The OB/GYN

The Broadcast

The camera focuses on a middle aged woman in scrubs. She is tending to a newborn baby, who has been censored out of view; even the Producers have some standards of decency. The woman hums quietly to soothe the newborn, mulling through the thoughts that always sprout up. Is this the best part of the job or the worst? she wonders, Spending this precious moment with this child. With warm water and tender precision, the woman washes the remaining bits of amniotic sac, placenta, and fluids from the infant. She doesn’t know why she insists on doing this: giving the child their first bath, wrapping them in swaddling to keep them warm. She could always get one of her nurses to do it for her. A single tear runs down her cheek. If this is the best part of the job, why does it hurt so much? If it’s the worst, why do I feel so compelled to do it?

She carefully cradles the child, rocking her arms ever so slowly, and lays the child to rest the infant’s cheek onto the resting mother’s breast. Skin to skin contact is important for newborns to bond with their mothers. She smiles at the scene she just made the finishing touches to. And then she turns to leave the room, more tears welling up inside. Can I at least keep it together long enough to get home this time? Or at least to the car?

She walks the familiar halls of the hospital as if she is just following programming. She doesn’t look up, she doesn’t acknowledge her staff, her co-workers. They know to give her a wide berth after she finishes a delivery. She doesn’t even notice that, when she got to her office door, the now expected nightmare void engulfed the door frame. She walks right through, not missing a beat. All is dark.

Josie

Josie’s headrest scoots forward; in fact, Josie finds herself giving the woman an accidental lick across her butt. She lifts herself in time to not get smacked in the face by the closest thing to sensible heels she has seen among the contestants. The woman pulls herself up and stumbles to the sand dune.

Dinah Hornblower

This **** strut is annoying, Dinah thought, and it’s not like it will help me all that much.

She looks at the 4 women in the lounge chairs, instantly understanding all that they said upfront to the unpleasant looking woman she is **** to strut towards. The first 2 lightly flirt, the third is already naked, and the fourth looks completely traumatized. I don’t like this one bit. Though it is nice to hear that my looks haven’t completely faded.

Her frustration blossoms to full-blown wrath as she looks at the chest labeled “Master in Here”. When she finally has complete control of her facial expressions, it shifts into a full-blown scowl.

The unpleasant host speaks, “Our next contestant, folks. You know you’d look cuter if you smiled. Answer the questions for the audience, cutie pie.”

Dinah balls her fingers into 2 tight fists, closes her eyes, and breathes for a second, hoping that the rising of her chest will appease whatever perverted monsters that she is being **** to entertain long enough to keep her from strangling the scrawny-necked host.

“Hello, I am Doctor Dinah Hornblower. I am an OB/GYN, which means I focus my medical practice on taking care of women during pregnancy and ensure their children are born safely. I have noticed a couple of patterns here, one I fit into and one I break, though I am sure that at least Ms. Smythe would have also picked it up had she gone later in the order. The first pattern, the one I fit neatly into, is that all of the contestants are lesbians. No sexual desire for men whatsoever. Is that true, Ms. Petersen?”

“Good job, cutie pie. Yes, it’s true. Now who do you want to fuck?”

Before giving the vile woman a chance to **** her, Dinah continues, “Then, given what little I understand of this show, you are an utter and complete monster. Because the second pattern, the one I break, is especially awful. Based on the name of the show, I assume that we are competing for the love and affection of the Master and The Master... wait, why can’t I say The Master?”

“Oh, one of the many, many spells you contestants are under right now is that you can’t refer to The Master with pronouns. Or with any other term that is less ingratiating to the Master than the Master. Can we move on to the fun fucking questions now?”

Another moment to breathe, a thrusting forward of the chest. “While it has been closer to 2 decades since I have last seen The Master, The Master was the one professor that changed my life for the better. I can say Professor? Great. That term doesn’t feel so disgusting. I barely graduated high school, but I liked the idea of being a doctor; my hormone addled teenage brain thought that being a doctor was a good way of seeing hot people naked in real life. I listened to the local community college’s advisors and signed up for A&P I during my first summer after graduation. I was incredibly stupid. My Professor kicked my figurative ass the entire 3 months. The Master, fuck, I slipped up, promised the very beginning of the semester ‘through a maelstrom of fire, brimstone, and note cards’ to **** us to learn how to learn. I barely passed with a C, with the rest of my friends flunking out or dropping early. I gave My Professor an F on ‘Grade My Prof.com’, saw that, despite only teaching for a few years, My Professor already had enough reviews to merit a low F rating on the site, and swore to never take a class with My Professor again. I retook A&P I with another teacher and ended up with the highest grade in the class. And then I aced the next. Then the next. And the next. I ended up transferring to a much better school than I should have been able to enroll. All because The Master, fuck this is hard but I just need to get through this, delivered on that promise. The Master dragged me, kicking and screaming, into becoming a student that would succeed. And you, monster, would drag The Master here when it is blatantly obvious that this will be **** for us all? Fuck you sideways with a sandpaper and razorwire wrapped dildo!”

Dinah turns to stomp away. “I loved the drama, cutie pie, so I let you rant. Now tell us when was the last time you got your freak on and who’d you like to fuck. As the kids would say, Spill. Some. Tea. Now.”

Dinah raises a fist, then stops. That smug face needs to be caved in, but she doesn’t have the strength. “Fine. Last time I had sex was 3 years ago, another single lady doctor I met at a conference; I generally don’t get out much. Scarlet, Tina, and the gym bunny girl that was rubbing her face on my butt all look delightful. Skye and Añil look both a little too young for me and way too naive for this nightmare. We done?”

“We’re done with your interview, cutie pie. But you are wrong about that second pattern. The Master is connected to all of you; it’s just that some have more obvious connections than others. Speaking of obvious connections, let’s meet that gym bunny...”

Dinah mopes over to the lounge chairs. Instead of sitting in what should be her chair, she stands over Scarlet. “It’s been an awful day and I need to cry for a bit. Do you mind?”

The redhead smirks a little, “Not at all. My lap is open for you.”

Dinah sits down on Scarlet’s lap, buries her face in the redhead’s left shoulder, and begins to blubber.

Compared to the pain of this, delivering a baby is nothing.