Jean-chan goes to the Gynecologist
Once again she could not sleep. More than ever the loud electric sitar quartet rattled and irritated the eardrums. Jean Owen Biggs rolled about her bead with the two grating buckwheat pillows clutched to her ears. When she opened her eyes, the wooden Wiki Statue, who served as a guardian to female orgasm, stared back with insane eyes and a perverse grin. This version of the great goddess had four breasts, six nipples, and three arms. That scared the shit out of her at least once a day, especially in the middle of the night.
Her kooky older sister had promised her little sister that she would remove the Polynesian and Sub-Saharan African statue carvings from her room, which often doubled as storage. Too many times Gene forgot. It was getting on Jean's nerves.
It was already six in the morning, and her job starts in two hours. Jean could only manage at least one hour of sleep amidst the moans of her other roommate Kitty Muffet going down on Gene.
Suddenly, Jean felt hot. She reached down her panties and touched her feminine places. She felt nothing.
Then she screamed.
Gene and Kitty ran into Jean's room shoeless and panty-less. Jean was sitting up erect in a cold sweat.
"Did you have a bad dream little sister?" Gene asked.
Jean slowly turned her head towards her as if it was rusty.
"I can't feel a thing," said Jean.
"I see," said Kitty. "Then I shall have a look."
"Don't touch me! I mean, I'm fine. I think it might go away in a day or so."
"No can do darling. You're going to have to get yourself checked right now."
"I can't! I'll lose my last paid-vacation day if I skip work today."
"Would you rather live with your 'problem' worsening? If you don't get yourself checked you may never achieve an orgasm! Or worse..."
"Oh, fine. But you're not looking at me! I'm going to a gynecologist."
"In that case," smiled Gene, "I'll recommend you to--"
"No recommendations! Especially from you!"
"But this gynecologist is really good!"
"And this doctor is the only one who could operate under your health care plan," said Kitty.
"There aren't any others?"
Jean sighed. "I'll go."
"Oh, you might want to be careful," Kitty winked. "The gynecologist is one hell of a womanizer."
"Becky-chan must have competition," said Gene.
Not good. A womanizer might be the type to be perverted one way or another. Yet Jean had no choice. Her "problem" had to be cured or else she will live for the rest of her days with vaginal frustration. Gene wrote down the address and the doctor's name on a lily-shaped sticky-note that looked very vaginal, and then handed it to Jean.
"We'll set up your appointment for you," said Kitty.
"What about you two?" Jean asked.
"I have to do a session for Dolly Parton."
"I am going to the emu farm to extract female ejaculation from the hens for my latest piece," replied Gene.
Jean grumbled. Drowsily, she had her breakfast, got dressed, and walked over to the bus stop. Usually, she would have taken her car, her beloved black Nissan Maxima sedan, but it hand been crushed by a falling glass elevator containing a pimp-like white man dressed in a lavender coat and lavender top-hat. She did not know what happened to him when the tow truck arrived and took her car away. He and elevator disappeared before she knew it.
She rode on the front the bus not so she could exercise the rights won by her people back in the Black American Civil Rights era in the 60's. Jean just did not want to ride on the bus with the so many annoying humans chattering away. They ranged from snobby Republican Blacks, wanna-be white rappers blaring out manufactured hip-hop on the bazooka-shaped white-man's ghetto blasters, and naturalized adult sons of illegal immigrants from Cuba complaining about illegal immigrants stemming from Mexico.
Here she was, a single young adult black woman down on her luck, powerless, and frustrated with the world before her. Jean wondered what went wrong with her. It was not like Mama Biggs neglected her. Jean just hadn't found her calling in life, just as her two older sisters did. The eldest, Shania Fau Biggs, was a wealthy record producer and was constantly hustling deals between the record executives and her clients all over the country and sometimes all over the world. Gene Owen Biggs was a world-renowned artist who could create very unusual, very unorthodox, and confusingly controversial pieces.
