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Short, round bottom Sister Roxanne surveyed the gaggle of young ladies in the corridor. Standing behind her concealing my hands in my robes, I chuckled to myself when I thought of her pet name, Zaftig. The pronunciation of the loan word Zaftig — Zoptic — catches the sense of an eye-catching curvy woman, with bulbous breasts and broad hips. Even these flowing robes could not conceal Zaftig’s full figure. How many of these girls being received into the convent school would come to share my secret pet name I used for her? No one, not even me, would ever have dared to have called her Zaftig to her face.
Hands reached out from her charcoal black robes clapped to quiet the young women cackling in the corridor of the convent school. With a phew she exclaimed, “I wish I could find my clicker — clacker. Ladies,” she addressed newcomers and returnees, “you are entering a religious establishment. A show of reverence, silence if you please.” Plucking a clipboard concealed in the folds of her robes, Zaftig shouted, “Andreson,” she pointed to a place along the wall, “Cunningham, next, C’m’n ladies lets snap to it.”
With all the women in line, Zaftig fell into that homey greeting, “Ladies, I ‘m Sister Rachel.” Zaftig pointed to me. “This Amazonian specimen is Sister Evelyn. Welcome to St Agnes, the Virgin Martyr Convent School. Many of you are here for the first time; some of you are returning from your summer vacation. Entering upon your studies here is marked by a ritual.”
One of the young women snickered, “Here comes the schmaltz.”
Zaftig fell into a rage like she was the real thing. “Which of you hussies dared me?”
Advancing face to face on one tall blond in the lineup against the wall, Zaftig screeched, “It was you, Jenny Jennings. Wasn’t it?” When the girl turned crimson red and shook her head, Zaftig roared, “Don’t lie to me, young lady. I ought to slap you silly, but you’ve just arrived. Next one to step out of line will not be spared. Strip bare ass naked.”
As the Jenny removed her yellow blouse, Zaftig returned to the script after a fashion, “Now, you will see Miss Jennings take the first step in her rededication by casting off the frivolities of the outside world. As Jenny unhooked her bra and stood topless, shifting her feet in a kind of dance with the bra dangling from her hand, the cups oscillating like a hypnotist’s watch, Zaftig examining the yellow blouse declared, “A fine label. My niece might like this.”
Cacophony broke out. The other women in line were snickering, “Got anything special underneath those blue jeans, Jen — Jen?” “Are you going to wear those jeans into the shower?” “Won’t jeans chafe your bare rump?” “When will we see Empress Jen’s new panties?”
Her attention drawn to the clatter, Zaftig, quickly looked around before she barked at the women, “Ladies, what are we waiting for? Turn around. Face the wall. Completely disrobe? Neatly fold your clothing and properly place them on the floor next to you.” Clapping her hands, Zaftig urged, “Ladies, let’s move it along.”
That was my cue. I started kütahya escort my welcoming address to the students, “Newcomers, bear in mind. There is no shame in the beauty and majesty of the unadorned human form …”
Noticing Miss Jennings shifting her hips, Zaftig fell into a rage, “What do we have here? An example of false modesty here’s nothing under your jeans that we haven’t seen before. Finish undressing!”
Did my welcoming remarks ring tinny as I resumed? “The unadorned human form, designed in God’s own image and likeness, unify the spirit with the human flesh. United in a blessing, the natural state promotes equality — we are all sisters in the flesh, self — confident, open and candid.”
Pants off, Jenny presented herself pantiless, long legs joined at a full bush as she stood uneasily in front of Zaftig with an apprehensive look.
Eyes widening, rage building, Zaftig flew into a fury, “What do we have here? A scintillating seductress, a salacious strumpet, a street — walker sans culottes suited to slog along the depths of Central Avenue! Turn! Face the wall! Bend over!” To me, Zaftig thunder an order, “Sister Evelyn, fetch my pointer.”
Trembling, with erratic moves Jenny slowly about — faced and bent over presenting an apple shaped, quivering tush. Zaftig turned to me and screeched, “Evelyn, my pointer now. Check in the classroom over there.”
Jenny’s butt was quivering with fear of Zaftig’s impending blows. Zaftig snarled repeating her order, “Sister Evelyn, did you hear me? I need my pointer to administer this lesson.”
Stunned for a second, I deduced from the seething rage in Zaftig’s face that compliance was necessary. Retrieving a pointer from the darkened classroom, I handed it to Zaftig who inspected it like a hunter appraising a new weapon.
Zaftig was reeling back to administer the blows when tall dark faced Al Mandy raced out of the shadows and yelled “Cut. Ladies you were great. I almost believed I was watching the real thing.” Beaming with a smile, Al declared, “It isn’t the script but where the characters take the scene.”
Righting herself, Jenny feeling her tush grunted, “a bit too realistic. I signed up for a T last film I lost several pairs of panties,” standing around gloriously naked, big breasts, full bush, Jenny explained. I envied her projection of supreme self — confidence in the uncovered natural state.
If my chest wasn’t deformed, would I be as prissy? I wondered.
Others were housewives or students, like Zaftig and me, trying to make ends meet. “If my guy complains he noticed someone who looks like me in a film,” one housewife told another, “he’d be afraid I’d take his balls off for watching porn. `Watching porn? Do you want to get warts?’ I’d ask him.”
Al lifted Zaftig to plant a passionate kiss on her lips. “You don’t know how long Father has waited for me to be swept off my feet by you,” Zaftig pulling back from his embrace declared. “Father thinks so highly of your dad’s skill as a Physician. Iranian, Father tells manisa escort me?”
“Hardly romantic cooing,” Al continued to clutch her.
