The Imprint Ch 07 Law Of The Futzie

CHAPTER 7 : IMPRINT: Law of the Futzie

My former friend and roommate, Erica Ehrlich used to say that my resort to medical - ese had become so all -- encompassing that my sweet nothings in the grips of sexual ecstasy would come in doc -- speak. A quatrain slid from her sparkling tongue, "Your mouth bespeak, your tonsils creak, your tongue squeak, an incomprehensible blither, of doc -- speak." Smirking, she added, "Uttering double -- speak, truth to obfuscate."

"And you," I retorted, "soon to be a lawyer. Does legalese unveil truth or conceal it forsooth?" We both collapsed into each other's upper extremities (arms) laughing.

I thought of Erica's epigram as I waited. Would my lawyer Sam Pauling would appear for a date? Actually, you might say Erica had brought Sam and me together.

And we did come together three times in one day. After a day of a spontaneous sex -- ercise with my lawyer Sam Pauling, I dared to invite him to spend Saturday evening in my bed. Standing by in a dressing gown and fish net stockings, I wondered whether he had the testes (balls) to show up.

Yet, promptly at eight, Sam stood at the door -- brief case in hand, attired in a dark overcoat over a suit and tie. "I'd like to go over your case to get to the truth."

Struck more by his getup than his quest for truth, I was speechless. Had my date in bed showed up in a three -- piece suit, ready to search for the truth? Wasn't the female privileged to excuse herself slip into something more comfortable?

The theme of the moment was equality. "Were the sexes equal? Not really!" my former friend and roommate Erica daringly disagreed as we went out to a gym, "Darling, through Futzie, Fodder, Fucking, women retain certain prerogatives."

In days I speak of, when the surge of equality had not yet embraced open homosexuality and same -- sex relationships, my former friend Erica Ehrlich, now the source of my grief with the legalese of her malpractice suit against me, used to drag me for a night out to female saunas attached to women's exercise clubs.

Erica had a jingle that caught the tempo of the times: "There's a certain incongruity // of faithful Futzie // pursuing equality // through a Sisterhood // curious with bisexuality."

In such times, when equality had not yet outlawed facilities solely for women, Erica claimed private gyms were a "safe haven for our date, despite my personal sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" I challenged her as she parked her car in the lot next to the gym.

"Publicly exhibiting my depressed breastbone." Erica reminded me "You may lick my chest." Erica blew an osculation (kiss) as we left her car. "Only you, Dearie!"

"What an honor!" I teased her as we walked to the gym.

Entering the locker, Erica reveled in "the hypocrisy that affords young women the opportunities of a wider world under protections of a patriarchal society."

In an unclothed condition (naked) presenting a standard anatomical position to (facing) Erica, I questioned, "Hypocrisy?"

My ever -- witty friend, Erica fell into rime: "My sincerest apology // to present in honesty // intentions good //rule of Futzie!"

Pinching my fleshy gluteal prominence (fat ass) as I turned to reach for a towel, Erica laughed when I jumped. I defended my jitters. "The first lesson given female students: never allow a patient to come up from your posterior (behind you.)"

In a merry voice, Erica reminded me, "You could afford to lose a few pounds. Cheer up! Think! Notwithstanding moralistic pretenses, a certain amount of overt female bi -- sexuality is socially acceptable. Sitting on splintery bleachers with a towel with your cunt hairs jutting out, you can cackle with sweaty futzies, hiding bi -- curiosity by speculating," Oh how I loved Erica speaking so smoothly in inflated tones, "whether intercourse in which a man penetrates a woman is a rape."

By this standard, how would Erica have rated my first sexual encounter tumbling in the sheets with a man? I regarded my first time eh -- accidental. Neither Sam nor I intended to have sex. Sam was my lawyer on hand `searching for the truth.'

To the gathering assembled on the wooden benches of the sauna, Erica redirected the usual debate over heterosexual (penovaginal) intercourse. Nodding as she orated, Erica reframed the question, "Can a woman rape a man? Isn't that the sum of equality: that a woman is capable of everything a man can do?"

Perplexity sprouted on the faces on the faces on the wooden benches. "But of course," said some, "the woman is the equal of any man!"

"Forget equality," Erica answered her critics, "not everyone is equally endowed. Compare my boobs and Rebecca's; Hers hold up the towel easily. You're a doctor. Dr Rebecca Barton, MD," Erica assumed a formal tone, "What do you think?"

