Fevered Fall part 8 of 9
Chapter Eight

         The rubbled heap shifted with the weight of the rescue workers
crawling over it.  There were less of them now; other matters had
intervened, drawing increasing numbers of them away.  By midnight three
searchlights still illuminated the broken heap; the cluster of rescue
vehicles had dwindled to just two.  Then, a little later, there was just
one rescue vehicle, and, finally, there were none at all.  Scavengers
replaced the rescue workers on the pile.  Within the rocks and broken
plaster the tamagochi shone like a single, living cell, amidst a
decomposing body.

         Within a week after our second foray to Helene’s, my auntie was
seriously considering marriage.  I have no idea why.  She had claimed
she didn’t need a man, except for the pleasure they offered.  Yet a
responsible doctor had walked into her life the day after we left
Helene’s and now she was all goofy and flustered about the possibility
that he might propose to her.
         When he paid us a visit, I decided he was too cute for just my
aunt to have him.
         I sauntered into the back yard of my aunt’s house.  I’d met our
guest, wearing my favorite miniskirt and a halter top.  He’d been
polite, but he wore glasses and the light of a lamp was shining on them
and I couldn’t see if I was inducing the reaction in him that I wanted. 
As my auntie and he ate lunch indoors, I skipped my sandwich, put on my
stringiest bikini, and went out back.  I popped some gum in my mouth on
the way out; my favorite, Hubba Bubba, because it’s so soft.  I didn’t
want to be entirely without nourishment!
         I found a big tree with thick branches.  I glanced back at our
house.  There was a tall hedge blocking their view of me, but I’d
slammed the back door twice to make sure they heard me going out.  I
didn’t so much care that my aunt knew where I was.  It was the doctor I
was interested in.
         I reached back behind myself and untied my top.  I stood on my
tip toes and hung it up over a branch of the tree.  I gazed up into the
tree’s graceful limbs; so many leaves it had!  How wonderful to stare up
through the leaves at the sun, gliding with immeasurable slowness
overhead.  We’d had such cold weather, but now Indian summer was here,
and I could enjoy at least one more day of sun and heat.
         I glanced back behind myself again.  I could just see the edge
of the big picture window at the back of the house.  My auntie and Don
(that was the doctor’s name) could see out that window, if they wished,
but were in another room, deeper in the house, so I wasn’t sure whether
they were looking out back or not.  It was fun, peering at the window’s
edge on the other side of the big hedge, from under the tree.  I
wondered if they were looking toward me or not.  Could they see perhaps
my lanky blonde hair, the edge of my shoulder?  I didn’t know.  I put my
fingers into my bikini bottoms.  I slid them down my legs.  I stepped
out of them and neatly hung them up over the tree branch, beside my
bikini top.
         Walking forward to where the sun struck the lawn, I laid down
in the grass.  It was still green, like the leaves, though there were
touches of brown in the leaves of the tree, here and there, telling me
that time was passing and I’d better enjoy this last bit of summer
before I had to wait another whole year for it.  I smelled the grass. 
It smelled sweet.  I sighed contentedly.  It felt lovely to be able to
lie in the grass, on the verge of fall, knowing it must arrive, yet
holding it back, it seemed, with the exposure of my nude body here in
the midst of Nature.  I fancied that the Gods themselves would hold back
the fall, if only they could see me lying like this, nude, on the
summer-green lawn, under the big maple tree.
         I was some distance from the tree’s trunk, out by the edge of
the shade formed by the tree’s foliage.  I wanted the sun, after all, to
shine down on me.  I lay on my belly, with my body perpendicular to the
tree’s trunk.  One branch stuck out farther than the rest.  It formed a
tuft of shadow that jutted out beyond the main, circular shadow formed
by the tree’s foliage.  I positioned myself as I lay down so that the
sun shone all the way along my back right down to my waist.  Then, where
the branch stuck out, it threw shade over my bottom.  My legs, though,
stuck out in the sun again.  I loved tanning all of me, except my
bottom.  It would remain white, while the rest of me turned golden
brown.
