Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ------

   Carl Naked in School Beths Story

   by peregrinf

   ------ Synopsis: A shy girl has a crush on Carl Walker.  How does she
deal with him being naked in school?  It is, as they say, an eye opener,
and has quite an effect, on her, and her family.  And she hasn't a thing to
wear to the Homecoming Dance!
Codes: mf cons rom het oral mastrb pett exhib voy sch nud

   ------

   Chapter 3

   My clock radio woke me the next morning, Thursday, with the usual news
and weather, but I felt strange.  For a moment I wondered what was
different, and then became aware of the sheets against my bare body.  I was
naked!  For a moment I indulged in a deliciously sensuous snuggle, before I
pushed the covers down - away - completely off, baring myself to the
morning breeze.

   I was up and savoring a totally sensuous stretch when there was a soft
knock on my door.  "Beth, are you up?" My mother stuck her head in the
room, and saw me standing naked in the middle of the room, stretching like
a cat, and started to back out.  "Oh!  Sorry!"

   "It's all right," I assured her quickly, relaxing but making no effort
to hide myself from her.  If Carl could be naked in front of his sister,
and presumably his mom, I could do it in front of my mom!

   "Oh, well, what do you want for breakfast this morning?"

   I suddenly realized I was ravenous.  "A big stack of French toast -
maybe four slices - and bacon?" I asked.

   Mom's eyebrows went up.  Usually it was a bowl of cereal and I was out
the door.  "All right, but don't dawdle, or you'll be late!"

   "Yes, mom," I agreed.

   She was out the door, urging daddy to hurry, too, and I heard her
hustling down the stairs.

   Running down the hall naked, risking being seen by daddy, I popped into
the bathroom, I showered really fast, dried and deodorized myself, brushed
my hair and pony-tailed it, and then darted naked back to my bedroom, maybe
a little disappointed that daddy hadn't come out and caught me, to
contemplate my wardrobe.

   Such as it was.  I had a good supply of short sleeved white, button-down
collar, permanent press broadcloth blouses, and an equally good supply of
demure, pleated skirts - most of them plaid, all of them knee length or
longer - and white socks and penny loafers for my feet.

   The female equivalent of nerd-dress.  Straight out of Dilbert.

   Dull, dull, dull.

   With a sigh, I grabbed a blouse and skirt, and reached for under things.
Only, my hand paused on my bra.

   Did I dare?

   I slipped on my blouse without a bra, and buttoned it, and studied
myself in the mirror.  The friction of the cloth made my nipples tingle and
stiffen, but you still couldn't really tell I had nothing on under the
blouse.

   I couldn't decide if I was happy or disappointed about that.

   Then I heard mom calling, and hurriedly pulled on my dull cotton
panties, knowing I wasn't about to give the boys on the stairs that much of
a treat!  I yanked on skirt and socks, stuck my feet in my loafers and I
was on my way downstairs, my book bag banging my back, feeling my tits
jiggle, hoping desperately that Carl had gotten my thought messages and
would ask me to the dance.

   I was thinking, too, as I ate a stack of French toast, about relieving
Carl again today, because I had definitely vowed that if anyone did it, it
was going to be me!  No way was I going to let someone like Marilyn within
a mile of him if I could help it.  Maybe Stephanie again, but not Marilyn!

   I was in a total swivet through chem class, of course, between worrying
about Carl asking me to the dance, and what I'd do if he needed relief. 
Valences and reactions and all that stuff just went right over my head! 
Fortunately it was stuff I'd covered in the text book, so it didn't matter.

   When Carl drew me aside by the door to Miss Duclos' classroom I could
only hope it was for what I hoped it was for.  He was naked, of course,
and, for a change his dick was limp as a noodle, and much less
intimidating.

   My whole body and mind went into a total panic!  What if he didn't ask
me?  Calm yourself, I told myself sternly.  Something had him so scared
already he'd lost his hardon!

   "I know it's real short notice, but - would you go to the dance with me
this Saturday?"

   He was so nervous his voice was shaking and his hands trembled, but I
just couldn't resist the urge to tease him a little, even as my heart
leaped with joy.

   I nibbled my lip and frowned thoughtfully.  "You're right, it is kind of
short notice."

   How could I say that with a straight face?  Well, it was short notice, I
reminded myself, watching him crumble.  For a moment I was afraid he was
going to cry!

   "I mean, if you've got another date, I understand," he admitted
miserably.  "I should have asked sooner, only I've never even been to a
dance before."

   I knew he'd never had a girl friend he could ask before.

   "I didn't say that," I said softly.  "I just said it is kind of short
notice!" Inside I was doing handsprings, of course.

   "I'm sorry," he apologized abjectly.

