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“I don't know why you wanted us to come to Starbucks if you didn't want to order anything,” my mother said. “We've got a lot we could be doing at home.”
“I asked you to come to Starbucks because I didn't want you to make a scene, and because this Starbucks in particular is close to where I'm going next.”
“Where are you going, what are you doing!?” demanded my father. “You're not leaving school, are you? Not one semester from graduation!?” I was, but I figured the point was moot now. Anyways, it was the prospect of facing the adult world at 18 with a college degree and no plan which set me to examining on my life, to deciding on the course of action I was not committed to.
I said nothing, trying to gather my thoughts.
“At least promise you're going to finish your final exams for this semester,” my mother pleaded, clearly not understanding what was going on.
Getting to skip one more round of finals, that was certainly a perk of doing this, and yet if my birthday had come a few weeks later, I imagine my own perfectionism would have still forced me to take them, as I'd felt compelled to do my best in all my courses right up until today, my birthday, the day I legally could make good on my plans for the rest of my life.
I shook my head. “Look, I love you, and thanks for eighteen wonderful years, but this is goodbye. Tell Katie I love her too.”
“Goodbye?” my father asked. “We won't see you again.”
“Immediately after this I'm getting myself liquidated, so no, you won't see me again.”
“I don't understand.” My mother shook her head—she would probably "not understand" until her dying day. But now I was an adult, and her refusal to understand anything that didn't fit with her plans no longer mattered.
“I want to help people,” I explained.
“There's lots of ways you can help people that don't require you to be emancipated—or liquidated,” my father protested.
“This does, and you'll be happier if you don't know what happens after. Just believe me when I tell you you'd rather not know what will happen afterwards.”
“You're going to donate your organs, aren't you?”
“Nothing like that, at least not for a good twenty years by my calculations, possibly more. But there's some other ways where—legally—I can only help people if I'm legally liquidated.”
“Like some of the restrictions on human research, where only creatures can serve? You're smart! You could be a researcher!”
“I'm lazy; I don't want to be a researcher. And for some of those trials they don't have enough subjects of my age. But I'll do other things too.”
“Adam!” called the barista.
“Dad,” your coffee's ready, I said. “And I'm going to go. I'll leave you with my bag, and my phone, and I don't really need my coat either.”
“It's cold outside!” objected my mother.
“I'm not going far,” I told her, adding my hat and scarf to the pile. Ridding myself of everything except a light layer of clothes and the folder, I walked out the door as quickly as I could. I realized that even at this should distance, with the wind, the cold was unpleasant, but I knew that I'd soon be dealing with potentially worse with less—a lot less, infinity less even, and forever.
***
I successfully made it the three blocks to the Planned Parenthood office without dying of hypothermia.
“Today's my eighteenth birthday, I'd like to have myself liquidated for the public benefit, I was told that you guys can help with that.”
The receptionist looked at me with resignation, and nodded. She rummaged through her file cabinet, and then pulled out a piece of paper, which she stuck on the clipboard together with another paper from a stack. She took a pen and handed the lot to me.
The first form asked my name and addressed and medical history and reason for visiting. I didn't see “self-liquidation” and so circled “other” and wrote it in. The second form was considerably shorter. It asked which of a variety of reasons I was considering for self-liquidation.
Live research was first and I checked it. Beneath it it asked if there were any restrictions. There was a box for “unrestricted,” a box for “standard animal review board,” and a box for “other.” I wavered over that and left it blank. After live research came live tissue donation. I checked the boxes for blood and eggs. After some wavering, I checked the box for bone marrow too. Now was not the time to be selfish; I wouldn't leave anything unchecked unless there was a good reason for that. Under the same reasoning, I checked the box for “other organs: live donation” and wrote in “any/all.” The after a moment of thought, I added “not while I have other uses.”
The next box was for surrogacy. I drew a question mark next to that. The box for service animal I left blank. I wasn't entirely certain of the point of voluntary service creatures: trading the life of one human to improve the life of another. I left blank “euthanize for tissue harvest” as well. That was better than the service animal thing, but not by much. Finally I came to other, which I checked and wrote in “education.”
I signed the boilerplate noting that this was only a preliminary assessment, and the final contract to liquidate me would be drawn up after consultation with a professional or professionals. I brought it up to the receptionist. Then I waited. There were magazines, but I figured that in my new role I would have to get used to boredom. I decided to attempt meditation. I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath.
***
“Selena Harris?” My calm was interrupted by the sound of my name. I opened my eyes and saw that over forty minutes had passed. I also saw a man in a sweater-vest and tie, sporting a closely-cropped full beard, and looked down at me. “Are you Selena Harris.”