To live with Gene was a dent to her pride and independence, and Jean choose to live with her instead of Shania who just could not get off her bar-shaped Nokia cellular phone (which always played that annoying William Tell Overture ringtone). Jean wanted to strike out and live on her own, but a series of bad luck stemming from one Becky Wolfe. Her many meetings with her constantly set her back financially and constantly caused Jean to beat Becky's breasts in retaliation and frustration.
"How did this all happen to me?" Jean asked.
Jean had met Becky in her freshman year in college. Though she had amassed some debts because of loans, and the fact her mother recently died, Jean was full of bright optimism as she entered San Antonio State College in her pursuit of her anthropology degree.
The course work was grueling, and Jean could only manage a modest 3.0 grade-point average during her first semester. She made lots of friendly acquaintances, but not necessarily friends. Her fate changed one day in the middle of her second semester. One day, her dorm roommate, a wealthy black girl named Artisia Garris was moving away to Japan to marry Subaru Hino. So the dorm became half empty.
One day after Artisia left, Jean merrily went downtown one night to buy some drinks and snacks to stuff into her cube-shaped refrigerator. After she got those items, Jean was alone on the deserted street when two shady men began pursuing her. She dashed off on instinct, but the men were fast catching up to her. Then suddenly, a shadow flew behind her and kicked the living testicle sacks of those men. Jean turned around and beheld a tall woman about her age with short black hair and for some strange reason she had two wolf ears on the top of her head.
However, she was seriously wounded, and fell to the ground. Jean had to carry that woman and her belongings back to her dorm room. That was how she first met Becky.
Becky temporarily became Jean's roommate by using a fake identity that she was an exchange student from Sardinia. Jean started to have a crush on Becky as time went on, but eventually Becky became the worst roommate ever.
She was drunk--lazy drunk. Beer bottles and other alcoholic containers law strewn about the floor. Somehow she stuffed a hundred kegs in that room, which was a record-setting feat. Often times, Becky would interrupt Jean's attendance in school by sitting next to her in lectures and groping her. Most of Jean's acquaintances left her thinking that she was a lesbian, even though she denied it time after time. They started accusing her that she was in denial when she grudgingly prolonged Becky's stay at San Antonio State (not to mention lost her virginity to her). Perhaps Becky was the cause of Jean breaking up with her boyfriend Joshua, and vice versa.
Then there was the Colombian drug cartel that invaded the college for the drugs Becky had stolen as part of her job. A fire broke out, and Jean's important anthropology thesis was burned. Since then, her life has been going downhill...
Yet there was still a point of life that kept her pride and hopes up.
"You're in denial!" screamed a fellow bus passenger.
Jean grinded her teeth. She turned around and furiously glared at the person who had said that about her.
"You're in denial of the fact that the War on Drugs is led on the suppositious beliefs that drugs are inherently addictive when in fact they're almost all of the are not," said a young black Southern Baptist preacher to his friend, a black imam from a Sunni Mosque.
The two men noticed Jean's glare.
"Can I help you with something?" asked the imam.
"Sorry!" Jean apologized. "I thought you were talking to me."
Jean turned back around and took a deep breath.
Eventually, she transferred to another bus that then took her to a medical office building. The building was pretty and white, and the outer walls were lined with planters that had a variety of flowers, particularly orchids that looked they came from the Karma Sutra.
As she went inside, she passed by a pair of average-looking soccer-mom women who looked as if they had the time of their lives. Jean thought it was nothing until she passed by more like them as she headed to the gynecologist's office, and the doctor she would be seeing is Dr. Stephen Stevenson as it read on the note Gene gave her.
She entered into the doctor's office room and saw nothing but eager women waiting to be called up. The nurse staff was nothing but women as well--pretty ones.
"I hope the doctor does this," giggled one patient.
"I just want to do the grinding," said another.
