Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does HS 14 By peregrinf

   "Mom, how long does a Brazilian wax take?"

   "A what??!!"

   "A Brazilian Wax," I repeated more loudly.  I'd been talking to my
bellybutton, so maybe she hadn't heard me right.  We had slept together
last night, but not well, and been up early so we had time for me to do
some serious prep work for being NiS again and still get to Peggy's and
then to school in plenty of time.  It was going to be a long day.

   "Depends.  Could take half an hour.  Why on earth do you want to know?"
She came to the bathroom door and looked in on me, sitting stark naked on
the toilet seat, my long legs bent at the knees and spread wide like a
frog's, trying to shave my own crotch.

   "Worthington likes 'em young," I explained, looking up at her.  "I want
to look as young as possible so he'll take the bait -- namely me."

   "Must you?" she asked.

   I just gave her "that look" again, the one that says, "this is not open
to debate."

   I knew she was scared.

   SHE was scared?  I was terrified, but even more, I was angry.  He was
not going to get away with what he'd done to Peggy if I had anything to say
about it.  This had become very personal.

   "Oh here, let me." She sighed unhappily.  Kneeling between my legs, she
took the razor from me and in a few minutes I was as bare as a baby down
there.  I'd already done my armpits, even my legs.  My leg hair is light
and fine, and doesn't show much, it's such a nuisance I only do it for big
meets, but I didn't want anything that might turn him off.  I'd probably
have to do the whole thing again tomorrow to avoid stubble, and then again,
until he finally took the bait -- took me!

   If he took the bait.  I hadn't a clue what to do if he didn't.

   "Thanks, Mom." I gave her a hug before she stood up, but other than that
there was no hanky-panky between us.

   At the front door as I left I guess you could say I had my game-face on.
I was as wired as I was before a major swim meet, maybe more.  I was
dressed to strip, but nothing too out of the ordinary -- old panties, old
bra, a last year's T and shorts combo (a little small, so I had a strip of
tummy on display) so if I never got 'em back it wouldn't really matter.  I
left the house fortified by a double breakfast of four thick slices of
Mom's lovingly prepared whole grain French toast, six slices of bacon, a
glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, and an extra-long and strong hug.

   "You be careful!" she ordered, holding my cheeks and glaring into my
eyes.

   "Yes'm." I gave her a kiss and another hug.  "I will be," I assured her
quietly.

   I did my best to un-wire myself before I got to Peggy's door.  The day
was going to be hard enough on her without me spooking her with my
problems. She had no idea what I was up to, and if things went right she'd
never know.  I didn't want her blaming herself for whatever it was I would
go through.  You could say it was a good thing I had to protect her.  It
kept me from worrying about myself.

   Following her mom's directions, I found her upstairs, sitting slumped on
her bed, staring at the floor.  She perked up a bit when she saw me, perked
up more when I knelt before her, took her hands in mine, and assured her
we'd keep her safe, that she'd done nothing wrong, that nobody knew what
had happened, and that we loved her unconditionally.

   She was dressed for school, sort of.  Rumpled and mismatched, she looked
like she'd thrown clothes on that she'd dragged out of the laundry basket,
like I sometimes did.  There were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes,
and a flock of starlings had to have nested overnight in her lovely brown
hair.

   She let me sit beside her on the bed, let me brush it out.  As if we
were chimps in the zoo, that simple grooming soothed us both.  I added a
little, sparkling barrette, which helped spiffy her up a little.

   The rest of her look, gaunt and sleep-deprived, could easily be passed
off as the results of a stomach bug.  I don't think she'd had more than
soup since Friday lunch, something like four days ago, and that lunch had
been school food -- 'nuff said?

   Her mom looked scared and worried even as I tried to reassure her, but
she let us go, tears in her eyes as she closed the door behind us.  As far
as I knew, she still had no clue as to what had her daughter in such a
state.  I thought of her there, alone, all day, and wanted to cry myself. I
hoped she'd be okay.  I had to do something for her!  I moved a talk with
Ms.  Andrews up near the top of my already too full to-do list.

   All the way to school I made sure Peggy understood that as far as anyone
knew -- except Missy, who was sworn to silence -- that she'd had a stomach
bug.  When we got there, early as it was, the lunch bunch was already there
to welcome her with open arms, literally.

