Monday morning, 8.05 on the 23rd of June and the sun shining brightly down on this neat suburban road that is Acacia Avenue. Neat, spry semi-detached houses on either side with their neat, well-tended lawns and shrubs. Everything in perfect order. Of course. Because in England in the 1990s if anything is not in perfect order there are very soon government officials round to check why. That is how citizens prefer their lives to be, neat and well-ordered; that message floods out through the various organs of the media, government-controlled of course, and citizens do not demur. If anyone does not agree with this state of things he is wise to keep it to himself — but why should anyone not want a neat and well-ordered existence? If you think back to how things used to be in earlier decades. Virtual anarchy.
Very shortly there will appear from all of these neat houses soberly-dressed male citizens, family salary earners, going off to their places of employment. Male citizens because married women are not encouraged to take out-of-the-home employment (indeed they are very strongly discouraged). Young unmarried women can take certain jobs of course but there are no females in this category in Acacia Avenue as it is a street set aside for your married couples, either with young children or as yet not any. So it is youngish adult males who will emerge, neatly and conservatively dressed and carrying their briefcases, to get into their neat little cars or perhaps walk smartly to the bus stop. Leaving behind them neatly dressed young wives to perform their routine housewifely tasks: the shopping, the children, etc. Yes, Acacia Avenue is a pleasant well-ordered community, a microcosm of the country as a whole.
Number 14 is halfway along on the left. It is typical, but then they are all typical or pretty much so. It is the residence of Mr and Mrs Roger Summerbee. Roger and Amanda are 23 and 21 respectively and have been married for two years. To be perfectly typical they would probably each be a year or two older and have one or two small children by now. Not every household is completely typical but when there is variation from the norm the country-wide computer system will pick it up and ask a question. And it has asked a question about this latter point regarding the Summerbees, namely that Amanda Summerbee is now married for two years but is not registered as either having a child or as being pregnant. It is as a result of this that Number 14, and Mrs Amanda Summerbee in particular, will this morning have a visitor.
The visitor will be an official from the Population Assessment Division of the Medical and Human Health Department. He is due at 9.15, which means in a well-run, well-regulated state that this is when he will arrive. Amanda Summerbee at 8.05 getting husband Roger’s breakfast is already nervous. There is not really any reason to be nervous, or so Amanda is telling herself. It is not as if she and Roger have done some deliberately, anti-social act such as, when they have been attested as a perfectly normal and healthy couple capable of child-bearing, using some form of contraceptive device or method so as to prevent Amanda getting pregnant. That would be something to be nervous about, if Amanda had to admit that to the official, but she hasn’t. It is just that as yet… nothing has happened.
Amanda’s nervousness has made itself evident to Roger and he is doing his best, whilst consuming his coffee and toast, to reassure her. Amanda is a very pretty young woman with lustrous black wavy hair and a shapely slim-waisted, curving figure. The latter is contained this morning in a tightly-belted white towelling dressing gown. Normally Amanda would be dressed at this time of the morning but today of course there is the visit of the official. That is why Amanda has the dressing gown on — with underneath it nothing except herself. That is how she has been told, over the phone, that the official will want her.
Roger Summerbee finishes his coffee and glances at his watch. It is time to go up and brush his teeth and then go out and start the car. The train will leave the station precisely on time and likewise will arrive precisely on time, and he himself must follow his schedule precisely. There is no room for error in a properly run state.
Roger gets up and puts his arms round Amanda, telling her once again that the visit is routine, there is nothing to be nervous about. Though he says this Roger Summerbee is aware that government officials can be unpleasant, can use their official power to be brusque, or demanding. If an official wished, on a visit to an attractive young woman in her own home… Yes, there is no doubt that Amanda could have an unpleasant time. But there is nothing she can do about it or that he (Roger) can do about it. Any sort of complaint would be quite out of the question.
