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From: Homer Vargas <the_story_writer@yahoo.com>
Subject: An Exanination for NAG
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Dear Benjamin,

Here is the fourth.

Cheers.

Homer





Although this story is self contained, it alludes to three earlier 
stories, “The Examination,” “On Further Examination” and 
“Wonder Woman’s Examination.”  I like to believe you will enjoy 
this more if you have read the others first.

Examination of a NAG
by Homer Vargas

	Sometimes Kate Harridan thought *Milly* was the cause of 
her headaches, the way her administrative assistant went on and on, 
urging her boss to see a doctor about the trivial ailment.  Milly 
ought to have been working for Kate long enough to know by now 
she *always* got headaches when she was under stress.  And Lord 
knows she had cause enough for stress.  Just moving the 
headquarters of NAG (National Association of Grrls), the 
organization Kate had founded, from San Francisco to Washington 
was stressful enough.  Then the disasters began.

	The movers had hardly finished putting all the ficuses in 
place when the Finger scandal broke.  Carol Finger, yes, Senator 
Finger herself, was caught in a sexual liaison with one of her 
hunky interns.  “Sexual liaison” hell, the Senator was getting her 
lights fucked out daily if not more often.  Truth be told, Carol 
Finger had never been a credit to the World’s Greatest Deliberative 
Body, but she was on NAG’s Board of Directors and the 
organization had to back her up.  Always ready with a faux 
feminist rationale for her erratic positions on issues, Carol 
compiled an amazingly inconsistent and self-serving voting record.

	The disclosure that Senator Finger was having sex with a 
boy half her age was bad enough.  Worse was the grainy photo 
obtained by the other party showing a plump middle-aged woman 
draped over an arm chair, red skirt up around her waist and red 
panties down around her ankles, being skewered to her obvious 
delight by a muscular blonde.  The President’s picture above the 
desk smiled down in apparent approbation, or was it envy?

	The Senator made everything ten time worse, however, at 
the news conference she gave to announce her resignation.  Kate 
had read the transcript and seen the video enough times to have the 
gut-wrenching performance memorized.  The rhetorical low points 
were burned into her memory.

	“Hell, yes, I’m having an affair with this gorgeous boy and 
I sure don’t intend to apologize for it,” the Senator declared.  
“That’s the difference between men and real Grrls.  I do *not* beg 
forgiveness from my husband and family and this has definitely 
*not* made my marriage to the wimp stronger.  In fact, I’m going 
to divorce his ass!  And for all you school marms of whatever 
profession that ‘can’t understand’ how a woman of ‘my age’ can 
take up with a twenty year old stud-muffin, let me spell it out for 
you.  S-E-X.  Clear enough?  Let me be more specific.  T-E-N  I-
N-C-H  C-O-C-K.  Need more?  How about, T-W-O.  I-N-C-H.  D-
I-A-M-E-T-E-R?  I’ve got the boy putting the wood to me like I 
haven’t gotten it in years and damned if I’m going to stop him.”

	“Take it from me, Grrls, get your self one of these,” she 
proclaimed lustily, reaching over to fondle the erection of the 
handsome young man standing beside her, smiling even though he 
was a little dim to fully comprehend what was going on.  “Stop 
grinding up the contraband Viagra in the old fart’s oatmeal at 
night.  It’s not doing either of you any good,” she admonished.  
“Loose some lard ladies, get your titties a silicone upgrade if they 
need it, buy yourself a few hot little minis, and wiggle your ass 
down to the nearest sports bar.  I guarantee within a week you’ll be 
getting your pussy plowed or I’ll let you have Arnold for a night.  
If you are lucky, you might even find a plowman who can 
remember which morning to take out the garbage, but don’t hold 
your breath.  Remember, Grrls, there’s just one thing a man’s good 
for.  If he’s well equipped between his legs, don’t worry about 
what he’s got between his ears.”

	“There is, however, one particularly disgusting canard out 
there, that I must most emphatically deny.  I did *not* let my fuck 
toy ‘get me pregnant.’  I got this,” Carol paused for effect and 
lifted her obscenely short skirt to display a telling bulge in her 
panties, “Because *I* threw away the pills.  *I* decided on the best 
dates.  *I* locked him in the hotel room and kept the pillows under 
my ass.  *I* made sure he gave me frequent re-fills of jizz all 
weekend long.  I’m having this baby because *I* guided his big 
cock into me and made him shoved it farther down into my fertile 
womb than he ever had  before.  Arnold, the dear, just supplied the 
semen, one thing he can do very well.”  Arnold grinned, suspecting 
the nice woman had said something good about him again.

	Ex-Senator Finger had gone on for twenty minutes in that 
vein.  It had been a public relations catastrophe ending with the 
horrific finale.  “Therefore I am resigning my seat in the United 
States Senate.  Not because I am ashamed of myself, but because 
there isn’t a man there who can fuck worth a damn -- and the 
women aren’t much better.  I don’t have time to listen to windbags 
when I could be on my back getting a prong where it belongs.  And 
so adieu and fuck yieu!” she concluded giving the middle finger 
salute for the nation’s television cameras.

	The furor over l’affaire Finger had barely died down when 
NAG was embarrassed to learn that Wonder Woman was out of 
service.  For some time it had been damned hard to get in touch 
with her.  The Army’s main contact with the superheroine, Diana 
Prince, was spending every free hour shacked up with Col.  Steve 
Trevor and had the little round tummy to prove it.

	When the lovebirds could at last be prevailed upon to call 
in Wonder Woman, it was revealed just why the superheroine had 
been keeping out of sight.  Although the Amazonian Princess 
wasn’t telling who had done the deed, America’s first line of 
defense had irresponsibly let some man put a bun in her oven and 
her doctor didn’t allow her to travel.  Consequently, the US 
military had to deal with a rogue faction of the Ruritanian Defense 
Force without the assistance of its superheroine.  It was close run 
thing.

