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The Doctor Won't See You Now free porn video
The Doctor won't see you now.
As waiting room chairs go, I'm sure this was amongst the higher end, but
I was uncomfortable nonetheless.
Ergonomics weren't the issue though, it was my fidgety angst and general
restlessness that made me repeatedly reposition myself.
Feeling nervous in the Dental office was a general clich? in itself, but
the aetiology of my anxiety, was, at least in my opinion, quite unique
in its origin.
My teeth were fine. I mean I was due for a check up, which I could have
just as easily arranged back home. When I had made this 'urgent'
appointment yesterday for dental pain it was a complete fabrication. It
would probably serve me right if she found a cavity in need of filling.
I had had a couple of fillings over the years, I couldn't remember where
and I couldn't tell looking in my own gob.
I remember the generation before mine used to have these horrible
amalgam things that looked like liquid mercury in your mouth and would
set off if you accidentally chewed some alfoil, like the kind of stuff
you found on a chewy (gum) wrapper. Mine were 'tooth coloured' for want
of a better term, and whilst my diet consisted of far too much coffee,
and occasional soft drink (soda), I had teeth that were resistant to
caries by and large. One small stroke of luck in the genetic lottery I
suppose, which had otherwise been generally unkind to me.
A few years back I'd spent a fair bit on what I called catch up cosmetic
dentistry.
I had my teeth straightened and got some veneers to the front ones. I'd
always felt I had a nice smile. In spite of everything I liked to smile
a lot. But now I felt I had an aesthetically acceptable one. A pretty
smile if I could be so bold as to say.
I should have had braces as a teen. I was told I had a small mouth and
crowded teeth. My parents couldn't afford it and didn't think it
important. For me, at the time, it was low on the list of my priorities
of all the things that was wrong with my body, so I just let them be. As
it was they weren't ridiculously higgledy piggledy, just a little bit of
overlap and certainly not up to Hollywood standard.
I suppose it was with some degree of triumph then that I got far enough
down my fix list that I could correct my dentition in recent years.
All that said I still had to resist the urge to perform an angst driven
overzealous tooth brushing session that would have probably got my gums
bleeding prior to attending my appointment. I guess that might have
created some pathology to find. As it was I still suspected there would
be nothing to say. She couldn't even tell me off for not flossing!
So why exactly was I seeing the dentist today then, if there was indeed
no definitive need?
Truthfully this was an 'emergency' dental appointment that was years in
the making. A slow inevitability about it. I had agonized over it and
postponed it and vacillated over it for year upon year. There were times
when I thought it would never happen.
Leave the past in the past. Let sleeping dogs lie and all that.
As far as she was concerned, as far as the world was concerned, Liam was
dead.
Let him stay dead.
Although I still could. Even if I went through with the appointment.
It seemed I could not quash my hearts desire for this interaction, no
matter how hard I tried. Yet even though it appeared to be finally
happening, I could still very much keep my secrets to myself.
There was no possible way she could know, was there? Not after all this
time. Not after all that has been done.
That slight hint of uncertainty was just a small part of my nerves.
So many other reasons. So much turmoil. My mind was awash with a
whirlwind of competing thoughts, all vying for the forefront of my
consciousness. I felt threateningly overwhelmed.
The temptation to up and flee, never to return, was strong.
But I'd come all this way for this.
The conference was just an excuse to get me in this city. My agenda was
to be here for this appointment from the very get go.
I had to stay. I had to do this. For it was truly now or never.
As a means of distraction I looked at my nails. I wasn't a biter or a
chewer so they were in pristine condition.
They'd want to be, I'd only had them done yesterday.
I'd found a shop in the Canberra Centre shopping mall calling itself
'New York Nails.'
It was only a short walk from the conference venue, and after reviewing
the program, deciding there was nothing much to interest me for a couple
of hours, treating myself to a manicure seemed like a good way to pass
the time. It would also serve to contribute to my overall wellbeing in
preparation for today.
For this moment.
It seemed, in Australia at least, nail salons were universal, no matter
which city you were in.
Scores of petite Asian women speaking to each other loudly in mandarin,
occasionally laughing raucously. Once upon a time, paranoid little lamb
that I was, I would think they were talking about me, laughing at me.
They can tell; I would internalize and fret.
But not from my hands they couldn't.
Whilst not exactly dainty they were delicate enough. My skin soft and
unblemished.
Size 7 surgical gloves were amply big. My wrists so slender my own hands
could easily encircle them.
They most certainly weren't 'man hands.'
They were the least of my problems.