         Crossing my arms under my face, I rested my head sideways upon
my arms.  Happily I chewed my gum.  I felt the grass against me.  I
didn’t have a towel.  I’d forgotten it, but who needed a towel anyway,
with my auntie’s perfectly maintained lawn to lie upon?  I hadn’t tried
lying in the grass without a towel before, and found it delightful.  I
closed my eyes.  I think I dozed, but I’m not sure.  Everything was so
lush and peaceful.  Perhaps I was only daydreaming.  I heard footsteps
as I lay in the grass and when I finally realized I wasn’t imagining
them, my eyes flew open.
         A large figure stood over me.  His shadow fell across my back.  
         “Oh!  Doctor Don!” I cried.  I looked up at him.  I was some
distance from my swimsuit.  I saw it swaying gently in the wind, from
the branch I’d hung it over.  Both parts of it were untied and the
strings of it hung down alluringly.  With innocent eyes I looked up at
the good doctor and he grinned and gazed down at me.
         “Do you... always tan naked?” Doctor Don asked in a voice laced
with uncertainty.  He was an upright guy.  I’m sure he was worried
whether it was appropriate for him to be seeing a nude girl of 13, even
if she was lying facedown.
         “Sometimes,” I said.  I let my eyes dance with unspoken
promise.  He had dark, wavy hair, was quite tall, and had broad
shoulders.  He reminded me a little bit of David.  How strange their
names should both begin with “D”, which was also the first letter of
“dick”!
         “Your skin is so lovely.  I’d hate to see you ruin it with too
much sun,” Doctor Don told me.
         I sighed.  “Oh, I know,” I said.  “But the grass feels so nice
and soft against my belly.”  I glanced back over my shoulder.  I saw the
sun had moved while I was dozing.  Half my bottom was uncovered!  I
scooted back to put my bottom in shade again.  As I did, the clipped
stems of the grass tickled me between my parted thighs.  “Ooooh!” I
exclaimed.
         “What?” Doctor Don asked.  He dropped to one knee.  There was a
concerned look on his face.  He placed a hand in the small of my back.
         “Oh, the grass was tickling my cunny,” I confessed to him.  I
blushed.
         “Oh!” Doctor Don said.  He reddened.  He coughed.
         “What kind of Doctor are you?” I asked him.
         “I’m a pediatrist,” Doctor Don said.
         “A what?” I asked.  I opened my legs a bit wider, feeling
natural and free.  How large his hand felt against my slim back!
         “A... pediatrist.  A children’s doctor,” Doctor Don said.
         “Oh!” I said.  I sounded surprised.  I guess I was.  I felt my
legs open a tad wider.  My bottom, for some reason, gave a small wiggle.
         “So I guess you know all about everything that’s inside me?” I
asked Doctor Don, gazing up into his intelligent brown eyes.  I could
see his eyes clearly now, for he had his head bent.  The light wasn’t
shining into his glasses.
         “Yes, I do,” Doctor Don said.  “Your aunt tells me you’ve been,
ah, making use of your... gifts.”
         “I hope to use everything in me before I die,” I grinned.
         “Ah, well let’s hope that’s many years away,” Doctor Don said. 
I felt his fingers glide gently away from my waist and down over the
rondure of my bottom.  Impulsively I wiggled it again.  He extended his
finger into a straight, hard line and impressed it into the left cheek
of my bottom.  I felt a tension between us, as if his finger wished to
wander inbetween my cleft but, being a doctor, and a children’s doctor
at that, he dared not attempt such an act.
         “Chloe,” Doctor Don said.  
         “Yes?” I asked brightly.
         “I’m in... a dilemma,” he said.  His finger pushed more deeply
into my heinie.  I wanted to gasp at the pressure but held my breath
instead, not wishing to embarrass him.  Clearly he had an interest in my
bottom that was more than doctorly in nature.
         “Your aunt,” Doctor Don said.  He cleared his throat.  I felt
his breath on my face.  
