Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Magnificent Mysterians, Naked In School by DrBill

   INTRODUCTION

   This document was created by editing together excerpts of the journals
of two concurrent Program Participants.  Some parts of the originals were
redundant, and were edited to reduce the duplication.  The two were not
Partners in the usual sense, but were selected for reasons that will become
obvious.  It is hoped that this narrative will help advance understanding
of the operation and effects of The Naked In School Program.  The original
journals are in the archives of the Federal Office Of Social Awareness.

   Part 1

   Monday morning.  JOHN

   "...John Whittaker..."

   "Oh, no.  Oh, hell no!  Not that!  Not THIS week!" I began my silent
litany as the disturbingly familiar list of names was read off, I hoped
that at least Emily would be spared.  I gathered my bag and got ready to
leave.

   "...and Emily Watson, please report to the Main Office." So much for
that hope.  I glanced at Mr.  Brown, shrugged my shoulders, and shuffled
down the hall.  Maybe it wasn't.  Most of the names were people I knew were
in the upcoming Talent Show.  Maybe, just maybe, this had something to do
with that, instead.

   But I knew it didn't.  In my heart of hearts, I knew.  And I hated it.
And since I am writing this journal, you know as well.

   As far back as I can remember, I have been shy.  I am told that I was
the shyest boy in my kindergarten class, and by then it was nothing new.  I
was afraid to socialize.  And I was afraid to talk in class, even
(especially) when I was supposed to.  My grade reports were contradictory,
because I would do really well on most tests, but getting me to participate
in class was like pulling teeth.  If I had to give an answer, I would choke
it out in the fewest possible words.  If I was asked my opinion by the
teacher, I would just shrug.

   I didn't hate school.  Far from it.  I loved the books, the learning,
even the ancient educational videos and the teachers' lectures.  As I said,
I did well on most tests.  I just did not do well on anything that required
interacting with other students, teachers, or the like.

   I learned the tricks of invisibility.  You don't hide on the fringes,
you hide in the middle.  You don't dress in black or camouflage, you dress
like the average of every other boy your age (or girl, if you are one).  I
learned the faces and postures that encouraged people's eyes to slide right
past me.  The bullies ignored me because I seemed nonresponsive.  The
others did as well, for much the same reason.

   As time went on, my parents got very concerned.  While I didn't *feel*
lonely, they thought I must be the loneliest boy in the State or something.
They tried getting me involved in things, like dance classes and social
stuff.  No effect (other than sore legs).  They tried taking me to some
child shrinks, but the answer was always the same: nothing pathological.  I
was just shy.

   After their failures with summer camps, classes, programs, and just
about anything else they could think of, they heard some offhand comments
on tv and decided to see if I could get interested in magic.  One of the
local magicians was teaching classes to interested youngsters.  I had been
fascinated when I saw magicians on tv or on the stage, so I agreed to do my
best.  And I was hooked.  A lot of magic is the art of misdirection.  So
was a lot of my life.  It was a perfect fit.

   At first, my parents thought their nefarious plan was working.  When I
would demonstrate a trick or an act for them, I would seem confident and
comfortable.  I even got to the point where I was performing in front of
the Magic Club (made up of graduates of his classes and those of other
local magicians) and even demonstrating tricks at the local magic shops
sometimes.

   But then they started noticing that it did not carry through.  Any time
I wasn't doing my magic thing, I was back to my old ways.  And when I was
doing the magic, it was as though I was a different person.  A very
different person.  They started to worry about things like MPD, and so it
was back to the KidPsych circuit.  Again, the results were the same: no
MPD. No horrific mental disorders.  Just a well-honed mask I used for being
The Magician.  I had no problems with reality or identity, and I knew
exactly how artificial and superficial that persona was.  But when I was
just me, it was back to the same-old, same-old.

   The closest things to friends I had were other members of the club.  And
a lot of them were no better off socially than I was.  My closest friend
and fiercest rival was a girl named Emily.  Emily Watson.  As far as I
could tell, she was just as shy as I was.  If not more so.  She also
crafted a personality mask for when she was The Magician.  We spoke,
compared notes, and helped each other.  And we competed with each other. 
By high school, we were both in the same school.

   It was abundantly clear to both of us that there was no "there" there.
We were colleagues, and shared a fascination with magic.  And we were still
painfully shy.

   When we started thinking about the school Talent Show, the club
encouraged us to make it a joint act.  So we did.  Seeing us practice, our
parents got their hopes up again.  But that didn't last long.  They
recognized in her the same patterns they saw in me.

   Our skills in magic were somewhat complimentary.  While we were both
competent with the basic skills and showmanship, I was more into designing
gimmicks and hard props, while she was more into costuming and soft (cloth)
props.  Between us, we could outfit a fair sized show.  We even had some of
our products sold by the local shops.

   All this was going through my mind as I numbly made my way to the
office. As I had practiced, I became aware of my surroundings again as I
approached the door.  Even there, I was largely invisible.

   "Can I help you ...?"

   "John Whittaker.  I was paged?"

   She glanced down at her list, then gestured me into the conference room.
I recognized the few people already in there, from the Talent Show
rehearsals.  I found a strategically placed seat, then dived back down
inside myself to wait.

   EMILY

   *Both* of us?  Now?  Someone up there must hate us!  It is bad enough
that I have to go through this horror, but John?  He was probably the only
person in the school who was even more shy than I was.  He was also my
partner in the Talent Show magic act, and this was *really* going to screw
that up.  Our costumes were a major part of the act!  I spent weeks getting
them right, not to mention all that rehearsal time.

   This really sucks!

   I grabbed my stuff and made for the door.  I let my body and face slip
into the familiar "girl urgently headed somewhere official" pattern, and
made for the office.  I had learned long ago that people barely noticed
students acting that way.  And even when they did notice us, they virtually
never tried to interrupt our progress.  If they tried, we could pretend we
hadn't noticed them.  It's all part of what John calls the art of
invisibility.

   I hadn't always been this shy.  Apparently, when I was a toddler I was
very outgoing.  Then something happened.  I don't know what it was, but I
do remember my parents getting nervous when I was around other kids, and
that it quickly got very difficult to get myself to meet or deal with other
people.  By the time I started school, I was the shyest girl in class.  I
wasn't bothered by crowds, as long as nobody was paying attention to me. 
But being alone with a few people, or a center of attention, made me
physically ill.  The thought of someone deliberately touching my skin,
almost anywhere, was downright frightening.  Accidental bumps in the
hallway I could handle.  Go figure.

   After a few years of mixed report cards (learning: excellent. 
Participation: zilch), the 'rents dragged me to some odd men and women. 
Now I understand that they were psychotherapists, but then, they were just
strange adults.  I never saw them more than a few times, and I heard a
couple saying something about "hoping mechanisms" (which I now understand
was "coping" instead of "hoping"), something being understandable, and
"drama" (trauma).  It didn't do much for me directly, but they stopped
acting so frightened when I was around others.
Eventually, I ended up in a magic class with the other oddballs and
social cripples.  And I liked it.  After learning the basics, we all
started developing specialties.  Some did big performance things, stage
effects.  Others went into close-up routines.  And a few, like John and me,
went into design.  I found I had a flair for making things of cloth,
leather, vinyl, and the like.  It didn't hurt that my mother had been very
insistent (and persistent) about teaching me sewing and the like.  John was
a wizard (heh) with mechanicals, and had a real talent for building things.
Together, we came up with a few things that even impressed the pros.  How
many 14 year olds do you know who have had their products featured in a Las

Vegas headline magic act?

   We had also turned our talents toward preparing for our impending doom.
We pooled our efforts on a couple of special book bags, and other surprises
to get us out of Program inspired problems.

   As I walked into the office, I saw John disappear into the conference
room.  The secretary waved me in that same direction.  I think she
recognized me from having turned in some paperwork last week.

   I found a seat next to John.  I hung out the nobody's home sign with my
face, and tried to brace myself for what was to come.

   JOHN

   Once we were all there, Principal Murrow entered and told us all to sit.
"By now, I would imagine that you all know why you are here..." he started.


   Perry interrupted, with "To tell us that we are the most promising acts
in the Talent Show?  Or just to give us some more information about it?"
Perry (his real name is Peter, but with a last name of Mason and a
reputation as a "barracks lawyer", he gets called Perry.  I think a teacher
started it a few years ago, and it stuck) gave a big smile.  "Well, either
way, thank you."

   The principal looked startled, and then looked around the room again. 
An unpleasant look crossed his face, quickly banished.  His professional
expression returned in its place.  "No, you have been chosen for the
Program."

   Everyone but Emily, Perry, and I laughed.  That stopped abruptly when he
pulled out a stack of Program Pamphlets, the familiar naked couple clearly
visible, and handed them to Perry.  "Please pass these out, Mr.  Mason.  I
want everyone to spend the next few minutes reading these things carefully.
You will be held responsible for every rule in there.  When I come back, we
will discuss any questions you have." Perry made as though to say
something. "When I come back, Mr.  Mason."

   With that, he walked out the door.  He carefully closed it behind
himself.  Because of the position of my seat, I could look out around the
side of the blinds.  I saw him go to the front desk and ask for something.
He was handed a few pages, stapled together.  After flipping briefly
through the pages, he threw it back down on the desk.  One of his hands
balled briefly into a fist, but I could not see the other one.  He seemed
to compose himself, then turned back toward the room.  I picked up my
pamphlet and quickly glanced through it.

   He walked in and looked around the room.  When it looked like everyone
had at least skimmed through the Pamphlet, he asked "Any questions so far?"

   Perry piped up "Why us?"

   Principal Murrow looked startled, then a little unhappy.  "That is...  a
good question.  The selection process starts with a random list of students
who have not been participants and are not exempt.  The Committee then
narrows the list, working to avoid some kinds of predictable problems, and
assigning a higher priority to those they feel would most benefit from
their participation.  I am then given that list, and have a brief chance to
make last minute changes.  If I do that, I have to justify those changes
before the Committee at its next weekly meeting." He paused, and took a
deep breath.

   He slowly let it out.  "At least that is how it is supposed to work. 
For some reason, today's list didn't reach me in time for review.  But even
if it had, I might not have connected those names with an Irish Dance
group, a Magic act, and half a string quartet.  I did recognize one name
well enough to associate it with a comedian." He looked Perry in the eye.