   Peggy wasn't normally much of a hugger, and now she really shrank back.
I explained she was afraid she might still be contagious.  She looked
wobbly enough to make it easy for me to arrange for at least one of us to
be with her at all times, and Missy was already alerted to walk Peggy home
since I had to pose for Kathy's art project.  All I told the lunch bunch
was that someone needed to be with her at all times in case she felt
poorly, and that was enough for them.  They are such a great bunch.  They
should wear T-shirts that say "All for one and one for all."

   It was at that point the PA system called me to the school office.

   Oh shit, here we go, I thought, curtain up on Act One.

   "What's that about?" Fran asked.

   I played innocent, and shrugged and waved as I answered the call, my
heart suddenly hammering.  Shit I was scared!

   The sight that greeted me in the front office, with its high counter,
cubby-holes for mail, ringing phones, teachers rushing in and out, rows of
file cabinets, computers and piles of papers -- so much for the paper-less
office -- made my heart slam to a stop before it resumed beating like a
jungle tom-tom in a Lion King movie.

   Worthington himself was there, in all his naked glory.

   Shit!

   Mrs.  Devers stood beside him, and I swear to God I will never, ever
play poker with her.  Her face was totally unreadable, but somehow I knew
this was her idea.

   Worthington's expression was all too readable, when I managed to look
him in the eye after taking an inventory of his slightly doughy,
fish-belly-pale, lightly freckled body.  It was balanced precariously on
skinny, pale, hairy legs.  His endowment, such as it was, drooped dismally
over his testicles -- I refuse to honor them with the term "balls."

   So much for him getting thrills from exhibitionism, I guess.  Or maybe
Mrs.  Devers proximity struck terror into his glands.

   If I had to put a word to his expression it would be "gloating," and it
did nothing to ease my mind.  I couldn't ask "what's he doing here?" since
I wasn't supposed to know why I'd been called in, but I looked that
question to Mrs.  Devers.

   "Good morning, Miss Walker," she greeted me.  "Since he is the Naked in
School coordinator, I invited Mr.  Worthington to be here so he'd be fully
informed as to why you have, again, been put in The Program."

   I choked, and it wasn't hard for me to play innocent, I was so
flabbergasted by this turn of affairs.  "I'm in The Program?  Again?"

   Mrs.  Devers nodded.  "After carefully investigating your outrageous
display in the park last Sunday, we have determined that you have brought
disgrace on the Naked in School Program.  While you have tried to claim
that what you did was community outreach, it was totally without
authorization by this office or the prior approval of Mr.  Worthington.  It
was unacceptable."

   Worthington just stood there, smirking.

   My undercover watch-dog, Detective Sanchez, was by the filing cabinets,
a sheaf of papers in her left hand, her right hand out of sight and I
wondered if it was on the grip of her gun.  Though if her pants were as
tight as what I could see of her scoop-neck top, how she could be carrying
a concealed weapon was beyond me.

   But her eyes -- oh my -- those dark eyes of hers had that look that
gunfighters in the movies get.  I don't mean to say she'd use deadly force,
but had no doubt she'd be over that counter and have Worthington in cuffs
if he so much as sneezed in my direction.

   I have to say, Mrs.  Devers played it well.  She had me crumbling as she
laid it on with a trowel.

   "Do you have anything to say for yourself?" she asked.

   I hung my head.

   "No Mrs.  Devers," I mumbled, while my mind tried to make sense of all
this.

   I translated her "I invited Mr.  Worthington to be here" along the lines
of "I pried his skinny little ass out of his office so he could witness
your humiliation." One did not decline one of Mrs.  Devers's invitations. I
suspected that even the Principal, who was known to emerge from his office
from time to time to walk the halls to accept the accolades of his
subjects, was not resistant to her invitations.

   "Strip!" she ordered brusquely.

   Setting my backpack aside, I stripped, trembling as I did.  Off came the
T-shirt, down went my shorts, goose-bumps prickling my flesh as I stepped
out of them.  I handed my outer clothes to Mrs.  Devers, rubbed my arms
nervously, then reached back to unhook my oh-so unnecessary bra.  As I let
that slip down my arms and handed it to Mrs.  Devers, I couldn't help
noticing that Mr.  Worthington's dick began to stir.

   It's alive!  I thought.

   My traitorous nipples responded with their usual unabashed eagerness,
perking up as if to survey the room.  I caught a glimmer of a smile
quirking Sanchez's lips, a twinkle in her eye.

   Hooking my fingers in my modest cotton panties I pushed them down --
slowly, as if reluctant to expose my lower tummy, my hairless pubes,
finally letting them slither down my slender legs.  Balancing awkwardly on
one foot, then the other, I stepped out of them.  As I bent to pick them up
I eyed Worthington's resuscitated masculinity.  Even fully aroused his
endowment was anything but impressive, but his interest in me was
unmistakable.