Roger’s hand feels Amanda’s shapely body beneath the towelling robe. He can feel she has no other garment on. She has presumably been told to wear just this. For the official’s examination or whatever else it is he has to do. Roger does not know any details of what Amanda has been told and does not want to know. He has to keep his mind on his job when he is at work. He is a computer programmer and the job requires full attention all the time, he can’t afford to have worrying distractions.
He reassures Amanda again. There is nothing to worry about. Roger kisses her, tasting Amanda’s soft and this morning frightened mouth. His hand slides down to her ripe bottom, bare beneath the single thin layer. He feels a dart of arousal. The thought of opening the gown and here against the kitchen table having a quick blood-surging screw. But the thought of course is out of the question, his schedule in no way allows time for such an interruption, he should not have permitted the thought even to enter his head. Willing his semi-erection to subside he lets go of Amanda and picks up his briefcase. His mind must be cleared of any disruptive thoughts — of Amanda’s hotly desirable body, of her meeting shortly with this official. Until it is 5.30 Roger’s mind must be only on the intricacies of his computer programme.
The black Ministry car pulls up outside Number 14 at precisely 9.15. Amanda, who has been watching for it from behind a curtain, experiences a surge of panic. She has been feeling panic on and off ever since Roger left an hour ago. She has tried to do things, household tasks, to distract her mind but apart from the washing-up has not really managed anything. Not that the house is in anything but perfect order, her visitor will not be able to find cause for complaint in that direction. Trying to keep a grip on herself she moves away from behind the curtain as the figure emerges from the stationary car. A man in a dark suit. His name she knows is Mr Granby but Amanda has not met him before. She has had experience of other Government officials though. Which is why when Amanda tells herself there is nothing to worry about, and when Roger tells her the same thing… she knows it is not true.
He is an ordinary-looking man in his dark blue suit. About 45 perhaps, a man with no noteworthy features, the typical faceless man from the Ministry perhaps. He has sharp eyes, though, that keenly take Amanda in — her face, her figure guessed at under the tight-belted white gown — when she opens the door to him. Leading him through into the lounge Amanda can feel the keen eyes boring into her.
Should she offer him some coffee; is that the correct thing? Might it make things easier? She can’t remember if she did the other times. She was scared then, and with reason as it turned out. That wasn’t this man or this man’s department, but… Amanda doesn’t offer coffee, she is almost it seems struck dumb for one thing. Just stuttering out some sort of answers to this man, Mr Granby. As he questions her, referring to his file.
They are seated on the settee in the lounge and he has straightaway started on a list of questions in his file. ‘To establish the background,’ he says at the outset. They are intimate, highly personal questions. Details of Amanda’s and Roger’s sex life. All the details. Positions. Frequency. Foreplay. Achieving orgasm. Everything. Then, is there anyone else, any other sexual partner? Amanda says a stammering ‘No.’ — which Mr Granby seems unwilling to believe. He seems generally unwilling to stop probing for more and more details on all sexual aspects.
Finally he does turn to other areas: mental health; no problems there? Physical health: does she keep herself in good physical shape? What does she do? Amanda says she swims twice a week, also attends an aerobics class. Mr Granby grunts and notes something in his file. Then tells her to stand. Is she dressed as she was told: nothing underneath? Amanda says yes. ‘Take the gown off then. Let me see you.’
Her pulse begins to race again.
Something now, some action. Unpleasant action, after the unpleasant questioning. But naturally she does as she is told. Stands and slips off the dressing gown. To display her nude and shapely figure. Amanda does take exercise and her beautiful shape, slim-waisted, high firm boobs, ripe but taut bottom, shows it. The man makes her turn slowly in front of him. Then tells Amanda to come close. His hand takes hold of her trembling bottom.
‘I shall need to carry out some tests now, Mrs Summerbee. An internal check first. Did you have intercourse last night as you were instructed?’
Amanda says yes. The inspector is getting to his feet. He tells her to lie on the settee, with her legs up over one arm. Her legs over the arm and spread wide… Amanda does it. When a Ministry official tells you to do something… you simply do it. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t feeling anything but dreadful, shakily apprehensive of what is now to come. He has taken something from his black briefcase. Pale pink in colour, of rubber or plastic. It looks like a large, erect male organ. A very large one. This obscene-looking object Amanda realises with a shudder is to go up inside her.