         “Don’t put any germs on me,” I said.  I was a little peeved at
his indecision.  If he liked me so much, why didn’t he just take his
chances and tell me?  Was he that worried about his reputation? 
Already, just from the pressure of his finger, I could tell his thoughts
weren’t entirely pure.
         “I’m sorry, Chloe,” Doctor Don said, this time without clearing
his throat.  “Don’t worry.  I don’t have anything I could give you.  But
I must tell you something.”  He looked at me.  His eyes were deep brown
pools, behind his glasses.  “Chloe, I’m... a homosexual,” Doctor Don
said.  “Your aunt thinks I want to marry her.”
         What?!  My eyes gaped.  My mouth dropped open.  I bucked my
bottom hard, upward, and pushed his finger away.  He didn’t want her...
and he didn’t want me either?!  I was shocked.  What was he doing coming
to lunch if he didn’t want either of us?
         Doctor Don let his hand hang limply by his side.  Yet his eyes
glanced at my bottom, and lingered.  Then finally he pulled them away. 
I remembered a line I’d read in a book once:  “A man who only likes
girls for what they have in common with boys.”  I had a chubby, white,
flawless bottom, fresh with the bloom of youth.  My eyes wandered
between his thighs and I saw a not inconsiderable projection there.  He
saw me looking between his legs.  I squirmed on the grass and sensed his
eyes returning again to my seat.  He DID want me, and my aunt too,
perhaps, but only for our posteriors!
         “I have a client whose children I treat,” Doctor Don said. 
“They’re fine, healthy children, but if ever their father has a concern,
I’m the one he calls.  He has... other tastes too.  He is a wealthy Arab
Sultan and he has a taste for the world’s best women.”  Doctor Don’s
eyes left my bottom and looked into my eyes.  I lifted my own gaze from
his crotch and looked at him.  I licked my lips.
         “Yes?” I asked.
         “He is not punctual about the age of a woman,” Doctor Don
said.  “When I say he has a taste for the world’s best women, that would
include not only your aunt but also yourself.”
         “Thanks,” I said.  I blew a bubble with my bubblegum.  It was
big and pink.  It grew too big and it popped and splattered my mouth and
my cheeks.
         “Ah, may I help?” Doctor Don asked as I stared, mortified and
cross-eyed, at the childish predicament I’d just put myself into. 
Carefully, with the hands of a trained surgeon, Doctor Don lifted the
bubblegum off my face.  I opened my mouth and he pushed my gum back in.
         “Thanks,” I said, chewing my gum happily again.
         “Don’t mention it,” Doctor Don said.  “But about the matter of
the Sultan, Chloe...”
         “Yes?” I asked.  My lips smacked loudly as I chewed.  Doctor
Don cleared his throat again, which I thought was rather annoying. 
Indeed, if he didn’t have such a big bulge between his legs, and such a
handsome physique, I would have told him to vamoose.
         “On behalf of the Sultan, I’d like to offer you and your aunt a
vacation to Crete,” Doctor Don said.  “It would be quite educational for
yourself, Chloe.  Have you studied Crete in school yet?”
         “Waht’s the catch?” I said, through my bubblegum, chomping
quite loudly because it seemed to make Doctor Don nervous.
         “The catch is... that you and your aunt would both be given
physical examinations.  If you both passed, you would be sent on to
Quatar, where you would be... ah, entertained by the Sultan.”
         “I’ve never heard of Crete,” I said, “but I have heard of
Cretins.  Do all the Cretins come from Crete?”
         “Uh, no, Chloe,” Doctor Don said.
         “There was a guy on Scooby Doo once, and they said, ‘He’s a
Cretin!’” I told Doctor Don.
         “That’s fine, Chloe,” Doctor Don said.  “But allow me to finish
with my proposal.  You would both be examined and, because you are so
young, Chloe, you would only be accepted into the Sultan’s harem if your
aunt also passed her physical.  You would not be sent on alone.”
         “A harem?” I asked.  “Isn’t that a place where there are lots
of studly guys, and they all, like, do whatever a woman asks them to
do?  I saw one of those in a movie once, late at night!  Ali McGraw and
the Thousand Stallions!  I think that’s what it was called.”