   "I will look into this.  It does seem an odd coincidence.  In the
meantime, we need to deal with the issues at hand.  Congratulations.  You
have been selected as this week's participants in the Naked In School
Program.  Now, are there any questions about the rules?"

   A few came up.  Yes, the Talent Show is a school activity.  No, you
cannot withdraw now.  No, bras are not classified as safety equipment, even
when you are dancing vigorously.  Yes, you can carry your book bags, but
you can't cover yourself with them.  All pretty predictable.  And
predictably, it was Perry who came up with the unexpected one.

   "How do you appeal a refusal?"

   "You come to the office and let the secretary know why you are there. 
One of the vice principals or I will hear both sides and render a decision.
But it is better to go along with any reasonable requests in the first
place."

   "Can we appeal that decision?"

   "Yes.  You can appeal it to the Committee.  But even if they find in
your favor, they can decide that the appeal was frivolous and send you back
for more weeks in the program or detention." He turned and looked at the
violinist, who had asked an earlier question.  "And no, Mr.  Gunderson,
such detention would not disqualify you from the Talent Show."

   With no more questions, we were divided into partners, and three sets of
us were taken to different offices for the grand unveiling.  Since Emily
and I were in different grades, we knew we wouldn't be partners.  I was
paired up with the other sophomore, Bridget, who was one of the dancers. 
Emily was paired with Dave Gunderson for the freshman contingent.

   By the time we got to Vice Principal Ackerman's office, Bridget was
quietly crying.  I had dived so deeply into my "safe place" that I looked
like a zombie.  While she tried her best to be reassuring, she knew she had
potential problems.  She waved two of the PE teachers into her office with
us.  There were two chairs in front of her desk, each with a box in front
of it.  Each box contained a gym towel and a whistle on a lanyard.  After
we sat, she asked whether we had any more questions.  Bridget curled up in
a ball, crying and shaking her head.  "I was supposed to be exempt!  We
filed the papers and everything!  This can't happen." Bridget Donnache was
the daughter of some Irish diplomat.  She was going to school here for the
duration of his posting, probably about two years.  The dance act was, in
part, a gesture of friendship between the dance societies back there and
the dance schools here.  This could get messy.

   Ms.  Ackerman looked startled, and took a moment to check the files on
her desk.  "It says here that the exemption was denied.  A notice was
mailed to your parents.  I'm sorry, but we have no choice in the matter."
She wrote something on a sticky note and put it on the sheet she had just
read.  Reading upside down, I saw it said "Date?" and "Who?"

   I just sat there, deep in my safe place.  Then she told us it was time
to strip.  I just sat there passively, but Bridget shrieked and started
thrashing around.  The teachers stepped forward, glanced at both of us, and
moved to restrain Bridget.

   I was so deep in my safe place that I barely registered the blow that
knocked me from the chair.  I knew I wasn't badly injured, so I just sat
there on the floor.  The wrestling coach restrained Bridget, while the VP
and the girls' track coach undressed her.  I knew that I would attract more
attention by waiting than by undressing while they were dealing with her,
but I couldn't bring myself to move.  All too soon, she was huddled on her
chair again, naked and crying.  It was my turn.

   I kept enough awareness to keep contact with my bag, but otherwise just
let it happen.  Soon enough, I was standing there as naked as Bridget. 
Mechanically, I put my socks and shoes back on, slipped the whistle around
my neck, and tucked the towel in my bag.  Ms.  Ackerman was reminding
Bridget that she could not cover herself.  When she got to the part about
restraining her, and maybe even handcuffing her, her hands dropped away
from her body and she turned very pale.  The track coach helped her to her
feet.  She held her upright with one hand and put the whistle around her
neck with the other.  While she was doing that, the other coach was putting
her shoes and the towel in her book bag.

   We were led out into the office.  Emily was there, naked as the rest of
us.  She was in Magician mode, and it was time for me to do the same.  I
took a deep breath, thinking of stages and audiences.  I slowly blew it out
and straightened up.  It was time to make an entrance.  The audience was
waiting outside that door, and we were here to give them a show.  We were
in control.

   EMILY

   It could have been worse.  It was bad, but it could have been worse.  As
we were led to vice principal Pruitt's office, I sank deeper into my safe
place.  I just sat there while he went through the usual with Dave.  Then
came the moment of truth.  While Dave reluctantly stripped, I quietly
transferred my body loads to my bag.  I used putting the towel in there as
a cover.  It being Monday, most of them were there already.  I believe in
being prepared.  That done, I suffered a brief flash of someone touching me
as I was being undressed.  With that horror to motivate me, I undressed as
quietly as I could, moving as little as possible.  Most of me remained deep
in the safe place.  Since I did not have to remove my shoes or socks, I
finished much more quickly than Dave.  By the time his difficulties were
sorted out, I was sitting there wearing nothing but socks, shoes, and a
whistle.  And looking just as blank as before.

   Dave and Dr.  Pruitt each took one of my arms and lifted me from my
chair.  I didn't resist.  Dave led me out into the office.  One other pair
was already waiting there.  They were the seniors, the male dancer and the
female cellist.  Dave greeted her, and asked how she was doing.

   "Oh, just too goddamn wonderful for words." she snapped.  "How the hell
am I supposed to play?" Our partners talked for a few minutes, while I
stood there listening to other things.  Especially the muted hum of voices
outside the office door.

   A crowd was gathering.  An audience.  And we are the featured players.
If I was about to go on stage, it would be as The Magician.  I deepened my
breathing, and focused on the show.  John and I had prepared and rehearsed
for this entrance.  Not naked, of course.  We would be the performers,
confidently controlling and manipulating the crowd.

   As I shifted into my performing persona, the juniors came in.  I
critically evaluated my supporting cast.  Mary, one of the female dancers,
was not doing too well.  She looked as though she was trying hard not to be
sick.  Perry was Perry, mixing bad jokes with good advice.  He could help
draw attention where we wanted it.  Dave would probably draw a lot of the
female attention.  So would the cellist (what WAS her name, anyway?),
especially if she kept up the anger.  And even if she didn't keep it up,
she would attract a lot of the male attention out there.  That would help.

   Finally, John and Bridget came out.  Bridget looked like she was on the
verge of hysterics, and John was doing his walking zombie imitation.  He
caught my eye, then shifted into his Magician.  He gestured me over.

   "Bridget will need help.  She should have been exempted, and had every
reason to think she was.  What is the house like?"

   "Sounds like a big crowd." Ironically, that could make things easier. 
"As planned?"

   "A variation.  We screen Bridget, and when I make the distraction you
two vanish and head for the nurse's office.  Doable?"

   "Of course." I turned to Bridget and looked into her eyes.  She looked
back, seeming puzzled at the changes in John and me.

   "Listen to me, Bridget," I continued.  "When we go out the door, stay
close to the two of us.  When the people out there start with their
'requests', John will do something shocking.  There may be screams.  When
it starts to happen, I'll take your hand.  When the reaction spreads and
people are distracted, I'll take you to the nurse.  We can help you there.
Do you understand?"

   Bridget nodded, still deathly pale.  That would have to do.  They were
opening the door and telling us to go to class.

   We let a few of the others go first.  Then we made our entrance, with
Bridget close behind.  The rest followed her.  We kept an attitude of
slightly aloof control and concentration.  After a couple of moments of mad
scrambles, John got his cue.

   "Show me what 'ya got down there," came the demand.  I didn't even get
to see who she was.  I knew what was happening, so I took Bridget's hand.
To the person making the impolite request, it looked like John reached
down, pulled his genitals off, and pushed them close to her face for
inspection.  The reaction was better than we hoped: three girls screamed,
then tried to push their way back through the crowd.  We made our way
around one edge of the crowd, complaining (not too loudly, not too softly)
that we couldn't see who screamed, or why.  This had the effect of pointing
more heads toward the screams (and away from us).

   We got to the nurse's office without incident.  Plenty of people looked,
from a distance and in passing.  I doubted that many even recognized us.

   Stepping inside, I handed Bridget over to her (just as she broke down in
tears again), and suggested she help her calm down.  I also asked to talk
with her once she got her settled.  She nodded, and led Bridget to a
curtained off bed.  After getting her settled, and learning a bit of the
problem, she returned.

   JOHN

   That went well.  I knew that some of the more aggressive, and less
polite, girls would be among those at the front of the crowd.  I had
scouted some of the earlier grand entrances, and had a good impression of
the natures of the usual audience members.  As several girls approached, I
turned my body toward one of the ringleaders.  With my prop compressed in
one hand, I allowed her to make her demand.  I reached down, tucked myself
back, and let the prop expand in my hand.  I made a brief production of
pulling it off my body, until I was sure it had fully expanded.  Then I
jerked my hand outward, as though they had suddenly come loose, and brought
my hand up to her face.  It was a near perfect replica of my cock and
balls, hand detailed to stand up to brief but close inspection.  I had even
detailed it with some of my real pubic hair.

   She screamed.  And because she did, her friends did.  Then they turned
and plowed their way back through the crowd.  As soon as she started
screaming, I quietly sidestepped into the press of bodies.  Once there, I
dropped the prop in my bag.  Choosing the opposite direction from the one
Emily and Bridget would take, I drifted through the edges of the crowd.  As
the attention of those around me started to wane, I asked nobody in
particular who the girls were chasing or the like.  That got them to look
in the direction of the retreating girls and ignore me.

   It only took a few moments for me to get around a corner and on my way
to class.  After allowing myself a quick smile at the well performed
illusion, I started to sink back down into my safe place.  It was close
enough to the bell that I used the Official Business Lope to get there.  As
I got to the door, I pulled out my towel.  I moved to my seat near the
back, spread my towel, and sat.  I had done so quietly, and Mr.  Bailey
hadn't even noticed my arrival.  He did notice the entry of the last few of
my classmates, who were laughing about the screaming girls as they
sauntered in seconds before the bell.

   "Alright, class.  Settle in.  We have a lot to cover this week." He
glanced around the class, and seemed startled to see me.  He opened his
mouth as though to make his usual comment when a Participant was in class
("Some more than others, apparently"), then shook his head.  He looked at
me, and asked "Do you need..."

   I shook my head, without losing my vacant expression.

   As usual, there was no real tie in between what we were studying in
American History at the moment (early 19th century) and nudity, so this was
a safe class.  He had made the mistake of asking me to hand something out
earlier in the year, so even that was unlikely.  Ironically, he was a firm
supporter of the Program but had little reason to make use of it in the
classroom.