	Finally, although it was not a crisis, Kate became 
increasingly aware of the subtly hostile atmosphere to NAG’s 
agenda in the Washington social milieu.  Kate had expected to find 
Washington full of sour women -- hard-bitten lawyers, disgruntled 
NGO executives, and angry consultants -- eager to become NAGs.  
Instead, every time she turned around Kate heard another story of a 
professional woman who suddenly quit her job to become a happy 
little sex kitten for her boyfriend and promptly got herself knocked 
up or one who had to give up her career when she “accidentally” 
let her husband make her pregnant again.  Hundreds of women 
with children in college were waddling around in maternity dresses 
again or were back to washing diapers.  Some were doing both.  
Olivia Fuentes in NAGs Research department confirmed that the 
birth rate among upper middle class women ages 30-45 in the 
Washington metropolitan area was almost double the national 
average and was still shooting up.

	The queen bee of these “New Feminists,” as she dubbed 
them, was Angelica Lopez, the new editor of the Post’s “Style” 
section.  And Angelica made no secret whom she considered to be 
the “Old Feminists.”  Angelica was an odd bird, Kate thought.  
Admittedly she had a strong claim to being a feminist.  She was a 
successful young woman with a six figure income and a handsome, 
slavish husband whom she kept home to look after the house -- and 
the kids.  That was the odd part.  Angelica had five children under 
four and was pregnant again.  She filled “Style” with stories about 
having sex and having babies.  Thousands of readers adored 
Angelica, but unfortunately, had rather less supportive husbands 
than their icon.  So when their bellies started getting big, they were 
the ones who stayed home to care for the little shoot.

	No, Kate didn’t come by her headaches gratis.  She had to 
admit, though, that Milly might have a point.  Her assistant did 
seem so happy and full of life since her visit to Dr.  Bock.  Maybe 
it was a good thing NAG had selected him.  Several women 
doctors had bid for the contract to be NAG’s Preferred Provider of 
gynecological and (Ha!) obstetric services, but Bock’s price was 
just too good.  Moreover, Carol Finger and Milly, who had been on 
the selection committee, had returned singing the praises of the 
Bock Clinic.  Grudgingly, Kate told the eager AA to make an 
appointment for her the next week.

	This made Milly very happy.  Although she knew Kate 
would not understand the recent changes in her life, much less 
approve of them, Milly was convinced somehow that the visit to 
Dr.  Bock had been a turning point.  Although she could not 
remember much about what happened there, since then Milly had 
blossomed socially.  To be more exact, were Milly not such a little 
lady, one would say she had turned into a cock hound!  

	Like many women who discover the joys of sex a little 
tardily, Milly focused on the basics, seeking to make up for lost 
time.  Candles at dinner were an unnecessary expense and wine, 
however useful for getting a guy into bed, interfered with good 
service once she had him there.  Experience had taught her that a 
big plate of pasta before the main event and Gatorade, kept by the 
bedside for pit stops, were all that was needed for the kind of 
strenuous lovemaking she demanded.

	Milly was not yet much into romance.  Her idea of a long 
term relationship was a guy who would pick her up at work on 
Friday afternoon and would still be performing to spec Monday 
morning when she reluctantly made him climb off and go home so 
she could get ready for work.  Sadly, Milly had not yet found the 
man she was looking for, so she made do with a team.  A major 
league manager planning his pitching rotation for the playoffs had 
nothing on Milly’s strategizing her boyfriend schedule according 
to her moods and social occasions.

	Primus inter pares was Horse, the Washington Wizards’ 
center who was hung like a ...  well, the eponymous farm animal.  
Carlos was a dance instructor whose introduction of the 
movements of Salsa, Cumbia, and the Meringue into his frenetic 
lovemaking more than compensated for his small stature.  
Wentworth was a pleasant looking banker, rich as sin, and not too 
bad in the sack.  He had his uses.  The sleeper of the group was 
Albert who worked at National Science Foundation.  He was 
terribly bright and didn’t look so goofy now that Milly had 
convinced him to get contact lenses.  Albert was still a bit of a 
nerd, but Milly decided must have a Ph.D.  in the geography of 
erogenous zones and had perhaps done some post-doctoral work in 
cunnilingus.  He could get her off so well with his fingers and his 
mouth, Milly only fucked him to be a good sport ...  and because 
his prick was almost as big as Horse’s.

	Amaka was also happy to get Milly’s call that Ms Harridan 
would be coming for a visit and immediately informed James.  
“You handle her honey.  After all, she *is* a feminist.”  
Emboldened by James’s confidence in her, Amaka did a little 
research on her patient-to -be.  Although Kate had written several 
books, the locus classicus of her anti-male ideology was, “Forget 
It!”  This screed was mainly famous for Kate’s aphorism, that “a 
woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.”

	When Amaka saw Kate’s scowling face, she knew this was 
not going to be easy.  She decided that the best approach would be 
a respectful, businesslike tone.  "Since you're a new patient, Ms 
Harridan, I'll need to get some preliminary information."

	"I assumed that that was the purpose of having me fill out 
the form," Kate icily replied.

	"You're quite right," Amaka assured her, wanting to get her 
into at least a semi-cooperative mood as quickly as she could.  "All 
the basic, standard information is on the form, and of course I 
won't waste your time asking you to repeat it.  All I need to do now 
is get some more details medical history, and because so many 
questions are contingent on other questions, it's a lot faster and 
more efficient to do that in an interview."

	Kate seemed to accept this common sense explanation, if 
reluctantly.  She nodded and said, "Very well."

