Page 8 of The Female

“Human.”

He raises his eyes from the paper and looks me over with a slight frown. Why has my answer shocked him?

“Full human?”

“Yes.”

He nods but says nothing further. Instead, he begins to make note of my features. My nose crinkles as he labels my hair a mousy brown, and I purse my lips when he follows that up by describing my looks as “adequate.”

He could at least fill that in when I’m not here to see it.

“Can you read?”

“Yes.”

“How educated are you? Your best estimation is all we need.”

“I was taught the basics of the core subjects,” I respond, my cheeks reddening.

My parents did the best they could, but they weren’t highly educated themselves, and we stopped schooling once they became unsure how to do the work. We tried educational workbooks, but there are only so many a couple of childbearing age could buy before it seemed suspicious.

“Great, we’re almost done,” John assures me. “Number of sexual partners?”

“Zero.”

Considering I’ve been in hiding my entire life, I can’t imagine how he’d expect an answer other than that.

John hardly looks surprised as he writes that down. I hate him, but I’m a tiny bit glad he isn’t leering at me. This interaction feels nothing short of clinical, which isn’t what I expected.

“Are you aware of what sex is?” he asks. “We offer a health class for the females who don’t. It’s a fairly basic course. If you understand the mechanics, you probably don’t need it.”

I contemplate the offer.

“I know what it is,” I eventually say.

I’ve read enough of my mother’s romance novels to understand what happens between a man and a woman. The last thing I want is to attend a class and be reminded of what I’ll be forced to endure in a month.

John turns to the last page of the form.

“Sexual orientation?”

I shrug, not understanding why it even matters.

He continues to stare, not accepting that as an answer, and I resist the urge to say something snarky as I suck in a shaky breath and respond.

“I’m attracted to men.”

At least, I assume so. I haven’t exactly been around any, but I enjoy the look of the ones on the covers of my books.

“Any allergies?”

I shake my head.

John is quiet as he writes everything down, his handwriting near impossible to read. I want to rip the pen out of his hand and jab it into his eye, but I refrain.

“There are men available to you during your time here. Some women find it empowering to have sex with someone of their choosing before being sold,” he says. “It lowers your price, but we figure it’s the least we can do. If you’d like that at any point, reach out to your handlers and they’ll help you through that process.”

Handlers.

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