Paper Trial

"The Business of America is Business."

The sheets rustled when I stretched my lower extremities (leg). Released from the grasp of my lower extremities clutching Sam's thorax (mid -- section), I massaged his testicles, 17 grams of pure trouble, I chuckled to myself, partly the cause of my predicament. How much more peace would the world be if most men lived without their gonads?

The early morning sun was streaming through gaps in the drapes on the bedroom windows of the ground floor apartment on State Street in Capitalland. Small wonder Sam was lost in a refractory period. We must have put quite a show on last night during our exercitus, (physical therapy) a workout, which took the form of vigorous copulation. Why not try for another? Does Sam have enough testosterone to deliver again?

"Delivers" had been the campaign slogan of one of the candidates for office, this November. I really didn't pay much mind to politics. Sam did and politics had much to do with the timing of today's argument. With attention in the courts and elsewhere focused on the elections, the story about sex and violence involved in the malpractice action against me passed unnoticed.

Going metric, having me pushing 90.7 KG instead of 200 lbs in English measures, had been the objective of the president ousted a couple years back. Timing was as essential as packaging and presentation.

90.7 KG sounds a lot better to an obese girl. Pleasantly plump in my former friend's and roommate's lexicon, "Zaftig," shaped like round -- bottomed, flared flask beaker you might find in the lab, nonetheless, I had exceeded my own expectations. Was it even plausible? What had my sleeping lawyer companion declared in court today? "Plausibility," Sam had pled in court on my behalf, "is the measure which determines whether the story is one worthy of being re-told."

My path to rolling Sam's testicles between my digits (fingers) was a case study in implausibility. After having carried on a same - sex relationship with my former friend and tenant Erica Ehrlich whom I faced down this morning in court, I fortified my lawyer Sam who defended me from Erica's malpractice charge that I abandoned her naked and helpless after she walked into the middle of a drill of the joint emergency response team which I had supervised on behalf of University Hospital in a play acted mass disaster.

In the 1970s, the pall of the threat of malpractice hung over the medical profession. Malpractice reform was debated in the gabbled state legislative building in Capitalland without resolution. My lawyer Sam had said too many legislators had a piece in lawsuit lottery.

My malpractice accusation crept at me through a chain of improbable miscalculations. Instead of a simulated mass disaster, I found myself kneeling in front of a real casualty. My roommate Erica Ehrlich, lay sprawled with her legs spread in a provocative posture as if she were inviting a sexual encounter.. Her clothes, a red sweater and slacks, cut away from her body by over - enthusiastic med students, lay scattered on the street in tatters. Around her neck intact like a hangman's noose was the red scarf I had given her that morning.

Nearby, to my right, a tall thin woman, hands on her hips wearing that tell -- tale red scarf and sweater was arguing, that she had shown up and was entitled to be paid, even if Emergency Response hadn't used her. To my left, two first year med students were babbling that "we couldn't have known, the girl in the red sweater and scarf wasn't an actor in the mass catastrophe drill when she came out of nowhere at the corner. 'The victim' put up resistance. So, we cold -- conked her."

A burly Capitalland firefighter in a blue utility uniform took charge sending the shrieking actress up Central Avenue to the command center for her pay. "You got a free ride," the firefighter, looking down at Erica and taking her pulse with his hand, dismissed the actress, "on someone else's ticket." Lifting Erica's eyelids, the firefighter expressed regret, "I'd get my equipment, but I'd draw too much attention if I went back to the meat wagon to get the tools of my trade."

I thought to myself, why is he saying that? Rendering Emergency Treatment is what we do. Why would we keep that secret? I took a deep breath to demand, "What happened to Erica's purse?"

The firefighter snickered, "How long have you been around hospitals? Everyone in a hospital is an opportunist." Furtively looking around, the firefighter growled, "Time to scoot."

Assuring me that he'd call in an anonymous report so that Erica would be picked up right away, the firefighter cautioned me,. "We have to bury this story. Emergency med response's positive public image might be destroyed by an incident like this." The firefighter's eyes locked with mine. In a blood chilling tone, the firefighter added, "You know what they say happens to doctors' mistakes."

I sighed. I knew that the image of medicine had to be preserved. A shroud of silence fell on error. I was still kneeling by Erica's side on Central Avenue when the fire rescue ambulance pulled up alongside. I had misgivings.