"Oh," I hesitated, looking at Erica's expressionless face and at the faces of the other ladies as they leaned forward to hear my response. "Breasts, eh -- Mammary glands are not sexual organs. It's a cultural fascination, not sex." The wooden panels of the steam room echoed with high pitched cheery laughter.

Shaking her head before she planted an osculation (kiss) on my bucca (cheek), Erica whispered aloud, "Darling, it's not what you say, but the way you say it."

"I never thought mammaries were so funny," I declared to the amusement of the girls on the bench in the sauna.

Mammaries played a role with my first contact with a man. Released from the fertility experiment where I had been bamboozled into donating an ova (egg), I, finding myself without a change of clothing available, left hospital sans culottes (no underwear) in scrubs with tight fitting haz -- mat boots. Picking me up to drive me home, Sam Pauling arrived in front of the hospital thrown together, an unzippered jacket over pajama bottoms with unlaced boots.

In search of truth, inquiring into Erica's malpractice claim against me and the hospital, Sam assured me that lawyers help people with the truth.

The truth? I wondered. The truth would not help me. To distract him, I retreated my bedroom to change. Top off, I couldn't remove the boots. Modestly draping the top over my exposed mammaries, I summoned Sam into my bedroom to help remove the haz -- mat boots.

In the sauna a lively debate followed. Some said it depended on the girl's strength; some denied that females had sufficient upper body strength to force penetration.

Listening attentively, Erica after a considered pause, explained, "No doubt, some women can overpower men. Having overcome the man, can she force him to cum inside her?" Erica paused. "A woman makes," Erica looked from one gal to the next, "her imprint through subtlety and signals to co -- opt the male into a sexual union rather than through physical compulsion."

Had I signaled Sam that I was willing? In the struggle to remove my boot, Sam landed flat on his gluteal prominence (ass) on the floor when the boot came off. I sat up on the edge of the bed. Sam's pupils dilated (eyes widened) fixated on my dangling mammary papilla (tits) watching the rise and fall of my thoracic cavity (chest). The rest I saw in slow motion as if it happened to someone else. Flipping me on my abdomen (belly), Sam achieved penovaginal intercourse from the posterior plane (fucked me doggy style).

At first, while Sam was still ejaculating, I thought of Erica's lecture on the `Law of the Footzie,' the nature of a woman's power. The Law worked. Footsie kept Sam from the truth.

I felt a little guilty that I had betrayed my peculiar relationship with Erica. Before she sued me for malpractice, I regarded my understanding with Erica as special, destined to be permanent. Was my love unrequited?

In our time together, although Erica described herself as lesbian till graduation, I promised never to take up with a man. "If I hadn't got swept up in women's liberation through the Push Ahead Program which led to Medical School," I swore, "I would have joined a religious community with vows of chastity."

Laughing, Erica exclaimed, "you chaste! Darling, when you're ready to breed, the Law of the Futzie will override."

"Typical lawyer," I retorted, "everything can be pigeonholed into neat little rules."

"Student, not a lawyer yet," Erica corrected me. "Futzie first, fodder next, then fuck!" Erica declared, "You'll bed a guy and cover yourself in his T -- shirt afterwards to soak up his BO -- it means you're ready to get knocked -- up." Erica's chuckling dissolved into a limerick, "The Futzie rule // a psyche dual // whirl with the girl // or, when in the mood // fly with the guy."

I thought of this doggerel as Sam, ejaculate still dripping, helped me out of bed. I had succeeded in limiting his quest for the truth and preserving his co -- operation.

In the sauna, Erica, leading the discussion, opined, "Women, trying to replace men, forget that men are not their equals. A woman effectively forces a man by asserting control. Even nose pressed against the wall, she can be in charge."

I admit to have been taken back for a moment when Sam Pauling in suit and tie appeared in my doorway. A churlish contraction of facial musculature (smile) peered on my face when I admitted him. I announced, "Mr Pauling, usually the female has the privilege to say `let me slip into something more comfortable.'"

How would I assert control? Medical training posits an art of suasion. A bluff, a calm manner, an impersonal, professional detachment and a soothing tone secures cooperation of the reluctant patient. Could Erica have meant that the female controls by manipulation an admixture of audacity spiced with reason and shaming?

Entering the apartment with a sheepish look, Pauling presented as confused and uncertain. Though armed with his briefcase to review my case, Pauling was distracted sniffing the aroma of the food my maid had prepared.

It had been a frustrating day for me. I needed release and Sam was available. To obtain relief, I needed to assert my primacy.

In a level tone, I, leading Sam into Erica's old room, rendered instructions, "Please disrobe. Everything off. A hospital gown is in the top drawer of the bureau. I'll be back in a minute." Leaving Sam to undress, I closed the door. I too had sniffed the food the maid had prepared but I had a different appetite to satisfy -- power.