What kind of doctor is this? Jean wondered. She would in her right mind tell the medical association of this travesty. However, every women she saw looked as if they were repeat customers. If the doctor was a pervert, she might have a chance to sue him.
Jean signed her name in, the time, and her health care plan on the clipboard at the front counter. She took her seat the end of the row of chairs and waited many hours until her name was called up. Jean followed the pretty pink-haired nurse into the inspection room and asked her to sit on the bench.
Her heart was now beating quickly. Could this doctor be a perfect compliment to Gene's kookyness? Jean never thought of her immediate older sister as straight or gay--just mellow and free. Why was this doctor so special?
The door opened, and Jean sat up. The mood was broken as there was some struggle to open the door until Jean heard a nurse assist the doctor.
"Thank you nurse Joy-Joy," said the doctor.
"Shall I put the clipboard on the table?" asked nurse Joy-Joy.
The doctor followed the nurse in. At that moment, Jean's heart finally eased when discovered that the doctor was a beautiful woman with flowing light-brown hair and hazel eyes. She was dressed in a typical doctor's suit, which included the clean and flowing lab coat.
"Wait a second," said Jean. "I thought you were a man."
"You think all gynecologist were dirty old men?" said Dr. Stevenson. "The truth is, almost all of them are women--at least in the U.S. and the U.K. Don't know why they have male gynecologists in Islamic countries."
"Thank God. What is your first name again?"
"That Gene. She misspelled your name and caused me to worry unnecessarily."
"Gene? You know Gene?"
"She's my older sister."
"I didn't know Gene had a younger sister."
"Ah, Gene herself mentioned it to us when we set up the appointment for Jean Owen Biggs," said the nurse.
"Is that so?" said Stephanie.
Nurse Joy-Joy set the clipboard on the counter. Then she exited the inspection room and closed the door quietly. Doctor Stephanie Stevenson sat down her rolling stool and faced Jean.
"Wow, this is such a big honor to meet the unknown younger sister of the great Gene Duo Biggs," said Stephanie. "I wonder why we don't hear of you."
"Oh, sorry! Please go ahead and describe to me your problem."
"Well," began Jean, "it happened just this morning when Kitty was going down my older sister. I'm sure you have heard about Kitty Muffet."
"Indeed. She and I would exchange notes on the female vulva."
"Er, yeah. Anyway, I became aroused and reached down to touch myself. Then I made the discovery that there was no feeling."
"Really? No feeling in the inner and outer labia?"
"Not even the clitoris?"
"Say, this may sound a little forward and probably perverted, but could you feel your vagina for me? For medical reasons, I swear."
Jean reached down into her pants and fondled with herself.
"I feel nothing," Jean said.
"I see then," said Stephanie. "This is most likely a psychological problem, but we can't be too sure of these things. I will have to perform an inspection right now. Please take off your shoes, socks, pants, and panties while I write some things down."
Jean shyly undressed the lower part of her body. As she was doing so, she saw Stephanie getting up to the counter and grabbing the uncapped ballpoint pen Nurse Joy-Joy with her mouth.
She's a strange one, thought Jean. She's Gene's gynecologist all right.
Stephanie began writing the information onto her clipboard with her mouth.
"Uh, doctor?" Jean asked.
"Whaf iff if?" asked Stephanie, who still had the pen in her mouth.
Jean should have realized it sooner. Her two coat sleeves her flapping and had no hands protruding out. The doctor didn't have her arms hidden underneath her coat. She had no arms. SHE HAD NO ARMS!
"You have no arms!" Jean yelled.
Stephanie spat the pen out of her mouth. "Oh. Didn't your sister tell you about it?"
"Just because I have no arms doesn't mean I am less qualified than other gynecologists. In fact, due to my reputation, I am one of the best in the country. The proof is in the awards I won from gynecologist groups around the nation and the world. I even have a Nobel prize."
"But how could you..."
"There are other ways to inspect the female anatomy than just hands. Most my patients prefer that I use my mouth."