         “Uh, perhaps in a feminist American film it might be that way,
Chloe,” Doctor Don said.  “But in real life, it’s the other way round.”
         “Oh,” I said.  I squirmed on the grass.  I felt it tickling my
cunny and loved the idea of talking about naughty stuff with a trained
doctor.  “Doctor Don?” I asked, in a high-pitched voice.
         “Yes, Chloe?” Doctor Don said.
         “What if my auntie and me flunk?”
         “Then you will both be sent home.  Everything will be paid for,
either way.  You need do nothing, simply accept the two tickets I’ve
brought and board the plane, or make changes in the takeoff time to suit
the particularities of your schedule.”
         “Wow!  You brought tickets?” I asked.  I felt the grass against
my nipples and their tips hardened against the blades.  “This Sultan
must really like me and auntie,” I said.
         “Oh, he’s never seen you,” Doctor Don said.  “He doesn’t know
you exist, at this point.  But I’ve been commissioned by him to present
tickets to those young ladies I see who are of exceptional beauty.  You
and your aunt both fell into that category so today, when I came to see
you, I bought tickets in order that I might offer them to you.”
         “Does my aunt know about this?” I asked him.
         “No... she thinks I’m out here telling you to come in and eat
your sandwich, and that I’m planning today to propose to her that she
marry me.”
         “Wow,” I said.  I stared at Doctor Don.  He cleared his throat
again.
         “Yes, Chloe, at the moment there is a bit of a mix-up in what
everyone’s expecting of each other.  But I’m prepared to offer you both
tickets, a free vacation, and a handsome sum of money, just to go to
Crete and be examined.  If you flunk, no problem.  If you pass...”
         “Yes?” I asked.
         “Then you will be put on a plane for Quatar.”
         “Waht if we pass, but don’t want to go?” I asked, through my
bubblegum.  “Do we get to go home?”  
         Doctor Don broke into a smile.  He looked radiantly handsome,
and I thought I detected an increase in the bulk he was displaying in
his shorts, between his legs.
         “That would take all the fun out of it, if you could go home,
after passing,” Doctor Don said.  “By that time, you will have been
paid, and so, reluctantly, I must say that, Chloe, you and your aunt
would be required to go on to Quatar, and to serve the Sultan.”
         “I’m against it,” I said.  I settled my face into my arms.  I
looked up at him.  I chewed quietly on my gum, enjoying his distress at
seeing me reject his proposal.
         For once Doctor Don didn’t clear his throat.  It was as if some
barrier in his psyche had been breached and, having gotten over the hump
(perhaps of guilt?) he no longer felt impeded.
         “Chloe,” Doctor Don said.  “I am an expert in females.  I did a
residency as a gynecologist and now I’m a pediatrician.  I majored in
psychology in college.  Your aunt...” he said, turning his head and
looking back over his shoulder, towards the house.  “She shares
something in common with me, something I’ve detected in her, without her
knowing it.”
         “Yes?” I asked.  He turned to face me again.  He gazed down at
me, and I felt for a moment as if some God were gazing down grandly at
my small, 13-year-old form, holding me with just his stare, not even
having to touch me to control me.
         “I am like Lawrence of Arabia, a masochist at heart, Chloe,”
Doctor Don said.  “I think that’s why I went into medicine, to share
with the afflicted patient their suffering.  Some men, obviously, choose
medicine because they are sadists.  They like the thrill of cutting
people open.  But I, Chloe, like the bleeding heart liberal, priest, or
social worker, actually enjoy sharing with the patient the experience
they’re going through.  I have no idea why.  Patients like it, though. 
They say I have a great bedside manner.  It’s not, you see, that I want
to get into bed with them, from the conventional viewpoint; but because,
indeed, I want to get into bed with them, to share the burden of their
suffering with them.”
         “And--?” I asked.  I began chewing loudly on my gum again.  I
think I did it defensively, afraid I’d hear something even more
entrancing than what he’d already told me.
