucking me and felt around for my prostate.

"That seems fine Mrs. Jones. Now just a quick check of your mini ovaries."

That was another thing women did. They had renamed some of our body parts. Bollocks or our balls were now mini ovaries. They had real ones, whereas ours were "mini". She played with my balls and rolled them around for a few seconds.

"They seem to be fine too. You're not getting any pain from them at all?"

"They get a little sore from the cage doctor."

"Oh, yes. What a pretty cage it is too. Pink with little bows on. It is too tight though. I will write you a note to give to your wife. Can't have your little semen factory damaged now can we?"

I had been telling David it was too tight for weeks. She just told me to stop being a whiney bitch and put up with it. At least now she would have to do something about it.

She took the gloves off and wrote me a note as I rearranged my underwear and dress. I was glad that was done with for another month.

As I walked home I thought about how nice it would be to escape to Wales. Ah, Wales. Where the men are men and women are glad of it, and the sheep are afraid. I chuckled as a remembered the old joke.

My revelry was disturbed by a wolf whistle. There was a group of women drinking beer outside of a pub. The pub used to be the Bricklayer's arms. Now the sign above the door showed a plate with a sausage in the middle of two Brussels sprouts. It was called the Meat and two veg. It was clear what that meant. Disgusting place. They had men pole dancing on Saturdays. Women would grope them and stuff money in their knickers.

"Fancy a drink darling." Shouted one of the women.

"No sorry. I have to cook my wife's dinner. She'll be home soon."

I crossed the road and hurried home.