“That's me!” Suddenly out of my trance, I found myself feeling … excited? Then I added “For now.”
“Come this way Miss Harris.”
I followed him to a somewhat spartan office, but with decent chairs and a potted plant. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks, and then began to pull my shirt over my head.
“What are you doing?” he asked me, as I finished with my shirt and began on my pants.
I had left my underwear at home, meaning I was fully naked before I answered. “Undressing.” I began to fold my pants.
“Why did you undress?” he asked me.
“I'm here to liquidate myself,” I told him. “I won't be allowed to wear clothes soon anyways, I figured I'd start now to show that I'm serious.”
“You will be legally dead when you liquidate yourself; what will be left is just an animal, legally speaking. In general, people remain dressed until the point of liquidation.”
“I'm more comfortable like this,” I told him, as I folded the shirt and sat down on top of my former clothes. “Since I'm barely eighteen and technically legally disabled, I know one of the first things you're probably going to do is challenge my capacity to make this decision, but I've thought it through and know what I want to do.”
“Did you make that decision after watching Anya Zelda's video about the matter?” he asked, having apparently decided not to skip the nudity issue for the low blow he hoped would make me reconsider.
“Not right after. I thought about it a lot, and did a lot of research. And I know what I want to do.”
“You put a question mark next to surrogacy.”
“I know what surrogacy is; but it seems like it's only helping one person at a time is that right? If so, I feel like it's not the best use of me. My goal is to do the greatest good for the greatest number.”
“If you're talking moral philosophy at eighteen you're clearly very smart. You would do the greatest good for the greatest number by going to college and putting your mind to good use.”
“My mother said the same thing, but I'm lazy. My uncle is smart, he went to college, but he's lazy too and hadn't accomplished anything. Same for my cousin. Same for a lot of people in my family. I know that there's a lot of things that we need people for that we can't use people for, and some of them could help a lot of people.” I decided not to mention that I was actually one semester and another set of semester's finals away from a degree: it would only encourage him.
“You wrote-in 'education' on the things you want your animal remains used for. I assume that was inspired by Anya Zelda too. Have you ever had sex?”
“Before I decided to do this, I tested the idea. I found four boys from my class, and let them experiment with me.”
“Well, that's more than most of the Anya Zelda fans have done.”
“Oh, I'm not a fan. I hate her music. But I thought she had a good point.”
The man sighed, and left to fetch a manager.
***
His manager was a large, matronly woman clearly into middle-age and I suddenly felt more self-conscious in front of her than I had in front of this man. I had to resist the urge to cover myself.
“She's barely of age, wants to liquidate herself, and won't put her clothes back on.”
The matronly woman sighed. “Anya Zelda again?” she asked.
Miss Harris insists her decision is unconnected.
They went out again and there was some whispering. Then both of them disappeared down the hall, and I sat awkward in my own nakedness in the back offices of the local Planned Parenthood.
***
“OK,” he said. “I think the best owner for your animals remains would be the Medical School. They would be useful for medical students needing to practice examination procedures, and they be able to enroll you in studies which they determine are not likely to cause severe harm. They've also agreed to loan you out to the local schools in the area for sex-ed classes. You may also be leant out for other purposes, as they see fit.
“While you are being used for strictly education classes, you will have an interuterine device installed which will block your cycle. At some point—likely in your mid to late twenties—they will take you off the pill and begin harvesting your eggs. Your blood will be harvested as frequently as possibly, however your bone marrow will only be harvested if vitally needed. They reserve the right to harvest unnecessary organs at any time, but they probably won't until you're less useful for other things.
“Once your eggs are past usefulness, you may be used for a few years as a surrogate, most likely for experimental fetuses which cannot be obtained any other way. Even into old age you will be be potentially useful for gerontological research, however the sale of your animal remains are for the use of her reproductive system. Once menopause is passed, the most likely decision is that they will terminate the life of your animal remains in order to collect the organs while they are still usable.”
“Sounds good, I said.”
“Do you have any questions?”
I shook my head. “I did my research, and you answered all my questions. Please liquidate me.”
“Very well.”
He left, and returned with two women. “This is Tess, she's a notary public. This is Val, she will serve as an additional witness.” He then proceeded to go over the contract in great detail, and I confirmed my signature. “She's legally dead,” he said. “Collar her and take her out back, to wait for the guy from the University.”