   I was about to reclaim my pack and walk out when Mrs.  Devers surprised
me by producing a length of string -- twine, in fact -- that tan stuff
that's rough and tough, with little scratchy bits sticking out.

   "This is a symbolic collar, to remind you of what you did to bring shame
on The Program," she explained, tying it loosely around my neck.  "You are
to wear only that, and footwear, in accordance with the rules of The Naked
in School Program, for the rest of this week and all of next.  Is that
clear?"

   "Yes'm." I barely whispered.

   "Should there be any program violations, Mr.  Worthington will
administer such punishment as defined by the Program guidelines," she
added. "Is that clear?"

   "Yes'm." The gleam in Mr.  Worthington's eyes was anything but
comforting.

   She made me feel ashamed for real, and incredibly vulnerable.  The
string triggered another train of thought, and I suddenly wished we'd
thought of using one of those radio tracking collar things they put on wild
animals, maybe they even came with a microphone and could transmit sounds!
We probably could have gotten away with that.

   Shit!  Why hadn't I thought of it?  If there was a hole in our plans it
was a foolproof way for me to alert the forces of law and order so they
could start eavesdropping on Worthington.  And what if he chose someplace
other than his office, there was no way they could track me!  Shit!

   But it was too late now.  I was stuck with this useless piece of string.
It itched.  It made me conscious of just how naked I was, naked in a way
I'd never felt before.

   "Now, off to your homeroom," Mrs.  Devers ordered as the first bell
rang.

   Picking up my backpack, I turned and left the office to merge with the
crowd.  I got more than a few curious looks, and avoided making eye
contact. I slumped!  For the first time since The Stick had taken me in
hand I forgot to stand tall.

   Hell, I thought, what's this all about?  It isn't like I hadn't been
naked in school before.

   The Stick, bless her, took over and gave me a swift kick in the butt. 
This is just another school day, she reminded me.  Stand up straight, hold
your head high.  It's only a silly piece of string.  We're here to run
Worthington's worthless ass all the way to jail, and don't you forget it!

   Put that way I didn't feel quite so alone.  I visualized him doing a
perp walk, trying to hide his face, maybe a tacky jacket draped over his
head, his hands shackled behind his back, and felt a surge of anticipation.
Even better, I visualized him in a bright orange prison jump suit, with a
few leering, unshaven, heavily tattooed inmates eyeing him.  I drew my
shoulders back and stepped out, proudly naked.  This is The Stick.  She's
tall.  She's strong.  She's sexy.  She's avenging her friend.

   Never mind that she's scared shitless!

   A guy walking beside me asked why I was suddenly in The Program again.

   I gave him the party line.  "Oh, The Powers That Be decided that what I
did on Sunday was a little over the top, so they stuffed me into the
program for the rest of this week and all of next to humble me."

   The guy guffawed.  "They'll never humble you, bitch."

   "That's Miss Bitch to you, Jeffrey," I shot back with a wry smile.  He
was a soph, in one of my classes, and really not a bad guy, except he had a
habit of bragging about his conquests.  He had a shock of brown hair as
unruly as mine, and a nice ass.

   "How about a pose?" he asked.

   I debated flipping him the bird, but instead stuck my chest out, what
there was of it, doing a sort of a pirouette, before strutting off with a
toss of my head and a twitch of my ass.  This is the Dee they all know and
love, after all.  The Stick strikes back.

   But don't overdo it, I reminded myself.  You don't bait your hook with a
shark to catch a minnow.  Worthington's the shark, I'm the minnow.  That
calmed me a bit as I went into homeroom, easily managing to look chastened
as I explained again why I was again Naked in School.  The teacher just
looked at me and shook her head wearily.  She'd already learned that I one
of those who often asked questions that could only be answered "because I
say so."

   Then it was the usual announcements, yadda yadda yadda.  While they were
droning on I was writing a note to Missy to ask Mrs.  Devers to get in
touch with Ms.  Andrews, explain to her what was going on up here in psycho
high, asking her to set up a joint counseling session for Peggy and her mom
right away.  After sealing that, I created an outside wrapper addressed to
Inez, with instructions.  On that I warned that Worthington might be on the
loose and to pass the word to let me know ASAP if he was spotted, and get
the inside note to Missy.

   How I'd protect Peggy from seeing Worthington if he did stick his nose
out of his burrow I didn't know, but I'd cross that bridge when I came to
it.