	"OK, glancing over what you put down, it looks like the 
only medical problem you've had in the past several years has been 
headaches, is that right?"

	"That's correct."

	"No history of sinus trouble?  Good eyesight?  Has there 
been a change in your symptoms recently?"

	Kate answered the first two questions with a quick negative 
shake of her head.  "The headaches have been getting worse in the 
past few weeks.  Well, I'm not sure they're worse, just more 
frequent."

	"I see.  And has anything changed recently about your 
habits or your diet or your environment at home or at work?"

	"I keep telling my secretary it's stress, and I have certainly 
had to deal with a good many problems recently.  Unfortunately, 
stress is unavoidable in my work."

	"Do you anything to relax?"

	"I don't have much time for relaxing." Kate's expression 
changed from sourness and impatience to one of passionate zeal.  
"I don't know if you're aware of how much ground the feminist 
movement has lost in the past few decades.  It's all we can do, 
those of us who still care about it, to keep things from sliding back 
into the dark ages."

	“The real crisis is that we women have ourselves given up 
the fight.  A lot of us have convinced ourselves that full-fledged 
feminism is extremist rather than simply right.  Some even take 
delight in being sex objects, living their lives as if they were in 
some male fantasy.  I don't suppose you've read Andrea Dworkin?"

	Amaka had in fact read some Dworkin, but she shook her 
head, not wanting to extend the discussion if she could avoid it.  
But Kate seemed to be on a roll.

	"Well, you should read Dworkin; she's a very important 
writer.  But even Dworkin is too tolerant for my tastes.  Men have 
subjugated women for years, using them for sexual pleasure and to 
make babies and to clean up after them.  And look at so-called 
women's magazines! What are they about?  Babies, sex, and how 
to have a pretty house! We're subjugating ourselves! Every time a 
woman has sex, she's cooperating with the oppressor!"

	This was not going the way Amaka had intended.  She had 
meant to gradually steer the discussion around to the need to relax, 
then either to the use of tranquilizers or self-hypnosis, which would 
give her the opening she needed to start this woman's conditioning.  
But she couldn't help saying, "I've heard that Andrea Dworkin says 
that any sex involving penetration is inherently sexist.  Is that what 
you mean?"

	Kate shook her head emphatically.  "No, Dworkin has that 
completely wrong.  That's a detail, mere symbolism.  It isn't how 
you have sex, it's having sex at all.  Any kind of sex subjugates 
women to men!"

	Amaka looked at her with real curiosity.  "Well, what if 
there aren't any men involved?  What if it's just two gir -- two 
women?  How can that o--"

	Kate cut her off impatiently.  "That's still sex, isn't it?  Do 
you think that makes any difference to a man?  Men love the idea 
of lesbian sex! They like it as much as they do male-female sex.  
Maybe more!"

	Amaka opened her mouth to say something, but decided 
better of it.  Reminding herself that this was not going anywhere 
useful, so she decided to revert to her original plan.  "You make a 
very good point," she said, hoping agreement would avoid 
extending the argument.  "You're absolutely right.  Your work is 
very important.  Vital.  And I'm sure your headaches are interfering 
with your work, so we had better do something about them."

	"Yes," Kate agreed, putting her palm to her forehead and 
seeming to sag slightly.

	"Are you getting a headache now?" Amaka asked.

	"Yes," Kate said.  "I guess I got a little too intense." She 
looked up sharply.  "But it's important! Ow!"

	Amaka stood up and moved behind the woman.  She began 
massaging Kate's shoulder's while trying to make it seem like an 
examination.  The woman's shoulder muscles felt like taut steel 
cables.  “Ms Harridan," Amaka said, "I believe that hypertension 
of the striated muscles might be at the root of your sensitivity to 
stress.  I would like to examine your staticodynamic 
ligomusculature more thoroughly.  Please remove your outer 
clothing and lie down on the examining table."

	Kate looked sourly doubtful.  "I had assumed the doctor 
would examine me."

	"And I'm sure he will,” Amaka said with a second unstated 
meaning.  “But I assure you that I'm a qualified medical 
professional, although I'm sure I don't have to tell you that, since 
you would not underrate the nursing profession simply because it 
is traditionally female."

	Kate seemed horrified by the very suggestion and quickly 
said, "Oh, of course not.  I, I simply was concerned about the time.  
But perhaps you're right." Efficiently, and without the slightest 
sign of either shame or delight about the process, she stripped to 
cotton briefs.  No doubt all her bras were burned years ago, Amaka 
told herself.

	"OK, now if you'll just lie down here.  No, face down, 
please.  All right, now tell me if I hurt you."

	But of course she had no intention of hurting.  Amaka 
massaged the woman's shoulders, her back, her legs and arms, 
alternately gently and firmly, all the while trying to make it seem 
like an examination despite the pleasure she was sure she was 
provoking.  Occasionally she allowed her large uniform-covered 
breasts to brush against her patient's bare skin as if by accident, and 
she let the tips of her fingers brush a few times against the sides of 
the woman's breasts.  Kate showed no suspicion of what Amaka 
was up to, but she did show signs of responding and trying to 
conceal it.  Amaka grinned inwardly, wondered if this woman ever 
had a massage before.  Probably not the sort of thing a tight ass 
like her would go in for.  May that was why she was reacting so 
well to this one.

	When Amaka shifted her attention to the surprisingly cute 
little ass, though, she provoked a more negative reaction.  "What 
are you doing?" Kate suddenly demanded.

	Sounding professional, Amaka said, "I'm sorry if I startled 
you.  Headaches can originate in primary or secondary muscle 
tension anywhere in the body, but especially near the head and 
spine, and in particular with the larger muscles, such as the gluteus 
maximus, here.  I notice you seem to be particularly tense around 
the base of the spine, and I really should examine the whole pelvic 
area for my report."