All this introspective hand gazing had drawn my own attention to my
jewelry
I studied the rings.
I only had two.
An Amethyst and diamond studded gold ring on my left middle finger and a
Claddagh ring on my right ring finger.
The heart was facing outwards, as it had pretty much done for all the
years I had it.
This indicated that my own heart belonged to no one.
I had a strong inkling though that walking into that treatment room
today may well make a liar of me.
Even if just transiently. Historically perhaps.
But I needed to belay those thoughts a little longer.
I checked my watch.
I was 10 minutes early. Of course she could be behind as well as seemed
to be tradition with medical type appointments. So it could be a while
yet.
My job didn't involve set times and bookings so it was a mystery to me
as much as anyone as to where the time goes.
I'd spent enough time admiring my freshly painted nails with their
'raisin frost' coloring (whatever the hell that was.)
They had done their duty well enough as displacement activity.
But I had much more pressing considerations to mull on.
Besides my hands weren't going to be subjected to much scrutiny, and
would hold up even if they were.
As for the rest of me I wasn't so sure.
By and large I passed.
Occasionally I would wonder if I was getting the 'is she or isn't she?'
stares. Eventually you learn to stop caring. Even noticing.
It was a work in evolution that took many years.
My regression today was only temporary I was sure.
I imagined all Caucasian women looked relatively large to these tiny
things.
I fluctuated off and on between an Australian 12-14 depending on whether
I was having a thin or fat day. I think that's the equivalent to 8-10 in
the US.
So not huge by any stretch, but at 175cm (That's about 5'9" I think), I
was taller than average, so I guess I stood out a little. But it was all
relative I guess.
From what I could remember of her I felt I looked vaguely like my older
sister.
Except at least a good 10cm taller.
I'm sure I was slimmer too, but both of us were regrettably more prone
to resemble our father's stout farming lineage than our mother's rakish
one.
I came to the conclusion, even though I hadn't seen her for years, and
had no real intention to, I was much prettier than my sister, regardless
of whether it was artificially achieved. Truthfully I always was on the
inside. But for the last 15 or so years, the outside too.
Frankly I didn't want to spend any more time thinking about her. It
wasn't that echo from my past that I was drudging about in today. I had
no idea where my sister was or what she was doing. Kicking arses and
taking names I imagined. As was her wont. I doubt she ever got her nails
done. She just didn't seem the type.
Anyway, I don't believe the Asian ladies could tell, just as I'm sure
the dental receptionist couldn't. I was just hyperaware and
hypersensitive today.
I had to be believe my soon to be treating dentist couldn't tell either.
I looked like no-one she'd ever met before.
In all the years that had elapsed I'd made absolutely certain of that.
What I would make of that, what I would do about that, would be entirely
up to me.
With more time to kill I pondered over my link to this interstate health
practitioner.
I thought of our mutual acquaintance. The now flimsy connection I had to
the dentist I was about to see.
The boy we both once knew.
The only tentative link between us, lost and severed so very long ago.
How would he feel about this meeting?
I couldn't even begin to predict. I didn't even know how I felt about
this meeting.
But it did get me thinking about him.
That boy I knew from way way back in time......
******
Liam was a child of the 70s.
He grew up in country Victoria . A large regional centre famous for the
gold rush in the 1850s.
It was renowned, from a rather Eurocentric point of view, for being the
site of Australia's only civil war.
A war that only lasted a couple of hours when a group of soldiers
overpowered a stockade of armed angry miners and murdered the lot.
Someone maybe forgot to mention to historians that the merciless
slaughter of the nation's indigenous population was a civil war of
sorts, if not specifically genocide, but that's a by the by.
Liam was the second child to Irish catholic immigrants.
Both school teachers.
Both alcoholics.
His father overtly. His mother more clandestine.
Whilst both parents taught in the state funded non denominational school
system, he was to receive a Catholic education.
Which is where, and you're probably not surprised, all the trouble had
started.
Walking distance from their home in East Ballarat there was both the
'Girls only' convent school, Sacred Heart, run by nuns and attended by
his older sister; and the primary school attached to the local church,
St Alipius, run by priests and 'boys only' by default.
St Alipius was a foreboding looking church. Classic blue stone slabs
shaping the church and finishing with a grand spire reaching towards the
heavens and God himself.
It dominated the landscape in the drive into town from the Melbourne
direction.
The primary school beside it, red brick and unimposing, was dwarfed into
insignificance.
Liam's time in the classrooms were unmemorable; in the years that
followed he couldn't really recall what the interior looked like at all.