   The Stick was teaching me to delegate!

   It was urgent, so rather than using one of our pre-arranged drops I
handed the whole packet off to Inez when we passed in the hallway, knowing
she'd take care of her assignment, and pass the inside message to Missy in
first period.  That accomplished, I comforted myself by figuring I was
reasonably safe from Worthington today, that he wouldn't make his move
until he'd scoped out the territory a bit.  Even so, I felt like I had a
target on my back.

   Between second and third periods Tweedle Dumb and Dumber caught sight of
me and I heard their snide cackles all the way down the hall.  They took a
shot at me on the way to lunch.

   "Hey, cunt!"

   I didn't even flinch, just kept right on walking.

   "Hey CUNT!  I'm talkin' to you!"

   Just keep walking, I told myself, cold sweat prickling me all over.

   "Whassamatter?  Didn't you hear me calling you?" Cagney, AKA Tweedle
Dumb, made the mistake of touching my shoulder.

   Whirling on him I asked, "Why?  Do you answer to 'dork?'"

   He'd picked a really, really bad day and place to try to take me on!  We
were right outside the lunchroom by now, quickly gathering a crowd, which I
didn't mind at all.

   I slapped his hand away when he reached for me again.  "Hands off!  I
didn't give you permission to touch me."

   "You're in the program!  It's a reasonable request."

   "I didn't hear a request.  I still don't.  Besides, I decide what's a
reasonable request, or haven't you read the program rules?  It's my choice
to let you touch me, which is not going to happen in this lifetime, or the
next."

   "She's right," an upper-classman in the front row called out, which
encouraged me immensely.

   "What makes you the authority?" Cagney asked, getting a bit red in the
face.

   "We've read the book, Cagney, which is obviously more than you have," I
answered.  "Oh of course, I forgot.  You can't read, can you.  Let me make
it clear, in words of as few syllables as possible.  One more touch and
I'll file an assault charge against you.  I've got witnesses."

   He gulped and looked around.

   "But don't worry.  I bet The Powers That Be will be happy to put you in
The Program, rather than waste juvie court time on you."

   That made him back off.  Evidently he wasn't eager to join me in
stark-nakedness.  In his case I really didn't blame him.

   "Now, if you don't mind, it's bad enough I have to deal with a school
lunch.  I don't need you spoiling my appetite." I pushed past him and his
buddy Lacey.

   The lunch bunch had been watching from the sidelines, grinning.  Even
Peggy looked cheered.  They engulfed me, we went through the line together
and made a bee-line to our usual table.  Peggy was looking better as we
circled our wagons around her.  Maybe she was establishing defenses the way
John had.  I hated to see her retreat behind a shell that hid her usual
sweetness, but if that's what it took to get her through the day I
understood.  I hoped the note I'd passed to Missy produced results.

   "No sign of Worthington," Inez whispered to me, which eased my worries
considerably.

   "We seem to have the real Dee Walker with us again," Fran teased.

   "In the flesh," I admitted, making an attempt to eat without trying to
figure out what it was.  It's safer that way.  My vow to make my own lunch
had been crushed by my morning shave.  Fortunately, instead of stealing my
appetite my jitters seemed to have turned my metabolism up a notch. 
Breakfast was but a distant memory and my body was demanding calories, even
school lunch calories would do.

   "I hear The Powers That Be decided you needed this week in the program,
thanks to your little stunt in the park," Inez observed, not unkindly.

   "A week and more -- I'm in it all next week, too," I told her.

   "Bummer!" Cindy sympathized with a toss of her blond curls.

   I shrugged.  "Hey, this is me.  I'm out to set a record, most days naked
in school in a single term."

   Fran guffawed loudly.  "I'll notify Guinness."

   That brought a laugh.  At least nobody asked about the string around my
neck, and Peggy seemed to be enjoying the teasing I was getting.

   Naturally I had my radar out, just in case Worthington decided to strike
early.  Missy caught my eye, flashed our "note" sign and did a thumbs-up,
so I nodded and relaxed on that score.  Then, just as she turned back to
her lunch and took a bite an office courier found her.  I thought the poor
girl was going to blow lunch out her nose, but she managed to pull herself
together and read the paper she'd been handed.  She paled a bit and shot me
a look before quickly finishing her mystery salad -- she was dieting again
-- and going over to Mike.  She whispered in his ear and they left
together.

   Well, well, well, I thought.  Unless I missed my guess I'd caught
Worthington's interest and he was gathering intelligence.  I felt badly
about Missy being caught in the middle again, but Mike would protect her.