"Actually, my feet is unsanitary, and I would not recommend any kind of surgery with feet, even they were covered with latex socks. Don't worry, I'll use a special mouthwash before I dive in."
"I think I'll go to another doctor."
"You won't get a better treatment elsewhere. I'm doing this for free because you're Gene's long lost sister."
"I'll just get the money to pay for the other doctor's fees."
"Might I suggest an alternative to using my mouth?"
"My breast and nipple."
"Without a bra?"
"It can be done no other way."
Jean began pulling her panties up. "I'm going."
"There is also another alternative."
"My vagina. You'd be surprised how I'm effective with it. I often use that as a last resort, and it works really well for my clitoris has optimal penetrating capability. Almost all of my patients love it."
"That's almost like we're having... well... lesbian sex."
"Oh I see. Well, just think of it as an elaborate form of frottage. There would be nothing mutual between you and I. By the way, it's 'tribade', not 'lesbian'."
Jean sat and stared at Stephanie.
"Now this would be a good time to escape from my 'tribade' clutches," whispered Stephanie.
"Got any other methods?"
"I've covered the ones I can use effectively. Ears are no good because of earwax. I can't use noses because I often get allergies--not from the female ejaculate of course. I'd use my chin and my knees, but I haven't perfected those methods yet. Besides, I'm a little shy since I got some hair growing on them."
"I guess I'll have to live with this 'problem' with the rest of my life," sighed the somewhat eased Jean. "Thanks anyway."
"Oh, I forgot to mention," said Stephanie, "my prosthetic arms should be coming back from the shop next week. We could go that route."
"Why didn't you mention that before?"
"Well, it's just I'm used to using my mouth, breast, and vagina on my patients. They don't really like the cold touch of my composite hands. But don't worry! I retrained myself to use my prosthetic arms quite effectively--better than the hands of other gynecologists. They're state of the art! Would you like to schedule for next week?"
"Very well. I'll have Nurse Joy-Joy walk you out and give you your next date of appointment. Tell Gene I said hello!"
A jittered Jean parted with Doctor Stephanie Stevenson and her nurse from the gynecology office. It was probably one of the most intense near-fainting experiences she had experienced apart from losing her virginity to Becky and the Colombian drug cartel storming San Antonio State University.
She returned home and had lunch alone, and spent her time watching some soap operas. Later, she had dinner with Gene, Kitty, and an unconscious Tipper Gore who had come in to the House of Sticks II for another session of Holistic Cunnilingus.
"Say guys," started Jean, "Dr. Stevenson is good with her prosthetic arm, right? At least you have had a session with that, huh sister?"
"Ah, let's see," said Gene. "Oh yes I did! She inspected me thoroughly and professionally. I still prefer that she use her mouth."
"But you have Kitty Muffet here with us."
"The professions of Stephanie and mine have our specific uses," said Kitty, "although it was she who came to me for training when I was still in London. Whereas I use my tongue for clitoral stimulation, Stephanie's trained her tongue for utmost penetration. She has to reach deep you know."
"Uh-huh. But was she born without arms?"
"She was. She lost them at a humorously freaky accident."
"It was when she got her masters in gynecology in Pennsylvania State at a young age of eighteen at the top of her class. She was so happy to get her degree that she went out drinking with some friends. While they were driving back to the dorms, Stephanie stuck both her arms out of her friend's SUV while screaming. Then suddenly a speeding Hummer came out of nowhere and severed her arms off from the middle of the humeruses."
"Well, she would have recovered her arms and attached them back if it weren't for two things. Stephanie leapt out of her friend's SUV chased after her right arm, which was carried off by a opportunistic fox. She screamed to the fox, 'Give that arm back! I jack off with it!' But the fox ran away, and Stephanie, who turned out to be a fast runner, chased it until it was grabbed by the neck by a cougar. The cougar ran off, and Stephanie chased after it. Then the cougar was hit and killed by a speeding yellow Vespa scooter, and sent the fox and the right arm flying in the air. Thinking that they were waterfowl, hunters shot at the fox and the arm. The arm, which was now full of bullets, fell into a tree shredder and was then pulverized."