***
Val snapped something around my neck and a leash in front, and I followed. Down a hall and some corridors we went. She stopped in her office and donned a coat, a hat and a scarf, then she took me down another set of doors. It was freezing out, and my nipples immediately hardened to points. The tarmac was unpleasant against my soft feet, but we didn't move far from the door. Val pulled out a e-cigarette, I squatted down beside her. I'd practiced my squatting, since creatures were forbidden chairs and the ground was often an unpleasant place to sit. There were two ways to do it: the more stable way involved spreading the legs and bracing the hands against them. In this weather, that would have invited the cold to nearly every part of my body. I assumed the other position, pulling my legs together and my knees against my chest, wrapping my arms around them.
I tried to meditate. The cold made it hard to find my focus, but the cold also made me sleepy, and I managed to find another trance-state. I'd open my eyes whenever a car pulled up and watch the people across the parking lot. Finally, a silver Prius pulled up, and an impossibly handsome man got out and walked over. “Hi, I'm Calvin, here from the Medical School. This is the creature?”
“Took you long enough,” said Val. “Any rate, here's her paperwork, have fun with her.” She handed him my leash.
“What should I call her?” he asked.
“Whatever you want,” she said, “she's your property now.”
“The Med School will probably name her,” he said, “do you know what the human who left her was called?”
“I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Confidentiality and all. Well, thanks. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn't.” Then, after a pause. “It's Val.”
“OK, thanks Val, have a great day,”
“You too Cal,” she said.
“C'mon girl.” He took my leash, and as I stood up, I realized suddenly that my bladder was fully to bursting. I also realized that I had no idea when I'd be invited to relieve it. Halfway across the parking lot, I made a decision. I turned as best I could from Val and Cal, squatted down, and began to relieve myself then and there. Cal tugged at my leash, but for voluntary creatures the collars were really a formality, and it did nothing.
“Just because she's legally an animals doesn't mean she has to act like one,” said Val.
“I mean, it's not like she could ask us for the nearest little creature's room,” said Cal. Then, seeing me get up “You done girl?” he asked, and despite my new status I found myself mortified. Why did he have to call attention to it? Why did Val have to call attention to it? If I were a dog, would they even have commented?
He opened the driver's side door and gestured to the passenger's seat. “Get in,” he told me, and I climbed over and tried to squat on the seat. He laughed. “You can just sit. Yeah, creatures aren't supposed to sit on chairs, but I'm not supposed to have you in the front seat either. I'm living dangerously today. I sat down. He reached across and buckled me in. The belt cult against my bare skin. “I'm not living that dangerously.”
***
It seemed like we had barely started moving before we were there. He parked in the parking garage, and I once again had to scramble gracelessly over the front seat. I kind of had to pee again, but didn't want him—handsome as he was—to watch me at it twice in the course of a car ride. I followed him up some stairs, across a bridge, and into the building. Never before had I noticed how much debris there was even on concrete.
He lead me into an exam room, standard physical room. “Climb on that table and show me your feet,” he said. I did that by getting on all fours. He went over a sink and wet down a towel. He lifted my left foot slightly and wiped down the sole. He disposed of the towel, and repeated the process with my right foot. Between his looks and the new experience I found myself more aroused than I had ever been in my life, and his cleaning of my feet made me more so. I pointed to my vagina.
“Do you have an issue there, girl? There will be a doctor along soon to give you a complete physical, he'll find it then.”
I pointed to his crotch, then spread the lips of my pussy to show what I had to offer him.
“Oh.” He seemed taken aback. “You really are like an animal now.” His tone hurt, like even with the urination, he hadn't quite believed it. “You're what, like twelve, fourteen?” That was an issue I'd often had: autistic people often look young for their age.
I rocked up on my knees and cupped my hands so that my arms lifted my breasts. I looked up at him, whimpered, and tried to make my best puppy-dog eyes.
“I'm not into teenagers, human or creatures, but even if I were, the terms of of the bequest that left us to you state that you can only be used sexually by people who have no sexual history, to ensure you don't catch an STD.” He patted my head paternally. “We wouldn't want that, would we? So we'd better stick to the rules.” With that, he dipped out of the room.
Alone and naked on the table in the exam room, I could have masturbated, I wanted to masturbate, but I had just offered that naked body to a man like I was a bitch in heat, and his gentle, casual rejection left me absolutely mortified. I slumped face-forward across the table, my head hanging off it.
***
I was like that when the physician found me.
She was a businesslike woman in her thirties, while her assistant was a fat young man who seemed to leer at me hungrily. He might make use of me sexually. I wondered if I wanted him to. Resolutely, I reminded myself that as a sexual education too, I really wouldn't have any say in who used me. I wouldn't have the opportunity to proposition him. At the very thought of it, I found myself climbing up on my hands and knees.