   Still, my sweat glands kicked into overdrive and as I finished my lunch
I reminded myself to dig the stick deodorant out of my backpack the next
chance I had.  That came when, as per program rules, I gave the guys in the
boy's room a thrill.  After I washed my hands I swabbed my underarms with
my pit stick and headed off to afternoon classes.  They'd keep me from
thinking too much about Worthington.

   Gym gave me a chance to work up another stink sweat and burn off some
nervous energy by beating up on a volleyball.  The girls on the opposite
side of the net didn't seem to appreciate my spikes.  The first two left
'em with bruised palms.  After that, when they saw me coming they ducked
rather than trying to scoop it up for a return.  One of my serves almost
took Martha Radditz's left ear off and I had to apologize to her.  My side
won big, which cheered me.

   Showering with the guys after was fun, too.  I let them soap me down,
hands all over me, slithering over the gentle rise of my boobs, making my
nipples dance with joy, fingers invading the crack of my ass.  They
appreciated my bare-naked pussy as much as I enjoyed their attention. 
After that, down on my knees, I was happy to let them spray their come all
over my face and torso.  Then of course that had to be washed down the
drain in creamy swirls.  I let them use their hands as squeegees to make
sure they got all of it off.  All in all it was a very nice tension
breaker.

   At the end of the school day I passed Missy in the hall again.  She gave
me an "OK" sign, and discreetly flashed me the universal thumb-pinky "phone
me" signal.  I nodded and went on, feeling like some kind of secret agent,
keyed up in case Worthington had his spies watching me.  What if he decided
to invite me in now?  Getting word to the office would be tricky with
everyone anxious to get home or to an activity.  I added that as another
worry to deal with over the next couple of days.

   It was a huge relief to find myself safe with Kathy and Greg in the art
studio.  They were already nude as a way of welcoming me and we went into a
group hug.  Then I realized we had company and backed off, blushing, even
though the company was naked, too, and came with a seeing-eye dog.

   "Are you okay?" Greg asked.

   "Fine," I assured him, though I was holding on to him so I didn't fall
over.  It was like the only thing that had been holding me up was tension
and I was switching over to his loving support.

   "Henry, do you know Dee Walker, Carl's sister?" Kathy asked.  "Dee, this
is Henry Carver, the sculptor."

   Releasing my death grip on Greg, I reached for the hand Henry held out.
"Glad to meet you, Henry.  Beth Finch mentioned you.  Good things," I
quickly added.  Henry was post-grad, taking art classes at the local
college, already earning himself a name in artistic circles.

   "That's a relief." His handshake was warm and dry and very strong. 
"What's so funny?"

   I felt myself turning bright red that he'd caught the giggle in my
throat.  "I'm sorry, that was really rude.  It's just that, your last
name...."

   He laughed easily, cocking his head in that quirky way blind people
sometimes do, and I felt a lot better.  "Carver?" he said.  "It is rather
fitting, for a sculptor."

   Without thinking, I nodded before I spoke.  "Yeah." I was glad he wore
those real dark glasses so I didn't see his eyes, if he had any.  He'd been
blind from birth and I wondered how he did sense the world.  He couldn't
possibly know what "red" is for example, or a blue sky, yet here he was, an
artist.  Granted, he was a sculptor, but still....

   He'd sculpted Beth by touch, and I couldn't help feeling a tingle at the
idea of his sensitive hands on me.  He was a bit taller than me, his thick
brown hair as tousled as my own, and he had a lopsided smile.  He seemed so
old to me.

   "May I see you?" he asked.

   "See me?  Oh, of course."

   His fingers ran through my hair, traced my face delicately.  "You're
very tall.  Strong chin," he murmured softly.  "Nice ears, and what have
you done with your hair?"

   I couldn't help it, I laughed.  He was so natural about this whole
thing. "It has a mind of its own," I admitted.

   "As do you, I hear."

   "And just what do you hear?" I asked.  I sobered up again so he could
brush my lips, inside saying to myself "don't stop, please don't stop!"

   "Good things," he assured me.  His fingers caught in the twine around my
neck.  "What's this?  Feels like twine."

   "It is.  It's a reminder."

   He cocked his head again and sniffed as his fingertips reached my
shoulders.  "Are you naked?"

   "How could you tell?"

   "I -- ah -- smelled your arousal," he admitted.  "Being naked turns you
on, doesn't it?  I'm sorry, that's very rude of me."