	Kate reluctantly let her press and feel her way around, and 
after a while the ass muscles no longer clinched up when she 
touched them.

	"How's your headache?" Amaka asked.

	"Why, it's gone!" Kate sounded genuinely surprised.

	"Good.  Sometimes the physiological manipulation 
necessary for the examination is itself therapeutic." Damn, she 
thought, she was starting to sound like what's her name on ER.  "In 
fact, I believe it would help establish a treatment modality that I 
could report to the doctor if I tried one additional thing."

	Amaka looked around for some oil but couldn't find any.  
"I'll be right back," she said as she hastened out of the room.

	Kate lay there feeling better and almost relaxed.  Perhaps 
her initial skepticism of this nurse had been based upon some 
residual sexism.  After all, it pervaded society, and patriarchal 
values were passed on as much by mothers as by fathers -- that was 
the insidiousness of it.  She should have thought to mention that in 
explaining how even lesbian sex could be oppressive of women, in 
that it reflected the patriarchal socioeconomic system.  Marx had 
been, in his typical male way, wrong.  It was not religion but sex 
that was the opiate of the masses, especially the female masses, 
and as with any seemingly pleasurable addictive drug it was best 
avoided.

	The nurse came back with some sort of bottle.  "This is a 
therapeutic lubricating oil," she explained.  "It will help me 
perform a palpatative examination of the deeper musculature."  
Amaka neglected to mention that the oil had several tranquilizers 
that would be absorbed through the skin mixed with it.  Since her 
close call with that tough Ms. Lopez, Amaka took no chances.  
Slowly, she began to smooth the cool liquid on Kate's back.  

	Kate had found the initial examination pleasurable, almost 
embarrassingly so, but when the nurse's oiled fingers began sliding 
over her, pressing gently here and there, then stroking so lightly it 
was barely a touch, it felt incredible, like nothing, well, like 
nothing she'd experienced in many years.  It made it hard to think.  
Perhaps she should make her stop, but that was silly, this was 
simply a medical examination, even if it was a kind she wasn't 
familiar with.

	"Excuse me, but I don't want to get oil on your panties," the 
nurse said, and Kate felt them being pulled down to expose her 
posterior.  The sensation of the slippery hands examining her bare 
bottom was shocking to Kate, but she strove to avoid showing any 
sign of it.  Only when an oiled finger feeling about her tailbone 
slipped briefly down between her cheeks did she start to say 
something.  It was over too quickly, before she could object, 
although not before it had given her a strange and strangely 
pleasurable, frisson.

	"Now please turn over," the nurse instructed, and Kate did 
so.  The nurse put more oil on her hands and proceeded to examine 
Kate's shoulders, neck, and sides.  Amaka moved to stand at the 
head of the examining table.  Kate felt the nurse’s gentle fingers 
trail lightly across the muscles of her face and forehead, then to the 
sides of her neck and her shoulders, then back to the face.  She felt 
much better and more relaxed, but she noticed that her nipples 
seemed to be standing up.  Much as she hated to admit it, Kate 
knew she was becoming aroused.

	The nurse said something Kate didn't catch.  She realized 
that her eyes were closed and she opened them.  The nurse was 
leaning over her, her face upside down from this angle, some sort 
of shiny amulet hanging from her neck and swinging slightly.

	"I want you to relax as much as you can, Ms Harridan.  
Based on the what I've seen so far, I believe it's very likely that 
your headaches are a consequence of general musculoskeletal 
hypertonality.  It should respond well to treatment if we know its 
full extent."

	The skillful hands ranged more freely over Kate's body as 
the amulet swung over her face, capturing her attention.  Gradually 
Amaka moved to stand beside Kate's head, one hand continuing to 
explore her upper body and the other straying lower and lower in 
its gentle, pleasurable examination of the abdomen.

	Kate felt herself drifting into almost a dream state, aware 
that she shouldn't fall asleep in the examining room but too relaxed 
-- more relaxed than she had been in years, she thought -- to really 
care.  In fact, the nurse kept telling her to relax, and she kept 
feeling herself do so more and more.

	Almost in a daze she heard the nurse say, "Now, I need to 
check some interior muscle tension, so don't be startled.  This will 
only take a moment." And she felt a lubricated finger slip gently 
into her vagina.  The pleasurable shock was intense and it was all 
Kate could do not to cry out or arch her back.  The finger moved 
around inside her, setting off little rockets of delight.  Then it 
began to pump in and out of her while the nurse kept telling her to 
relax, relax, go to sleep for her, go to sleep, listen only to her voice 
...

	A weak thought that had for some time been in the back of 
Kate's mind, one she had been refusing to listen to, suddenly 
shouted its way into her consciousness.  This wasn't any damned 
medical examination.  There was no medical reason for finger 
fucking.  This was a seduction attempt.  This so-called nurse was 
trying to have sex with her, and a lesser woman than Kate Harridan 
would have fallen into her trap!

	"What the hell are you doing!" she spat out, trying to sit up.

	The nurse, still standing beside her, looked a little surprised 
by the attempt at resistance, but her hand didn't miss a stroke and 
Kate realized to her horror that she half-wanted her to continue.

	Amaka leaned over her, keeping Kate from rising, 
murmuring soothing instructions to relax and as the pleasure 
between her legs increased, Kate felt the tenseness draining out of 
her again against her will.

	"Stop it!" Kate insisted, weakly trying to close her legs and 
push away the hand that was robbing her of her will.  "I know what 
you're doing and it isn't going to work!"

	"Isn't it?" Amaka asked sweetly.  "I believe you've 
overlooked something about sex.  Just because men like sex 
doesn't mean it's bad for women.  In fact, it's a source of female 
power.  I'm using it on you right now, and it's pretty effective, 
wouldn't you say?"