"What about the other arm? The left one?"
"Haven't you heard? Hannibal Lecter ate it."
"Isn't he just a movie character?"
"He's real darling, except he was caught at a bad place at the wrong time. The poor man."
"Well, Stephanie traced her steps back and followed the blood trail of her left arm. She found it in the hands and mouth of Lecter who had just pulled his Mercedes Benz to the side. She saw him eating it with Worcestershire Sauce, refried Mexican beans, and all the while drinking a bottle of Chianti. Stephanie heard him saying, 'Good meat should not go to waste.' And I think she said that she heard him make a loud fart. Anyway Stephanie got royally pissed and began kicking him into submission. She kicked his testicle sacks so hard that one of them flew out of his trousers. I think he ate that right before the police arrested him for previous crimes.
"And so Stephanie sank into deep depression for she felt that there was no way she could be a world-renowned gynecologist like her mothers before her. Then she heard of my Holistic Cunnilingus techniques and became inspired to be not just a different kind of gynecologist but a better one. After training under me, she mastered the art of not just using her tongue, but using her nipples and vulva as her 'probes'. She also learned how to use her new prosthetic arms courtesy of Hydara Technologies."
"I find that story very hard to believe," Jean said.
"Regardless of whether you believe it or not, she is the best there is. I even had her perform her services on me."
"Me too!" Gene cried out.
"I already know," said Jean.
Tipper Gore, who was sitting across Jean, snored louder and drooled like a gurgling waterfall.
"What do we do about Tip?"
"Her husband's agents should pick her up soon," said Kitty. "You know that the Vice President has a prosthetic pancreas."
"Is that so?"
Jean thought she could get by without any sexual feeling down in her vagina as she spent her usual days working at Circuit City and hanging out at Gene's kooky household.
When she needed it first was when met a rising half-black half-Asian golf star who was buying an expensive digital camcorder for his father during her work. Jean knew that he was blazingly attractive and rich to boot. He even asked her out, and Jean brusquely brushed him off.
Then there was that time Gene was crafting a "phallic forest" bed by pasting realistic and flesh colored dildos on hard board very close to each other (like a bed of nails). When she finished, she and Kitty enjoyed themselves on it, but did not put one dildo inside of them. They simply gave each other an intense oral sex session that Jean knew was arousing, but could not seem to react to it.
At late nights when Jean was sleeping, she hear the pleasured cries of women as Kitty Muffet dove down into their crotches with her tongue and lips deployed. Usually, Jean would feel uncomfortably aroused, and that annoyed her. As the days went by, she somehow missed it.
She tried feeling herself up again. There was no feeling.
"I hope Doctor Stephanie Stevenson will fix my 'problem'," Jean said.
Then the day came. Jean took the bus full of political weirdoes and then came back to the constantly filled up office of the world-famous gynecologist. Her turn eventually came up, and nurse Joy-Joy showed her into the operating room. Soon, Doctor Stephanie Stevenson came back, and her two flapping sleeves were now filled with her cream-colored composite prosthetics.
"Are you doing fine Miss Jean Owen Biggs?" asked the doctor.
"I didn't realize how frustrating it could be to have no feeling down there," replied Jean as she undressed her lower half.
"I just hope we're not too late. Let's begin the operation."
Stephanie threw her arm out. Suddenly, her hand fell limp and hinged off the joint. Coming from the joint was a drill attached to a smaller mechanical arm. Then a buzz saw came out. Then it was a huge knife. Finally, a rail cannon appeared from her arm. Her limb was a total mechanical monstrosity of dangerous devices that it scared Jean half-to death. It pulsed, it whirred, and it began powering to fire a devastating shot.