But then, the bad things didn't happen there.
He remembered the 'Sacristy' well enough though. All too well one might
say.
It was little wing at the back of the church where the priests prepared
for Mass.
It was dimly lit. It was cold. It was where nightmares became real. It
was where fears became flesh.
It was their fault, Father Riddick told them.
They were dirty disgusting little boys.
They were sinners and they were all going to hell.
They made the priests do the things to them they did. Because they were
the evil spawn of the devil himself.
It hurt.
What the priests did to them. And what the priests made them do.
But you had to let them.
It was the only way that you could possibly be saved from eternal
damnation.
From the fire and the brimstone.
It didn't feel right for them to do things to the place where the poo
came out. And it certainly didn't feel nice.
They were made to touch the priests' private places, with more than just
their hands.
They were warned about telling anyone, especially their parents, for if
they did then their parents would go to Hell too.
Liam, quiet, shy and obedient, did not dare tell anyone. None of them
did really. Not at the time. None of them dared. They were all too
scared.
Years later it would all come out of course. First as a seepage, like
lime from those bluestone walls that silently witnessed so much horror;
before building into a torrent, the echoing screams of the living and
the dead.
By then though, Father Riddick and his cronies would be no more, and
those that so desperately sought their vengeance, would become
indiscriminate as to the form it would take, and the direction in which
they would send it.
Liam kept his silence, but he knew he did not want to be a dirty little
boy anymore.
He also knew he did not want to go to St Alipius any more.
He wanted to go to Sacred Heart with his older sister.
He wanted to be a girl.
He came to realize before too long that he was, in fact, a girl.
There had been a mistake. Perhaps God himself had made it. He wasn't so
sure he was infallible now. After all he'd seen and felt first hand what
his agents were capable of.
He was not Liam.
She was Lucy.
He wouldn't have to break his promises to the priests, but he could get
away from them, if his mummy and daddy realized he was a girl too.
So he told them.
He was so sure they would agree. See their folly and rectify it.
And in no time at all he would be in a school dress and off to Sacred
Heart with his sister.
And surely soon after that his thingy would fall off, as it did not
belong, and no one would call her a him any more.
But they did not agree; her parents.
His father hit him and threatened to do so repeatedly if he ever
mentioned such again, to them or anyone else.
He was most certainly not Lucy. He was Liam. And mark my words the
living daylights would be beaten out of him if he ever dared suggest
otherwise again.
So Liam had more secrets to keep.
The secrets the priests made him keep. The secrets his parents made him
keep.
A heavy load for a six year old to bear.
Then one day he came.
A new priest.
A nice priest.
He did not seem to be like the others.
He did not think these little boys needed to be hurt or punished.
He did not tell them they were all going to Hell.
He was gentle to them. And he was kind. He never touched them like the
others did.
But then one night this same priest appeared on Liam's parents'
doorstep.
Liam was afraid when his parents ushered Father Geoff Bell into the
seldom used Living room. Who could know what this nocturnal visitation
meant. It boded ominously.
He wanted to hear what was said but was ever fearful of being caught,
and severely reprimanded.
The best Liam could do was steal glances from an inaudible distance, and
ponder as to what was being discussed. Hoping for the best.
And it has to be said, that in some ways, the best was indeed delivered.
For things changed for him that night.
Liam never returned to St Alipius primary school again.
Within days he was sent to a school on the other side of town, out
beyond the city fringe, and far from home. He went there along with a
small handful of other St Alipius boys, whose parents had also been
visited By Father Bell that night.
St Francis Xavier was the name of Liam's new school.
Another convent school run by nuns.
But this one was co-educational. Boys and girls together.
For Liam this seemed like a seismic enough shift to dare to broach the
subject yet again.
You might think this stupidity. I think it was the na?ve optimism of the
very young.
If there are already girls at this school, Liam felt need to point out,
surely it's neither here nor there if I too am one of them.
He was still adamant that if they let him grow his hair, wear the school
dress, his boy bits would go away. They simply did not belong.
Once again though, it was made abundantly clear by his father he was
very much isolated and erroneous in this belief.
He smarted for days.
Still he did not let it rest.
On Lucy's side was the righteous determination of the undoubtedly
correct. She knew what she was. Silly adults clearly needed longer to
see reason.
One day she climbed a tree in the school grounds, of which there were
many, and refused to come down.
When the nun's gathered in fluster she negotiated her terms.
She would come down when they allowed her to be a girl.
It was all in the open now. She knew she had breached a decree issued by
her parents, but she thought if the nuns rallied to her defence then she
would have much more impetus.
