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And my heart jumped when I thought about once again lying spread open on that table while Dr. Helga injected whatever she wished into my womb.
I signed.
Nurse Stolgren picked up the papers and departed. I dressed and was left to find my way out. The clothing felt very strange after two years of nakedness. But I did not meditate about it. I found the egress as quickly as I could and went down the gang plank before the possibility of mistake or oversight found me being taken back to the stall or worse... to the insemination table.
When I reached the bottom of the plank and looked up, the unctuous words of welcome were again hung on the sign over the hatch door. I found it most ironic that any girl would ever read them and willingly step aboard. But that was no longer my problem.
An identically gray New York October day greeted me. Humphrey Bogart was again missing from the dock. I found enough money in my pocket book to ensure I could afford a cab. I went to my bank where my tiny checking account remained overlooked and inactive. I made sure it was open, deposited one of the bonds and cashed a check.
Money and freedom... and with clothing.
The hotel was a short walk. The clerk, a wizened man in his fifties, knew me by name and looked familiar. As I rode the elevator to my room it dawned on me that his features were quite similar to a guest on ‘The Scarlet Letter’. I could picture his face peering down at me two years earlier during my first outdoor exercise period. As a trainer barked orders on the exercise deck to ‘lift ’em and spread ‘em’, he had smiled most lasciviously. I shuddered with the notion that someone who had been permitted to so closely observe and examine my privates was so proximate to me in my newly acquired world of freedom. The thought ended when I opened the door to my room. What few possessions I had before my ordeal were there, still packed in boxes after their removal from my seedy residence hotel two years before. This ‘Carl’ character, however unsavory in his ability to illegally enter hotel rooms and remove all traces of a person’s life, was most fastidious in his packing. Everything was returned.
The next morning I called the men’s club and made an appointment for that very afternoon to see the manager concerning employment. My name didn’t seem to ring a bell, which was disappointing.
I then took a walk, enjoying my freedom, and stopped in a drug store to buy a breast pump. Yes, I was still lactating profusely. Dr. Helga insisted that I received the same treatment as the other cowgirls right up to the last day. Thus, I was overflowing with hormones and had been milked up to the very morning of my release.
My breasts ached.
When I returned to my hotel, the wizened clerk was on duty. He called to me that there was a phone message. As I took it from his wrinkled hands, the bag spilled open and the box, imprinted with the words ‘breast pump’, fell unto his side of the reception desk. He leaned over and picked it up with a most knowing smile.
“Many of Dr. Helga’s former patients spend time here. Our room service can accommodate your needs.”
Accompanying the shocking words was a look which told me he had indeed observed my naked, opened body and more than likely watched while someone at some time slowly drew my breast milk from my distorted nipples.
I took the package from him, expressing my displeasure with a look of rage. He just laughed.
“We’ll be expecting your call, Miss Alexi. We’ve found Dr. Helga’s girls all need assistance at some point.”
I hurried to the elevator both embarrassed and angry. I should move, I thought. Get to another hotel. But as I later sat in my room and considered, hotels rooms in New York were difficult to find and expensive. The prepaid thirty days was worth at least $3,000. Why should I unnecessarily dip into my stipend so soon? I calmed down, convincing myself that I was now in control of my body, and I would decide who touched me and when.
Though my breasts throbbed for attention I was too focused on the upcoming interview. The phone message was to request my presence one hour earlier than originally arranged. I napped and found when I awoke that I had little time to relieve the buildup of fluid before making the appointment.
It was a mistake.
I dressed quickly and simply, knowing that whatever garments I chose, I would not be wearing them for long. A cute hat covered my baldness. (Nurse Inga had shaved me right up to the last day). I rushed through the lobby, ignoring the clerk. The cab ride in mid-afternoon was quick. I arrived on time.
The fat, the bald and the perverted was fatter and balder than before, directing me to proceed straight to his basement office.
“I remember you little lady. Your Uncle Carl told me that the leave of absence would be longer than expected.”
So, the mysterious Carl had covered all the bases. No one at the club was looking for me over the past two years, though I doubt if they would have spent the time even without Carl’s input.
We entered his office after walking through the large administrative area where I used to pick up my paycheck. He shut the door. The office smelled the same, though after my sojourn on the ship, my nose was much more sensitive to the fragrance of the female genitalia. It was strong. Another girl had evidently been recently ‘interviewed’.
“Would you like to waitress again or apply to be a dancer?”
As usual, he got right down to business.
I also got down to business and began removing my clothing.
Mr. Fatipton pushes my right nipple out of his mouth, interrupting my thoughts. I twist my torso, positioning my left nipple over his lips. Tonight he is hungry, sucking in the second pink dart with surprising gusto. It feels good. I feel my vaginal moisture begin to drip down my thigh. My right nipple is well worn, but the constant dull ache is gone.
As trained, I remain motionless, letting him slowly drain me. I feel the covers move and peer down to see the bony right hand of the octogenarian slip out. I know what is coming. By instinct the old reprobate cannot help himself. The cool fingers find the inside of my left thigh and slide up under my rubber apron. I do not object or move to stop him. It is one of my duties and despite the coldness; I will open myself completely to his whims. I remind myself of the high level of compensation for complying versus the painful wrath of Ms. Powers for resisting.
As two fingers glide into my love nest, I calm myself with memories. My mind returns to the office interview...
Chapter Twenty-two