   I settled back into my safe place and prepared for class.

   I should probably describe my safe place.  I got the idea from some
early self-help book.  It was just a mental image, but it was good enough
for my purposes.  It was a room, about the size of our living room.  I
"knew" that it was heavily armored on the outside.  There was a wide screen
television, which I could use to selectively pay attention to the sights
and sounds outside myself.  There were gages and controls I could use to
evaluate and respond to (or ignore) other sensory input.  I could also use
the controls to filter the sounds I became aware of and narrow the focus of
the tv screen.  One really useful thing I had "installed" there was a
recorder.  With it, I could remember and repeat something word for word. 
Even if I wasn't paying conscious attention.  That had been useful last
year, when a couple of my teachers mistook my vacant expression and
monosyllabic responses for a lack of attention.  They would stop after a
particularly complex statement and suddenly ask me what they had said. 
When I repeated it word for word (complete with inflections) with that same
vacant expression, they had to accept that I was listening to them.

   I had other accessories in there as well.  When I was particularly bored
or uncomfortable in class (or elsewhere), I could turn on the recorder and
turn my conscious attention to another screen.  I could use that screen to
imagine possible magic acts, work on design details, or just entertain
myself.  With the other parts of my mind (represented by the other
equipment) monitoring the situation for anything that required a response,
I could pretty much lose myself in those other activities.

   I didn't spend my entire life, or even my entire time in classes, in
that safe place.  When I was feeling safe and anonymous, I would be out
there in the moment.  More than one teacher had spoken about the
frustration of seeing me apparently live and engaged in the topic at hand,
only to see me "shut down" when called on.  Worse, from their perspective,
was that I tended to stay shut down for the rest of the class.  At home, I
rarely went into my safe place unless I was stressed or needed to
concentrate on a project or the like.

   This was almost an issue during the latest round of child psychologist
visits a few years ago.  But they ended up concluding that as long as I
could consciously and completely go back and forth at will, it was not a
problem.  That was what made it different from dissociative disorders and
related anxiety disorders.  But some did warn me that spending too much of
my time there could cross the line.  On the other hand, a couple showed me
how I could use that safe place for self hypnosis and how to use it to
protect myself from unwanted hypnotic suggestions.

   Other than being a little surprised at how much of what went on between
the burning of the White House and the Civil War wasn't related to slavery,
class was routine.

   My next class was English.  I gave myself enough time to go the long way
to my locker with the OBL, swap some things, and head off urgently to
class. Say what you will, this practical invisibility took a lot of
exercise!  Once I was in my seat, I noticed that Bridget was not in hers.
The bell rang, and she still wasn't.  I guessed that she was still with the
nurse, or had gone home.  I hoped she was doing better.

   Ms.  McMillan had seen me come in, and didn't bother to ask about
relief. Class went pretty much the same as History.  Near the end of class,
the phone rang.  She answered it, acknowledged the message, and went back
to teaching.  When the bell rang, she asked me to stay behind a moment. 
Once the room was largely cleared, she told me that I was wanted in the
Main Office.  She also gave me this journal and a sheet about keeping the
information.  I thanked her and left.

   EMILY

   I suppose I could have stalled for another 20 minutes or so, and missed
History entirely.  Mr.  Moyer does not like interruptions.  On the other
hand, wandering the halls alone was not exactly a safe thing to do. 
Especially for a girl who is stark naked.  I already had my book, so I went
right to class.  I watched through the window in the door, waiting for a
convenient pause.  He quickly noticed me and gestured me in.  I walked
toward him with the slip in my hand, but he just waved me to my seat and
kept talking.  When some of the class turned to watch me, he brought their
attention back to the front.  As he continued his lecture, I quickly got
out my notebook, pencil, book, and homework.  I opened the book to the page
he mentioned, and started taking notes from there.  When he came to the
time he usually gave his homework assignments, he gave us two chapters to
read, and then a short essay on the issue of how Article VI, Clause 2 of
the Constitution applies to the events of that morning.  Mr.  Moyer was
kind of neutral on the program.  He saw, and exposed, both the benefits and
the flaws.  He warned us that there was more to it than we might think,
then dismissed the class just as the bell rang.  He called me up to his
desk.

   "And how is our Miss Donnache?" He asked, as I handed him the late slip
and my homework.

   That startled me.  "I left her resting in the Nurse's office.  She was
more upset than anyone I have ever seen in the Program."

   "She has reason to be.  She was supposed to be exempt.  The laws and
customs have not changed in her country as they have in ours.  And this
Talent Show presentation has diplomatic implications.  Before this is all
over, I'm afraid it is going to end badly.  That said, that was a brave and
clever thing you and your friend did for her.  Especially given your own
circumstances.  I wanted you to know that your actions have been noted."

   I nodded my thanks.

   "Also, I have been asked to give you this.  It is the journal you would
have been given in English class this morning.  There is a handout inside
which should answer most questions about it." He handed it to me and waved
his dismissal as I thanked him.

   I tucked the journal in my book bag, and headed out the door.  I
powerwalked to Geometry, dropping down into my safe place as I went.  I sat
at my desk, put out my book, notebook, and homework, and waited.  Ms. 
Lesmeister tried to make Geometry "come alive" for her classes, and was not
above using Participants in the process.  So, as I waited, I sank deeper
and deeper into my safe place.  Somebody said something to me, but it
wasn't her and it wasn't about John or Bridget or any emergency, so I
didn't really become consciously aware of it.  I had forgotten that Perry
shared this class with me.  There were some gasps from members of the class
when he came in and struck a pose just inside the door.

   Ms.  Lesmeister arched an eyebrow, then asked him whether he needed
relief.  He eagerly said that he did, and asked for help.  Several girls'
hands shot up, along with a couple of boys.  He glanced at me and saw
nothing but an empty face.  He turned to the teacher and chose her.

   "Wha?  I do not think that would be proper, young man."

   "It says in the brochure that I can select anyone who is willing,
including the instructor.  So how about it?" He looked her square in the
eyes.

   She shook her head.  "I am not volunteering.  Despite what it says in
the brochure, I am not convinced it is proper.  Why don't you select one of
those volunteers closer to your own age?" He looked disappointed.  "Perhaps
one of those eager young men over there?" He got a startled look and
quickly chose one of the girls from the front row.

   That last suggestion had caused him to wilt just a little.  She quickly
corrected that and pumped him to climax in a little over a minute.  She
seemed happy with the results.  So did he.  It did nothing for me,
personally.  It just looked mechanical and somewhat tiring, with a mess at
the end of the process.  Ms.  Lesmeister waved them back to their seats,
then looked a question at me.  I gently shook my head no.  We then dove
into the wonderful world of complimentary angles and regular polygons.  At
one point, she had Perry stand up and show his recovered erection.  She
asked the class whether the angle between his abdomen and his cock was
acute or obtuse.  Little miss wonderhands piped up "It's a very cute
angle." and got a courtesy laugh from the class.  Ms.  Lesmeister asked her
why it was an acute angle, and she correctly answered.  She had him sit
back down.

   As she stepped back to the front of the room to continue, the door
opened.  One of the secretaries said something quietly to her, and then
left again.  She nodded, then continued the lesson.  When the bell rang,
she asked Perry and me to stay.  We put our things in out bags, then went
up to her desk.

   "Whazzup?" Perry asked.

   "Instead of going to your next classes, please go to the Main Office."
She looked at me.  "both of you.  And Perry?"

   "Yes?"

   "If you ask me again on Friday, I might change my mind." She winked at
him.  Urgh.

   We headed out the door, and I started an OBL toward the office.  He fell
quickly behind, and I saw him stopped for a request as I turned a corner.
He'd make it to the office when he got there.  On the way, I saw a couple
of other Participants headed in the same direction.

   I arrived to find John already there.  Principal Murrow greeted me with
"Good.  I hoped you would be here before most of the others.  I would like
a brief word with the two of you in my office, before we get to the reason
I called you all here." He gestured the two of us through the door.

   End Part 1

   Part 2

   EMILY

   Once we were in the Principal's office and seated, he got right to the
point.  "John, Emily, some important things are happening.  This morning's
events are causing a bit of a firestorm.  The Committee, or rather, someone
on the Committee has dropped us in it."

   "What you did for Bridget this morning was very brave.  It also may have
saved the school a lot of trouble.  I thank you for that, from the bottom
of my heart."

   "But now, I need you to do something even braver." Uh, oh.  "In a few
minutes, each of you will be called in to this office to speak with a
couple of people and answer some questions about this morning.  I will be
here with you, and you will be completely safe.  But I need you to be here.
Really here.  I know it will be uncomfortable, but we will need them to see
and interact with you.  Not the Mysterians, and not the zombies.  You.  I
cannot begin to tell you how important this is."

   "After the interviews, you can use the small conference room to recover
if you wish.  The other participants will return to the large conference
room, so you will have it to yourselves."

   "Do you have any questions?"

   "What is this all about?" I asked.

   "Let me answer that in the other room.  But in general, it is about
Bridget right now.  And about this week's Program selections in general. 
Anything else?"

   "How long will it take?" John wondered.  "I really don't want to miss
lunch."

   "I don't know.  Which period do you have lunch?"

   "Fifth," he replied.  I echoed with "I have it fifth, too."

   "I hope it won't take that long.  But some of the others have fourth
period lunch, so I will make some sort of arrangements.  Good thinking." He
glanced at his watch.  "But now, we'd best get back with the others."

   With that, he stood and ushered us back to the conference room.

   As we found our seats, he started addressing the group.  "Alright,
ladies and gentlemen," he began, "You, too, Mr.  Mason.  We have a
situation on our hands.  And through no fault of your own, you have been
dropped in the middle of it." He let that sink in for a moment, as we
settled in.

   "I'm sure you have noticed that one of your number is not here.  Miss
Donnache should never have been on the list.  Her petition for exemption
was clearly in order, but somehow it was suddenly denied and she was placed
on the list with the rest of you.  Frankly, there are too many coincidences
here.  It appears very likely that someone is playing some sort of game
with the Program.  Someone who is not afraid to risk an international
incident."

   "Yeah," Perry began, "someone who's.."