“At my weight, lifting me could give you a bilateral Inguinal hernia,” Zaftig remarked with a smile, “At university hospital, a female urologist performing herniorrhaphies, hernia repair, cutting through the abdominal wall to make repairs often finds evidence of cancer, necessitating an orchiectomy,” Zaftig bore that teasing smile.
Al looked to me for an explanation. I shrugged my shoulders. “It isn’t what Zaftig says, but surely the way she says it. Maybe she should speak in subtitles.” Opps did I give away my secret name for my roommate?
“Capital idea, Ms Ehrlich — excuse me, Sister Evelyn!” Al declared, “Blimey, I wish I’d have thought of that! Dr Zoptic! We’ll costume Becky eh — Dr Rebecca Barton — in a white lab coat to administer the physical inspection of the newly arrived students.”
Zaftig snorted, “All I mean to say that our finest University Hospital female urologist cutting through the abdominal wall to make repairs often finds it convenient to surgically excise potential cancers by removing the testicles. Removal of those extraneous organs insures longer life and less aggression.”
“His nuts removed,” I added, “how should Al conceive of a script with appeal to a prurient interest? A man without nuts is like a car without a motor. It won’t work.”
Releasing Zaftig, Al announced, “Ladies, lets resume position. We’re going to finish getting undressed for the march to the shower.”
Zaftig and I led the procession of naked young women to the shower. While maintenance men shot the scene, Zaftig and I looked on from the entrance. “What do the Holy Virgins do in a communal shower?” I asked. “Do they look down, face the wall, or pretend they’re in their own universe?”
“When I was in school,” Zaftig reminisced with that distant look, “they’d talk about budding breasts, butts and boys. Returning from vacation or a weekend home, the girls’d display dental impressions — eh hickeys — on their mammary glands like a medal of honor.”
“Doesn’t sound very virginal to me,” I shook my head.
“They’d talk about BJs,” Zaftig laughed, “It took me a while to figure out what that meant. They’d condescend to lecture me.”
“They inspired you to study anatomy,” I suggested.
“`We got caught putting out,'” Zaftig recalled, “the girls would say as they held their mammaries to display the impressions their boyfriend left, `that’s how we landed in here. What about you? Don’t tell us you really want to become a nun!'”
Zaftig recollected with a smile, “For all the chattering about teasing boys with outercourse the girls in the convent’s communal showers had more interest in comparative female anatomy, the gluteal prominence — when they ragged me as the rollie — poly girl as tall as she is wide. Lots of people do.” Zaftig looked down and sighed, “So did you–when we met.”
“Yes, I had,” I confessed. Touching my nose, I added, “We were mardin escort both eh–taken with each other.”
When Zaftig opened first the door to admit me, my eyes almost came out of their sockets just like a character in an old cartoon. If I hadn’t been so stunned, I might have run away. Pleasingly plump wasn’t the word. Rotund, perhaps, No Zaftig. “Al was certainly right about you,” Before I realized what was coming out of my mouth, I blurted out, “Here’s my face, my ass comes later.”
Zaftig took my Freudian slip with a laugh. “My Ex — boyfriend didn’t mind the preeminence of my gluteal prominence, until the day he broke it off. Seems everything happened at once. Father cut the stipend, my boyfriend broke it off with me and my roommate didn’t like the rent increase the landlord wanted. She took off. What comes next?”
“Me,” I declared, “I’m a law student. You Docs are in a pissing match with lawyers, refusing to treat lawyers. Would I be a problem for you imperious Deities cowering behind the curtain of silence?”
“I’m ready for anything,” Zaftig affirmed.
“Then,” I assured her, “I’m the solution to your problems. I’m boiling in the same kettle, Dolly. I’ve lost my flat — off campus rooms — my previous roommate from college years got herself married,” I explained, “and wanted the place to herself. I had been in that apartment since undergraduate days. I was there so long I thought of it as home. Problem was my name wasn’t on the lease. I outsmarted myself.”
“Oh?” Zaftig prompted me.
“Even though I promised to tiptoe around her doing her guy on the floor in front of me any differently than I had when she did him or any other guy — or gal — huh,” I paused to laugh, “before the marriage. Heck, I’d’ve done them both just to keep the flat.”
Zaftig’s eyes widened in shock at my spiel, “Al told you that I went to a convent school — St Athena’s right here in town.”
“Dolly, we have much in common!” I dared to continue, “My saintly father threatened the family doctor with sending me to St Athena’s of the Holy Virgins Convent School to force the bastard to write gym excuses.” I looked up to the heavens with a crazy smile. “There were many virgins at St Athena’s?”
When Zaftig’s laugh turned into a stare fixated at my hawkish nose, she looked down trying not to be impolite. In a weak voice she apologized. “I’m not to react. Proboscises show great structural variations in human physiology.”
“Pro — bos — cis!” I exclaimed tripping over the words deliberately. Laughing I threw Zaftig a hug. When Zaftig looked at my arm quizzically, I reassured her, “I’ve heard you’re a third-year med student. Oh, my pro — bos — cis, you say!” I covered my nose with my free hand, “If you should manage to graduate, Dolly, you can maybe fix my needle nose for me–and a lot of more interesting other stuff too.”
“Oh!” Zaftig replied in a serious tone, “I don’t intend to take up one of the traditional roles reserved for women in medicine: teaching, gynecology, obstetrics, or Craniofacial reconstructive surgery.”
“Dolly,” I declared, “It isn’t what you say, but sure you say it. Maybe I can get an English translation.”
“Huh?” Zaftig was taken aback. That was the first time she shot me that look, like she was disconnected uninvolved in the scene, like there was no personal relationship.
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