“Good,” she said, “stay like that.” She took a thermometer which she inserted in my anus, and and then said something to her assistant. “Oh, sit up now.”
I rocked up onto my knees.
“Turn around.”
I did, and sat down on my knees again.
She examined my eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and listened to my heart. “Seems a bit fast; but today must have been rather exciting for her. We'll have to keep an eye on that. Legs over the side.”
I sat down on the edge of the table now
She tested tapped each knee in turn. “Lie back.”
I did.
She slowly moved her hands up and down my belly. “OK, can you lift your legs and tuck them under your arms?”
I lifted my legs in the air, but it took me a moment to figure out what to do with them. I tucked my knees under my arms, giving her easy access to my vagina. I hoped her assistant was getting a good look. The speculum was cold, but not unpleasant, but I held my legs steady.
She turned to her assistant. “Get her vitals, then take her out front.” I continued to hold myself in the position, with my vulva exposed to her assistant after she left. The moment she was out the door, I let go of my legs, dropping them over the side, and pulled aside my labia so he could see what I wanted him to do.
“OK, hop on the scale he told me.”
I raised my head a bit and smiled at him, still holing my vulva open.
“Scale,” he said.
Reluctantly, I hopped down, then decided to give it one last go. I tugged on the sleeve of his shirt, then bent over until my head was between my legs. I smiled at him and spread my vulva again.
“Are you trying to saying you want me to fuck you?”
I swung up and nodded my head excitedly.
He patted my head. “That's cute, and soon you may make some luck boys very happy. But for now, hop on the scale.” He tosselled my hair just a bit.
I made a pouting face, trying to hide the very real pain of my second rejection today, 0 for 2 in my birthday suit on my birthday, offering my body eagerly to strange men. I climbed on the scale, facing away from him in the hopes my true feelings would not shine through. He took my weight without comment.
“Turn around so I can get your height.”
I did, but slouched.
“Stand up straight.”
I stood up, and he took my height.
“OK, let's get your blood pressure,” he said. He didn't invite me to take a seat, but I was sure my blood pressure was a little high. He took the leash from the chair and fastened it to my collar.
He then led me down the hall not to the desk, but to the men's room. There were two men on urinals at either side, but ignoring them, he lead me up the one on the end, a low one. He held the cup beneath me above the urinal, and I filled it, halfway when he ordered me “stop!” I kept going. He pulled it away, and I finished relieving myself at the men's urinal.
He put the urine cup in in a collection tray, and went to the sink to wash his hands. He scrubbed with unusual thoroughness. Was this because of me, or did all medical people wash up this way? He toweled off and lead me back out the door, where he stopped to grab a drink at the water fountain. Then he turned to me and held down the button on the lower one. Realizing I was parched, I bent down and drank my fill.
He then led me back dow the hall to the reception desk. “This is the creature that was donated,” he told the receptionist. “What should I do with her now?”
“Leaver her here until we lock up for the night,” she said, “bring her around and tie the leash on to something. He lead me behind the reception desk, and found a support pole which he tied the leash onto. He then left, and the receptionist went back to her work.
I squatted down in the expansive, spread-legged position, and watched her work, which consisted of browsing Facebook, it looked like. Then I looked around and took in the rest of the room. As I did so, I became acutely aware of how aroused I was. I was no longer too embarrassed to masturbate. At this point, I was past embarassment. But this was also a public place, and there were people around. But I wasn’t people anymore. Did it matter what I did?” I reached my right hand in between my vulva, and began massaging. I rocked a bit as the pleasure grew, trying not to make much noise. Then, suddenly—
“No!”
I looked up startled. The receptionist was glaring at me. I didn’t know what authority she had in this hierarchy, but she certainly outranked me.
Miserably, I slumped and squatted. I watched the receptionist out of the corner of her eye, and saw that her glance kept darting back to me. I tried to find my calm in spite of my arousal. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out. I realized that my legs hurt, and sat down on the floor, I pressed my the soles of my feet against each other and rested my hands on my knees. Then, after reconsideration, I pulled my legs up together and my feet up against me, and wrapped my arms around my legs.
***
I shifted position several more times, and the sun began to sink in the windows. It was dark outside when a short, somewhat pudgy woman with blonde hair and glasses came up to the receptionist. “I'n here for the new creature we got, to take her to the animal labs.”
“She's behind the desk,” the receptionist told me.
I was leaning back on my hands with my legs spread wide in front of me; as she came in I swung up and planted my hand between my legs, now leaning forward. I smiled up at her.
“She looks so young,” the blonde woman observed.