   "Stop!  Before you say anything more, consider this.  Everything seems
to point to one person.  She has a motive of sorts, and has the practical
ability to do everything we have seen.  But as one of you demonstrated this
morning, things are not always as they seem.  It is also possible that some
person or people did this for the purpose of discrediting her.  Until we
get to the bottom of this, I urge you all to refrain from public
speculation as to who did this and why.  Such speculation could be called
defamatory, and you could find yourself on the wrong end of a very nasty
lawsuit.  None of us want that."

   "Everything will be investigated, and the culprit or culprits WILL be
held accountable."

   He paused, looking around at us.

   "In fact, the investigation has already started.  As an indication of
how serious the situation is, representatives of the Federal Office Of
Social Awareness, the State Department, and a representative of Miss
Donnache's government are on their way here to interview each of you about
these events.  They will also be interviewing certain members of the
faculty and staff.  After they arrive, you will be called into my office,
one at a time, to be interviewed.  I will be there, but you will be given
the choice to have me leave during some or all of that interview.  I
promise you two things.  One, that if you do ask me to leave, I will not
take any action against you because of that.  And two, I will not use
anything you say in those interviews for disciplinary purposes.  I will
repeat that offer and those promises in front of the interviewers for each
of you, and you will be given that choice."

   "Truth be known, I will be there as an advocate for you.  These people
will be operating from their own agendas.  Very high level agendas.  I am
sure they are not bad people, but the way they see it is that you are
nowhere near as important as their priorities.  Any or all of them would
flatten you in the name of those priorities, and do so without a second
thought."

   All of us, even John and I, shifted uncomfortably at that.

   "When you go in for those interviews, I urge you to be open and
forthcoming.  It is important that they get the information they need, as
quickly and as clearly as possible.  I also urge you to take this
seriously, and be respectful.  These are very important people facing a
potentially serious situation, and I don't think they would find teenage
antics," he looked pointedly at Perry, "or attitude to their liking.  To be
blunt, the FOSA representative could have you spending the rest of your
academic careers in this state of undress.  And that would follow you to
any school in the country."

   Perry blanched.  The other two girls seemed to be having trouble
breathing for a moment.  I had a lot of trouble keeping myself from sinking
deeply into my safe place.

   "When you return from your interviews, I urge you not to discuss what
you told them until all of you have been in there.  If you must, you can
discuss their appearance and demeanor, and your emotional reactions."

   "Now on to more pleasant matters," he forced some lightness into his
tone.  "I have been reminded that some of all of you may be missing lunch
while you're here.  Knowing how much teens hate to miss out on free food, I
will arrange for your lunches to be brought in." He handed a pad and a pen
to Perry.  "Just put your name and what you want from the main cafeteria.
You can eat in here, while you are waiting, and after your interview.  If
you need a restroom, you can use the staff one just down the hall.  If you
need anything else, just ask any of the staff."

   "After your interviews, you will return to this room.  They may want to
see one or more of you a second time, for some clarification.  When we are
done, I will dismiss you to class."

   Whuf!

   JOHN

   That was NOT fun!

   The VIPs arrived just as we finished writing our lunch orders. 
Principal Murrow gave the lunch orders to someone at the front desk, then
went into his office.  About five minutes later, some of our lunch arrived.
We were told that the rest would be a few minutes.  Apparently, some of our
comrades in nudity had ordered things which needed preparation.  I just
stuck with my usual: a cheeseburger, fries, an apple, and a large glass of
milk.  After another five minutes or so, Principal Murrow came back in the
room and asked me to step into his office.  I swished a little milk around
in my mouth, then followed.  It was all I could do to keep from diving back
down into my safe place as I crossed the office like that.

   When his door closed behind me, I did dive down in for a moment.  There,
arrayed behind his desk, were two men and a woman.  All in suits, all
immaculately groomed, all with perfect posture.  And I was trapped here,
wearing nothing but my shoes and socks and a whistle.  I couldn't even hide
behind my book bag - big no no, especially in front of the high Program
honcho.  What is a honcho, anyway?  And what the heck am I supposed to do
now?

   There is no real danger yet.  It is important that I go back out to the
here and now.  I took a deep breath, and slowly let it out.  As I did, I
shifted myself out of the safe place and back into the room.  I spread my
towel, and sat.

   They introduced themselves.  The woman was from the State Department.  I
would have guessed she was the Program person.  The other two were from
FOSA and the Irish Consulate.  They tried to put me at ease.

   "Thank you for coming, John." The woman began.  I could feel my mouth
twitch at the implication that I had any choice in the matter.  "This is
not a trial, or an inquisition, or anything like that.  We are just here to
try and find out exactly what happened here this morning.  I understand
that this is stressful for you," understatement of the century!  "but it is
very important.  If there is anything we can do to make it easier, let us
know.  In particular, if you start feeling the stress too much, let us know
and we will stop and let you collect yourself.  While time is important,
good quality information is far more important.  Do you understand?"

   "Yes.  I understand." I turned to the FOSA man.  "I don't suppose
that..." I indicated my body.

   "I'm sorry, but we cannot do that.  As unusual as it is, this is still a
school function and the rules are very explicit."

   "It was worth a try." I gave a theatrical sigh.  It was a weak attempt
at humor, but it helped a bit.

   Principal Murrow spoke up.  "Before we get started, there are a few
things I need to say for the record.  I am here as a fact finder, but I am
also here as your advocate.  That being said, you have the option of asking
me to leave at any time.  If you exercise that option, I will not hold it
against you in any way.  Anything you say here is to be used for the
purposes at hand only.  I will not use anything you say against you in any
way.  Do you want me to leave?"

   I shook my head.  He was the only familiar, and more or less friendly,
face here.

   The FOSA man took that as his cue.  "Why don't you tell us what happened
this morning, starting when you were paged to the office."

   I told them about being paged, and about walking to the office.  I told
them about slipping into my safe place on the way.

   The Irish representative broke in to ask: "Is that what we saw you doing
when you first came in here?"

   "Yes, but that was a relatively shallow and brief trip.  It is something
I learned from some old self-help book.  The doctors call it volitional
dissociation or a form of self hypnosis.  I just call it going into my safe
place.  When I am there, I feel like nothing going on around me can touch
the real me.  I can't really explain it better than that."

   "Are you aware of what is happening around you?"

   "Only to the extent I choose to be.  When I had been doing it for a
while, some teachers thought I was effectively sleeping in class.  They
would suddenly stop what they were doing and ask me what they had just
said. I would repeat it word for word, inflections and all.  Pretty soon,
they backed off."

   I went on to describe the meeting in the conference room (except for
what I had seen through the window).  Then I described the trip to Ms. 
Ackerman's office, and sinking even deeper into my safe place.  I included
Bridget's soft crying and the two PE teachers.  I recounted the
conversation between Bridget and Ms.  Ackerman and, before I could think
about it, told them about the notes.  I told them about the disrobing,
about the way the coaches and vice principal were firm, but not rough, when
undressing the struggling girl.  About being knocked from the chair in the
process.

   The Irish rep.  was not pleased at the description of the forced
stripping of his countrywoman.  But the only question he asked was whether
that was how I got the large bruise on my side.  I answered that it was,
but I did not hold it against Bridget.

   It was hard, very hard, not to dive back into my safe place.  They were
so intensely focused on me.  I was the center of everything there, all
these adults in suits.  And I was stark raving naked.  I asked them to wait
a moment, and they agreed.  I closed my eyes and concentrated on taking
deep, slow breaths.  As I blew each breath out, I blew out some of the
tension with it (another trick form the self help books).

   When I was able to continue, I described being unable to get myself to
move, and being passive while they undressed me.  The Irish man asked about
the differences between the way they stripped me and what they had done
with Bridget.  I told them there were two main differences.  I was passive,
so they only had to hold me up while they undressed me.  Bridget was
actively struggling, so they worked to contain her struggles.  I speculated
that it was to keep her from hurting herself.  The other difference was
that the man held Bridget while the women undressed her, but the female PE
teacher held me while the man stripped me.  He asked about their attitudes.
I described them as determined, but concerned.  There were no signs of
anger or the like.  No signs of any abuse of either of us.

   He nodded his understanding, and gestured for me to continue.

   I told them about her reactions when we went back out into the office.
And about becoming the Magician and arranging things with Emily.  They
looked puzzled at that.

   The FOSA man asked about becoming the Magician.  I told them about it
being a stage persona, then used my standard analogy:

   I asked the FOSA man "Would you be comfortable walking around outside in
those clothes?" pointing to the woman.

   He paused just a little too long.  "Ah, no.  I don't think so." A part
of my mind took that as an indication that he would.  TMI.  WTMI!  I went
on: "Have you ever been in a play?"
His eyes lit up, then returned to normal.  "I've done a few community

theater things."

   "If your troupe was doing say, an updated version of Charlie's Aunt,
could you play the part of the boy pretending to be the aunt?  Even in
those clothes?"

   "I suppose so..."

   "When I am on stage, it is like playing such a part.  Now, you have been
rehearsing the show.  It is almost opening night.  You are asked to pose
for some publicity photos in your two primary costumes.  They are set
outdoors, in public.  Would you be reasonably comfortable posing?"

   "Yes, I imagine I would."

   "So what is the difference between the first instance of walking around
in public in that dress and the second."

   "I'm...  I'm playing a part in the second case.  It is not me, it is the
character and the character's character."

   "That's the way it was when I shifted into the Magician in the outer
office."

   The Irish man then asked: "Let me see if I have this straight.  You
barely knew the girl.  She even kicked you in the ribs while struggling. 
But you went to all this trouble to help her.  Why?"

   "Because she needed it, and because we could help her."

   He seemed satisfied for the moment, and gestured for me to continue.  I
described the warning to Bridget, the entrance, and the trick.  They asked
me to demonstrate the trick.  I did so, targeting the woman from State. 
They were startled, but appreciative.  The FOSA man was a little ambivalent
about it.

   There were a lot of questions about details, and about rumors after the
fact.  I answered as best I could.  Finally, it was over.  I was feeling
pretty ragged by then.  They thanked me for my cooperation, and the Irish
man particularly thanked me for helping Bridget.  Then we left.  Mr. 
Murrow escorted me to the small conference room, where I found the rest of
my lunch.  The cheeseburger and fries were cold.  The milk was warm.  I
didn't care.  After a moment of eating, one of the secretaries knocked at
the door.  When I opened it, she gave me Emily's tray.  I took it to the
table and went back to work on my own food.  At least the apple was still
nice.  I also started working on this journal entry.