   I squeezed his arm.  "Of course I'll go with you!" I whispered eagerly.

   "You..." For a moment he almost shouted, then brought his voice down to
a strangled sort of squeak.  "will?" he finished.  His cock leaped to
attention.  "You really will?"

   "Yes!  I've never been to a dance either, though my Mom made me go to
dance classes," I added, now glad she had.

   "Wow!  Me, too.  Uh - should I get you a corsage or something?"

   "If you'd like."

   "What color should it be?  What's your favorite color?"

   I thought this over.  "White is always nice, and it goes with anything.
I don't know what I'll wear," I wailed, suddenly realizing how true that
was.  Homecoming was a Big Thing - almost as big as the senior prom!  White
blouse and plaid skirt would just not cut it!

   "I'm sorry, I should have asked sooner," he apologized abjectly again.

   "I'll think of something," I assured him quickly.  "A white corsage
would be nice.  I like camellias."

   "Camellias."

   I could see him making a desperate mental note.  "Now come on, we'll be
late for class," I urged.  "How are you doing?" I looked down at his
hardon, which had done a real Lazarus act, returning from the dead once I'd
accepted his invitation.  It was at full staff once again.

   "Would you?" he asked as we went through the door.

   I knew what he meant.  "Ask me," I whispered before heading for my seat,
and I knew HE knew what my answer would be.

   When he did ask me he did it so formally that, for a moment, I wasn't
sure he was asking for me.  I did not think of myself as Mademoiselle
Finch, even in French class.  But then I was up, and for some reason I
thought of one of daddy's favorite films, "The Blue Angel," with Marlene
Dietrich, and something made me walk up there like she moved, slowly and
confidently and, well, sultry, I guess you'd have to say.

   And I saw in Carl's eyes, and the way his cock rose even further, that
it worked.

   Vowing to give him an orgasm unlike any he'd ever had before in his
short sexual life, I touched his cock, curled my fingers under it, and felt
the stinging touch of his pre-cum.  After looking up at him - and gee, is
he tall!  and I like that - I went to my knees in front of him!

   I knew what he was thinking, that I was going to give him a blow job. 
Well, there was no way I was going to do THAT!  Aside from the fact that I
was, I admit, a tad repulsed by the thought, that would have put me in
head-to-head (pun intended) competition with Marilyn!  No way I'd risk
that!

   Instead, I made love to his cock with my hands, and my eyes.  Really! 
That's what I did!  I made love to his cock with my fingers and palms, and
my eyes.  The bullet-head of his hardon was only inches from my face.  I
could see the slit of the tip, the texture of the glans (that sex ed class
had taught me something, after all), the groove where that mated with the
hard, hot shaft.

   I fingered the tip gently, and felt his thighs quiver as I gently spread
the slit open for a moment.  Then I milked the shaft, and got a thick wave
of pre-cum that I spread over the tip with my thumbs, and down the shaft.
It was hot, sticky, and slippery all at the same time, so my hands slid
over his hot, hard cock.

   I didn't hold back, stroking the whole thing, getting my hands more
gooey every time I passed "Go," the oozing tip, stroking his juices over
the head and down the shaft.

   I wanted to give him pleasure like he'd never felt before, and I guess I
did pretty well, because it didn't take long before he was panting.

   "I'm gonna cum," he moaned, and Mademoiselle Duclos was waving a wad of
tissues but I ignored her, not wanting to miss an instant of this.  Out of
the corner of my eye I could see the whole class watching us, captivated by
the way I was stroking Carl's marvelous hardon, the hardon he had for me!

   I knew what was going to happen, and I wanted it to happen!  I didn't
even flinch when his cock gave its first powerful pulse.  My thumbs were on
the underside of his cock and I actually felt the wad of cum shoot the
length of it, like an express train through a tunnel or something.

   It burst from the tip and hit me right on my chin!  It was hot and
sticky and musky smelling, and I was afraid the next one might hit me in
the mouth, and I wasn't quite ready for that, so I bent his cock down just
in time and the next spurt caught me in the throat.

   I felt that one slowly ooze down my chest, between my bra-less breasts
as the next spurt and the next erupted, spattering my blouse, the slope of
my breasts.  His cock pulsed with every eruption.  Wave after wave of his
thick, creamy semen splattered my pristine white shirt, until the violence
eased to droolings, and long strands drizzled down on to my skirt.

   Carl was panting, but I didn't stop milking his cock until I'd squeezed
it dry, the last thick drops landing in my lap.  Both he and his cock were
limp by the time I released his prick and held my hand out, all sticky with
his cum, for him to help me to my feet.

   Then he did something that made me want to melt.  Seeing I had a drool
of his cum oozing from my chin, he tenderly scooped it off with his finger.