In my room, I removed the dressing gown and threw the scrubs top on. At my size, it would barely cover my gluteal prominence (ass). I slung a white lab coat over the top. I left the foo -- foo slippers and black fish net stockings on. I was mixing business with pleasure. Stethoscope around my collum (neck), clipboard in hand, and penlight in my pocket, I was ready to knock on the door.

Entering, I directed Sam to stand on the opposite side of Erica's bed in front of a mirror. Repositioning patient serves no real medical purpose other than acclimating patient to respond to command.

I told Erica when I installed the mirror for our sex - play, "An instructor recommended a floor length mirror in the examination room, distracting the narcistic patient and deflating the unclothed patient."

A bemused Sam was looking into the mirror when I ordered, "Open wide," as I began an initial routine cursory examination, "say Ah ..." as I inserted the spatula (Ah Stick) into his buccal cavity (mouth) to examine the buccal cavity (mouth) and pharynx (throat). Holding the spatula (ah stick) a little too long, I wryly noted his gagging, "ugh, the awful taste these spatulas can be somewhat disagreeable."

After shining the pen light into the occuli (eyes), posterior naris (nostrils) and each auricule (ear), I pressed my thumbs into either side of the collum (neck) behind the mandible (jaw) under the auricles (ears). "No swollen lymph nodes (glands), no sign of infection. The initial superficial examination detects gross (obvious) morbidities (afflictions), but also calms the patient into compliance. Turn around."

I untied the lace securing the hospital gown and parted the flaps. I noted the underpants. "Please remove the rest of your clothing, so that we can proceed. A complete examination and accurate weight check require an unclothed body."

I chuckled. Erica loved this part of the exam. Bending over to drop his underpants, Sam presented well developed musculature of the gluti (butt) and quadriceps (thighs). "You work out, good," I complimented him. "Male glutes are flat, less prominent," I observed, "than the rounded contours of the female posterior."

"Hmm," chuckled Sam, "you must have majored in Butt-ology."

With Sam in the upright position, I felt along the craniovertebral junction (base of the skull). "Non -- spasmatic, no enlarged lymph nodes." I held the stethoscope against his bare back and ordered him to breath. As I lifted the gown off his shoulders, I felt the solid upper body muscles. The hospital gown floated to the floor, leaving an impressive physical specimen for inspection.

Stood naked before the mirror, Erica used to giggle. Sam showed no reaction.

The night was cold. Concealed by the scrubs top, my gluti (bottom) were bare, but I felt a warmth spreading over me. Respiring heavily (gasping), I donned the surgical gloves, deliberately snapping them as I pulled the gants tight.

I released a long, loud audible exhalation (sigh). With Erica, I had her bend over for an internal examination. What should I do to a male to maintain my control?

"Turn around, face me," I ordered. Facing me, Sam tried to hide early stages of arousal. "There is no need to be embarrassed by tumescence resulting from physical contact during examination," I spoke in an impersonal but comforting voice. "Hands at your side," I changed my tone to a sharp bark.

Upon visual inspection, I nodded approvingly at Sam's bulging pectorales (muscular chest wall). "For a person in a sedentary job, you keep in shape." Erica's concave chest wall was a source of her grief. I could see Sam did not have that problem. Bringing my gaze to Sam's lower abdomen, I raised my pencil thin supercilium (eyebrows), when I noticed Sam's shaven pubes.

Clasping his hands behind his back and looking away, Sam explained, "Upon approval as an anatomical model at the University Hospital as you recommended, I was shorn. Luckily only hair follicles was removed. I need the money. All I have to do is strip and allow nurses in training and doctor -- esses to feel me up."

From playing doctor with my brother, I understood the risks of over -- stimulation of the male genitourinary tract (dick and balls). I discoursed as if presenting a lecture, "Males can be aroused by stimulation of the preputium (foreskin) ..."

"I expected a date in bed," Sam chuckled, "I'm receiving an education instead."

To hold the spell over the subject while playing doctor, I had to keep the momentum going. What should I do now? "I need to take measurements," I announced. Cupping the scrotum in the palmar side of my hand, I declared, "10 grams (0.35 ounces) of trouble have yet to elevate to precipitate ejaculation."

"When lecturing, you're distant," Sam remarked, "in a separate reality. You fondle my balls," Sam raising his hirsute supercilium (eyebrows), "without personal contact." Flexing trapezium muscles, Sam snickered, "But, your hands are warm."

