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Xandra 2
Xandra 3
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| The corridor proved an unfamiliar and unnerving experience. I seemed to be processing visual input in one frame per second "downloads", with people taking instant five-foot jumps through space. Intelligible fragments of passing conversations would echo and deteriorate into a fading series of dog barks. And people seemed to take undue notice of me. Looking into me. EVERYBODY KNOWS. I slipped into the girls room across from the clinic. I looked in the mirror. My much-envied ice blue eyes were bloodshot, which pushed my "Gothic" look into the realm of the undead. My pupils were startlingly large, and my mouth was so bereft of moisture that my lips clung to my teeth. The word "overdose" overcame my efforts of suppression and bobbed to the surface of my consciousness, becoming a new source of dread; however, the idea of dropping dead before my physical held a certain appeal for me. "Too Cool For Life? Alexandra Hays, age 18, found dead in washroom; coroner confirms drug overdose." That would show'em... Suddenly, in a moment of lucidity, it occurred to me to simply take off. Blow this clambake. Plead guilty to truancy and avoid the humiliation of stripping for a physical and the life-wrecking drug bust that would surely follow. But God (wiseass that He is) said no. As soon as I stepped out the door the girl's phys ed teacher Ms. Halifax (fake name) playfully grabbed my wrist. "Why here you are, Xandra- I thought you got lost! Didn't you hear your name on the intercom?" Ms. Halifax was a kind and garrulous woman, who posed questions she really didn't expect you to answer- conversational ornamentation, really. She refused to perceive me as anything less than a delightful young lady. I think she sensed my "bad girl" act didn't come naturally; it was something I had to work at. It occurred to me that I was perhaps supposed to have headed down to the clinic right after the announcement and not during period change. I was sure that this would somehow work against me, as that was the overriding theme of the day. I knew I had to do some fast talking, which I surely did. Sadly, celerity came at the expense of coherence. While obviously not a verbatim transcript of my response, the following, I think, captures the rhetorical features of my original statement. I spoke in the strident voice of a stranger. "Yes, um, there's been some kind of mistake because I'm not a sophomore that needs to have one or going out for a sport that you need one for and if I was supposed to I think I would have gotten the forms which I don't have in the mail when they came but they didn't so I probably am not supposed to have a physical because there- I mean obviously has been a mistake that's nobody's fault but was done anyway... really." Along with coherence, I had also dispensed with breathing considerations. My pitiful oration came to a merciful conclusion when I simply ran out of air. I was frankly too pooped to go on. An uncertain silence, then the return of the tell-tale heart. I stepped back from Ms. Halifax; if I could hear it, so might she. But the amazing Ms. Halifax managed to grasp the gist of that disjointed outburst. "You mean your parents didn't get the forms in the mail?" I shook my head vigorously. "Well, let's see... and I'm not finding you on the list... I felt the dawning of a miracle as her pencil hovered over the clipboard. "Oh, here you are. At the bottom... I see. You have a 't' near your name which means you're a transfer so we don't have a physical on file for you. So you'll be getting one today. You can fill out a questionnaire later. But do fill out your name and such on this form. So go have a seat in the clinic. There's still a couple of girls ahead of you... That reminds me. We have to send some more girls down. Bye, Sweetie." A dim memory of my having tossed a letter from the school two weeks before, assuming it contained warning slips, crossed my mind. They would have elicited another "Why a beautiful girl like you, and with your I.Q., can't..." sermonette from Mom. The battle was lost. Now my faculties had to concentrate on getting my head together. As I sat down on the orange molded scoop chair, another girl was called into the exam room. I struggled to fill out the basic info on the exam form. My panic had subsided somewhat- a benefit of acceptance of my fate, I suppose, and I seemed to have ridden out the hallucinatory wave. But now I was cold, and I began to shiver. This