   "Thank you," he whispered.

   I grabbed his hand and studied his finger with its thick, white coating,
wondering what his semen tasted like.  Before I could think, I stuck his
finger in my mouth and sucked it, tasting the slightly salty musk of his
juices as I bathed his finger with my tongue.

   Not bad!  I realized that someday I'd get it straight from the source.

   "You're welcome," I assured him softly before I turned to saunter back
to my desk, the class applauding and whistling.  I didn't need to look down
at myself to know that the evidence was spattered all over me, staining my
blouse and skirt, even oozing down the valley between my naked tits.

   I mentally vowed that I'd never wash that blouse or skirt again.  It was
going into my personal museum along with my hanky from the day before!

   He caught up with me after French class and asked me how I could do what
I'd done, and I told him the truth.

   "Because," I said, "I'm your girl, and I want everyone in school to know
it."

   He was dumbstruck for a moment, I guess, and had to hurry to catch up
with me, jostling through people in the hall.  When he took my arm, I drew
it close, pressing the back of his hand against my breast, so I could feel
how close to me he was.  I knew he could feel that I wasn't wearing a bra.
He rubbed my already hard nipple, making it tingle and stiffen even more,
and I shot him a sly smile, noticing that his cock was already rising again
by the time we walked into math class together.

   As we entered math class, everyone was watching as we parted, watching
me as I made my way to my desk.  The evidence was all over me, drying
slowly.  I could even feel a little of it crusty on my chin.  There were
whispers, and one of the kids that had been in French class with us must
have passed on a report, as there was an excited rustle as it ran through
the room.

   Even Freschetti was looking at me in a different light, though I wasn't
exactly overjoyed by his smirk.

   I was disappointed when Carl didn't ask me for relief at the beginning
of class, then chalked it up to the fine job I'd done just an hour before.
I was a bit worried, though, that he'd find relief with someone else later
in the day, when we didn't have any classes together.

   But, all I could do was resign myself to the situation, reminding myself
that this was HIS program.  Possessiveness and jealousy weren't supposed to
have any part in it, according to the handout they'd given us all.  The
point was, each person's body was his or her own.  Sharing was encouraged,
and program participants had to respond to reasonable requests, and there
was nothing I could do about it.

   I'd seen Karen getting felt up in the hallways, after all.  It had made
me feel all twitchy to see her standing there, hands behind her head as
some boy fondled her breasts, or even slipped his finger up into her pussy.
I doubted I could possibly be that brave.

   I didn't see Carl for the rest of the day, which was surprising, even
though we didn't have any classes together.  Usually I at least saw him to
wave at in the hallway.  After French club I went looking for him, knowing
he'd had band rehearsal in the music room, but someone told me he'd already
headed out.  His bike was gone from the rack, and I felt a wave of dismay
that he hadn't waited for me.

   I hurried, hoping to catch up, but without much hope, because he was
probably on his bike anyway.  So, when I saw him half a block ahead,
walking it, I even broke into a very unladylike run, calling after him,
only he didn't even turn around until I'd almost caught him.

   I was scared!  He seemed so - so uptight, almost hostile!  What had I
done?  I hadn't done anything, had I?  I'd masturbated him, but he'd wanted
me to, and I was wearing his cum all over my clothes!  What did he want
from me?

   "You've been avoiding me," I accused when he finally admitted I existed,
after I practically tripped him.

   "Yeah," he admitted, not looking at me.

   My heart plunged into my shoes, or did it rise into my throat to choke
me?  I wasn't sure.  All I knew was that I was scared he suddenly hated me.
"Why?" I asked, almost choking back tears.

   "I can't go to the dance with you," he mumbled.

   That stopped me dead in my tracks.  Did he say "can't" or "won't" I
asked myself, my ears ringing.  "Why not?  Did you ask somebody else?" I
wanted to sit down right there on the sidewalk and cry as I watched him
walk on ahead of me.  "I bet you got a date with that slut Marilyn," I
accused angrily, seeing my greatest fear come to life in front of me.  I
went after him and grabbed him so hard he dropped his bike with a clatter.

   "No!  I haven't even talked to her since she gave me that blow job.  I
can't go, that's all," he concluded miserably, coming to a stop.

   "Why not?" I grabbed at him as he reached for his bike again.  "Why
not?" I pleaded, feeling my heart break.

   "Because since it's an extracurricular activity," he explained, making a
rare grammatical error.

   "That doesn't make sense," I observed after pointing out his mistake.

   So he explained how the rules wouldn't let him wear clothes to any
extra-curricular activity until Monday, even marching band!

   "Oh!" That stopped me, and he scooped up his bike and walked on.