   "I don't mind," I chirped nervously, self conscious.  "It does.  I got
put in The Program this morning.  They didn't approve of my antics in the
park last Sunday.  The twine is a symbolic collar."

   "I heard about what you did.  You're very brave.  Do you mind?" he
asked, touching the tops of my breasts hesitantly.

   "Not at all." I took his hands and guided his fingers to my modest
boobs, watching Greg's reaction out of the corner of my eye.  He looked
more curious than anything else, as if wondering what I felt like to Henry.
I wondered if Henry had given Greg the same treatment.  That made me squirm
a little.  Had Henry felt Greg's dick?  Was Henry gay?  I knew Greg wasn't,
but still....

   I lost that train of thought as Henry's fingers flirted with my nipples.
My tits were already at attention, of course, and thoroughly enjoyed the
contact.  Henry had to feel the deep breath I took.  I couldn't help
noticing that his explorations were stirring his libido, his dick rising to
point at me.  His seeing-eye dog was watching and she looked like she was
laughing.

   "Can this wait until later?" Kathy asked impatiently before he ventured
below my waist.  "I've got work to do, and we've little enough time as it
is."

   "Sorry," Henry apologized, turning in the direction of Kathy's voice. 
"How can I help?"

   "It's over here," Kathy explained, carefully lifting the damp cloth off
the work she'd started of Greg and me -- "Courtship" she called the pose.
"It looks like them, but...."

   "Can you guys get in the pose for me, please?" Henry asked as he began
running his fingers delicately over the still damp clay.

   Greg and I took our pose, sitting side by side on the draped bench, him
holding my hand, me turned shyly away.  Kathy had drawn the gauzy curtains
again, putting a cloud between us and the outside world.  Her work was
within reach of the bench.  What followed was one of the most amazing,
sensuous experiences of my short but very sensuous life.

   We hadn't remembered our exact pose so, working by touch, Henry
proceeded to adjust us to match Kathy's model.

   "That's a good pose," he commented when he was done.  "Try to hold it as
best you can.  Kathy, do you have something you could use for a blindfold?"


   "Will a rag do?"

   "Just something so you can't see, if you would please."

   He was so polite!

   Then the real work began.  He started with me, his fingertips barely
skating over my flesh.  Any time my pose slipped he gently corrected it.

   "We'll ignore this," he murmured when he touched the twine.

   His touch was as gentle as a butterfly's kiss on my aroused nipples.  Oh
jeez, that felt so good!

   "Got the blindfold on, Kathy?  Good, here, give me your hands.  Now this
is a good example of what's missing.  Feel her nipple then feel it on your
work."

   "But, it's the same," Kathy argued.

   "Have you got the blindfold on?  Don't cheat."

   "Oops, sorry." She adjusted the blindfold.  "There."

   "Now try again, concentrating on your touch."

   She frowned, her fingers toying with my hyper-sensitive tit as she
delicately brushed the one on her sculpture.  "It doesn't feel the same."

   Even though what she was working on was like one-tenth scale, she
somehow could tell there was a difference.

   "Very good!  You already know, of course, that sculpture is as much a
tactile medium as it is visual.  Which is a good thing, or I'd have to find
a new line of work.

   "I won't go into details, but as any magician knows, the eye can be
fooled," he went on.  "Your esthetic sense isn't as easily tricked.  It's
telling you something isn't right.  So, we shut off your sight so you can
concentrate on touch.  Work blindfolded for a while.  Eventually, with lots
of practice you'll be able to work without the blindfold, the brain
integrating the data, but for now, work by touch."

   Kathy's fingers were driving my tit nuts!

   "I don't ...  oh, wait a minute!" She reversed her hands, awkwardly
crossing her arms to use her right hand on the sculpture to her left, her
left hand on me to her right.  She switched hands back.  "Wow!  I see -- uh
-- feel what you mean."

   Wow indeed!  Holy shit was her touching lighting my fires!  It made it
really, really hard to hold still as she fondled me and the clay at the
same time, so Henry steadied me.  I was totally stoked, intensely aware of
her touch.  It made breathing really, really, really hard!  I was -- oh
shit!  -- was I going to come just from her touching my tit?  As if he
sensed my arousal, Greg gently squeezed my hand, and I was suddenly aware
of feeling like I was really being courted by him.  I was suppressing the
excitement and stimulation of his attention as if we were just beginning to
get to know one another as male and female, were both still virginal, with
all that that implied -- the shyness, the unfamiliar sexuality.  It was as
if we'd never made love before and the feelings his touch gave me scared
me.