	"No, no That’s lipstick feminism crap!  All bullshit!" Kate 
replied foggily.  She was still trying to push the nurse's hand away 
from her, but she was at a disadvantage half-lying in this position.  
Every time she managed to force the nurse's hand away with both 
of hers, Amaka simply writhed her oiled hand free and went back 
to what she was doing.  Covering herself with her hands didn't 
work either, because the nurse simply shifted the focus of her 
attack to Kate's sensitive inner thighs or sides or breasts, and Kate 
was by now so turned on that almost any contact with those skilled 
fingers sent involuntary thrills through her.

	This is crazy! Kate told herself.  Why can't I fight this?  I've 
had enough men think they could seduce me, hoping to bag a 
feminist as a trophy, and those stupid bastards never came close.  
What's this woman doing to me?  Why can't I control myself?  Her 
mind seemed sluggish, unable to think.  She felt the nurse's lips 
encircle one of her nipples and begin to suckle, the hot tongue 
flicking across and around the hard bud.  She couldn't keep from 
whimpering from unwanted but undeniable pleasure, and she 
began relaxing back onto the table.

	“Don’t fight me, baby.  You’re too hot to fight.  You need 
to relax and have a good come!”  As her struggles gradually 
weakened and eyes began to drift closed Kate began to figure it 
out.  Amaka wasn't just seducing her.  All that talk about relaxing, 
that sparkling, waving amulet, it had to be hypnosis.  She was 
being seduced and hypnotized at the same time, with the one 
reinforcing the other and making them both incredibly hard to 
fight.

	That meant she was in much greater danger than she'd 
realized.  This wasn't just some horny lesbian after sex as she'd 
thought.  This was someone who wanted to take complete control 
of her, to reduce her to some kind of sex slave or worse.  She 
couldn't let that happen, she had to fight it.  If she didn't fight it, 
who knew what might happen?

	Was this what had happened to Milly?  Had Milly been 
brainwashed at this place?  And Carol Finger!  That explained her 
disgusting transformation.  Now Kate wasn't just angry or upset, 
she ought to be scared, but somehow she wasn’t.

	She tried again to fend her off her seducer, struggling.  This 
time she almost succeeded in sitting up.

	Amaka wrapped her arms around her and began whispering 
in her ear.  "You can't get away now, you're too far gone, honey, so 
horny.  Now relax for me, relax now..."

	Kate felt herself responding to the suggestions and said, 
"No!" She twisted around, trying to get away.  Amaka was still 
breathing in her ear, "You can't resist me.  Give in.  You want to 
give in.  You want to come too bad.  Close your eyes, now.  Sleep 
for me.  Sleep..."

	Kate continued to squirm against her attacker, trying to get 
away, trying not to listen, but her sense of touch, made 
hypersensitive by the massage, made the struggling contact more 
and more erotic.  When she fought to keep her eyes open despite 
the hypnotic suggestions she felt her sexual arousal grow 
irresistibly, and when she tried to concentrate on controlling her 
sexual instincts her eyelids refused to stay open.

	Little by little she felt herself relaxing back onto the 
examining table.  She ordered her body to obey her, to throw off 
this female collaborator with the forces of patriarchy, but her body 
had already sold out to the pleasurable sensations Amaka could 
produce.

	Amaka's hands were once again exploring her body, forcing 
her to respond against her will.

	Kate felt helplessly half angry, partly frustrated, but more 
and more she felt another sensation, an undeniable sensation, not 
quite a buzzing but something rather like it, that seemed to pervade 
the whole area between her legs and fuzzy mound just before it.  
Amaka's hands were there, making her feel this way.

	As the sensation grew it drove before it all her other 
thoughts and feelings.  She heard herself gasping for breath, felt 
her hips bucking violently against the table, felt her vaginal 
muscles, all her muscles, suddenly contract and squeeze tight and 
her breathing stop for an instant, and then the first orgasm she had 
had since high school, since before she joined the movement, came 
flooding over her like a hot tidal wave, like a wall of lava, like 
nothing she could even imagine, and she felt her little remaining 
will slipping away and her whole self, mind and body, fall under 
the power of the beautiful black woman.

	Two hours later Amaka was smiling as a dazed but 
dreamily smiling Kate Harridan stood up to go, still a little shaky.  
“I’m so happy it turned out those headaches were just stress 
related, Ms Harridan.  If you just listen every day to the tapes and 
take the pills Dr.  Bock put in you bag, you’ll be pleased with the 
change.” Amaka instructed, not adding that she knew someone else 
who would be even more pleased.

*****

	Milly did not expect an immediate transformation; instead 
she just smiled at the slow improvements she began to notice in 
Kate’s demeanor and wardrobe.  Week by week the hem of her 
boss’s skirts crept up until they were a really impressive six inches 
above the large woman’s knees.  The severe bun gave way to tight 
curls with sexy highlights.  Some criticized the large loopy earrings 
that appeared in Kate’s newly pierced ears and other thought the 
bangles were not serious enough for the head of NAG.  High heel 
strap sandals and brightly painted toe nails also signaled that 
something was afoot.  Kate’s blouses got frillier and when they 
became translucent, Milly noted that Kate’s respectable boobies 
were on display in some eye-catching bras whose colors matched 
those of the blouses.