   "Oh," I said more softly, walking along beside him while I sorted this
out.  He was going to have to march in the band naked, and if he went to
the dance he had to go naked?  Oh wow!  That was something else again,
wasn't it?

   Then I thought of missing the dance, and felt a horrible pang.  It was
so close - I was so close to actually going to my first big dance, and with
the guy I cared about most in the whole world, and now this!  It wasn't
fair!

   But, no one said he couldn't go, I mused.  It was just that he had to go
naked.  So?  Hadn't I walked down the street with him naked?  And we'd
kissed, right there in public, with him naked.  And I'd masturbated him in
class, and I was wearing his cum.

   Would going to the dance be any worse?  Would being with him at the
dance with him that way be any worse than what we'd already done?  Didn't
being his girl mean being with him, no matter what?

   "So, you'll be naked," I said.  "So what?"

   He protested, of course, so I argued, and I've gotten to be a good
arguer, since joining the debating team in an effort to overcome my
shyness.

   "It's a formal dance," he reminded me unnecessarily.

   "There's no rule you have to wear even a jacket and a tie," I pointed
out.

   "Everyone does."

   I tried teasing him.  "Girls don't."

   He wasn't giving up easily.  "Well, okay, girls don't.  They wear nice
dresses and stuff."

   Which I didn't have yet, I reminded myself.  But we'd reached the corner
where I was going to have to turn off, and I wasn't about to let him get
away.

   Desperate times demand desperate measures, I reminded myself.  "Take off
your clothes," I ordered.  I could tell he wasn't wearing much anyway.

   "What?"

   "Put your bike down and take off your clothes," I insisted.

   He looked around blushing.  "Here?  Now?"

   I insisted, reminding him that the rules required him to obey any
reasonable request, or I could report him for a program violation.

   He must have read the determination in my eye, because he leaned his
bike against the post and pulled off his shirt.  I took it from him, then
tapped my foot impatiently as he fiddled around nervously, finally shoving
his shorts down around his feet.

   "Shoes and socks, too," I insisted.

   Handing me his shorts, he danced first on one foot then the other as he
took them off, his cock bouncing around as it stiffened.  After I took his
shoes and socks from him, I looked him up and down critically.

   Darn but he looked good!  He was trim, and fit, and he had that
beautiful red hair around the base of his cock.  It was all I could do to
keep from running my hands over him.  "You look formal enough to me," I
told him.  Remembering some of the outlandish outfits that some of the guys
thought were fashionable, I had to add that he'd look better than them in
his skin than they would in their dorky duds.

   "But I'm naked!" he pointed out.

   Well doh!  "So you are, but I am not going to let you cheat me out of
going to the homecoming dance just because you're suddenly going all modest
on me!"

   Sometimes you just have to take command!

   "You mean you'd go with me like this?" He spread his arms.

   "I'd go with you if you were, well, any way you go, I'll go with you," I
assured him desperately.

   "Are you sure?"

   He was weakening.  "Positive," I told him.  Unable to resist, I tickled
the underside of his cock, and gave him a peck on the cheek, my heart
singing again.  I could see his spirits rising, along with his pecker.

   Then his face fell again.  "But what about your parents?  How will they
feel about it?"

   I felt like I'd been sucker-punched again, but I was not about to go
down!  "Well, I don't know." I thought hard.  In for a penny, in for a
pound, I'd have to take this one head on.  There was no time for subtlety.

   "Can you come by my house tonight, after dinner?  Just the way you are
now?" I added.

   "Uh, yeah, if you think I should."

   "I do."

   "What are you going to do?"

   "I'm not sure, but I'll think of something.  Do you have the program
brochure with you?  Can I borrow it?" Time for a propaganda attack.  If I
had the forces of law and order on my side, it couldn't hurt.

   He dug in his book bag.  "Sure, but what for?"

   "I think they got a copy in the mail, but I'm not sure.  When all else
fails, there's always the truth."

   I thought maybe I had a couple of things going for me already.  For one
thing, while I hadn't meant to, my display before my mom that morning had
to have had some impact on her.  At least I'd shown that I wasn't afraid to
show my true colors, or skin, in this case.

   Secondly, and more important, the one I really had to convince was
daddy, and he doted on me.  Maybe, if I played my cards right, I could put
him between a rock and a hard place.

   "What time?" Carl asked as he handed me the brochure.

   "Make it eight o'clock," I answered, turning away toward home.

   "My clothes!"

   I turned back, hiding them behind my back.  "You'll get them back
tonight, at my house," I promised, grinning wickedly at him.

   "Thanks a lot!" he protested, but I could tell he wasn't really upset.
As I turned back toward home, I waved his shirt, short, shoes and socks
over my head triumphantly, and heard a honking and the shrieking as a bunch
of girls drove by, screaming at the sight of him.