   Meanwhile, between little refinements to her sculpture, Kathy's hands
were busy on me.

   "It's all right," Henry murmured softly, steadying me.  "Your feelings,
your sensations will become part of the sculpture.  Just hold as still as
you can and let yourself feel it!"

   I did.  Oh lordy, did I ever!  Trying to stay still only increased the
sensations flowing through me, a sort of hot syrup that made me feel all
squirmy inside.  It wasn't like the horniness that I was already familiar
with.  It was an attraction to Greg that was slowly growing stronger and
stronger in a way that scared me.  I could sense Greg reacting to my touch
on his hand and his on mine, his grip reflecting his similarly shifting
feelings.  Where before we'd just been posing, pretending, suddenly our
relationship was coming to life in a new way, and I actually felt like a
blushing virgin, afraid and excited at the same time, if you can imagine
that.

   Suddenly I remembered our first bashful encounter, the first time we'd
met at the time trials.  I'd been naked under my towel while we'd made
halting conversation.  Then he'd seen me naked for the first time, on the
starting blocks, and I'd beaten him in that first race, and he'd stormed
off to the locker room.

   I could have lost him right there, but hadn't.  He'd come back and took
me on and we'd matched each other stroke for stroke, and I guess at that
moment I knew he was the guy for me.

   Henry guided Kathy's hands on us, pausing from time to time to check our
pose, and every new touch brought that part of me to life, like the
touching exercise we'd done in Sex Ed last year, only more electric.  I was
coming to life in a way I'd never felt before, even that first time Greg
and I had made love, at my birthday party.  I'd been eager, impatient, and
taken him out there on the diving board with the whole crowd watching, and
it had been fireworks in the sky, gloriously exciting.

   Greg grunted, tensing up, and I realized Kathy was feeling his cock.  I
sneaked a peek.  Greg was as hard as I'd ever seen him.  Henry corrected my
pose, and I found myself wondering if maybe, by just jumping into sex the
way we had, we had missed out on something, something that only now we were
experiencing.  I was discovering that courtship was an incredibly exciting
process.  Suddenly I understood Kathy's project in a way I hadn't before,
and it was thrilling to be such an intimate part of it.

   In spite of all those romantic notions, I was becoming more and more
enslaved by my hormones.  By the time Henry and Kathy were done with
feeling us both up I was ready to scream, and so was Greg.  We'd had enough
of courtship.  We wanted each other, now!  We didn't even need to discuss
it.

   Fuck courtship, fuck foreplay, we wanted to fuck!  By the time they were
done their touches on our naked bodies had taken care of all the
preliminaries.  When Kathy released us we were in each other's arms in a
moment, sliding to the floor, me pulling him on top of me, spreading my
legs to cradle him, dragging him straight from Courtship to Coitus, not
that he resisted in the least.

   He slid deep inside me as I held him closer than close, wanting to
engulf him like a blanket, or have him engulf me.  To stretch a metaphor,
if I'd been milk and he'd been chocolate we would have become pudding.

   Henry and the still blindfolded Kathy didn't abandon us.  It must have
been as hot for them as it was for us, feeling us so intimately, totally
focused on their senses of touch and whatever else.  As we went down, they
were with us, Kathy on one side of us, Henry on the other, their hands
tracing how our bodies interacted, shifted, interlocked, our muscles
flexing.

   It was voyeurism by Braille.  Just as when we'd been posing, it made me
more intensely aware of what I was feeling.  I was conscious of Greg's
flesh rubbing against mine, his hips on the insides of my thighs, his chest
on my breasts, pelvis against pelvis, lips and tongues mingling, cock in
cunt.  It was a quick, deep mating, but it wasn't violent.  It didn't take
us long to come, together, his warm seed jetting deep within me, his cock
pulsing, my cunt milking him.

   By then Kathy and Henry were right there with us, Henry humping on one
side, Kathy on the other, and I felt Henry's cock, slithering along the
crevice between me and Greg, then spurting come like hot glue between us,
while Kathy was whimpering as she humped our hips from the other side.  We
all strained together, turning into a swamp of come until we at last went
limp with exhaustion.

   For a long time we just lay there in a puddle of come, catching our
breaths.  I still didn't know if Henry was straight or gay, but what did it
matter?  For all I knew he was as ambiguous in his sexuality as I was.

   Eventually we got untangled, and starting cleaning up, all four of us
somewhat abashed by what we'd done.