	For a few days Milly feared that Kate was getting dolled up 
with an eye to making passes at her or some of the other women at 
NAG.  In an organization like theirs, several were of that 
persuasion.  Even before Kate’s transformation, Ethel Parker in 
Accounting had lusted for the shapely head of NAG.  The slim 
woman was always attracted by opposites.  She had dreamed of 
removing Kate’s thick jacket and heavy blouse and getting her 
bony fingers on that overflowing set of jugs.  She yearned to pull 
down one of those wool skirt and peel off the opaque pantyhose to 
get her henna curls between Kate’s plump legs.  The very thought 
of the effort required to get Kate naked almost exhausted her, but 
Ethel reckoned there was enough Kate underneath all those clothes 
to be worth it.  Now that Kate was sporting mini skirts with 
stockings and revealing blouses, Ethel was shivering with lust.

	Ethel’s desire for Kate was apparent to Milly who knew she 
would have to be alert.  Nothing untoward must developed before 
she could get the sexy redhead some professional help from Dr.  
Bock.  Her worries about Kate, however, vanished when Milly saw 
how her boss enjoyed flirting with and teasing the bicycle delivery 
boys.  The President of NAG became a real hit the young men as 
she bent over to sign for packages, making sure her skirt hiked up 
almost to her crotch and setting her titties to bob tantalizingly.  She 
didn’t seem to mind when the same boy returned to have her sign 
two or three times for the same item.

	Milly would have been equally amused had she been able 
to observe the daily vignettes that had developed at Kate’s 
apartment.  One morning soon after Kate started dressing a little 
more like a woman, she got a single, almost deferential little wolf 
whistle from a worker at the construction site across the street.  
Kate flashed him a grin and rewarded him with an extra swing of 
her hips as she slid her shapely ass into the little Neon.  The next 
day several pairs of masculine eyes awaited Kate’s emergence 
from her building.  The sight of a healthily built lady with a skirt 
cut closer to her waist than her knees and whose hips rolled 
provocatively as she undulated toward her automobile, did not 
disappoint them.  A whole flute section of whistles and trills 
registered the men’s approval.

	Fortunately, Kate was punctual so she caused little 
disruption to the construction schedule when every morning at 
exactly 7:25 all activity stopped.  Seventy five men waited  to see 
what bit of exaggerated exhibitionism the hot broad across the 
street had in store for them that day.  Whatever it was always drew 
a chorus of approving hoots and cheers.  Kate loved the effect she 
had on all those burly men.  Of course all those burly men had 
quite an effect on Kate, too.  During her drive to work she had 
quite a tingle between her legs that forced her to steer with one 
hand much of the time.  By her arrival at the office the first few 
days, her panties were too soaked to be worn.  She coped by 
donning ‘Lite Days’ and changing the pad first thing.

	Although Kate’s headaches were gone, Milly noted that her 
boss still was not entirely well.  She seemed distracted and had 
difficulty concentrating.  Milly smiled, remembering how antsy 
she had felt before she met Horse.  Several times when Milly 
walked into Kate’s office unexpectedly, she glimpsed Kate quickly 
withdrawing her hand from between her legs.  She decided Kate 
was ready for the proffered help.

	One day soon afterward Kate returned from lunch to find a 
package on her desk.  “Milly, what is this doing here?,” she asked.

	“I ...  er ...  it’s ...  uhh ...  something I got for you, ma’am.  
I thought you might you need it.”

	Puzzled, Kate opened the package.  “Milly!  This looks like 
a ...” she gasped, looking at the long cylindrical object.

	“The batteries go in there,” Milly said shyly, pointing and 
trying to keep everything matter of fact.  “I put in a fresh set of 
Eveready Energizers.”

	Kate turned beet red and ordered Milly out of the office.  
Disgusted, she thrust the object into the bottom drawer.  Try as she 
might, though, she couldn’t get it out of her mind.  She had already 
changed pads once that afternoon; it was hard to wait for five 
o’clock to go home.  She didn’t make it.  About 4:30, Kate told 
Milly to hold all her calls and a soft hum interspersed with muffled 
moans and sighs began emanating from Kate’s office.  Milly was 
still hearing them when she left for her night with Horse.  Next 
morning, she found a more serene Kate asleep on the couch in her 
office.  Milly made a note to send out for more Energizers.

	A few days later Milly got the call she had been expecting.  
“Yes, sir, I gave it to her.” ...  “I think so, sir.  She took it home and
she’s been coming in late.” ...  “If you say, sir.”

	With some trepidation, Milly spoke into the intercom.  “A 
Mr.  William Jenkins on the line for you, ma’am.” ...  “He didn’t 
say, ma’am.”

	“What do *you* want, Bill?” Kate demanded sourly.  There 
was no reason to feign civility.  Bill Jenkins was President of 
NARM (National Association of Real Men).  His organization of 
male chauvinist pigs was opposed to everything NAG stood for.  
The fact that Bill had dumped her for that skinny blonde bimbo at 
Berkeley had nothing to do with her distaste for the man.

	“Ahw, don’t be that way, Katie,” Bill pleaded, perhaps 
forgetting how she *hated* being called “Katie.”  “I thought it was 
time NAG and NARM buried the hatchet, you know, start to work 
together as partners.

	“Partners?  In what, for heaven’s name?”

	“Go out to dinner with me tonight and let me explain.” he 
entreated..  “Please?”

	Kate was about to hang up on the asshole, but something 
made her hesitate.  Perhaps it would be droll to hear how Bill 
Jenkins thought the organizations he and Kate headed could be 
“partners.”  “Pick you up at 8:30?” he asked.

	Kate surprised herself with the pains she took to look her 
best.  She had been wondering when she would wear that rather 
daring little red leather mini she had picked up a few days ago on a 
whim.  Well, why not?  Let the bastard look, for all he good it 
would do him.  He had always been a leg man.  In fact, why not 
*tease* him a little?  Make the old goat regret fucking that blonde 
who had a waist twice hers by now, Kate would wager.  A 
deliciously wicked thought crossed her mind.  Did she really need 
a bra?  Her tits were big girls; they could take care of themselves.  
The stupid man had passed up many a happy night pleasuring these 
babies just because the blonde minx opened her legs for him the 
first time they were alone together, Kate thought with disgust.