"She was your ride? She ain't going nowhere. Climb aboard," the firefighter ordered, "I'm sure Police will be by in a few minutes, She will have a bad head -- ache and ringing in her ears tomorrow, but no permanent damage. Where can I drop you?"

In the truth that Sam occluded and no one needs to know, I justified my actions to preserve the image of medicine required by covering up the error. With an expected immediate police response to an anonymous tip, Erica should suffer little more than mild traumatic brain injury (headache) with nothing more serious than transitory tinnitus (ringing in the ears). I expected the firefighter I worked with to make report as promised. I did never anticipated the consequences Erica would suffer.

Sex, violence, betrayal of a friend would have made a great story. Imagine that all that involving me a person who set out to become a nun! Celibacy cast aside, goodness has nothing to do with any of it.

Some nun! In my last year in Med School with rising prices, my former roommate and current nemesis Erica and I appeared in my classmate's porn productions. Initially recruited by the producer -- director, my classmate Al Mandy, a tall swarthy pretend Saxon with a cultivated British accent, to play fully clothed parts in A NUN'S STORY, I daringly agreed to provide a comic relief of sorts, an obese girl bouncing her mammaries (boobs) running in an unclothed condition (nude) down the hall to join the other girls in a convent school's communal shower.

My secretary who edited my official reports by adding "English translations" believed my resort to "clinically inflated terms," could make porn sound even sexier. I would pass the idea to Al Mandy. Maybe, Al would recruit my secretary to play and script in new porn productions.

Sam rolled off my abdomen. When Sam and I trysted in my bed, I usually preferred being in control, taking the active role, on top riding his penis until he begged me to stop.

"It's just cartilage. It's built to stand the wear," I would assure Sam when I rode him until he hyper extended and delivered his emissions, "it shouldn't suffer a dislocation (break)."

I preferred to be on top to control the depth of his penetration and the timing of his ejaculation. "You have to earn your right to implant (shoot) your ejaculate (cum) inside me," I told Sam.

Tonight, I permitted Sam to experiment with male dominant positions. This would have been a bitter - sweet celebration. I was supposed to tell Sam that I was now engaged to my former medical school classmate Al Mandy. It does seem implausible that I would bed my lawyer to reward him and tell him I'm engaged to someone else.

But it was all business. At our first meeting, Sam had been rather honest with me when I questioned his ability. "Frankly," I told Sam, "My interests would be best served in an established firm? What if I report back to the Hospital lawyer that you are unacceptable?"

"My employment with an old line Capitalland law firm terminated and I came off their payroll as of the moment you walked through the front door. So, we both are on our own elected by the University Hospital and Capitalland elite as expendable," Sam was all business from the very beginning, "Right now, I need to jump -- start your defense."

From that point onward, I had come of age. To fuel the defense, I kept Sam fed, clothed and fucked. That was good business.

My impending arranged marriage to Al Mandy meant nothing more than business. Al, actually Ali, would get his citizenship -- Iranians weren't too popular at the moment with the hostage crisis a weakling President mismanaged. My father would get Al's family's money. I would be handsomely endowed, able to buy this town house in Capitalland where I had this first-floor apartment, plus a vacation home in the North Country. I intended that this marriage produce no progeny (children). With the threat of malpractice gone, I could prepare for the future.

Sam and I were drinking since early afternoon when the court dismissed the malpractice action my former friend and roommate Erica Ehrich against me and University Hospital.

Sam skillfully avoided a public trial. I had to face down Erica not, in a public forum, but out of public scrutiny in argument on a motion to the court for judgement without a trial, a kind of paper trial. Spirits surging, nonetheless, following the judge's ruling, Sam had been reciting his argument from his motion to dismiss the malpractice action Erica against me when I excused myself to change out of the sweaty clothes I had worn to court. This warm Indian summer evening might make nightwear a suitable alternative.

"What is plausibility?" Sam had implored the court, "Plaintiff must at the very least demonstrate that she can present a plausible case. What does that mean?

"`Plausible' is defined as seemingly reasonable or probable." Sam intoned, "A plaintiff whose cause is implausible or unfeasible, has presented an unviable claim., here, an event that never could have happened. And that's what we're saying about this case: it's something that we say could never have happened."