“She probably is,” said the receptionist, “a lot of Anya Zelda fans are.”
“I can't imagine why a girl that age would want to do—that,” said the blonde, “I hate it when people see me in a swimsuit and now anybody can y'know.”
“See her naked?” said the receptionist. “It goes beyond that. This one is going to be use to train medical students on gynecological exams, and moonlight as a sex doll for adolescent virgins in her spare time. There's something wrong in the head with the ones who become creatures, it's probably all for the best.”
“She can hear you!” said the blonde in a shocked voice.
“She doesn't care what I say about her, do you girl?” said the receptionist.
I smiled at receptionist, then the blonde.
“So she can't understand what we're saying?”
“She understands, and will listen to what you tell her to, she just doesn't care unless it's an order.”
“I don't understand that at all,” said the blonde. The receptionist didn't respond, and the blonde after a moment took my leash.”
“Up girl,” she said.
I stood up, feeling oddly tall beside her; she could not have been an inch over 5'0", likely shorter.
“Does she have a name?” she asked the receptionist.
“Not yet.”
The blonde lead the way down the hall to an elevator. We descended to the ground floor, and she lead me into the foyer. There were a number of people around, but none seemed to notice me. We went through the inner doors, and the drop in temperature became palpable. She paused to zip up her coat pull down her hat, and wrap her scarf so that it was covering half her face. Then she pushed through the door backwards, and watched me follow her outside.
The air was frigid, but almost immediately I felt warm with arousal as well. We walked down the sidewalk for a block and a half, then turned left and walked another two and a half blocks. The cold began to creep in even at that short distance and the wind bit. I resolved to show no reaction, and followed her without flinching. She opened the door with a card and went in, then she blocked the door as she stared at me. She polled down her scarf.
“How do you stand it? You're naked and not even shivering, and I'm wearing all this and freezing.
My body, having lost the small warmth from walking, chose that moment to give an involuntary shiver.
“Oh, you are! Come in, I'm sorry.” She backed away and let me in, then lead me through the second door.
Then she let me in, and we went through the second door into the lobby.
“We don't have a cage for you yet, so we're putting you in the bathroom.” On the door was a deadbolt which looked freshly installed—it probably was if they'd set it up for me. She opened the door and I went. She followed. She explained everything to me as if I were an idiot, but then she was likely wondering what kind of idiot chooses the life I had. “There's a dog bed and some toys, according to our primate standards.”
There were two metal bowls on the floor, one already had some dry biscuits in them. “This is monkey chow; your dinner. We haven't figured out what your diet will be, but monkey chow is expensive so you may not have to eat much of it.” She filled a bowl with water. “This is fresh water, of course you can always get more from the sink. Also, we'd prefer if you use the toilet instead of the floor; it's only illegal for creatures to use public facilities, this one is fine.” I noticed they'd taken off the seat though.
I squatted down by the dog bed. She unhitched my leash and nervously stroked my hair. “Oh, I almost forgot. “Do you want a Snickers? You need to eat it now so I don't get in trouble. She took one out of her pocket and unwrapped it, and offered me a piece. I took it and ate with gusto, as the monkey chow was looking un-appetizing. She broke off another piece and offered it to me, and another. The last piece I didn't chew or swallow, but rather held in my mouth. She put the wrapper back in her pocket and turned off one light, leaving a much dimmer light which left everything in black-and-white. She locked the door on her way out.
I took out the last piece of Snickers out of my mouth to save for later. It felt kind of gross, but if the monkey chow was as I expected, I'd want to save it for after. I tried the monkey chow. It wasn't all that bad flavor-wise, just bland, but the texture was mildly unpleasant. I suddenly found myself ravenous, and finished the whole bowl, before eating my last piece of Snickers.
This done, I curled up in fetal position on the dog bed and tried to sleep. But I usually slept outstretched like a log—not to mention I was used to having sheets and blankets against the cold, and I didn't normally sleep naked. Though, of course, it wouldn't really be accurate to say I was naked now, would it? I was no more naked than a dog or cat, and like with dogs and cats, only weirdos with unhealthy fixations would think of dressing me in people clothes.
After much tossing about managed to fall asleep with only my head on the dog bed, the rest on the cold floor, though I certainly did not sleep well.
On my eighteenth birthday, I had ended my life, legally speaking. On that first day of my nineteenth year on this earth, the rest of my life began, with me sleeping fitfully my body, my bare skin, completely uncovered and exposed in the eerie half light of a hospital bathroom: the top half of me on a dog bed the bottom half of me on the cold, hard, hopefully clean tile of the bathroom floor.