	Kate considered going without panties, too -- that would 
give him an eyeful -- but rejected the idea.  For some reason she 
was *pretty* damp down there tonight.  She didn’t want to soil her 
skirt.  The red fishnet stockings would be a nice touch.  Four inch 
heels were good enough for the office, but she decided on the fire-
engine red five-inch pumps for tonight.  Finally she dabbed on 
“Midnight Assignation.”  Marie?  Hadn’t that been the bitch’s 
name?

	Kate couldn’t understand the way Bill squired her into the 
restaurant, seeming to treat the occasion as a date rather than a 
business meeting.  She tried to turn the conversation to 
professional matters but found it difficult over the arucula and 
radiccio salad, broiled lobster, and a fruity Australian white wine.  
Bill repeatedly deflected her questions with witty stories that kept 
Kate tittering.  The pig was a great raconteur; always had been, 
now that she thought of it.  Letting him refill her wine glass that 
third time could have been a mistake; it didn’t get her any closer to 
understanding his ideas of partnership.

	She had even less success on the dimly lit dance floor.  
Kate had forgotten how much fun it was to be whirled and twirled 
around by a man who really knew those old steps that few people 
did nowadays.  When the music turned slower and she felt his 
hands caress her buttocks, it just felt so natural to melt into his 
arms and let him hold her close.  Snuggling her head against his 
shoulder didn’t really mean anything romantic; it was just a social 
ritual.  But it was certainly not conducive to serious talk about 
institutional partnership.

	No, Kate realized, if she was going to find out what Bill 
had in mind for NAG and NARM collaboration, she would just 
have to go back to his house with him as he suggested.  If she had 
not been having so much fun, Kate would have been really 
annoyed at all this beating around the bush.  In the car with his arm 
around her was the same.  Would this bear of a man ever get 
serious?  Why did he want to have a liqueur on the couch before he 
would out with it?  It was very nice of him to tell her how pretty 
she looked, but what did that have to with his idea of partnership?  
And flattering though it was that Bill though she had pretty legs 
and wanted to see more of them, pushing her dress up like that was 
quite naughty, though it did make Kate laugh.

	Well, that she had a great set of jugs was no news to Kate!  
She guessed there was no real harm in letting him unbutton her 
blouse to admire them better.  In fact, it had its practical advantage.  
If Bill had been kissing her man melters, as he was now, through 
the material of her blouse, what a dry cleaning bill she would have!  

	Men!  They could go to the moon and explore continents 
but needed help with the zipper of a woman skirt!  She hated to 
think of the commotion if she hadn’t been clever enough to leave 
the bra at home.  Oh, that was nice.  Having her titties kissed while 
a hand wormed it way into her panties was a lot more exciting now 
than she remembered from the back seat of Bill’s automobile in 
college.  My Goodness!  Bill Jenkins had learned a few things 
about women in the last twenty years, Kate reflected.  She was sure 
he would never have know how to put his mouth down *there* in 
college!  Uhh!  “A few things?”  My god, a lot!  When had he 
pushed aside her panties?  He had his tongue in her ...  UUU! ...  
He was going to make her ...  AAAH ...  yes, she was about to ...

	“Ahiyouuuuu!” Kate wailed as she came.

	After that, the exact sequence of events was a bit fuzzy, but 
they included Kate tottering upstairs a few orgasms later in just her 
panties and heels.  Bill’s hand on her shapely ass provided the 
needed guidance.  Somehow the panties, too, disappeared and Kate 
found herself lying on her back, red spikes pointed to the ceiling 
with a naked Bill Jenkins looming over her.  His prick was about 
halfway into her very wet pussy and sinking deeper!  Kate knew 
she was about to orgasm again.

	Moments later another inhuman shriek pierced the midnight 
calm.

	“Oh shit!” Bill thought  Of all the times for his home 
security alarm to malfunction, why *now*?  He scrambled down to 
the basement to turn the infernal contraption off as quickly as 
possible without disturbing the aroused woman lying naked in his 
bed, but when he returned, he saw the spell was broken.  With fire 
in her eyes Kate was down in the living room with her panties back 
on, pulling up her skirt and searching for her blouse.

	“You son of a bitch!” Kate hissed.  “You deceitful, low life, 
treacherous scoundrel.  Why waste abuse on a snake like you?  
Take me home this instant!”

	Kate Harridan when she was riled, brooked no dissent.  A 
chastened Bill Jenkins meekly opened the car door for the fuming 
woman.  She slammed it closed herself.  “But Katie ...” he tried to 
explain as he slid into the driver’s side.

	“Shut up!  I don’t want a peep out of you!” Kate glowered.  
There was nothing Bill could do but start the car and point it in the 
direction of Kate’s apartment.  To break the silence he slipped a 
cassette in the tape player.

	Kate was furious, as wrought up as she ever remembered 
being.  As with most women, when she was angry with herself, she 
projected her ire outward.  What a creep!  How could Bill Jenkins 
think she would fall for that romantic evening routine?  Bill 
Jenkins playing the gentleman!  What a laugh!  Bill Jenkins was no 
gentleman.  He was a rogue, a cad.  The machista pig’s idea of a 
good night with a woman was probably to throw the bitch down on 
a hardwood floor and fuck her senseless.

	Kate bet he’d done it enough times, too, starting with that 
dumb blonde in college.  Bill sure had the equipment for it.  Kate 
eyed the bulge in his pants knowingly.  Silly women didn’t stand a 
chance with men like Bill.  Just like that college floozy, they would 
glimpse a prong like Bill’s and get so horny they couldn’t keep 
their legs together.  Any man with a prick the size of Bill Jenkins’s 
was dangerous.  Kate had never seen a package that size in a pair 
of pants.  Bill probably had women falling over him, hot little 
numbers half his age that welcomed him into their warm wet fuck 
holes in a trice.  Gad how she hated him!