Was it plausible that I was changing into loose fitting nightwear on a night I intended to reveal much more than my engagement?

Pulling my blouse over my cranium (head) and unhooking my brassiere unleashing those mammaries (DDs), I stood half -- naked in front of the mirror admiring my mammary glands (boobs) and feeling my umbilical region (belly). Not so bad, I thought to myself., Women at the clinic would cackle, "fat girls are lucky." Presenting myself in profile, I was reaching down across my hypogastric region when I became aware of Sam's presence.

Behind me, Sam tugged at the waistband of my slacks. His hands reached into my trousers massaging my gluteus maximus sliding my pants down my lower extremities (legs). What did the ladies say at the clinic, heavy girls don't have to worry. Hmm, so far having set out in life planning to become a nun, I, liberated from the convent school, found a boyfriend my father detested who loved me enough to propose persistently, a roommate who became more than a friend, and even keeping my lawyer defending me from my roommate solidly behind me by feeding him and bedding him. What a terrible temptress could be more terrific? I did more than I could ever have expected.

Thrown face down on my bed, pants swept away, Sam, pausing to undress, continued his oration:

"Erica Ehrlich the plaintiff whom Dr Barton took into her home," Sam orated, "claims to have she turned the corner a little before 6PM to pick up her friend Dr Barton who she affectionately calls Zaftig, butterball, was assaulted by two persons in scrubs, knocked to the ground, injected with an unknown substance, rendered helpless, clothes cut off and left naked and vulnerable, watching Zaftig pause before she zoomed off in the boxy shaped fire department ambulance.

"There is no doubt that Ms Erhlich was assaulted -- by someone," Sam continued to expound, "What Ms Ehrlich asserts could not have happened. The logs of the Fire Department, however, show that the exercise ended at 5PM; the scene was cleared and the vehicles involved returned to the motor pool after, the Fire Department drove Dr Barton home at 5:05PM. Ms Ehrlich never came by the scene during the exercise. How did plaintiff get injured by an exercise that was over?"

Pulled off the bed, I protected my head by planting the palmer sides of my hands on the floor. I locked my lower extremities legs around Sam's lumbar region (waist). He held my right coxa (hip) while the Phalanges (fingers) of his left hand parted my labia and guided his tumescent penis. I gasped when a thrust of Sam's hips launched his glans penis (head of the penis) into my Vaginal introitus (opening)..

"If the certified logs of the Fire Department," Sam declared, "however show that the exercise ended at 5PM; the scene was cleared, Erica Ehrlich never appeared at the scene on time to pick up her roommate. Stranded at the site, Dr Barton was delivered home by Fire Department ambulance at 5:05PM. How could Erica Ehrlich been injured by an exercise that was over? The fact is that Erica wasn't injured and left naked on Central Avenue by people whose job it is to render emergency care to the public, those unfortunate to find themselves in distress. How did the exercise become part of the plaintiff's narrative? Read the report of the examining psychologist, Dr Plume."

I didn't get to read Dr Plume's report on his examination of Erica until the court date. I suspect Sam didn't want anyone to know how he prevailed upon Dr Plume to shape the report around the defense. I'm sure that Sam sculpted Dr Plume's report to fit exactly what the University's audience here in Capitaland wanted to hear: that University Hospital was deeply concerned about Erica's injuries but not responsible.

"Erica's claims," Sam deliberately used a personable approach, "that she had walked in on the emergency drill, assaulted, injected with a drug. Clothes cut away from her body, she was abandoned on the street. Her description of the rape that followed was graphic." Sam read from the transcript.

"The fire department ambulance returned. I was ecstatic," Erica had testified, "I thought I was being rescued. The fireman jumped out. He screamed, 'This is no lie! You're in for the ride of your life, a treat a freak like you rarely enjoys.'"

"Flipped on my belly, I felt a sting in my butt. The injection left me unable to move a muscle," Erica claimed interestingly enough, "My mind detached from my body. It was as if I were an observer. To protect my head. I mustered what strength I had left to press my palms against the broken glass and chipped concrete ground."