   EMILY

   After John was taken (to his doom, I couldn't help thinking), I sat
there picking at my chef's salad.  I was deep in my safe place, and I was
going to stay there until I had to go face the suits.  I tuned out the
conversations in the room, so that when one or another of them turned to me
I had no clue what they wanted.  They quickly learned to ignore me.  I ate
slowly, and reviewed the events of the morning.  Soon, I was as ready as I
would ever be.  But they didn't come for me.

   About half an hour after John left, Principal Murrow came for me.  He
asked whether I wanted the remains of my lunch taken to the other
conference room.  I answered yes, and he gestured to one of the
secretaries. As we walked to his door, he reminded me that I needed to be
in the here and now.  I almost refused.  It was so nice in my safe place,
and so dangerous and upsetting out there in the here and now.  After we
entered the room, I came out of my safe place and faced the four of them.

   John has already written about the introductions and assurances.  Mine
were about the same.  I didn't ask about clothes.

   At their request, I went through the events of the morning.  The early
meeting.  The suspicions, the splitting into pairs.  The stripping.  I
asked for a breather just then, after describing my undressing.

   I went on to becoming the Magician.  They seemed to understand that,
probably from their interview with John.  I described the entrance of John
and Bridget.  My conversations (such as they were) with John and Bridget.
The Grand Entrance.  John's trick, or at least the effect on the crowd (and
the fact that I didn't see the trick.  Did I know about that trick?  Yes, I
helped him practice it.

   I described the trip to the nurse's office, and helping Bridget there.
They asked me about my comment about my own business with the nurse.  I
took that opportunity to ask Mr.  Murrow to leave for a moment.  He looked
unhappy, but left.  I told them that their answer involved something he
should not know about.  Yet.  I told them about the Device, what it was,
what it would do, and what part the nurse would play.  The FOSA man wanted
to discuss it more, but the others overruled him.  Once they were done with
that part, I let them invite him back in.

   There really wasn't much more to say about this morning.  I told them
about the meetings before the interviews.  They asked some questions about
that, seeming to try and find some way he tampered with our answers.  There
wasn't any, as they quickly found out.  In the end, they thanked me. 
Especially the Irish guy.  He was all "anything we can do," and "gratitude
of the country" about it.

   Principal Murrow escorted me to the small conference room.  John was
there, and the dregs of my lunch.  I dove into my safe place, and focused
on calming down and on my orange.  One nice part of my safe place is that I
can put almost all of my attention on enjoying sensations as well as being
able to shut out the unpleasant ones.  The sweet smell of the oil as I tore
the skin was a whole experience in itself.  The soft velvet of the inner
lining of the peel.  The thin skin of a segment, and the pebbly texture of
the pips just under that skin.  The sweetsour taste as I bit through the
segment and released the juice.  The smell of the released juice, so
similar to the oil, yet so different.  I lost myself in the experience, the
interview a distant memory.

   John recognized what I was doing, and left me to it.

   After I finished my orange, I was feeling more or less human again.  I
looked at John, and we started to talk.  We compared notes on naked
invisibility, and started brainstorming ideas for the new, naked, magic
act. We were limited by the fact that we only had four days to get
everything ready, so as much as possible we had to use what we already had.


   We thought about animating our costumes, but ended up agreeing that
there wasn't enough time to set that up.  We agreed that it might be a good
idea for a future piece, though.  Our biggest problem was hiding and
accessing loads.  We would still have the table, but where else?  We would
need our mouths, and other openings would not work (though we might make
use of that expectation).  My boobs were not big enough to pass the pencil
test, so that was out.  We had some fun with various ideas for variants on
a thumb tip, but we weren't sure they would be program legal.  John pointed
out that there were likely to be a lot more naked magicians in the near
future, and that even if we could not use some of these things we might be
able to sell them to those magicians.  I had an interesting image of the
plaster models we would get in the mail, for custom fittings, and smothered
a giggle.

   All told, we were there for about an hour and a half, from the time we
left our classrooms.  Not nearly enough time.  We were left with almost a
half hour of lunch period to kill.

   We decided that it was "vitally important" to get the notes and
assignments for the classes we had missed.  John could only do so for his
first period Algebra class.  His fourth period class was a PE class (track
and field).  While he took his time with Mr.  Brown, I would get the
English information from Mr.  Weber, then get the Physical Science stuff
from Dr.  Burns.  If I still needed to kill time, I could go to the locker
room to transfer my stuff (such as it was) to the boys' side (shudder) in
anticipation of Aerobics.  We decided that John could do the same for his
track stuff when he finished with Mr.  Brown.

   The poet was right.  Such schemes gang aft agley.  The OBL got me safely
to Mr.  Weber's office.  He was in a hurry, so he just handed me the
assignment sheet and told me the class had discussed the previous
assignment and the reading.  He then escorted me out the door, shutting it
behind us.  Some boys had gathered outside his door, but I was too busy to
hear whether they said anything.  From there, the Lope got me to Dr. 
Burns' office.  The door was closed, and I could see that there was a
student in there with him.  As I was debating whether to go right to the
locker rooms, the boys from the other office converged on me from both
directions.  They were a mixed group of seniors and juniors, and were
working hard to look casual.  I hit the button on my bag that started the
recorder.  Before I could move, the shortest of the group said "I have a
request."

   "I have to get to..." I tried.  Ohgodohgodohgod.  This will not be good.
Sound the claxton!  Dive!  Dive!  Dive!  The good place.  The safe place.
deep, deep, deep, into the safe place.

   "Dr.  Burns is in with another student, so you have to wait anyway. 
This won't take long.  I just want you to pose.  I request that you bend
over so that I can see the way your breasts hang, and spread yourself so my
friends can see what's between your legs."

   That was it.  The standard setup.  They were one of the finger gangs,
groups of boys competing with each other to be the first to stick their
finger inside Program girls.  They didn't ask - that would take too long
and give her the chance to say "no".  And if she complains, they all swear
that none of them did it, and all of them were watching each other.  Or, if
that wouldn't work, they would swear that they asked and she agreed.

   It would be over and they would be gone far too quickly for the whistle
to be effective.  Other students were too far away or were distracted (by
friends of the group), and no teachers were around, so there would be no
effective witnesses.

   "No," I said, reaching for my whistle.  I shifted into the Magician. 
This illusion called for the appearance of a reluctant girl, clearly
refusing any contact.

   "You can't refuse.  You have to accept poses.  The request does not
involve contact."

   "I don't trust you." Wasn't that the truth!  "You want me off balance so
you can try something!"

   They were getting impatient.  This was taking too long.  "No we won't.
We just want to look.  And the Program rules say you have to let us look.
If you try to keep us from looking, they can handcuff you and stuff.  So
just bend over and let us look."

   Now was the time.  They were off balance and getting careless.  "I'll
pose, but you have to keep away."

   "Whatever.  Just do it."

   I bent over as directed, and braced myself for what I knew was coming. I
saw the flick of the eyes of the boy in front of me, and then felt it.  And
then the click.

   "OW!  She BIT me!" One of the seniors was shaking his middle finger.  I
saw the red mark.  It was time to take control.

   "You and you!" I said, turning on his two friends behind me.  "Get him
to the nurse.  That needle was poisoned.  She has an antidote, but if you
don't get it within 5 minutes you will lose the finger.  Ten minutes, and
there is permanent internal damage.  After that, death.  GO!" I spun on the
"front" boy.  "You!  Run ahead and tell the Nurse to prepare the antidote.
Tell her what happened, and she will know what to do.  GO!"

   He turned and ran, easily passing his three friends.  They were not
going particularly slowly, but they were getting in each other's way.  I
used the OBL to get to the office.  I stopped at the front desk.  "Get Mr.
Murrow out here.  Now, please.  There's been a Program incident."

   She picked up the phone and pressed a button.  She spoke quietly into
it, then hung up.  "He will be right out."

   She hadn't even finished the statement, when the door opened and he
strode out.  Seeing me, he hurried over.  "What happened?"

   "One of the finger gangs attacked me.  They are on the way to the
nurse's office now.  I don't know their names, but she will get them."

   "What do you mean, they attacked you?"

   "Their usual.  They surrounded me, then made a posing 'request' that put
me in a vulnerable position.  Then one stuck his finger up inside me
without warning."

   "That is a serious accusation.  Can you identify this boy?"

   "Yes.  But by now, he has identified himself.  Do you want to bring the
FOSA guy?  It is a Program matter."

   He thought a moment.  "No, I'll handle it.  I can always tell him
later."

   We reached the nurse's office.  I quietly spoke in his ear.  "I recorded
the whole thing." I handed him the recorder, and he pocketed it.

   He nodded, and we went in.  The "bite victim" was sitting on the exam
table, looking frightened.  The others looked uncomfortable to see the
principal in there.

   The nurse spoke up.  "Here is the one with the mark.  He has admitted
what he and his friends did.  But they claim that they talked her into it,
and she gave her permission."

   He looked around at them.  "Is that what all of you say?" There was a
subdued nodding.

   "It's the truth!" declared the boy on the table.

   "I see," the principal sighed.  He took out his cell phone, hit a speed
dial number, and waited.  "Hello, Joe?  David.  I'm going to need you to
call in a couple of cars.  Yeah.  Sexual assault and conspiracy.  Um, hum.
We'll see you in the nurse's office.  Right." he ended the call, then
pocketed the phone.

   The boys were stunned.  For a few moments, the office was filled with
silence.

   The nurse turned to me.  "I will need to check the injury site, and
collect the other evidence."

   She led me to the other table, and closed the privacy curtains.  Given
my condition, it seemed kind of pointless, but it made her feel better. 
Nothing would make me feel better.  First, she examined my vulva, making
notes on her pad.  Using a gloved hand, she separated my labia and took a
close look at my vagina.  Well, the entrance, anyway.  She muttered
something about blunt trauma as she wrote.

   Then she invited me to remove the device.  I did so, and she had me drop
it into a sealable plastic bag.  Then she examined my vagina for real.  It
wasn't as bad as my first pelvic, but it was not fun.  I made good use of
my safe place.