         “Your aunt... is of the same nature as I, though she hasn’t
discovered it yet,” Doctor Don said.  “There is the distinct
possibility, Chloe, that when I’ve explained everything to her, she may
agree to go.  Oh, she may tell herself she won’t pass the examination,
and so why not get a free trip to Crete?  Or she may tell herself that
the money’s too good to refuse.  Or she may have one of a thousand other
excuses to justify her going.  But in the end it will be just this: 
that she is young, and beautiful, and someday won’t be, and while she’s
young and beautiful she would love to experience being a true love
slave, in a real Arab harem.  That’s the reason she will decide to go,
Chloe.”
         “Except I’m here,” I said.
         “Yes,” Doctor Don said.  “A beauty in your own right.  But, at
13, someone your aunt would never leave behind, all by herself in
France, in her big house.  If for no other reason, your aunt would be
afraid you’d wreck her house while she was gone, throwing a party for
some ruffians.”
         I lay in the grass, my cheek pressed to my arms, chewing my
gum.
         “Well,” I said, finally.  “I’ve always dreamed of my auntie
going away, and me meeting some dudes in a motorcycle gang, and all of
us having, like, a weally big party.”
         “Exactly,” Doctor Don said.
         I looked up at him.  “You’re fun to talk to, Doctor Don.”
         “Thanks.”
         “Do, like, gay guys ever dream of fucking girl’s bottoms?” I
asked, looking salaciously between his legs.
         “Ah, I’m not permitted to desecrate the Sultan’s girls,” Doctor
Don said.
         I looked at him.  Suddenly, I blurted out:  “That’s why he
picked you!  Because you’re way handsome, but a fag!  That way he knows
you can get the girls, but won’t do anything with them.”
         “Yes,” Doctor Don said.  “But I am also a highly trained
doctor, Chloe, and capable of evaluating the health and worthiness of a
girl.  I’m also knowledgeable about human psychology, so that I don’t
wind up, say, talking to a prospective female about the Sultan’s doings,
only to learn she’s a journalist, or a prosecutor.”
         “Oh,” I said.  “Well, you’re quite handsome,” I said.  I let my
eyes gaze at his groin.  He drew his knees together.
         “Chloe, if your aunt agrees to go for the examination, will you
be willing to go along?” Doctor Don asked.
         I blew a bubble.  It popped.  I managed to suck it back into my
mouth.
         “I guess so,” I said carelessly.  I was getting bored lying
around my auntie’s house.  It did sound like a grand adventure. 
Imagine-- being specially prized, by a Sultan in a faraway kingdom.  A
Sultan who’d picked you out over many other girls, and was willing to
pay!  “I could buy lots of bubblegum afterward,” I said.  “Hubba Bubba. 
That’s my favorite.  Do they have Hubba Bubba where the Sultan lives?”
         “I’m sure he would spare no expense to import it for you, if it
was really important to you, Chloe,” Doctor Don said.
         “Yes!” I said.  “Hubba Bubba.  Tell him if he’s got the gum,
we’ll come!”  Then I blushed.  I hadn’t meant it to come out that way.
         Doctor Don patted my bare bottom.  “You are an exceptional
young lady, Chloe,” he said.  “Although my medical board would
resoundingly disapprove my telling you this, you are to be congratulated
for your willingness to share this adventure with your aunt.”
         “If you say so, Doctor Don,” I replied.
         “If I may, Chloe,” Doctor Don said.  “You aren’t wearing any
sunscreen.  I now have a significant interest in the health of your
body, including your skin, if I can convince your aunt to go to Crete. 
I must insist that you allow me to get some lotion to put on your back
and your legs.  And if you want the tree’s shadow over your bottom;
which, again, I must insist upon, for the Sultan prefers bunny tail
bottoms, you must scoot back again, as the sun has moved.  Would you
like a blanket to lie upon, also?”
         “No, I’m fine,” I said.
         “A soda?  Are you thirsty?” Doctor Don asked.
         “No,” I said.  I lifted one of my hands and plucked at the gum
in my mouth, with my fingers.  “But I could use a new piece of gum,” I
said.
