158 pearls around the neck
A mammogram…
…implies the presence of mammary glands, wouldn’t you think?
Well, what happens when you don’t have any?
Nothing, zilch, flat as a board, flat as the Great Plains.
No breasts, no tits, no boobs, nothing.
An udder, pardon-me, utter absence of boobies.
So, why on earth did this sadistic gynecologist of mine stubbornly keep on prescribing mammograms? He’d
been insisting for four years now! The maniac knew my chest, my anything-but-busty, smooth chest, whose
lack of protuberances would beat any man landing on this deserted beach, ready to launch their distress
rockets!
Could this be a form of perversion?
But there was no escaping anymore: I was warned. If I didn’t subject myself or rather what I didn’t have to
the scrutiny of X-ray beams, “I’ll scratch you off my list of patients!” he’d said, throwing me a stern look.
I made my way to the third floor.
I was welcomed by the receptionist’s wide smile… and her deep, generous cleavage. Bitch! I guess I’d have a
wide smile and a perky face too if there was anything jiggling under my shirt.
Was I jealous? That’s a gross understatement. I coveted any other female’s bosom with morbid avidity. My
libido skyrocketed at the sight of a well-endowed and prettily garnished blouse.
A clipboard in hand, looking efficient and still sporting her wide smile, the receptionist signaled me to follow
her. We arrived in a corridor lined with changing stalls. She tilted her head and explained: “In the dressing
room, you will find a blue hospital gown. Please take off your top and put it on. With the opening ON THE
FRONT. ON THE FRONT. Do you understand?”
Why didn’t she calm down? I was the one who was a bundle of nerves, not her!
“The lab technician will come and get you in 5 minutes.” Here again, the wide professional smile, a
pleasant, heartless grimace more than a smile, really. I did as I was told. The mirror sent me back the bitter
truth, the reflection of my androgynous pubescent body. I slipped on the blue gown. I heard steps coming: the
lab technician.
Her too?! No way! This was some nasty prank! And I knew who the guilty party was: my gynecologist! The
bastard, the crook, the dirty sneak! He’d surrounded himself with Lollobrigida look-alikes!
The lab technician, however, played in a whole different league. Something cow-like, raised on a farm?
Specialized in milk and cream, perhaps? There was this sweetly sour scent about her… That was it, she must
have been a nice, reputable wet nurse, whose beneficent boobs dispensed rich, smooth milk…
Under her uniform, her two udders swayed and swung to the rhythm of her steps. “Let’s see if we can detect
the presence of an opacity or a micro-calcification in your breasts.” Right there, I was utterly unable to imagine
anything! I couldn’t imagine that any opacity could possibly conceal itself in the microscopic space provided by
my breasts, nor that the slightest calcification would be brave enough to squeeze itself into the tiny interstices
of my miniature boobs. But she could carry out her investigation!
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