But the nuns were not the allies she was hoping for.
Her father came.
All agreed to Lucy's plan to be Lucy until she came down from the tree.
Then the deception was apparent.
Adults lie. With abandon.
She was flogged senseless that night and banned from playing with the
girls at St Francis forever more.
A rule which the nuns, excuse the pun, religiously enforced.
But the boys of the school all knew what she had said. They had all seen
and heard it.
They wanted nothing to do with Liam after that. Unless an opportunity
arose to inflict him with physical harm. And they quite enjoyed doing
that.
So that became his life. Shunned and bullied by the boys. Banned from
the girls.
Liam was lonely. But he did not despair.
Life was infinitely better than it had been at St Alipius.
The school backed on to a, seldom used on school days, golf course. The
fairways were lined with large pines that must have made a round some
kind of hell for the players but provided Liam ample forest to get lost
in of a lunch time.
There was a hidden hole in the wire fence he could slip through unseen.
No one ever noticed his absence. No one ever cared to.
There amongst the pine cones and branches he could disappear into a
fantasy world of his own making.
Be who he wanted to be. Be who she knew she was.
One day though he was unknowingly followed as he slunk deep into the
forest. By David. Another boy moved that life changing night away from
St Alipius. He cornered Liam and once again Liam felt the all too
familiar peril. But David did not hit him. He wanted to know why Liam
had said what he had said. About being a girl. Liam did not know how to
answer that. The only answer he knew was because it was the truth. This
seemed to be enough for David. He was happy for Liam to be Lucy if she
wanted to be. And the hideout for one became a hideout for two.
A few years passed by like that.
At the end of year 3 Liam learnt that his family were leaving Ballarat
and heading for the big city of Melbourne. His father had received a
promotion in the department of education and Melbourne was required. He
was distressed to be taken from David, his only true friend, but he had
assurances he could visit and stay on holidays.
After leaving Ballarat Liam never saw Father Bell again. To him Liam
imagined he was just one of the selection of boys whisked away to safety
like thieves in the night. Somewhat faceless with the passing of the
years. But to Liam Father Bell was a superhero of sorts. He watched with
distant admiration as through the course of their lives Father Bell rose
through the ranks of the church.
Long after Liam was gone Father Bell would go on to become the third
most powerful man in the Catholic church.
Meanwhile, upon moving to the city Liam's elder sister was commencing
year 7 at a somewhat exclusive Melbourne Private Catholic girls school.
He would be entering year 4 at the local co-ed Catholic primary close to
their new home.
Liam was turning nine now.
Older and wiser and now all too fully aware that things were not as
simple as popping on a dress and waiting for his dick to fall off.
Still, like the time before, it was a completely new start.
He'd learnt the hard way not to broach the subject with his father, but
still hoped to plead his case to his mother.
If I start as a girl at this new school, he reasoned yet again, I could
eventually follow my sister to the girls' high school, and if he hid his
penis, maybe it would never become an issue.
(Whilst he was somewhat more knowledgeable than he had been, he was as
yet too young to fully appreciate the horrors of male puberty that
awaited him in his future.)
His mother was not violent in response to his request. Although one
could argue though her reaction was far worse than any from Liam's
father.
She told him, were he ever to ask again, mention this again, they would
return him to the priests. Abandon him to them.
With no Father Bell to save him this time.
This was the only time in his life with them that Liam's mother
acknowledged she knew what had been done to him, yet she used that
knowledge to play on his greatest fear.
It was effective.
Liam never mentioned his desire to be Lucy to them ever again, until the
day he exited their life forever.
He loved his parents, as any young boy should. He knew now though their
love was only conditional. Dependent on him being the boy they demanded
he be.
He still loved them nonetheless.
But he never again trusted them.
He did a clever thing though, when he began at a new school, albeit
under the sufferance of forced boyhood.
He seized the opportunity for a fresh start of sorts.
Not the one she'd hoped for of course, but one free of victimisation at
least.
No one knew of his history. Of his bold declarations made from arboreal
heights.
He kept it all to himself now.
He was the quiet kid.
The 'not that good at ball sports' kid.
But he wasn't the freak.
He was accepted.
He made friends. More than one.
He liked having friends
It was nice.
He knew if he mentioned Lucy to them he would lose them.
He would carry that knowledge with him into adulthood.
Three years of genteel suburban primary school was a nice time for him.
He was last picked for schoolyard footy, or cricket, but he didn't mind.
At least he was picked.
