Patty's Decision

Patty’s mouth drops open again.  “You mean . . .”

“Yes, an orgasm that is self-perpetuating.  Here is the apparatus.”

Now it’s Patty’s eyes that are wide open as well as her mouth.  She studies the computer-generated drawing.  “I’ll be up on . . .”

“Yes, suspended, though with cuffs in the right places for your comfort.  This way the trigger points can be accessed from any angle.  And then the actuators can be withdrawn when recursion is achieved.”

“It’s . . . on a . . . stage . . .”

“Yes,” the Admiral says.  “For display and recording purposes.”  His voice lowers.  “International observers will be invited.  We hope that our purpose will be seen as instructive and not . . . exultative.”

“But you’ll make me come and . . . it won’t stop . . .”  Her eyes get wet.  “I’ll go crazy for sure!  No one can take that much!  I’ll have a” -- she opens her mouth and bites her fist -- “heart attack!!”  She shakes her head.

“No of course you won’t,” Dr. Posen says, in as comforting a voice as she can manage.  “Well before you get to the point of fibrillation or exhaustion, we will stop you.”

“How can you do that?”

Dr. Redl answers.  Unfortunately he lacks Dr. Posen’s natural warmth.  “An injection of magnesium sulfate would suffice.  It will simply put you to sleep for a while.”

“After how many --”

“You’re a healthy girl.  I think you can go maybe five minutes, which would be about three hundred contractions.”

“Oh Jesus --”  Patty crunches herself into a little ball, hands over her face, toes pointed inward.  They hear sniffles.  It is almost as if she wants to hide her nakedness, something hard to imagine with Patty Kowalski.  Now she withdraws her hands and Dr. Posen offers her a tissue.  “Mind if I take a minute?”

They all know Patty needs time.  She walks toward the door, her tough bare soles brushing against the hardwood floor, then out onto the veranda.  They watch as she looks out onto the city, her butt cheeks flexing with her thoughts.  They also know what her decision will be.  Patty’s Catholic sense of obligation and responsibility can dictate only one answer.

When she comes back, she faces them, bolt upright, shoulders back.  Her nipples point at them as if to punctuate her words.  “You -- you guys are going to pay me for this, of course -- big time!”

“And we will,” Ms. William says.  “If you participate, and it’s a three-week program,” and now she draws her words out, “you will get a full undergraduate scholarship to our university.”

Patty wipes her nose and casually throws the tissue into a basket.  They were expecting her to be surprised and elated.

“We’ve been told that you haven’t applied to college, even though you graduate in three weeks,” Dr. Posen says.  “I don’t know why that is, perhaps the reason is financial, but you will be able to matriculate with us in the fall.”

Patty doesn’t recognize the word “matriculate” but figures it means she can start classes.  In fact she has decided to spend the next year working and earning money.  She has sorted it all out.  With her unique talents she has gotten offers but most would require her to travel out of the area and of course she can’t do that.  There’s that porn guy who keeps showing up at Teaser’s.  He’s been offering some serious money but the other girls have been warning against it.  On the other hand, she’s been offered to model and dance at “Rizdy” -- RISD, the Rhode Island School of Design -- $1000 for five hours a week! -- and that seems legit.

Also, whether she goes to Brown or to U.R.I, even though each is less than ten miles away, with all the classes she won’t be able to get back to the house until night and she’s not sure if Jimmy, the second oldest, is ready to watch over things.  He’s going into tenth grade and still pretty immature, caught up in the recent “sneaker wars”, not gang activity but a lot of verbal sparring with boys in his grade.  He needs another year to settle down.

Patty takes a deep breath and lies back, then stretches out her arms and legs, looking up at the skylight.  By habit she assumes a modeling pose.  Her left hand almost touches Dr. Posen, her left foot Dr. Redl, her right hand Adm. Patel, her right foot Ms. Churchman.  Her legs are well separated and Mr. Cook at the end of the table finds himself staring right at her pubic bush, her lower lips slightly opened.  Now she twirls her pubic hair again and clears her throat.

“You can keep the scholarship.  Just give me money.”

There are puzzled glances around the table.

“You can pay off our house instead.  There’s seventy-eight thousand left on it.”  She takes another breath, her breasts rising, her concave tummy undulating.  She flexes her toes.  “And another fifteen thousand so I can get a new car, free and clear.”