   I reached into my bag, and pulled out another, similar device.  This one
we called the Tunnel Snake.  Its outer dimensions and appearance were
largely the same as the VaZap.  The most visible difference was at the
entrance: a circular array of what appeared to be needle sharp teeth.  I
handed her the instruction sheet, and a small hex key wrench.  The "teeth"
were rubber, with a small steel core.  They were hinged to bend inward,
with spring tension pushing against that.  The effect was that something
could be pushed in but not pulled out.  We got the idea from some
carnivorous plants and hinge toothed snakes.  There were two separate
parts, an inner part and an outer part.  When the teeth are holding
something in, a strong enough pull will remove the entire inner part.  The
teeth will still hold on to the trapped object.  It starts a very loud and
shrill beeping, and has the word "Rapist" on the side.
The hex key has two functions.  It can be used to arm/disarm the beeper,
and can be used to release the "snake" from the captured body part.  After
she read the instruction sheet, I had her disarm the beeper.  Then I pushed
my finger in (trapping it) and pulled out the snake.  I then had her
release it from my finger.  There were a few red marks from the "teeth",
but no real damage.  She approved it, and I reassembled that one and put it
away for a spare.  I took out a fresh one, armed the beeper, and inserted
it.  She inspected the results.  If someone looked closely up my vagina,
with the lips pulled back, it looked like I had teeth there.  Nasty looking

teeth.

   By the time we were done, the School Resource Officer (local cop,
stationed at the school) had arrived and was interviewing the boys, one by
one, in a separate room.  He had gone through the accessories, and was
ready for the main offender.  He wanted the nurse's ok first.  She gave it,
then went back to her own paperwork.

   Then it was my turn.  I sank into my safe place (which he already knew
about) and got ready to recount the events.  He commented that he had
gotten a remarkably consistent story from the boys, but expected he would
get rather a different one from me.  I agreed.  I described the events,
from the time I saw the boys outside Mr.  Weber's office (which he looked
surprised at) through the events outside Dr.  Burns' office, to my
conversation with Principal Murrow.  When I mentioned starting the tape, he
stopped me and asked about that.  Apparently, Mr.  Murrow had not yet
mentioned it to him.  I told him about keeping it running through to the
beginnings of my conversation with the principal, and about stopping it and
giving it to him.  When I finished, he had a look of grim satisfaction on
his face.  He escorted me back to the nurse's office, then addressed the
gathering.

   He asked each boy whether he stood by his statement.  Each said yes.  As
they did so, they looked increasingly confident.  He asked me whether I
stood by my statement.  I said yes.  His radio beeped, and he directed the
responding officers to the nurse's office.  We waited a moment until they
arrived.  The three of them entered and stood just inside the door.  He
turned to Principal Murrow.

   "I understand there is a recording of the event?" The boys' faces fell.
One tried to move toward the door, but found himself face to face with an
officer.  He sat back down.

   The principal produced the recorder and played the recording.  As the
events unfolded, the boys looked as though they were facing a firing squad.
And in a way, they were.  When the recording ended, he turned and faced the
boys.

   "You boys are facing some very serious charges.  In addition to first
degree sexual assault and accessory to that crime, you lied to a police
officer in an attempt to cover up that crime.  You will be taken to the
police station, and held there until your parents can be contacted." The
boys reacted to the last more than to the thought of being arrested. 
Idiots.  "Once there, you will be read your rights, and processed.  You
have the right to remain silent, and for the moment I suggest you exercise
that right.  After conferences with your parents, representatives of the
school, and the victim, a decision will be made as to what charges you will
face, and in what venue.  All of you are old enough to be tried as adults."
That comment got their attention, as well.

   Then Principal Murrow said his piece.  "You are all suspended, pending
expulsion proceedings.  Your parents will be notified of these actions. 
You boys chose a bad time and a worse victim.  This school must make it
very clear that we will protect the Program Participants from such
attacks."

   He nodded to the officers, who handcuffed the ghost-white boys and led
them out of the room.  The SRO gave me his card, with the case number
written on it, and said he would be in touch.  He also urged me to call him
if there were any problems arising from the arrests.  Oh, great.  I hadn't
thought about that possibility.  Safe Place, safeplacesafeplacesafeplace.
Ahhh.  Better.

   Merde!  I was late for French.  I got a late slip, and headed for class.
No one can say Mr.  Murrow doesn't have a sense of humor.  Under "reason",
he put "Fighting Crime".

   End Part 2

   Part 3

   JOHN

   I decided that the best strategy would be to deal with the gym stuff
first.  Ironically, it was one of the very few classes I would have to
dress for.  Ever since Brad Harrison and his bruised testicle, jocks were
mandatory safety equipment again.  Not the most stylish thing to represent
your only clothes above the ankle, but such is life.

   A memory came unbidden.  One of the conversations I hadn't paid
attention to in the conference room.  Apparently, my "automatics" had filed
it for later use.  One of the other guys had been wondering how to get to
his gym clothes and move them to the girls' side.  Perry brought forth one
of his usual gems.  The Program rules said that we had to use the opposite
sex locker room to change and shower, and the opposite sex bathrooms for
"waste disposal" (his term).  They did not say that we had to stay out of
our own locker rooms.  As long as we do not shower, change, use the toilet,
or try to hide, we should be able to freely come and go.  Therefore, we had
two choices.  We could do the most program like thing, by going in and
getting our things from our gym locker then arranging one on the girls'
side.  Or we could simply carry our clothes back and forth each day,
keeping them in our old locker when we are not using them.

   With that in mind, I went to my gym locker and got my clothes.  Then I
went to the gym office, which opened into both sides, to get a locker
assigned.  And there she was, eating her lunch.  The same track coach who
had helped strip me that morning.  I moved deeper into my safe place, and
then moved to the counter.  She must have caught the motion out of the
corner of her eyes, because she started talking before she looked up. 
"What can I do for you?  Oh, it's you."

   I shrugged and lifted my clothes.  "Locker."

   She looked puzzled for a second, then figured it out.  "Oh, right.  You
need a locker on the girls' side for the week." She went to get the locker
assignment book, then hesitated.  "Hey, wait a minute.  You just came in
from the boys' locker room."

   "Yes." A little deeper into the safe place.

   "You weren't supposed to be in there!"

   "The Pamphlet says 'All bathroom use and all gym preparation (showering,
removal of jewelry, shoes, et cetera for participation in physical
education or athletic activities) shall be performed in the facilities
provided for the opposite sex.'" I said as though mechanically reading it.
"Nothing about staying out of same sex facilities.  Locker?"

   She looked thoughtful as she got the book and gave me the number.  "I'm
going to have to talk to the administration about this.  It sounds like
something Perry would come up with."

   "He did." I turned and walked into the Forbidden Territory, the girls'
locker room.  It mostly looked like a mirror image of the boys'.  The
biggest difference was the showers.  They were divided up into individual
stalls instead of the open layout on the boys' side.  There were curtain
rods, but no shower curtains.  I assumed they had been removed due to the
Program.  Other than that, there were a couple of vending machines on the
wall and an odd looking, lidded trash can with a foot pedal.  I found my
locker, and locked my stuff inside.

   On the way out, I took a brief look at the restroom area.  More stalls,
no urinals, another pair of vending machines, and a small, covered
receptacle in each stall.  So much for the mystery.  I was a little
disappointed.

   As I went from the locker room to the hall, I heard a commotion behind
me.  Some of the girls with fifth period PE were streaming into the locker
room.  The door closing behind me cut off most of the noise.  I had not
heard anything to indicate they saw me.

   I used the OBL to get to Mr.  Brown's office.  He wasn't there.  I
checked the slip beside the door.  Sure enough, he had a class fifth
period. I took off for Dr.  Burns' office.  When I got there, I found a lot
of people talking and looking at his door.  No, not at.  In front of.  I
walked into his office, and found him there.  He looked upset.

   "Oh, Mr.  Whittaker.  How is she?  Have you heard anything?"

   I admitted that I didn't know what he was talking about.

   "It was right outside my door, and I didn't see or hear anything.  Right
there." He shook his head.

   After a couple minutes of verbal dancing, I got him to tell me what
happened.  Emily had been attacked, just outside his closed door.  He was
in with a pupil at the time.  He didn't see or hear anything, until there
was a shout of "She bit me!" After that, chaos.  Emily and the boys all
took off in the direction of the nurse's office.  I had a pretty good idea
what had happened: a field test of the VaZap.  If that was the case, she
would be there for a while.

   I assured him she was probably fine.  I asked whether she had gotten the
handouts and assignments (if any) for his class.  He said she hadn't, and
gave me a couple of photocopied sheets.  Just then, the bell rang.  We both
headed out to the Chemistry lab.  His presence put a damper on any Requests
for the moment.

   Since we would be working with chemicals today, we needed to wear the
protective equipment.  With my lab coat on, I was feeling more dressed than
when I came to school.  Most of class was making things change color, and
then comparing the colors with references.  Thrilling.

   There were so many ways the thing with Emily could play out, and I had
no way of knowing what really happened.

   Toward the end of class, when we were cleaning up, I half wondered
whether I could "forget" to take off the lab coat.  It was so tempting. 
When the bell rang, I went up to Dr.  Burns' desk to swap information. 
What we heard, just outside the door, stopped us both.

   "...was right in front of a teacher's office!..."

   "...two police cars, and three cops got out and went to the nurse's
office..."

   "...said she poisoned him, but the nurse had an antidote!  What a ..."

   "...and they're still in there..."

   Dr.  Burns looked very worried.  I pulled him away from the door, to the
back of the room.  I explained the VaZap, and the planned claim that it was
a poisoned needle inside.  And the business with the nurse.  As I was
talking, he went from worried, to pleased, to amused.

   I took off for my next class.  It was only a few doors down, so I had
time.  but even that short a walk was enough to drive me deeper into my
safe place.  I had heard all the stories about the sophomore HHS class, but
I never thought I would be the first in my class to be selected for the
Program.  Yet here I was, walking naked into the lions' den of Health and
Human Sexuality.  Each step took me deeper into my safe place.  Each breath
took me deeper into my safe place.

   Ms.  Prothrow was an ardent supporter of the Program.  She was certain
that it was an effective gateway to rapid personal growth.  She was very
experienced with using exercises in classes such as this one to open those
gates.  And she may well have met her match.

   "I was beginning to wonder whether we would ever get a model.  Class, I
know we were scheduled to finish up with STDs this week, but we are going
to skip ahead to the next chapter, instead." She looked around the room. 
We seem to be missing one participant, however.  Does anyone know where
Miss Donnache is?"