"Yanking my long legs apart he tickled my butt with his wild pubic hair," Erica described penetration, "Guiding his shaft to probe my fotzie (cunt), he aligned his shaft with my opening and thrust inside, declaring 'the chest may be deformed but the underpass is warm and welcoming.' Then he drove off. Sometime later a homeless man covered me with his jacket and called police."

As Sam attained coitus, the stubble of his pubic hairs passing over my gluteal region (ass cheeks) induced knismesis (tickling). I involuntarily experienced a mild period of gelastic seizures (giggling). "The guy's wild short hairs really can tickle her ass!" Sam declared as he penetrated.

In his argument before the court, Sam argued, "The blow Ms Ehrlich took to her head, oh, that's real but it would have, according to Dr Plume, caused disoriented thought patterns and created a false memory. Dr Plume informs us, following the blow, the victim's mind struggles to make sense of the random act of violence, to rationalize it, to fit the incident in a pattern and purpose in the grand scope of things. The mind fills in gaps left blank by moments of terror and unconsciousness."

Nudging my lower extremities further part with his feet, Sam guided his tip of his penis past my labia minor. A thrust of his hips launched his penis inside my vaginal canal. With my weight supported by my hands, I braced myself by clamping my extremities around his mid-section. I had ceded control to Sam. Rhythmic pushing reached a crescendo. With my legs stretched apart to their maximum reach, all I could do was try to capture his penis with my pelvic floor muscles in my effort to experience orgasm.

Sam started to sputter and plant his spermatozoa leaving me in an aroused state short of orgasm. "You're going to have to continue fucking me. Help me up on the bed. You can be on top, but I have to make sure you deliver."

"Where did the details come from?" Sam's style was conversational, different from the inflated courtroom style of his opponent, "Remember Erica was not only a legitimate anatomy model; she starred in porn, mostly short nudie -- cuties, steamy scenes of communal showers, motion studies, and group physical examinations. I'm not asking you to hold that against her. To make ends meet, Erica, like a lot of college girls, must take up occupations which they might not be proud of in later life."

Laying flat on my back, with my legs in the air, I tempted Sam to mount me. I reminded him, "I had solicited Erica to join me in Al Mandy's production which was retitled, `A Nun's Story' after some improvisions I brought into the script. Erica and I were to have played fully clothed nuns in flowing robes, greeting girls entering a convent school. Me the want-to-be nun in scenes with naked girls on camera, Why not? In my last year in med school, every single day, I did good work for free with corpus mangled from caput to hallux. What's wrong with being paid to work with beautiful bodies?"

"The source of the filler in Erica's memory, Dr Plume found, would have been a script entitled MEDICAL FRATERNITY PRANK. And that script parallels the report Erica made to the police." Sam paused, as he did in his delivery in court, to allow the audience to absorb the impact. "What do you see in that movie? A co-ed is drugged at a frat party, her clothes are cut away from her body."

In a dreamy state as Sam's face nudged between my lower extremities, I clamped down on his caput (head) forcing his lips against my labia (vaginal lips). I called MEDICAL FRATERNITY PRANK to mind. "PRANK," I recalled, "had been Al Mandy's most risqué porn production. I was livid when I learned of it and outraged at Erica for the reprising her real-life role."

PRANK was loosely based on a prank played on Al and me by classmates at a graduation party. Oh, Sam knew all about the real story. Examining Erica at her pretrial deposition, Sam elicited her testimony that she had pulled me out of a rundown apartment in the Capitalland slums along Central Avenue after I had been drugged, stripped naked, and photographed bedded down with Al Mandy by jealous classmates who learned about Al's porn productions.

Erica claimed that I threatened to get even with her for laughing at me when she found me naked.

More intrigued than offended by the prank, Al found the story irresistible. With a chubby girl in my part, Al Mandy inserted a rape scene with the girl taken from behind, bent over, braced by palms against the ground. Al was careful to include a redeeming social comment, a scene with male police officers scoffing at the victim bare legs protruding from the blanket wrapping her body.

Breaking off cunnilingus, Sam crawled up my body to present his penis to my ora (mouth) for fellatio. I refused.

Sam chuckled. "Just like Erica said. You're like the rest of them. You believe you're special, more than an elite, Gods with the power of life and death. Plucked of your feathers, stripped bare by your peers, you were demoted from the godhood. Laughing at you is nothing less than blasphemy."