His hand comes between her parted thighs. To Amanda’s pussy. Fingers opening her. His impersonal voice tells her to spread her thighs wider. He has to get her aroused, wet, so that the syringe will go in. Otherwise it is going to be very painful, he tells her. Like a painful rape, he says with a cold mirthless laugh. Perhaps because she is in such a state Amanda doesn’t get wet at once. Mr Granby continues doing the mortifying things with his hand, working at the lips of her sex tunnel, at her clit. Getting impatient that she doesn’t respond immediately. He’ll put it in whether she’s wet or not, he tells her. But eventually the sweating Amanda is responding… and his hand is replaced by that obscene thing. The smooth blunt end of it pushing in. Her frightened yelp. She is wet but it is going to be too big. Brusquely he tells her to be quiet… and get her legs wider.
It is painful and intensely dreadful but he does what he has to do: slides the awful thing right up her to take his sample. It comes out again and Amanda is told to get up. Now he needs to check her fitness. She is to put on ankle socks and trainers but nothing else. He wants to see her exercising.
Hot-faced and shaky from what has just happened — Amanda can still feel that awful thing — she goes ahead of him up the stairs. Into her bedroom where her socks and trainers are. The inspector decides the bathroom will be suitable, it has a clear open space at one end. He makes her do some stationary poses first, standing with her arms stretched high, and with her legs wide apart, then bending fully over. While his hands run over her, checking her body’s firmness.
This takes quite a while; Mr Granby is very thorough in his work, his hands checking every part of Amanda in the various positions. When at last he is through with these checks he is ready for the exercising proper. Nude apart from the ankle socks and trainers, the pretty young housewife is put through a highly vigorous work-out, in which just about every muscle in her body is made to work to its limit. Way beyond their limits, it seems to despairing Amanda who, notwithstanding her swimming and aerobics, is before long dripping with perspiration and in a state of sheer exhaustion.
Mr Granby seated on a bathroom stool has watched it all — Amanda’s firmly bobbing boobs, her desperately high-kicking legs, her pretty face increasingly close to the absolute limit of what she can take — with calmly appraising eyes. When at last he is through — judging perhaps that Amanda is now right at the limit — he tells her to stop. Getting to his feet he slides his hand over her sweat-slick body. They will go back into the bedroom he tells her.
In the bedroom Amanda is told the tests are over now except for one last one. Mr Granby gives her that humourless little laugh again. ‘Last but not least,’ he says. And tells her to lie face-down over the edge of the bed. Somehow, with her breathing still gaspy from the bathroom ordeal, Amanda can guess what this last test is going to be. She could see it in Mr Granby’s eye when he ran his hand over her sweat-wet tits in the bathroom. A look that said her visitor was not only the impersonal civil servant, there were hot urges and desires lurking in him too. As there had been in the other two Ministry officials who had found reason to visit Number 14 Acacia Avenue while Roger was out at work. What they wanted before they went… was the same as Mr Granby wanted now. And now, as before, Amanda can only submissively co-operate.
Mr Granby when he has finished fucking Amanda says, ‘Yes, maybe that will do the trick. If not…’
Roger when he gets back from work does not ask about the visit beyond a cursory query: he doesn’t wish to know details although he knows it may well have been an unpleasant ordeal. Amanda for her part has no wish to talk about it either. The ordeal is over. It was quite as bad as she had anticipated, even worse in fact. But it is over. No, she certainly didn’t want to talk about it.
At least she hoped it was over. There was of course what Mr Granby said right at the end. He might consider sending her on a two-week stay to a Reproduction Centre. Amanda knows about Reproduction Centres of course. Where a young woman inmate gets up only for meals and brief spells of exercise, and otherwise spends all her time in bed. In another form of exercise: more or less continually mating with different males, all of them chosen for their attested high fertility counts.
Should she tell Roger that?