Jean finally fainted. Stephanie turned towards her assault arm and then realized that something was wrong.
"Oh dear," she said. "Wrong arm."
Stephanie retracted all her weapons into her assault arm, which was her left arm, into its default human shape. The micro-servos whirred as she flexed her mechanical hand.
"I guess I'd better not use them for now," Stephanie said.
She turned towards Jean, who was on the bed-table with her legs spread and her vulva exposed in a welcoming manner. Stephanie didn't want to do this while she was unconscious, but a young woman's sex life was on the line.
So then the good doctor washed her own mouth.
"I'm not sure it would wake her, but I'll try," said a voice.
"Please do," said another.
Jean's eyes twitched, and finally she realized she was the one that was sleeping. Her eyes shot open, and she saw that she was back home in the living room, with Stephanie and Gene staring at her. She was sitting on one of the dining table chairs. Jean looked down and that her pants and panties were put down. Kitty's was down at her crotch, and like a cat she looked back up Jean's eyes.
"Good evening love," Kitty smiled.
Gasping in surprise, Jean rocked herself and fell backward. She landed on something soft and rubber. Her back was on the Phallic Forest Bed Gene had made a while back.
"You were out for many hours," said Kitty.
"Good news!" Stephanie announced. "There is nothing physically wrong with your vagina!"
"What did you do to me?" Jean demanded as she sat back up.
"The good doctor gave you the whole run-around you lucky cat!" winked Kitty.
"Oh Jean-chan!" wept Gene as she hugged her little sister. "You're safe!"
"Are you telling me that you used your clit, nipple, and tongue to probe inside of me?" Jean asked.
"Of course!" smiled Stephanie. "As a bonus, I massaged every part of your vagina with my clit, nipple, and tongue. I couldn't resist because your vagina is so beautiful!"
"I'll agree to that," said Kitty.
Jean felt her crotch once more. Still no feeling.
"But I'm not cured!" she yelled.
"It must be in your head then," said Stephanie.
"Then you should go to the psychologist I usually go to," said Gene. "She's got her masters in Cambridge, and she also applies her synergetic mix of hypnosis, Voodoo, and Dianic Wiccan sacrifices!"
"It's covered in your health care plan darling," added Kitty.
Jean pulled her pants and panties up. "What the hell kind of health care plan did I get from Circuit City?" she asked. "The proctologist would probably be the most sanest!"
"Speaking of proctologists," said Stephanie, "Dr. E. Rogenis is a really good one. Don't be scared of the monstrous Probulator MX she uses with euphoric abandon--once it's up your anus, it is one hell of a trip."
"Why me?" Jean groaned.
"Shall I call the Voodoo-psychologist and set up an appointment for you Jean-chan?" Gene asked.
"I don't care anymore."
"Then it's settled! To the Voodoo-psychologist you go!"
"What should we do in the meantime guys?" Stephanie asked.
"Shall I go down on you two?" Kitty replied. "It'll be a while until Sheryl Crow shows up."
Stephanie did a cheer with a punch of her right prosthetic arm. However, that punch activated her flying-fist technique. Her right prosthetic fist launched from her wrist and crashed through the wall before hall. The fist bounced around, broke things, shattered things, and puts holes in the walls. Finally, it bounced from the ceiling and nearly struck Jean's head as it crashed to a stop on the floor.
"Uh, sorry," said Stephanie. "It looks like I have to take these back to the shop for readjustment."
Gene thought for a moment, and a crazy came into her head. "I got it!" she said. "This will be my new art project! Swiss cheese living! Thanks you so much Stephanie!"
"Do I smell something burning?" asked Kitty.
Gene, Kitty, and Stephanie ran and looked down the hallway.
"Oh dear," said Kitty.
"Jean-chan," said Gene, "your room is on fire."
As she had said before, Jean just didn't care anymore. All she could to was pour tears from eyes and wail pathetically.
Hopefully, tomorrow would be a normal day. Hopefully.