         “Of course,” Doctor Don said.  He let me put the gum into his
palm.  “I’ll bring a new piece right away, Chloe.  And I’m also going to
mix you a drink, non-alcoholic of course, so that it’s here in case you
feel you might be getting dehydrated.”
         “Thanks!” I said.  “You’d make a good servant.”
         “I am most honored, Chloe,” Doctor Don said.  “But remember; if
I convince your aunt to go, you’ll go too.”
         “Okay,” I said, settling my head back into my arms.  I was
happy.  The sun was bright and I was enjoying myself with this big,
hunky servant who was a real children’s doctor, so skilled in so many
things.  “Whatever,” I said, and closed my eyes.
         Doctor Don reached into the shirt pocket of his t-shirt.  He
drew out a photo.  I was watching him through my eyelids, pretending to
have drifted off to sleep but really gazing with frank admiration
between his knees, which had fallen open again, as he squatted beside
me.  I opened my eyes when he displayed the photo to me
         “Here.  Here’s what he looks like,” Doctor Don said.
         “Oh!  He’s so handsome!” I cried.  I saw a dark-eyed Arab
staring out at me, from the photo.  He had black hair and brown skin. 
Upon his head was a crown made of rubies.
         “It is the Sultan of Quatar,” Doctor Don said.  “If you and
your aunt pass your physicals, you will be his specially invited
guests.  For a month.  Then you will both be returned home, with a
substantial sum of money waiting for you, that you may spend any way you
wish.”
         I stared at the photo.  Why did the Sultan have to be so
handsome?  Impulsively I slid back in the grass, encouraging the
sweet-smelling blades to intrude their stems into my cunny.  I shivered,
despite the heat of the sun on my back.  I felt my knees slide open,
farther than they already were.  I sensed a wetness between my thighs.
         “Is he married?” I asked.  There was excitement in my voice. 
The grass stems played upon my lengthening nipples.
         “No,” Doctor Don said.  “But he will most likely marry an
Arabian girl when that time comes.  Tradition pretty much dictates
that.  But while he is still young, a bachelor, he likes nothing more
than to dally with and entertain fine European girls, like yourself.”
         I looked at Doctor Don.  “I’m from America!” I told him.  “I’m
just visiting my aunt, here in France.”
         Doctor Don grinned.  “Then that will be splendid, Chloe,
because the Sultan likes American girls best of all!”


         My aunt, upon being shown the photo of the Sultan, agreed to
see him.  I don’t think it was the money that persuaded her in the end;
after all, she was already well off.  After a certain point money
doesn’t mean that much.  I’m sure she appreciated the amount we were
offered.  I know I did-- already I was planning to buy a whole store
full of bubblegum!  But in the case of my aunt, I think she simply took
the idea of being paid all that money as a show of good faith.  It meant
the Sultan really did appreciate our beauty, and was willing to part
with cold, hard cash in order to enjoy our company.  A good-looking guy
with a full wallet is hard for any girl to resist.
         The next day my auntie and I took a cab to the airport.  I took
along a whole package of Hubba Bubba.  I wasn’t sure they had any in
Quatar.
         “Auntie?” I said, carrying my teddy bear and my bubblegum onto
the airplane as she carried our twin suitcases.  We walked briskly along
the speedway that connected the terminal to the plane.  “Auntie?” I said
again.  “I’m going to buy a whole store with my money, one with all
different types of bubblegum.  There will be lots of Hubba Bubba, of
course, but I’m going to have all the world’s bubblegum in my store.  In
fact, I’m going to have a Bubblegum Museum.  And to come see it, kids
will have to pay admission-- one bubblegum, so I can have even more
gum!”
         “That’s fine, dear,” my aunt said.  A man walking ahead of us
turned and regarded us both.
         “Oh, my!  Do you need help with your luggage?” he asked.  He
must have been a frequent flyer, a businessman, for the only thing he
was carrying was his briefcase.