imparted a "psycho" flavor to my handwriting. To relieve my agitation, I convinced myself that I would probably just have to lift up my sweater for the doctor like I did during check-ups when I was little. Soon after I finished, the other girl got called in. "Please God, calm me to hell down." Not a great prayer, but real sincere. I was next. ____________________________ "Next," said the school nurse, to be referred to as "Nurse" from here on. She was a chinless, charmless fat toad of a bitter bitch, with watermelon tits and purple oyster bags under her protruding, hysterical eyes. She seemed to particularly dislike anyone of her gender that was blessed with any level of sex appeal. I think she despised me because I had an excess of it despite the considerable effort I put into appearing funny-looking. From day one she had made a regular pastime of allowing me to catch her rolling her eyes at me. I was a flaky cunt, and she wanted to make sure I knew what she thought of me. She set the tone immediately. "Take off those boots and get on the scale." My height was 69½ inches. She started to weigh me. I became utterly absorbed in watching her nudge the smaller counterweight back and forth. I was hypnotized by the slow, rhythmic rocking of the beam. I weighed 117 lbs. The beam had long stopped rocking when it occurred to me the she was staring at me. I was transfixed in wonder at the technological marvel that is the modern doctor's scale. I was rewarded with a slow, disgusted shake of her fat head. "Sit down over there and roll up your sleeve." I did. An unforeseen complication arose; my bulky sweater sleeve couldn't be rolled up far enough for the blood pressure cuff. I became frantic and tried in vain to force it to my shoulder. This, I knew, meant stripping to the waist. She sensed my predicament, I suspect. "The sweater has to come off for the doctor to examine you, anyway. You might as well take it off now," she said, punctuating this with an impatient exhalation. Dealing with me was such a burden, you see. I worried that the sweater's voluminous bulk held residual pot smoke that would be released as I pulled it off. Worst case scenario well under way. Nurse was going to see the hippie cunt's titties. My nipples, cold as I was, were supersensitive as the sweater's heavy weave passed over them. I felt them flick as the hem caught them, as firm as the rubber bulbs of an eyedropper. Great. Now she'll see a horny hippie cunt. She gave me an "I knew it" smirk as I set the sweater aside. She was having fun. I looked down at my white, goose-pimpled torso. My nipple ring hung suspended from my cone-like left nipple. God, this was humiliating! Nurse wrapped the cuff around my upper arm and inflated it and made a point of making sure my arm didn't block her view of my small, pear-shaped breasts. This wasn't about sex with her, of course; it was about hate and humiliation. She wrote down the numbers on my form. She scratched the side of her nose and then crossed her arms theatrically- a lawyer, perhaps, during cross-examination. "Tell me, are we a little nervous about something today, Miss Hays?" A wave of adrenaline surged through me. This was it. The beginning of the end. "No, why?" I crossed my arms over my chest. I was sure my heartbeat was visible. I could feel it kicking wildly against my forearms. She still held the stethoscope from the blood pressure check. I was terrified she might have a listen for any physiological effect her question may have had. She shrugged, not looking at me. "Oh, just a feeling I get. Tell you what- we'll have the doctor take a look at you and see what he thinks... Oh, and by the way, you'll have to remove your slacks." I trembled with humiliation and rage, She watched me squirm out of my tights. Now I was a flaky horny bareass hippie cunt. She had truly hit the jackpot. I was also enraged at myself. If Miss Artsy McFartsy hadn't haughtily rejected the wearing of undergarments as a bourgeois hang-up, I'd get through most of this ordeal wearing more clothing than I wear at a public beach. I wasn't cold any more. It was fight or flight in a windowless cinderblock room. I felt my skin flush, and my eyes filled with tears. What with my mascara, I was close to having a Tammy Faye-style meltdown. I had to hop on one foot to regain my balance as I removed my second sock, which added a little jiggle to the festivities. Xandra the Untouchable- naked and ready for her exam! NEXT PAGE: http://www.maxpages.com/xandra/Xandra_3 |
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