	“O.  K., Katie.  Here we are.” Bill said at last.  “And I 
really am sorry about ...”

	“I thought I told you not to speak!” Kate snapped.  Bill 
waked beside her to the door in silence.

	“Well!” Kate growled as she turned her key in the lock.

	“Well, what?” Bill asked uncomprehendingly.

	“After your disgusting behavior tonight, do you think you 
can just dump me on my door stoop like a sack of potatoes?  Get 
your sorry ass in here.  I want to get fucked!”

	It was Zen, Kate later reflected dreamily as she drifted 
down from a third orgasm and snuggled closer to her now sleeping 
partner.  Once she stopped searching, the meaning became crystal 
clear.  Bill had his huge part‘n’er and damned if it didn’t feel good!

*****

	The next few weeks saw a general relaxation of discipline 
around NAG headquarters.  The President, frankly, was not setting 
a good example, often ducking out on Thursday afternoons for a 
long weekend with her new silver-haired beau and sometimes not 
straggling back until noon on Monday.

	Fortunately, Kate had loyal staff that stepped into the 
breech.  NAG’s head of Security, La Toya Ruston, put the fear of 
god into the unruly young men in their fancy cars who were 
causing havoc, queuing up for their dates every afternoon.  Olivia 
Fuentes in Research tried to keep up a semblance of a media 
program.  Victoria Chung of Personnel relentlessly docked the pay 
of girls who couldn’t wait until quitting time to get started on their 
evening trysts.

	One would have expected Milly to help hold the fort, but 
Milly was facing one of life’s big decisions.  A little queasiness 
one morning brought something to mind she had not thought about 
for a while.  She had been having such a great time these last four 
months, but she realized that since visiting  the Clinic, she had 
been forgetting to re-fill her prescription for contraceptives.  With 
the exception of Wentworth who was always responsible, she 
hadn’t had much protection.  When she got going with Carlos or 
Albert or especially with Horse, she just didn’t have the heart to 
insist that they stop to put on a condom and she sure as hell didn’t 
spoil the moment by making them pull out before they came.  
Olivia would have made a more exact calculation.  Milly’s was 
rough.  Let’s see ...  three men, twice a week each for four months, 
average, say, four times a night times maybe three oz.  per come ...  
Hum.  About two gallons of semen by her reckoning.  Yep, she 
was probably pregnant.

	Waiting until the baby was born was not the best way to 
assign paternity; it weakened her bargaining position.  The 
decision was too serious for “enney, menney minney moh.”  A 
more objective method was required and the answer was pretty 
obvious.  Wentworth had even more money than Horse and was a 
lot more malleable.  Of course Milly expected his lawyers to try to 
push him into a stingy pre-nuptial agreement, but she and Wenny 
would pay a visit to Dr.  Bock to talk about the baby and she was 
sure Amaka could give her fiancee enough backbone to stand up to 
a few lawyers.  Besides, Wentworth would need Amaka’s help to 
“remember” that night he had begged Milly not to make him use a 
condom and not to wonder why their baby was a lot darker than 
either he or Milly.

	Horse, Carlos and Albert were not too happy when Milly 
informed them she would not be able to see them quite so 
frequently once she was married.  They were mollified, however, 
when she promised to introduce them to some of her friends.  The 
ones she had in mind were taking work far too seriously, anyway, 
and needed a little more fun in their lives.  Milly scheduled 
appointments with Dr.  Bock for Olivia, Victoria, and La Toya.

*****

	The group wedding of Kate and three NAG officers was the 
socio-political event of the season.  Angelica Lopez headlined the 
“Style” spread “They’re All ‘New Feminists’ Now.”  The photo 
caption said it all, “...from left to right the party comprised Mr.  
Charles, “Horse” Jones and his bride, Victoria Chung Jones; Mr.  
Carlos Valdez and bride La Toya Ruston Valdez; Mr.  Albert Wu 
and bride Olivia Fuentes Wu; and Mr.  William Jenkins, President 
of NARM and bride Catherine Harridan Jenkins, President of 
NAG.  Accompanying the party were Mr.  Wentworth Stokes and 
wife Mildred Stokes with infant; and Dr.  James Bock of the Board 
of Directors of NARM and companion, Ms.  Amaka Ebe”

	The touching photograph showed a delicate Victoria with 
her dark, straight hair and almond eyes smiling blissfully as the 
huge basketball player looked down on her in adoration.  Heaven 
help the man who so much as *looked* the wrong way at his 
darling Vickie.  No bantam rooster could have been more proud 
than Carlos at the side of the broadly grinning black woman who 
may have doubled his weight.  Olivia and Albert were oblivious to 
the camera, lost in each others eyes.  Kate in her surprisingly short 
bridal gown beamed as Bill held her around the waist like a prized 
possession.  It was only a fluke of the camera angle that enabled a 
close observer of each bride’s belly to note that someone had 
jumped the gun by serveal months on starting a family.

	The photographer had not thought it seemly for a family 
newspaper to include the adjacent tableau of considerable human 
interest.  In it, a thin fiery redhead stood grinning, very proud and 
very pregnant, in the middle of the other four Wizards starters who 
were looking quizzically at each other.

The End

Comments, please, to:
Homer Vargas
the_story_writer@yahoo.com

I wish to acknowledge inspiration from “Downing Street” and 
someone else who does not wish to be acknowledged without 
blaming them for the execution.  I also wish to thank “Gary 
Grant,” who ought to be writing himself, and who will recognize 
his input.







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