         “No,” my aunt demurred.  “I’m quite fin--”
         “Really, I insist,” the man said.  He took a suitcase out of my
aunt’s hand.  I think she was a little offended by his forwardness.  But
I wasn’t!  I handed him my teddy bear, and made him take my package of
bubblegum too.
         “Here!” I said.  “I’m sick of carrying teddy all around with
me!”  (He’s a rather large bear, with a big bow tie.)  “And carry my gum
too,” I said.  “But don’t eat any of it!”
         “Yes, of course,” the man said, struggling not to drop my bear
as he contended with his briefcase, my aunt’s suitcase, my bear, and my
big ‘discount’ package of Hubba Bubba, that contained over 100 pieces of
gum!
         “Well, if you insist,” my aunt said, of a sudden, to the man. 
She handed him her other suitcase as well.
         What a sight he made!  The man struggled up the speedway,
carrying both my aunt’s suitcases, his briefcase, my teddy bear, and my
gum.  Both of us knew he wouldn’t get anything for his trouble.  After
all, my auntie and I were going to see the Sultan, or at least to be
examined by his employees, on Crete.  There was no possibility at all of
the poor businessman, now weighed down with all our luggage, getting the
slightest thing from either my auntie or me, except a quick word of
thanks.  Yet he clambered up the speedway with a big, foolish grin on
his face, as if we’d handed him precious jewels.  When we got inside the
plane, my aunt had him lift up our stuff and store it in an overhead
compartment. 
         “Say, could I have your phone number?” the man asked my aunt,
when at last he’d finished putting all our things away.
         “Oh, no,” my auntie replied.  “We belong to the Sultan of
Quatar.  We may be western girls, but we’re pledged to obey eastern
ways.  The Sultan would be extremely upset if he found we did anything
like that.  I’m sorry, but giving out our phone number is quite
disallowed.  But I thank you for your trouble.  Good day, sir!”
         I could barely keep myself from giggling.  When the man walked
away, disappointed, I did clap my hands to my mouth and laugh heartily.
         “Auntie, we don’t belong to anyone yet,” I told her.  She
looked at me.
         “No, but we have an appointment we must keep, on Crete, for our
physical exams.  I’m sure the Sultan wouldn’t appreciate it if we missed
our appointment, or were late.  So we must decline such silly overtures,
from men who own nothing more than a briefcase.”
         I knelt in my seat.  I turned and looked back over the top of
my seat at the rear section of the plane’s cabin.
         “He’s sitting way back in the back,” I said, watching the man
with my eyes.
         “Good,” my auntie said.  “Hopefully he’ll stay there.”
         “Oh, auntie,” I said.  “You can be so cold!”
         “I’m merely choosey,” my aunt said.  “Be good and sit down,
Chloe.  And let’s hope we pass our examination on Crete with flying
colors!”


         Looking back upon it, I believe the examination, though
doubtless serving a useful medical need, was really designed as the
first step in our humiliation.  I remember it so well, in a private
doctor’s office, my auntie in one room, myself in another.  Had she gone
first, she would surely have prevented my being examined; had I been
made to go first, I would surely, afterward, have warned her not to do
it.  As it was, they examined us together, but in separate rooms.  We
were locked away from one another.  My auntie asked at one point,
realizing the depth of the exam, that they go to my room and order that
it be stopped.
         “She will be seen to, as you are being, do not speak again,” my
auntie was told.  When she tried speaking again a woman was called.  She
was breathtakingly beautiful and my auntie told me that she felt abashed
when such a perfectly beautiful creature, with a bit of disdain, asked
what all the fuss was about?
         “After all, I have been examined myself, passed, and enjoyed
the Sultan’s many comforts in Quatar,” the woman told my aunt.
         “Oh, it’s not about me that I complain,” my auntie said,
feeling inferior to the woman, and lowering her eyes, while admiring the
glorious dress the woman wore.  “But my niece, you see, she is in the
other room.  She is only 13!”
         “I was 12 when I had my exam,” the woman replied.  “It’s
important that your niece be examined.  She is now a young woman.  She
isn’t a child anymore.  Her health is important.  The Sultan would not
have her examined if he wasn’t concerned that she be in the very best
health.”