Caught unexpectedly by Sam's remark, I, releasing his scrotal sac, emitted an agonal respiration (gasp).

To retain my mastery, I ordered, "Turn around, face the wall mirror, stretch your legs, and bend at the waist." Deliberately applying lubricant on the tips of my gloved digits (fingers), I watched Sam fidget awaiting instructions. Despite towering size and powerful muscles, Sam was subjugated by a tiny woman in a surgical smock. Indeed, given rising arousal, could not Sam easily overpower me?

Medical college taught maintain an impersonal air and avoid temptation to ridicule. Reminder of submissive position is subtle, inoffensive.

I purposefully moved toward my subject. "Before a DRE digital rectal exam," I began, "physician explains the purpose and procedure to alleviate concern."

"Oh," Sam chirped, "and I thought we were going to have fun."

I continued, "What happens? I'll insert a gloved finger into the rectum to feel for abnormalities and to detect an enlarged prostate. Some men erect or emit pre -- ejaculate." I assured Sam, "Natural reactions should not cause embarrassment."

"I'm glad I'm forgiven in advance," Sam replied.

Close to Sam, I felt warmth rising from his anal cavity. Bracing myself with one hand, I paused to respire (catch my breath). "Now, take a deep breath, relax," I advised Sam, as my index finger palpated his sphincter muscles. "Once I wiggle my index finger behind the sphincter, my middle and ring fingers will follow."

I detected an agonal respiration (gasp) as my fingers penetrated Sam. My advice, "Discomfort is psychological; the procedure is painless," drew a new agonal respiration (grunt). "As I press on the prostate," I inhaled, "can you feel it?"

How can we keep Sam under my spell? I paused to think. I could use that strap -- on plastic phallus (dildo) Erica bought for medical sex -- play. The strap remained wrapped in a plain box. Erica and I were to have tested it the night of her accident.

Sam emitted an expiratory groan, as I withdrew my fingers from Sam's rectum and stripped off the medical gants. "Although your prostate appears to be WNL (normal), I'd like to utilize a new instrument, comparable to the speculum used on gynecological patients to open the vaginal orifice to inspection."

As I retrieved the strap -- on from the bureau, a glance at Sam's fully erect penis hinted that, with a few strokes with the strap -- on, I'd draw ejaculate. Drawing ejaculate, I told myself, didn't qualify as sex. Though my thoracic cavity (chest) resonated with tachycardia (racing heartbeat), I calmly suggested, "Sam, you can ease the process by using your hands to pull your glutes (half - moons) apart."

Looking at Sam, naked, bent at the waist, leaning forward, gluteus muscles tense, waiting, I was convinced that my spell held mastery over Sam so firm that Sam would be content with anal penetration. Though I had Sam clutching the hemispheres of his glutes, I could have kept him occupied by inserting a rectal thermometer. Inhaling, I looked away to bend over to reach into the dresser.

As I reached into the drawer, powerful Flexor Digitorum Profundus (muscular hands) caught me in a vice. In seconds, hands exploring under my heavy cotton scrubs lifted them off. "No underwear!" Sam declared, "You were bluffing."

Stripping off my fish net stockings and booties, Sam yanked my lower extremities (legs) apart. I ineffectually flapped my membrum inferius (legs) to get away. I uttered an agonal respiration (gasp) as Sam penetrated me.

Though a feminist, Erica played the submissive partner in our sexual adventures, focused on medical scenarios. Generally, I remained clothed until we were ready to hit the shower or the sheets.

I bucked up against Sam to force him in deeper. Posterior penovaginal penetrative (doggy style) sex, wasn't what I planned, but the surge overcame me. "Oh my God," I moaned. "Fuck me!" I screamed. How would that translate into the inflated tones of Doc speak? I chuckled. `Let penovaginal intercourse proceed to climax!'

My tarsus plates met. (I closed my eyes.) Electric shocks coursed through my body as muscular contractions came in waves. My respiration rate increased; my BP (Blood Pressure) soared. Hidrosis (sweat) accumulated in my axillae (arm pits), under my mammaries (boobs), and within my anal cavity (butt cleft). My corporeal (body) temperature soared pyrexially (overheated). As I climaxed, I was screaming for Sam's spasmatic penis to shoot more bolts of warm ejaculate (cum) into me. Once Sam collapsed, I felt Sam's labia oris (lips) oscillating (kissing) my dorsum (back) as his spasms petered out. Sam muttered, "Beautiful," as he passed out and his disgorged penis disengaged from my vaginal cavity. (slithered out).