   One of the girls near the front spoke up.  "She went home, fully
dressed. Word is, she was supposed to be exempt in the first place."

   "Well, that is disappointing.  However, we do have one live model. 
John, would you please come up here?" I don't know what she was expecting.
Probably either some emotional outburst or a confident strut.  But from her
reaction, it was clear that she was not expecting the emotionless zombie
that came to her.  Taking it for a superficial mask, she pressed on.  When
I was close to her, she quietly tried to reassure me.  "Don't worry, John.
We will try to make this as painless as possible.  By the end of the week,
you may even find yourself enjoying it."

   She had me turn and face the class.  I had the recorders in my room
going, and the screen and sound turned way down.  I was so deeply in my
safe place, that I was no longer really there.  I had temporarily
disconnected my emotional responses.  Even my automatic reactions were
toned way down.  I took the opportunity to fool around with ideas for the
magic show, confident that I would recognize when I was being addressed in
a way that required a response.

   She gave a brief overview of the coming lesson in sexual anatomy and
sexual response.  She pointed out that my penis was flaccid, indicating
that I was not aroused.  She spoke briefly about the kinds of things that
often caused arousal in males, especially teenaged males.  I suspect she
was trying to get some hint of a physical reaction from me.

   She went on to point out that sometimes, especially when the man has
enjoyed a recent climax, the penis needs a recovery period before it can
grow again.  She turned and asked me how many times I had gotten relief
today in or out of class.  I told her I had not done so.  There was no
emotion in my voice.  She briefly looked puzzled.

   She asked how many times I had gotten an erection since I had started my
time in the Program.  Again, my emotionless voice answered "None."

   "One?" she responded.

   "Zero."

   "Alright.  Class, we have two basic possibilities here, neither entirely
uncommon.  Mr.  Whittaker has been under stress, and still is.  He may have
had erections without being aware of them, or he may have not had an
erection today.  Normally, that would be none of our business.  But because
of the Program and this class, it is an educational opportunity."

   Huh.  She still seemed to think she was dealing with an ordinary
situation.  Unfortunate.  The sooner she gave up, the sooner she would
start leaving me alone again.

   "There is one possible way to quickly clear this up.  How many of you
have seen Mr.  Whittaker today, between the end of first period and the
beginning of this class?  Show of hands, please." About half the hands in
the class went up.  Most were either in one of my earlier classes or at the
grand entrance this morning.

   "Now, how many of you have seen him with an erection today?" All the
hands went down.

   "I see.  Both possibilities still exist, but it is time to move on." She
had them turn to the pages describing and illustrating the male
reproductive system.  After asking me to sit on the front edge of her desk,
she had me open my legs to allow a good view, and move forward enough that
my balls hung over the edge.

   Going over the basics, she used me to show the more obvious external
parts.  I am sure she manipulated my cock more than was absolutely
necessary, and that it was part of her plan.  When she was done, she had
the class come up, one at a time, to closely examine what she had been
describing.  She also warned them to treat everything gently, threatening
dire consequences to anyone causing me physical discomfort.

   One by one, they came.  Pulling on my penis.  Bouncing (ever so gently)
my balls.  Even smelling and, in a couple of cases, tasting, those parts.
She wore a slightly smug look of confidence as things started.  By the time
half the class had a go at me, she looked a whole lot less confident.  At
the end, she had a brief look of defeat, quickly covered by her Educator
mask.  She was clearly shaken.  She let me return to my seat, and went over
the internal structures.

   When the bell sounded, she called me to her desk and dismissed the
class.

   "John, do you have a medical condition that I should know about? 
Something that would interfere with your participation in this class?"

   "Not that I know of.  I can read, write, listen, walk, and talk just
fine." I kept all inflection out of my voice.  I was aware, in an
intellectual way, that I was flirting with insubordination.  I was also
aware that the students for the next class were filtering in.

   "You know perfectly well what I mean.  Erectile difficulties."

   A familiar voice chimed in.  "You mean you need a boner for that class?
How do the girls do it?" Perry.

   "MISTER Mason!  This is a private conversation."

   "Then why are you talking to naked boys about erections in front of the
entire class?  And keeping him from getting to his next class to do it?"

   "May I go now?  I don't want to be late."

   "Yes, you may go.  But as for you Mr.  Mason..." I tuned out the rest of
that.  I grabbed my bag, and headed into the hall.  There was nothing
artificial about my lope this time.  My art class was at the other end of
the building.

   EMILY

   I walked in just as the class was finishing a vocabulary quiz.  Mme. 
Bien accepted the slip and waved me to my seat.  When she actually read it,
her eyebrows and one corner of her mouth quirked upward for a moment.  Then
she shrugged and dropped the slip on her desk.  She glanced at her watch
(nobody really trusted the school clocks for most things), and told the
class to pass their sheets forward.  That done, she launched into her
description of some troublesome faux amis.  As always, she firmly kept
attention focused on the lesson.

   I knew I didn't have to worry about the infamous "body parts" lesson. 
That had been two weeks ago, when we had both boy and girl Participants in
class.  While I had not been one of the more enthusiastic students in that
lesson, I had learned the terms.

   As Mme.  Bien gave us our assignments, she added a comment that we would
be going over verbs, and that we should come prepared.  I made a mental
note about verbs I wanted to look up.

   As I used the OBL to get to my last class for the day, I noticed some
people getting out of my way.  I liked that, since it made the trip easier.
But it was unusual, so I filed it away for later consideration.

   The next class was one I shared with John.  Its official title was Art
102: Introduction to Three Dimensional Techniques and Materials.  Everyone
just called it Art Materials.  Each week would start with an introduction
to something like clay, paper mache, or the like.  We would learn some
simple techniques for using the material, and do a small, simple project.
In some cases, we would go directly into other, closely related materials.
The clay section ran three weeks, and covered a lot of materials from
ceramic
clay to play dough.  This week we start casting materials, like plaster.

I had a sinking feeling that I knew where that would lead.

   We had chosen the class for the same reason: to help with our magic.  We
hoped it would give us new ideas for fabrication techniques for our
gimmicks.  And it had.  This unit would be particularly useful, since it
would cover both materials for making molds (plaster, sand, alginate, etc.)
and materials which can readily be molded (including latex and foamed
latex).  These introductions were quick, but thorough.  Most importantly,
it was hands on.  While we might not use EVERY material in our projects, we
were given the chance to handle both raw and finished samples of
everything.

   Given the fast pace and the large amount of information, we were not
expected to take notes in class.  Instead, we got handouts with all the
relevant information.  Also, it was not an accident that the class was
scheduled as the last class of the day and the period before the most
common lunch hours.  A lot of the students tended to stay late.

   John dashed in just before the bell.  What did he have the previous
period?  Oh, yeah.  HHS.  I could only imagine what had made him late.

   Ms.  Johnson had a reputation for making extensive use of program people
on her art classes, so John and I were not surprised to be called up to the
front at the beginning of the class.  We were surprised when we got there,
however.  She gave us each a note from the office, asking us to come there
(again!) after class.  Then she gave us the day's handouts to pass around
to the class.  And that was it.

   After some introductory comments about plaster of paris, and about
casting a mold in general, she gave us all an assignment.  We were to mix a
certain amount of plaster per the instructions on the sheet.  It would be
mixed in the 3 ounce bathroom cups we often used for such things.  Once the
plaster was mixed, we were to stick a finger (of our choice) in the middle,
down to about 2/3 to 3/4 of the way to the bottom.  And then hold it there
for pretty much the rest of the class.  After some more lecturing, she
asked us how the plaster felt.  It was thicker, stiffer.  It was also
getting very warm (starting to get actually hot in some cases).  She
pointed out that the heat was normal, and was a reason that she was
sticking with fingers for the moment.

   After a while, when it was seriously, uncomfortably hot, she commented
"Now you can see, or rather, feel, why such plaster is losing favor as a
mold making material for casts of sensitive body parts.  Imagine that heat
and stiffness covering your genitals or breasts or the like.  Unpleasant,
to say the least.  We will cover improved substitutes later this week."

   She went on to say that the molds we were making would be used later in
the course of the class.  We would be able to take our fingers out when it
cooled again.  She left it to our judgment, telling us we could carefully
remove our fingers when the plaster was cooler than room temperature.  She
warned us it would still be kind of soft, so we needed to be careful.

   She spent the rest of the class in her usual lecture and demonstrate
mode.  Nobody seemed to pay any attention to either of us.  For a while, I
was almost able to forget that I was sitting there naked in a room full of
clothed teens.

   That memory came back full force with the ringing of the bell, however.
Well, at least we had somewhere "official" for the OBL.  John and I went
back down into our safe places, and headed for the office.

   JOHN

   I seem to be spending a lot of time in the office today.  And Emily even
more so.  I wonder if this is going to be a trend?  By Thursday, I could
spend the whole school day here, and only come out for the rehearsal.  I
could live with that.

   We were asked to wait, while the principal met with two other program
students.  One was Mary, who was already in his office.  I was not at all
surprised when Ian arrived and was waved in.  So this was about Bridget and
the dancing.

   A few minutes later, they came out of his office with looks of mild
relief.  I would guess that Bridget will still do the show.

   Mr.  Murrow invited us into his office.  After closing the door and
letting us settle, he got right to the point.

   "First, I want to thank you again for the way you helped Bridget this
morning.  The school, and even the country, dodged a bullet on that one. 
The investigation is still going on, but some decisions have been reached."
Something about the way he said that made me think that he was not the one
to make the decisions.

   "Bridget's exemption has been granted, and is irrevocable.  Anything
less would have been an insult to her country, and a huge diplomatic mess.
In addition, the dance performance in the Talent Show will be clothed. 
Similar diplomatic considerations."

   I almost had time to get my hopes up.

   "Unfortunately, the rest of you will still be performing under Program
rules.  I am very sorry about that." He looked sincerely sorry.  "I
understand that your costumes were a very important element of your act. 
The rules will be enforced somewhat loosely for the talent show, but you
must at least present the appearance of complying with the rules.  Other
than that, I will help you in any way I can."

   Damn.  Oh, well.  Truth be known, the challenge was interesting, and
presented some opportunities for developing new products.

   "John, this leaves you without a partner.  With your limited circle of
friends, that could be even more of a problem.  We have a candidate in
mind, but she may be more of a problem than a help.  Believe me when I tell
you, we are working hard to resolve the matter."

   "You could let me out."