He and his friends would ride their 10 speed racers around the safe
middle class suburban streets. Build hideouts in the scrub on the banks
of the Yarra. At least in the winter. For it was not a safe place to be
in summer when the venomous king browns and tiger snakes came out.
But Year 7 arrived and he and his friends filtered off to a large
cutthroat regional Catholic boys High school.
It was no place for the soft. Or the weak.
The different were hunted. Were hounded. Were persecuted.
Inability to partake in the custom male sporting arenas was licence to
victimization; invitation to further persecution and torment.
Any sign of femininity was met with the most amplified intolerance.
Liam avoided the 'gay' kids.
He, like most, would simply look away as they suffered, glad it was not
him tied to the tree and beaten unconscious.
Liam learnt the Marist brothers would passively allow it too if it was
deemed the recipient was 'a bit of a poofter'. In fact it was almost as
if bullying the odd boys was something the Brothers seemed to actively
encourage.
Yet when Liam's sporting ineptitude was exposed - which it was bound to
- he attracted his own persecutors.
He did not face them, he did not fight them.
He ran from them.
By and large they could not catch him. Eventually they stopped trying
to. For he was one of the school's cross country and middle distance
track stars by then.
They left him alone after that. He couldn't kick, he couldn't throw, he
couldn't catch; but he sure could run. Thankfully, for Liam, it was
enough for them to spare him.
A stroke of good news, or at least it so seemed, was the one promise his
parents kept.
Twice a year Liam would catch a train on the holidays to spend a week
with David. It was always a fun and happy time. But as they entered
their early teens things changed. Or more particularly David did.
One night he climbed into Liam's bed in the room they shared. He wanted
to do things to Liam just like the priests had done to them all those
years ago. Although Liam loved David he did not want that. He did not
want to do that. It reminded Liam far too much of things he wanted to
forget.
He was also somewhat ashamed that his body was not as he wanted it to
be. It was still so wrong. He did not want anybody touching it. He told
David no and in the end had to forcibly stop him.
At the Age of 14 Liam told his parents he never wanted to stay at
David's house again.
He never did.
More terror and heartache awaited Liam though. And it began about that
time. He had seen it all around him but had chosen to ignore it. Perhaps
he still believed it wouldn't happen to him. Some residual baseless,
fruitless hope.
But it came for him eventually.
Puberty.
If he had hated his body before, this became amplified ten fold.
Turning into a man, when you know you aren't meant to be one, is a
horror that would be impossible for others to fathom. Every day his body
further distorted and deformed into something it just should never had
been.
The effect was nothing short of profound.
For as long as Liam had birthdays in memory; from those days in Ballarat
to present; he'd had the same birthday wish.
As he blew out the candles, or cut the cake, or whichever.
He would close his eyes and hope that when he opened them he would be a
girl.
Right up to the age of 14 he held that wish. Long after he stopped
believing in wishes and miracles or anything of that nature. It was mere
fanciful escapism. Common sense told him it would never happen. But his
heart still hoped it would.
On his 15th birthday however he changed his wish.
The ravages of puberty had well and truly taken hold.
His body had changed dramatically.
And for the first time perhaps, he had cause for enthusiasm. Because his
wish was not fantastical or supernatural. It was something very real.
Something tangible. It was something he could actually action and
effect. As soon as he could work out how.
Yes, as Liam blew out the candles on his 15th birthday, he fervently
wished with all his heart that he would be dead; before he ever had to
blow out birthday candles again.
TBC?
******
David died in his 20s.
He was involved in male prostitution and drugs.
The occurrences at St Alipius in the 70s are well documented on the
internet should you choose to go searching.
Scores of the abused boys died by their own hand or succumbed to drugs
and alcohol.
There are survivors of course.
Some silently suffering.
Some bitter, enraged, vengeful and indiscriminate just as I described.
Some just wanted to get on with their lives as they now were, till
reminders were splashed all over the papers and occupying the first
twenty minutes of the nightly news today.
I do not claim to know at all what happened at St Patrick's Cathedral
Melbourne in the 1990s.
But for any readers who have seen through a thinly veiled name change
please be assured that Liam's story is the truth.
The man he knew, the priest who saved him, would never have done
anything like that of which he is now convicted.
I present this information simply as fact.
What you choose to do with it is entirely up to you.
Make up your own mind by all means.
Maybe none of you will even know who or what the hell I'm talking about.
And that's fine too.
But as St Thomas Moore once said. "Silence gives consent."
I choose not to consent in the face of the injustice I perceive.
With love
Kat.
Eisley
- 03.11.2022
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