         “Oh, but they are really examining her for her suitability for
copulation!” my aunt said.  As she did, the doctor asked her to open her
mouth again.  The very woman she was speaking to leaned forward, and
demanded she exhale.  She did, right into the woman’s face.  The woman
sniffed.
         “Yes, your breath is sweet,” the woman said.  “Your lips
perfect.  You are a fine specimen for kissing and being kissed.  Now
spread your legs.  I must smell you down below, too.  Pass me a glove,”
the beautiful woman in the beautiful dress said to the nurse and doctor
who were in attendance.  “I must finger her slit and arouse it so that I
may smell her when she is on the verge of orgasm.  A quick taste will be
necessary too; no doubt the Sultan will want to feast on such a pretty
pussy as this!”
         “Oh, this is what I mean!” my aunt said in a high, frantic
voice.
         The beautiful woman reached out and pushed back my aunt’s
lovely brown hair from her face, as my aunt told me afterward.  She
said:
         “Do not trouble yourself, dear.  It is all quite necessary, I
assure you.  Yes, of course, it is for a sexual purpose.  But what in
life is more important than that, in the end?  Hmmm?  Where would we be
without sex?  You will have an examination of your pussy in the throes
of desire, not actually cumming, for you will soon see the Sultan, if
you pass, and it is his reserved privilege to make you cum.  But you
will be teased, to distraction and quite beyond.  Also, your quim must
be tested, right up to the womb, for its tightness.  We’ll use a special
probe for that.  And your bottomhole must be speared too, with a
pressure-sensitive probe, to see that it clenches prettily and with
enough resiliency.  You will be smacked, also, on your bottom.  A few
marks might be made but they will disappear shortly; it is reserved to
the Sultan to mark you more thoroughly, if he chooses.  All your parts
must be examined for sex play.  The perkiness of your nipples, your
toes, everything, dear!  Do not try to resist; it will only send you to
the Sultan with a bad report, and you wouldn’t want that.”
         “Oh, my!  But--” my aunt tried to say.  The beautiful woman
lifted a finger.  She pointed at the closed door of the examination
room.  “You saw the guard in the hall?” the woman asked my aunt.  “He is
not there just to keep malefactors out, but to keep you in.  Lie back,
dear.  Spread your legs.  I could sedate you with a hypodermic needle in
your bottom but, really, I prefer not to do that.”
         My aunt, as she told me afterward, relented.  She hates
needles.  She got a little crazy at John Silver’s, letting herself be
poked in that dental chair, but when she is not completely distracted
with erotic thoughts she finds needles absolutely the one thing she
can’t tolerate.  So, she relented.  She said she felt quite guilty, when
she spoke to me about it afterward, how she’d played in the dental chair
at John Silver’s but, when my safety was on the line, had failed me
rather than allow herself to be poked by the beautiful woman.
         “That’s okay, auntie,” I said, hugging her.  “Neither of us
knew it would be that bad.”
         “Thorough,” my aunt corrected me.  “Let’s not call it bad.  It
was, I suppose, in the end, thorough, though it did hurt when they
spanked me.  And those probes were awful!  But at least we both know
we’re quite healthy, now.  It never hurts to find that out.”
         I looked up at my aunt.  We were ensconced in an expensive
hotel.  It was on Crete.  Unfortunately, despite being a very nice
hotel, it was a hotel where the management was in collusion with the
Sultan.  We had no hope of leaving, without being seen.  In fact, we had
no hope of leaving at all, without permission.
         “If only they’d take the guards away from the front of our
hotel room’s door,” I told my aunt, looking up at her.
         “Yes,” my aunt agreed.  Then she shivered.  “But I’m slightly
excited about the prospect of meeting the Sultan.  Did you see his
photo?  He’s SO handsome!  I didn’t think an Arab could be THAT
handsome!”
         “Neither did I,” I confessed, and knew then we were both doomed
to experience whatever it was the Sultan had planned for us.