   "Damn, if I keep doing art like this I gotta get my own studio, with a
shower," Kathy grumbled.  I got the feeling she hadn't expected this turn
of events.

   "I think I'll start work on Foreplay tomorrow, but that'll probably just
devolve into another orgy." She looked at me and Greg with a sort of wry
smile.

   That got my attention, reminding me of the meet'n'greet, and all my
other distractions.  "I'm not going to be here tomorrow, remember?"

   "Shit!" Kathy swore softly.  "I'd forgotten.  What is it you're doing?"

   "Can't tell you," I answered apologetically, wondering myself if this
darned committee was ever going to be announced.  The rumor mill was still
churning, of course, but nobody seemed to know anything definite, not even
me.  I still didn't even know who was on it besides me and Mike, and what
with everything else, he and I hadn't even had a chance to talk about it.

   "I've got to be home on time tomorrow," Greg announced.  "I'm
babysitting Drindy."

   I grinned wickedly.  "I'll tell her you said that." She hated any
reference to her as a baby.  She was eleven.  I'd been trusted at home
alone at that age, but the Andersons had different rules.

   I was also thinking about Worthington, for the first time since I'd
walked in the studio door.  There was a lot to be said for posing, and a
bit of uninhibited sex.

   I didn't mention Friday.  What could I say?  I'm scheduled to be raped
Friday?  Depending on how things turned out I'd try to get word to them if
I wasn't going to be here.

   My clothes were probably still in the office, and because Worthington
might still be lurking I didn't want to brave the hallways so, naked as the
day I was born -- well, not quite, I don't think I was born wearing a twine
necklace and sneakers -- we used the back door to the parking lot and I
joined the others in Kathy's car for the ride home, Henry's dog licking my
face so eagerly she occasionally frenched me, the perv.

   Mom wasn't home yet so, along with cookies and milk, I phoned Missy to
get her report.  The bureaucratic wheels had meshed nicely, thanks to the
quick reactions of Mrs.  Devers and Ms.  Andrews, and when Missy got Peggy
safely home Ms.  Andrews was there.  She'd already broken the news to Mrs.
Hughes, presumably calming her hysterics and saving Peggy that agony as
well.  Missy left them in the counselor's capable hands, glad to be free of
that responsibility.

   What Ms.  Andrews would tell the authorities I had to leave up to her. I
could only pray Peggy wouldn't be dragged through the slime, that TPTB
would keep her name out of it.  I was surprised they hadn't already
descended on her, but I'd done the best I could with that shit situation.

   I told Missy I owed her big-time, and wouldn't forget.  She pooh-poohed
it, but I'll think of something.

   Then I asked about her meeting with Worthington, what with her being
naked in the program and all.  It turned out Worthington had been a
gentleman, if somewhat snarky when she'd shown up with Mike in tow. 
Worthington was apparently still nude, in accordance with NiS rules, at
least from the belly up, and his hands remained on top of the desk, not
making suspicious movements in his lap.

   After we both "eeewwed" and laughed we decided that either Mike being
there inhibited him or exhibitionism wasn't his kink.  I told her I already
knew he just didn't have that much to exhibit, and so did everyone else
who'd passed through the office during my sentencing.

   Anyway, as we'd expected, he was probing for information about me. 
Missy told him what she knew about me being put in the program without
revealing anything else.  He didn't quite lick his chops, but there was
something in his watery blue eyes that made her uncomfortable.  Later she'd
heard via the grapevine that a couple of other girls in the program had
also been called down during the afternoon.  Each had shown up with her
partner and he hadn't seemed happy about that.  He'd pumped them, too, but
they knew less than Missy, and wondered themselves what was going on.

   After thanking her profusely I hung up and contemplated what was to
come. I was left wondering whether Worthington would be at tomorrow's
little party, and how he'd behave.

   Or how I should behave, for that matter.  The only parties I knew were
middle school parties.  Granted my 13th birthday had gotten pretty wild, by
middle school standards, but this was a more formal, grown-up thing.  What
should I do?  What should I say?  "Hi, I'm Dee Walker and I'm naked, who're
you?" sounded a little too something....  Maybe 'juvenile' is the word I'm
looking for.

   At least I didn't need to worry about what to wear, being that it was a
school function and I was in The Program.

   But I needed advice.  I actually started to get up to go down the hall,
before I remembered and fell back in my chair.  Advice like that wasn't
just a few steps down the hall any longer.

   Shit!  I missed Carl so much!

   Firing up the computer I sent him an email asking him to Skype me when
he had a chance, and settled down to try to get caught up on my homework.