   "No, we can't.  Especially not now.  Too many people, too many important
people, are watching these events too closely."

   "And speaking of such people, the FOSA representative, Mr.  Smith, has
asked to speak with the two of you again.  If you do not want to meet with
him, you don't have to.  I believe it has something to do with what you
told them about when I left the room, or about the device you used today."
I looked a question at Emily.

   "What I told them about was the VaZap, the device.  If it was later
declared improper, I did not want to put you in a position of having known
about it ahead of time and not having done anything about it.  I guess we'd
better see what he wants."

   I nodded my agreement, then added "I don't suppose we could meet him off
the school grounds, fully dressed?"

   "I'm afraid it would count as a school function, under the rules. 
Sorry."

   "Then I guess we ought to get on with it."

   Mr.  Murrow went to the door and called Mr.  Smith in.  Once he was
inside and seated (in Mr.  Murrow's chair, I noticed), the principal asked
whether we wanted him to stay.  We looked at each other a moment, then
shook our heads.  "We should be ok." I said.  "And we might be discussing
other things you don't want to know.  We can call you if we need you."

   He left, with exaggerated mutters about rotten kids turning him out of
his own office.

   "First, I want to thank you both again for this morning.  Your helping
Miss Donnache, and your cooperation in the investigation went a long way
toward helping defusing a potentially awkward situation."

   "In our interview with you, Miss Watson, there was some information I
wanted to explore in greater depth.  I was reminded that it did not have a
direct bearing on the issue at hand, so I moved on.  But now, with your
permission, I would like to explore the subject of your vaginal devices
somewhat more thoroughly.  Mr.  Whittaker, I understand that you were
largely responsible for the design and manufacture of the...?"

   "We call it the VaZap.  The design was collaborative, especially in
terms of function and form factor.  I did make the prototypes of that and
the other device."

   "Other device?"

   "We call it the Tunnel Snake.  Less painful, but more public." I showed
him a diagram of the device (in cross section) and Emily took one out of
her bag to show him.  I later learned it was the same one she showed the
nurse.

   He asked us a lot more detailed questions about the VaZap and the Tunnel
Snake.  We answered them fairly thoroughly.  What were these rumors about
poison?  A bluff, to get the boys to confess to the nurse.  The real
payload was two small dots, one red and one invisible.  Both will glow
under blacklight, and can serve to identify the finger in question.  What
would keep a user from adding such poison?  The design.  They would have to
take it completely apart, and remanufacture.  If they can do that, they can
build their own version from scratch, anyway.  How will they affect Program
encouraged touching?  They won't.  The VaZap trigger and the Tunnel Snake
"teeth" are recessed enough that it takes actual penetration, well beyond
the vestibule, to activate them.

   How are they put in and taken out?  Ideally, with the special plastic
tool we include (Emily showed him one).  What if she loses it?  We include
a spare, and there is also a hidden loop which, with a bit more effort, can
be used to pull it out.  Sanitary issues?  It can be used with a disposable
sterile cover, and the outside of the case itself can be washed and
disinfected.

   And on and on.

   In the end, he was convinced.

   "I will have to confer with the others at FOSA, but I suspect that we
will look favorably on those devices.  The Federal Office of Sexual
Awareness is not in the business of endorsing commercial products.  But we
can give you a letter stating that we have no objections to their use by
Program Participants, and mention our conclusions in the advisories.  It
will still be up to the local committee and school to determine whether
they are acceptable at a given school."

   We exchanged thanks and contact information.  He then had another
question for us.

   "Magnificent Mysterians' Machinations?  Where did that company name come
from?"

   This was clearly a question for The Magician.  I took a second to get
into character, then answered.  "Our joint act is called The Magnificent
Mysterians.  We were going to call the company 'M & M Enterprises', but the
Mars Company and the Heller estate are kind of sensitive about such things.
So we took the long way."

   "And where did you get the name for the act?"

   "We were together at my house, brainstorming the act.  We had come up
with the idea of being The Magnificent something or other, so we had a big
piece of paper with 'The Magnificent' followed by a question mark.  My dad
wandered in and saw the sign.  He turned to us and asked 'Where are the
Mysterians?'"

   "We must have given him a blank look, because he went on to explain that
there was a 20th Century band called 'Question Mark and the Mysterians'. 
We laughed politely, but the idea stuck.  It carried just the tone we
wanted.  So, we made our name The Magnificent Mysterians."

   When our meeting was done, we were given our clothes and directed to the
changing area in front of the school.  It was late enough that the usual
crowds had dispersed, so we were left in peace as we dressed.

   EMILY

   John's house was closer than mine, so we walked there.  The first thing
I did when we got there (ok, second.  Bathroom breaks had been few and far
between today.  And I took the opportunity to remove the Snake.) was call
my home to leave a message.  I was surprised when my mother answered the
phone.  She was usually at work for another hour.

   Of course, she had been advised that I was selected for the program. 
She had come home early, to be there for me.  So had my father.  Sweet, I
suppose, but inconvenient.  She told me that there was a phone message for
me to call a police officer, and asked what it was about.  I promised I'd
tell her all about it when I got there.  I also pointed out that the
Program thing meant we had to totally redo the magic act in less than a
week.  She understood, but informed me that I would be home for dinner. 
They would be by in an hour to pick me up.

   While I was on the phone, John's parents arrived.  They knew about the
Program selection as well.  They were surprised about me.  He promised to
talk to them about it, but told them about my parents and the urgent need
to rework the act.  They agreed to wait until I left.

   We went down to his workshop, and inventoried the effects.  With luck,
the large effects would work as well naked as clothed.  We needed an excuse
to get to things which would have been hidden in our costumes.  I was
frustrated.  "Damn it!  I put a lot of work into those costumes!"

   He agreed we would have to think about it.  We had lost more than half
the act.  He could do some things with his detachable genitals.  He had
versions that could get erections, and even ones that could simulate peeing
or cumming.  We would have to think about how to use them.

   I had one idea how to use our nakedness for our version of the zigzag
woman.  He could have trouble closing the door over my breasts, and we
could have it pop open at a useful time.

   We ran out of time.  John's father called down to tell us my parents
were here.  We agreed to think about the changes, and talk tomorrow.

   The ride home was enough to drive me into my safe place, something that
doesn't happen all that often at home.  My parents seemed to be alternating
between thinking that the Program was some sort of happy adventure, and
worrying about the disasters of the day.  By the time we walked in the
door, they had recognized my retreat and backed off a bit.

   They had dinner ready to go.  Some of my favorite dishes.  They knew
that I could enjoy the food, even deep in my safe place.  They gently
probed me about the day, restraining their obvious impatience.  I gave them
a brief description of the day, including the suspicious nature of the
list, the events with Bridget, the gang of three, the finger gang (they got
very emotional about that.  I just rode it out and continued), the arrests,
and the after school meeting.

   They were pleased about the provisional approval of our IVDs and the
successful debut of one (the VaZap).  They were concerned about fallout
from the Bridget business, the apparent corruption of the Committee, and
the possibility of retaliation from the finger gang or their friends.  And
they were just plain confused about the rest of the day.

   They were also concerned that I was so deep into my safe place while I
was at home.

   I did not reassure them.  I knew they had been hoping the Program would
magically cure my shyness and make me some kind of social butterfly or some
such crap.  It wasn't going to happen.  Their little fantasy was running up
against the stone wall of reality, and reality was winning.

   I excused myself and went to my room to do my homework.  I looked up
some colorful French verbs, then went through my worksheets from Geometry
and science.  The English assignment took almost no time.  All that was
left was adding a bit to this journal and the essay for History.  I opened
my book to the appendix with the Constitution, then looked up the cite. 
Wow.  No wonder it nearly hit the fan.  I needed to think about that.

   I also needed a bath.  It had been a long and stressful day.  This was a
two cap day if ever there was one.  I undressed, and grabbed my robe. 
Normally, we are pretty loose about wearing anything to or from the
bathroom, unless there were guests.  But tonight, I wanted to be dressed as
much as possible.

   I started running the water to fill the tub.  After there was a little
depth to the puddle in the tub, I added my extra measure of scented
bubbles. While the tub was filling, I removed my makeup, tucked my hair
into a shower cap, and then took care of my other business.  As I flushed,
I noticed that it was time to turn off the water in the tub.  The room was
already filling with a relaxing, scented steam.  I slipped into the
delicious, foamy heat of the tub and just let myself enjoy the experience.
I tried to think about treaties and laws, but once I relaxed my mind was
drifting in other directions.

   There was the Irish diplomat.  But he was the one who was naked.  I felt
really safe and sexy.  The soft lilt to his voice made him all the more
attractive.  In my vision, he was softly caressing my breasts, and my hands
echoed his.  After gently rubbing and pulling my nipples to attention, one
hand wandered to my thighs.  The other moved teasingly from breast to
breast, from nipple to nipple.  The lower hand circled slowly upward over
my fragrantly oiled flesh, coming closer and closer to the center of my
womanhood.

   Hey!  This is a journal, not a romance novel.

   After I came a second time, I drifted back to reality.  The water was
starting to get a bit cool.  I took my scrubber and body wash, and finished
cleaning myself as I let the water drain.  I took extra care, knowing that
everything would be on exhibit to the whole school tomorrow.

   Whoa!  Talk about a mood killer!  With that cheerful thought, I rinsed
myself off and grabbed my towel.  I dried off, released my hair, and
snuggled into my robe.  I straightened up the bathroom and headed back to
my room.

   I dug out one of my soft, ankle length nightgowns and slid it on. 
Somehow, it didn't feel like enough.  I got out a comfortable (if
unstylish) pair of panties and slid them on as well.  That was better.

   I found that while I had been busy with my fantasies, another part of my
mind had been busy with the essay.  I got on the computer to start writing
it.  I looked up a few things, adding the citations to the paper in the
approved manner, but otherwise it practically wrote itself.  Most of the
rules of the Program are regulations and precedent setting interpretations.
Treaties trump that, hands down.  The local committee, or the local
committeeperson, was WAY out of line.  No wonder there was such high level
attention so quickly.

   With the essay done, I got caught up with the journal.  It was a little
early still, but I was tired.  I went down and wished the 'rents goodnight.
I shut off the light, burrowed under the covers, gave my mind permission to
work on the magic act while I slept (another gem from the self help books),
and drifted off to sleep.

   End Part 3